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Men like Ian Richards didn’t make friends with someone who didn’t benefit them.
“He’s the son of a former cartel leader, not part of any cartel,” he promised her. “Ian and his wife are rich and influential. Their money didn’t come from drugs but inheritances and investments. But because of his biological father, he’s always going to be suspected of being involved with something criminal.”
“How do you know him?” she asked, certain there was something he wasn’t telling her. “Why did one of his men slip a package onto your bike?”
“We’ve met several times.” He shrugged. “He’s a former SEAL. He’s advised on a few missions I was on, and we got along. As for what John David might have heard, the package was from a friend. And I promise you, there were no drugs included.”
He moved to her as he spoke, his hand reaching up, fingers gripping her chin as his thumb brushed over her parted lips.
“As for John David. He knows what you have never wanted to see. I’m not a nice man. Most days, I’m probably not even a good man, and no doubt I don’t deserve so much as a minute of your time. But I think I should warn you, Poppy, I’m going to demand far more than that. And it won’t be wine and roses and pretty phrases.” The warning stole her breath, had her lips parting farther apart, her mind shutting down as his lips lowered.
Anything else she wanted to ask, and there was more, dissipated as his lips met hers.
She’d fantasized about him over the years; sometimes she even cried out his name when she masturbated. And when his lips covered hers now, it wasn’t the gentle kiss of the day before. This kiss was lust-driven and hungry, and Poppy knew it was far more than she was experienced enough to handle.
No apology, no experimental rubbing of his lips against hers, and damned sure no excuses. His hand held her head still by spanning the side of her neck and gripping it firmly; his mouth slanted over her lips and his tongue slipped easily past them.
One hand gripping the wrist at her neck, the other locked onto the hand that gripped her hip, Poppy whimpered. Not certain if she should give in to the heat suddenly pouring into her or to the rapid-fire impulses that urged caution.
Jack wasn’t a man a woman could ever be cautious with and still be close to. Especially with his lips covering hers, his tongue licking, stroking in wicked, sensual patterns only to pull back to allow his lips to sip at hers, his teeth to nip.
Sensations rocked her nervous system, flushing heat, racing chills of warning, eagerness for more, uncertainty. Years of fantasy and dreams, and they all collided in that kiss until she felt rocked by a wild, erotic surge of need so swift, so overwhelming she instinctively fought against it.
“Jack… Jack, please…” she protested, her voice weak, her whole body weak as she fought to make sense of it. “Please… wait… I can’t…”
She couldn’t explain, couldn’t process the flood of sensations, wants, and needs that she knew were wholly hers, but only brought to life by his.
When his hold at her neck loosened, she jerked back instinctively, stumbling from him, and staring at him in shock.
Oh God. How could she have ever thought he was safe in any way, shape, or form.
His gaze burned with lust, his cheekbones flushed, his lips swollen from their kiss. He stood stock-still. His body seemed taller somehow, wider. His breathing was hard, heavy, but hell, hers was too.
“Don’t you dare pretend to be scared of me, Poppy,” he demanded, his voice harsher.
Scared of him? She was terrified of herself.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered, fighting for breath. “I can’t…”
“The hell you can’t,” he growled. “You don’t have to tonight, don’t have to tomorrow night, but eventually you will, and we both know it.”
She shook her head.
“Yes, Poppy.” Despite the rough, guttural, growly sound of his voice, it still felt like a croon. Of sorts.
“Jack, you don’t understand…” She couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t figure out the words to explain.
“What’s there to understand, baby girl?” he demanded. “Something besides me in that bed of yours, fucking us both crazy?”
Her knees went weak. Something clenched, flexed in her lower belly with such a surge of pleasure it nearly stole her breath as she hurriedly pressed her hand over it. As though she could contain the sensation or the rush of liquid heat between her thighs.
His gaze shot to her hand, paused, his eyes narrowing before he looked back up into her eyes.
“I’ve never…” She swallowed tightly, shaking, shuddering in reaction. “God, Jack. I haven’t… with a man…” She shook her head desperately. “I didn’t want… Damn you,” she exploded, furious with herself now, and with him, because she simply had no idea how to handle this. “I’ve never had a lover.”
He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on her before he shocked her yet again with a hint of a glare.
“Did you at least think about me when you masturbated?” he growled.
