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She trembled. One hand gripped her purse; the other was flat against the wall behind her as she stared back at him.
“Why?”
His head tilted again. “Why do I want to kiss you like that?”
She nodded jerkily.
“Is there another way to kiss a beautiful, desirable woman?” he asked her then. “If there is, then I am unaware of it.”
There was a hint of conviction in his tone, a hint of hunger. She was woman enough to see it, to feel it.
“You want to kiss me?” she whispered. Had anyone ever wanted to kiss her?
“My sweet, want is a mild word for the need to kiss you.” There was a hint of self-mockery in his smile then, in the gleam of his eyes. “I should be ashamed of my lack of control.” His hand lifted again, his fingers tucking her hair behind her ear once more. It was always falling free; the thick strands refused to anchor in any way.
“Such pretty hair,” he said then. “Silken and warm.”
His head lowered, his lips whispered over hers. A kiss. Firm, heated. Risa felt a surge of excitement. She felt pleasure. His lips warmed hers, his tongue tasted her until she was panting and nearly begging for more. A soft cry left her lips as his head lifted and he moved back marginally.
He held his hand out to her. “Shall we return? If we’re lucky, the band could play something soft and slow. I’d like to dance with you, Risa.”
Her hand lifted from the wall, her fingers trembled as she laid them in his hand.
“I—” Her lips trembled then. She laughed self-consciously. “I’m not used…”
“No explanations needed.” His voice was darker, warmer. “None, Risa. Tonight, there’s no need for anything but to be yourself. However you wish to be. Whoever you wish to be.”
Morganna had sworn that no one had mentioned Risa’s past to him. That they hadn’t told him about the nightmares that haunted her. He didn’t know her. He only knew that she was their friend. That she had been sheltered. Morganna had been fierce about that. That Micah would know Risa wasn’t a woman to be played with. She had silently objected to that. Maybe, she had thought then, she wanted to be played with. Now she knew she did.
She could be whoever she wished to be.
She let his hand curl around hers and draw her forward. When he released her, she didn’t object when his arm went behind her, that same hand pressing possessively against her lower back.
She felt damned strange. She was damp between her thighs as she had never been before. Her clit was swollen; she could feel the sensitivity of the little bud between the folds of her sex. Her nipples rasped against the material of her dress; they felt swollen, heavy. They didn’t feel too small now; they felt too large. She didn’t feel plain; she didn’t feel beautiful. She felt wanted. Had she ever felt wanted?
Micah could feel the violence threatening to explode through his system as he felt the tension gathering in her back. God, she was ready to explode. He could feel the heat of her flesh, see the blaze of need in her piercing blue eyes.
Did she know what that did to a man? he wondered. Even a man as controlled, as experienced, as he was. It was like a shaft of fire cutting through his balls. The need to sink inside her was a hunger unlike anything he had known previously, with any other woman.
Micah was a man who understood his own sexuality, his own hungers. He was a man who understood a woman’s body. Each nuance of it. Each spark of hunger, each measure of arousal. And he wanted to kill Fuentes. He wanted to kill Risa’s father. That son of a bitch had ordered his daughter injected with the evil of that drug and had watched. The fucker had watched as another man had raped his child.
A baby. She had been a fucking baby, and Jansen Clay had allowed another to touch her, to abuse her in the most monstrous fashion.
Micah led her back to the table, lifted his hand imperiously, and gained the attention of a waitress. Leaning close, he whispered to Risa, “I need to speak to Reno and Clint for a moment. I’ll be back soon.”
Her hair brushed against his cheek as she nodded, and she saw the trembling of her fingers in her lap. He didn’t touch her further. Her body was already sensitized, her mind was thrown into confusion, and for the first time in his life Micah was on the verge of unadulterated fury.
His gaze lifted and connected with Kell Krieger’s. The message in Micah’s gaze was clear, and he knew the other man received it perfectly as his green eyes narrowed. Protect her. No other man was to approach her.
Micah knew himself; he was a man who knew his own central core as he knew nothing else in this world. And he knew, for the space of time that it was needed, this woman would belong to him. She would be his, completely. There was no other option.
Straightening, he turned and followed the other two men through the club and out the back entrance. The night wrapped around them, but that didn’t mean there were no eyes to see them, that no else was watching them, no ears listening to them.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Clint’s voice was furious as he jerked open the door of the soundproof van he and his wife had brought to the club.
Entering the interior, Micah eased himself into the seat along the back and watched as Clint slammed the door after Reno entered.
Both men glared back at him.
