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“Steam.” He laughed it out. “Grown-ups.”
Tracy smiled. “Last time I checked, at least.”
“Yeah, well…sometimes, grown-ups have secrets.” His shoulders sagged, as if the message was directed as much at himself as her. He pulled a hand free, flattening it instead to the wall. “Dark ones…that aren’t appropriate for other grown-ups to know.”
Since her frown had already started, she let it descend to her mouth. But as her lips twisted, the same effect took hold in her belly—though down there, it gathered from a different force. A tension radiating upward…
From the tissues of her pussy.
Secrets.
Dark ones.
Why don’t you try ‘yes, Sir’?
Her heartbeat skipped. Her blood danced.
Her gaze reached into the shadows of his. Seeking his secrets…
But finding none.
He’d locked them tight.
With a determined huff, she gripped more of his cock. As his flesh pulsed, Franzen hissed—
But his gaze remained closed.
“Franzen,” she whispered. “John.” Squeezed again. “Please.”
A heavy gulp expanded his throat. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“The hell I don’t.”
“You’re the goddamn vice—no, you’re the goddamn president, and—fuck.” The last of it was a groan, as she changed her hold to a stroke. She damn near echoed the sound, discovering black really was one hell of an optical illusion maker. His sex was longer, mightier, and hotter than she’d dreamed. Only gritted willpower helped to pull her hand away. The man was going to need…further persuasion.
“You done yet?” she charged, starting to tug at the hem of her tank. “Because that’s a really short list, mister.” She jerked an edge over one shoulder. “You want to know what else I am? A mom. A friend. A former small business owner. A crossword puzzle freak. A weirdo who likes anchovies in my salads but not on my pizza. The sole person on the planet who hasn’t seen The Walking Dead.” Up over the other shoulder. “And oh yeah,”—she yanked the whole thing over her head, then let it drop to the floor—“a woman. Just a woman who’s been through a shitty day and really wants to enjoy the attention of the warrior who got her through it alive.”
To his credit, the man’s jaw barely dropped. But his gaze did, pupils dilating, fixating on her bare breasts. She embraced the tiny victory, skin suffused in warmth, senses high on his attention.
“Ma’am.”
Shit. A tiny victory, indeed.
“It’s not that I don’t—” His sinewy neck vibrated with his rough swallow. “But ma’am—I—”
Her seething snort cut him off. “Franzen, if you call me ‘ma’am’ again, I’ll come after your penis with my flattening iron.” Which was technically nothing but cinders now, in the rubble of the villa, but the man wisely didn’t point that out. Even more prudently, he let his continued stillness, as well as the steady smolder of his gaze, do the significant talking for him. Both mesmerized her like a puma baiting its prey. She knew it as she stepped closer, letting her breasts pillow against the hard magnificent of his chest. She felt it while lifting her hands to the shoulders above it, spreading fingers along the molded perfection of his delts and traps. She reveled in it as his stare thickened, turning dark umber from the force of his own attraction.
Upon her own face, Tracy fixed lines of determined attention. “I’m also a person, Franzen. Just like you, a person who’s logged a lot of heartbreak in my life. However ‘dark’ you think your secrets are, I guarantee I’m strong enough to handle them.”
How easy it would be to push the point even further, but the strict line of his jaw told her differently. His body might be churning with tangible desire, but his rigid brain and his unflinching pride would never let him consider the idea of fulfilling those needs—not with her, anyway. As if she needed to be stabbed further with the point, he emphasized by taking a slow step back, almost a Samoan Jesus resisting Satan in the wilderness. Nice. Just the role she’d wanted to play tonight.
As if her Jezebel of a body was going to make it any easier to forget.
Screw you, she silently railed in return, grinding her fists harder into the wall, force-feeding her lust into a kiln of fury instead. Better. Much better. At least more recognizable. And controllable. And usable.
Especially as the man shuffled back by another step.
Fine by her.
