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“Oh, doll,” he said, shaking his head, coming toward me until he was standing between my legs again, his big hands going around my back and crushing me to him.
It was different than the hug earlier. The one I had given him, awkwardly putting an arm around his shoulders. This was full contact. This was bodies touching everywhere. This was him lending me some of his strength. And I just... melted into it.
Who would have thought that something as tame and workaday as a hug could feel so good?
I took a deep breath, breathing him in, then slowly inched my way back, feeling uncomfortable. Something was passing between us. I didn't know what it was, but some pure, primal instinct told me to shut it down.
“So are you feeding me or what?” I asked, attempting a small laugh.
Breaker looked down at me, his brows drawn together for a moment before he stepped away.
He turned the potatoes back on and peeked in on the steak. “So that's why you want to take down Lex. For your mother.”
“That's how it started, yeah. But it didn't take long for me to realize he has been doing this for a long time to a lot of different women. Some he let live. Many he killed. He killed my mother too in a way. It just took him close to twenty years to do it. They all deserve a little vengeance.”
“And you are planning on doing it how? Through a computer screen?”
I chose to ignore the hint of condescension in his tone and shrugged. “You'd be surprised what you can find out from behind a screen. Like no matter what business meeting he has going on, no matter how important the people he is meeting with, he will take three cigarette breaks. Alone. You pinpoint the right location and let the right people know where it is and when they would have a clear shot...”
To this, he grunted and gave me some chin lift thing that I didn't know quite how to interpret.
“You can also figure out the locations of all of his little torture camps. He and two men behind a closed and soundproof door. Also a good opportunity to catch him unaware. You could also find out who is in his pockets and who isn't.” “Like the Mallicks. You knew they weren't his pockets. That's why you put your stuff in a locker in Shane's gym.”
“Exactly. I mean I could have gone to the Henchmen or those survivalist freaks up on the hill...”
“Hailstorm,” Breaker said, looking over his shoulder at me. “Why didn't you?”
“Well because the Henchmen look like they'd be all to happy to blow my head off if I tried to even get a meeting. And Hailstorm, well, I mean... have to seen that place?” I asked, thinking of the recycled storage containers they lived in powered by solar and protected by a huge fence, armed guards, and trained dogs.
“I did a job with Lo last year,” Breaker said calmly, dropping the name of their leader like it was nothing. When Lo was known on the streets as a “plain old crazy mother fucker”... whatever that meant. “They're not as nuts as they seem. Really well trained mercenaries. Lot of ex military.”
“Regardless. They're creepy. The Mallicks might be loan sharks, but they're pretty normal people.”
“Clearly you've never seen them at work.”
I rolled my eyes. Like a little knee-cap breaking would scare me with all the shit I had seen. “I've never seen you at work either. And you're reasonably normal.”
“I'm... normal?” he asked sounding insulted, turning to me with an oven glove in his hand and I felt myself laughing.
“Oh, sorry,” I drawled, still laughing. “You're truly terrifying standing in your kitchen with an oven mitt and a wooden spoon. I'm shaking.”
“Woman,” he said, his voice hard as he reached into the oven, grabbed the broiling pan, then slammed it down on the top of the stove, shutting off the broiler as well as the heat under the potatoes.
And then he took a step toward the center of the room, reached behind his back, and pulled off his shirt.
Now there were plenty of words to describe the kind of rippling muscle perfection that greeted me.
Jacked. Ripped. Built. Drool-worthy. Man candy. God damn!
But the most appropriate seemed to be:
holy fucking shit.
“Tee off” he demanded, his voice even deeper than usual. His hands went to the front of his jeans and made short work of the button and zip.
“I, um, thought you were going to... feed me first,” I fumbled, feeling both a surge of desire so strong it was a miracle I hadn't melted into a puddle, and a rush of uncertainty.
“The food can wait. Get that tee off and get over here,” he said, pushing his jeans off his hips. I watched, too shocked to move and do as instructed as he stepped out of the feet and stood there in the middle of his kitchen in a pair of black boxer briefs that did nothing to hide his hard-on.
My hands reached for the hem of the tee as his moved to push away his last barrier of clothing.
And, well, yeah, my hands dropped numbly to my sides.
Because the sight of a man like Breaker naked required every ounce of concentration. And besides, lifting my shirt over my head would block him from sight. Granted, only for a second, but a second was just too long. Because he was like a Greek statue come to life. Every muscle, tendon, vein on full display. There was a raised white scar running three inches down his belly. Another round one near his hip.
Then, well, there was his cock.
Was it appropriate to stare? I didn't know. I didn't care. I was staring.
Because it was perfect. Long and thick and standing at attention.
And, suddenly, I wanted to wrap my hand around it. I wanted to feel him. I wanted to hear his breathing get ragged. I wanted to show him even half of what he had shown me earlier.
