Page 93 of Wicked Heat

I close my eyes, almost undone by the pain and tenderness in his voice.

“I have a choice now,” I say, twisting to look up at him. “Those things he did to me, he didn’t give me a choice. He stole from me. I’m not ever letting anyone do that again.”

“You shouldn’t.” Now, he takes my hand and I relish the way his fingers twine with mine.

“Don’t you get it?” I continue as I shift on the bed to look at him more directly. “I have the choice now. When we made our deal, it was my decision. You may have come up with the terms, but it was my choice. My decision.”

I draw in a breath. “Yes, I need the money, but I could have found another way. But you were the first person I thought of when I needed help. And when you named your terms, I didn’t run.”

I lift my chin and meet his eyes. “I didn’t run,” I repeat, “because I wanted those terms. I chose you. And I still do, Ash. I still choose you. At least so long as you want me, too.”

I wait, feeling small and vulnerable as I try to read his face. Those eyes that seem haunted by pain, but whether it’s mine or his own, I don’t know.

Then he reaches out and strokes my hair. “Oh, baby. Do you think I don’t want you? I do. Desperately. Painfully. But...”

“What?” I press when the word hangs between us.

“I’ve seen the fear in your eyes. When you saw those images. When I first pushed this deal on you. It was a shit thing to do, and I can’t forget that. Or forgive myself for it.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m not afraid of you. And it wasn’t a shit thing because you get it. You get me.” I cup his face, his beard stubble scratchy against my palm. “Somehow you knew what I wanted. And needed. What I still need,” I add, my voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “Your terms opened that door for me. Don’t you see that?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and fear grows in the silence. I’m terrified he’s going to send me back to LA. That he’s going to say I’m too fragile and that he’ll still get the money and try to track my blackmailer, but that he’s still pulling out of the physical part of our deal.

The silence lingers for so long, I’m about to speak up and beg him to kiss me. To keep me.

Then he squeezes my hand, and, very softly, he says, “The bastard stole your control. And whoever is blackmailing you now is riding on that.”

“I know.”

He hooks a finger under my chin and turns my head so that I’m looking right in his eyes. “So take it back.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

The tiniest hint of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Try harder.”

I frown, not sure what he’s getting at.

“Do what you want,” he says. “Tell me what to do.”

“Oh.” A delicious tingle spreads up my body, and I want to tell him to kiss me. To take me hard and fast. But I can’t quite manage to get the words out.

Gently, he brushes my hair away from my face. “Tell me,” he murmurs as I feel my cheeks heat. “Anything you want.”

“You,” I say, so softly I doubt he can hear me. “Use me,” I add, then peek up at his face, afraid he’s going to think I’m crazy to ask for that after ranting about Rory stealing my control.

“Thank you,” he says, and I must frown because he continues. “For trusting me. For surrendering to me.”

Surrendering. Yes. And the fact that he understands I need to take control by giving control is the most potent of aphrodisiacs.

Twenty-Eight

Use me.

The words seemed to dance around Ash. Teasing. Tempting.

He’d just had her at the track. Her body moving with his. Her hips rocking in his lap. Her eyes like fire as they’d locked with his.

She’d felt like a miracle in his arms. A sweet breeze caressing his skin. A raging fire, burning away his uncertainty. A sword killing his demons.