“El? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
Her bottom lip quivered. If he hadn’t been staring directly at her—wondering what it would be like to claim her mouth. Taste it—he would have missed it. Put it off to a play of the shadows.
She released a shaky breath, reaching out to touch his jaw—brush her thumb over the thick stubble. “I like the scruff. It suits you.”
Damn. It sounded as if she was on the verge of tears, her voice thick. Wavering. Had he done something? Said something? Had she had a nightmare? He went to question her—to assure her she could tell him anything. That he was there for her—when one dainty finger settled over his mouth. Barely there but silencing him just the same.
She smiled. It lifted the corners of her mouth but didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come to bed.”
He inhaled. Had she seriously just asked him to share the bed? To make love to her, because he was pretty damn sure it hadn’t been a hold-me-all-night kind of request. No, her eyes were dilated, her breathing escalated. It was dark but not so much he couldn’t see her skin was flushed. Not the angry kindlike before, but the shade of pink that screamed arousal. And if that wasn’t enough her nipples, so hard and tight, like tiny beads, were poking against her shirt. Just stabbing at the cloth. Begging to be touched.
He forced himself to swallow, considered it a freaking miracle he didn’t cough, spit saliva at her, as he reached up—gently grasped her wrist.
She shook her head, all that soft thick mass of hair swirling around her shoulders, brushing across his arm. “I’m not asking for promises. I just…”
She closed her eyes, sighing as if talking about this hurt. As if he might turn her down. No, he wouldn’t turn her down. Not ever. He didn’t care if she was just scratching an itch. If she simply needed the distraction. The comfort of familiar arms when her life was shattering. Falling in pieces at her feet. He’d take whatever she gave then find a way to make it stay. Make her stay because he wasn’t going to let her go. Not, again.
“You sure it won’t hurt? Christ, you still have stitches, still?—”
“Unless you plan on dragging my ass around the bedroom like you did down the street, I’ll be fine. But, I guess it’s up to you whether you believe that.”
He kissed her finger, talking around it. “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
Ellis snorted then leaned in close, hovering just an inch away as she slowly let her finger slide down his mouth and across his chin. “Then let me put it in clearer terms. I want you to strip down, get your naked ass in this bed, then spend the next hour grinding me into it.” She smiled. “Your move, soldier.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I want you to climb into the bed? Grind me into it?
Your move, soldier?
Was she high? Had someone slipped her an aphrodisiac? Spiked her damn coffee? Hypnotized her? Because of all the things Ellis had planned to say to Brett,make love to mehadn’t been on the list.
It wasn’t a secret she’d been off all night. Between confronting Brett, getting hunted by assassins, having Six take a bullet for her, not to mention having to make peace with the fact she was putting the few people she’d ever cared about in harm’s way—she’d been struggling to hold it all together. Maintain her usual calm.
Then, Brett had stepped in. Gotten up in her face, insisted she rest. And it hadn’t been his words that had set her off—his Freudian slip—but the way he’d said it. The same tone he’d used all those months they’d been together. When, she’d get lost in a job—lose track of time. Forget to eat or sleep. He’d always been the voice of reason. The one to pick her up and carry her to bed. Or bring her a plate of food. A cup of coffee. Watch out for her well-being.
She hadn’t been prepared for the punch of emotion. All the memories that had surfaced, the need that had burned beneath her skin. And she’d reacted the only way she knew how.
She’d struck out.
Ellis wasn’t proud of it. Hadn’t really planned on hurting him, but after five years of pretending to be someone new—someone cold and detached—getting emotional over Brett had scared her to the bone.
He’d taken it stride. Had been prepared to take a beating if that’s what she’d needed, all to make up for the past. For his failings. But the more she examined it all in her head—recited that note over and over because she remembered every word. Every horrible, criminal word on that paper—the more she realized she was as much to blame. That she should have talked to him about his father. Let him know she didn’t care. That she knew the kind of man Brett was.
She hadn’t realized how much it tormented him. How deep the scars went until he’d looked at her in utter disbelief that she’d known and hadn’t cared.
But letting go of everything wasn’t nearly as easy as jumping back into bed. Sex—that made sense. Was a physical connection they both obviously wanted. Needed. A by-product of the adrenaline rush and resulting dump. Having to deal with Six getting hurt, Ellis baring her soul… It was a pleasurable solution to all their problems.
Except where she doubted it would be just sex. Not for her.
Brett closed his eyes, nostrils flaring, jaw clamped shut. He took a few rough breaths through his clenched teeth, then looked at her. Really looked. Face leaning in close, eyes narrowed and focused on her. He didn’t move, didn’t seem to breathe as he sat there, slowly breaking down her walls with nothing more than those blue eyes fixed on her.
She was pinned. Trapped like she’d been in the washroom, only without his hands on her. Without any physical contact.
Brett stayed that way until she thought she’d pass out. That he’d use up all the oxygen in the room and she’d just fall back on the bed. Out cold. Like when she’d first crawled into the bed—asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Then, he smiled. Christ, it was like staring at the sun. White teeth, pink lips and a glow that chased away the shadows. Made his skin shine like a beacon.
