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The faint street light outside crept through the crack in the curtains and lit the room enough so Travis could see her dark eyes, wide and disbelieving.
“How is it you can see all these qualities in me after what I’ve done to you?” she asked, incredulous. “How can you not hate me?”
Hate? He thought he’d hated her, all these years. But only now he recognized that using hate had helped mask the range of feelings that he’d likely always felt for her, despite everything she’d done to him. Feelings that he’d been fighting all over again since the moment he saw her in that coffee shop.
“I don’t hate you, Mer. It would be a hell of a lot easier if I did.” His hand reached out to outline her lip with his finger, noticing the way it trembled under his touch. Always so damned responsive. “It’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to hold you again and feel you respond so easily to my touch. To not taste that damned fine mouth of yours and feel those endless legs of yours wrap themselves around me. To not show you just how much I really do like you.”
She sucked in her breath, blinking a few times as she processed his words. Words he couldn’t take back now. When she spoke, she raised her chin as if to challenge him, even though her bottom lip quivered. “Then…do it. Show me.”
Damn. He’d tried to take the high road. He really had. But she was making it impossible.
Before he could rethink his actions, he pulled her toward him. His kiss was more forceful and demanding than the one she’d given him earlier.
The kiss that had felt like she’d branded him. That had left him tossing and turning in that damn guest bed for what had felt like hours.
Now he was going to brand her with his kiss and with every touch. To hell with everything else.
It was as if a dam unleashed, and Meredith’s legs—those legs he’d dreamed about far more times in his life than he’d care to admit—were wrapping around him. His hand slipped down and cupped her ass, bringing her closer as he walked to her bed.
Her mouth was so sweet, and he wanted to taste every inch of her.
Shit. Did he even have protection? With reluctance, he brought his mouth from hers. “Hold on. I’ve got to check if I have any—”
“The drawer,” she said and motioned to the nightstand.
An unopened box of condoms. Hell, they could do this twelve more times before they even had to leave the room. He ripped the box open and tossed a couple on the bed before he turned his attention back to the woman in his arms.
The woman he’d told himself for so long that he hated, even though somewhere in his subconscious he’d known he’d just wanted, one day, to be good enough for her.
And despite her pleas for more, to stop the torment, he grinned. After all this time, having this woman finally here, nearly naked and waiting for him?
He was going to take his time. Even if it nearly killed him.
Chapter Thirteen
Travis woke up at eight thirty, something that shocked him when he caught the time on the clock by Meredith’s bed.
By Meredith’s bed.
That full realization brought him to his feet before he could even turn to see the woman still asleep next to him.
How the hell had he let this happen?
He gazed down at Meredith, her face relaxed in slumber, her hair tousled around the pillow. Beautiful. Okay, he kind of understood how he could let that happen. But now in the light of day, he had to get his shit together. Sleeping with his client was not one of his brightest moves.
Quietly he slipped his jeans on and headed down the hall to the guest room to finish dressing and grab his cell phone. He couldn’t believe he’d cut himself off from all communication for the past few hours. Sure enough, he’d missed three calls. Unbelievable. He played the voicemail while he headed down the stairs and started the coffee.
Two from Jace. He had some information on Claire’s fiancé that he’d relay to Travis when he called back.
And Meems. Seemed that a company by the name of New Horizons based out of Vegas owned both the club and the property where Darcy was taken, as well as a few other properties in Nevada, Idaho, and Utah. The registered agent for the properties was a John Smith—which was undoubtedly not a real name. She was getting him a list of those properties.
He dialed her back first. “Meems. Got your message. Any word on the list yet?”
“I’ll email it to you now. By the way, I caught the news this morning. You know you saved seven girls last night, right?”
But it wasn’t enough. Not for the girl already gone. And not for Darcy.
