Fade To Gray (Triad Series Book 1) Page 20

  His hands were everywhere. As if he were memorizing her every curve. She smiled and arched into his touch. He had always demanded more of her than anyone else. And she’d given gladly. The reward being beyond anything she could have imagined.

  And now she was here again, as if the gods had granted her one last gift.

  Stupid, really.

  But this was Gideon.

  His mouth found hers, their tongues thrusting and parrying as if engaged in some kind of duel. But then perhaps they were. The last time they’d been together, their parting had almost destroyed her. In hindsight, perhaps it had been her own fault. She’d believed her father above all else.

  A mistake for which she’d paid dearly.

  "Em, come back to me." Gideon’s voice coaxed her away from her fears. Away from the failures of the past.

  He was here. With her. Now. Even if it was only for the short term, she’d be a fool to let anything stand in the way.

  She smiled, and then his kiss possessed her and all rational thought vanished.

  There was nothing but Gideon. His lips. His hands—his heart.

  She flinched at the thought.

  "Em?" he asked, as always sensing her every shift of emotion.

  "I’m fine," she whispered, even though it wasn’t true. "I just want you." That much she was sure of. If she didn’t have him she would surely die.

  She could feel the heat of him, feel the turgid strength of his erection. He pressed her down into the pillows, straddling her, his heat making it hard to breathe. God, she wanted this man.

  He kissed her mouth and then the valley between her breasts. She writhed against him, wanting more—needing more. But he toyed with her, kissing her breasts, his tongue lingering as he tasted and touched. Then slowly he moved lower, his hair teasing her skin as he moved between her thighs and she clenched deep inside, passion rising.

  Then he was there, touching her center, making her arch up against him as his hand held her steady. His tongue teased her as his fingers delved deep inside her, the motion mimicking what she knew was to come.

  Her heart pounded and she moaned in both anticipation and joy. He stroked her physically and emotionally until she felt like she was going to explode, every touch sending her higher and higher.

  Then suddenly he was there, pushing at her entrance—demanding a union she knew would be beyond physical.

  Once, twice and then he slid home.

  She moaned with the rightness of their joining. No matter their differences on a day-to-day basis, this was right. Intrinsically right. On so many levels she couldn’t even describe it.

  His hands gripped her shoulders as he slowly slid out again. She protested against the loss and, above her, he smiled.

  "This is where I belong," he said as he thrust home again, the sensation making everything inside her shimmer.

  And in that moment she knew without a shadow of a doubt that they belonged together. Except that he was the most amazing of men and she was merely the princess in the ever-so-predictable tower.

  Not exactly an original fairy tale.

  But then again, there were no new stories—only reimagined ones.

  And this was hers—and Gideon’s.

  "Always," she whispered, unintentionally echoing his earlier words.

  And together they began to move. In and out. In and out. Each thrust building higher. Sensation beyond sensation until her body screamed for release and she raked her nails down his back as his mouth fastened on hers—demanding everything.

  She arched into him, every nerve in her body responding to his.

  "Emily," he cried, his breath hot against her neck. "Emily."

  She pulled him close, his body pulsing into hers, her breath coming in rasps. Each thrust brought them deeper, closer to release—closer together. The glorious tension built until her body was quivering and her breath was coming in gasps. They moved together, deeper and faster, until she was flying over the edge into an endless cloud of forever.

  And just when she thought she was lost, she felt his hands closing around hers.

  Emily sighed, knowing that in this moment at least, she belonged to someone. Mattered beyond just being. As she drifted back to earth, she settled into his arms, her soul rejoicing even as her common sense reiterated the absolute futility of trusting a man—any man—even Gideon.

  *****

  JESSE TYLER SAT IN a ratty armchair in a fleabag motel just outside Hoboken. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to have gone down. He was supposed to have been sitting pretty. Floating in money.

  Only said money had yet to materialize. He never should have agreed to play one side against the other. If he’d stuck to the original plan, things wouldn’t have gotten so far out of hand. He’d let greed get in the way. Which was kind of a sick joke when he considered the rat trap he was in at the moment.

  The reporter on the ancient TV screen across the room was talking about the funeral. Tom Irwin’s fucking funeral. Half the dignitaries in the city had been there. All of them fawning over the casket as if they’d really given a damn. Nobody liked Tom Irwin. Hell, most of them had been afraid of him.

  Irwin hadn’t been shy about gleaning information and then using it to get whatever the hell he wanted. He’d taken particular pleasure in ruining careers. Especially of men and women who had the audacity to stand in his way. He’d even managed to rake Blake Masterson over the coals. Not that the man didn’t deserve it.

  But his daughter. Jesse lifted his cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. His daughter had deserved better. He’d always liked Emily. And she’d always treated him with respect. Even after his fall from grace. He wished to hell things could have played out differently. But Irwin’s fixation had played into their hands. It had all been too damn easy.

  Except of course that then it had turned horribly wrong.

  And now he’d managed to fuck up his life royally. He’d aided and abetted a monster. He’d gotten in bed with the mob, and then for all practical purposes, betrayed them. And he’d allowed his prick to put him into the untenable position of not being able to say no.

  So here he sat, on the wrong side of the Hudson, wondering if he was ever going to see a dime of the money he’d been promised. Or if he did, if he’d live long enough to be able to enjoy it. At least no one had connected him to any of it so far. He’d done nothing but watch the news since he’d checked in. And there’d been no mention of him at all.

  Even when Jack Wetherston had turned up dead. The man had known something was wrong. And he’d been connecting the dots. Sooner or later he would have figured out that Jesse had been involved. So really, the man’s death was a blessing.

  Except that Wetherston’s death hadn’t been an accident. And that meant someone was tying up loose ends.

  And, at the end of the day, that’s exactly what he was, a loose end.

  He drew more smoke into his lungs, closing his eyes, fighting his fear. Vincent Masterson had been calling him for days now. To warn him. To threaten him. Hell, it could go either way. And Jesse wasn’t about to find out. Better to lay low until the money was deposited. Then he’d disappear. Leave this place and never look back.

  The talking head was still going on about the funeral. There was a close-up of Emily. The pretty princess and her deviant prince. Yeah, she’d deserved better.

  But that wasn’t the way the world worked. If anyone knew that for certain it was Jesse. He’d never had a father to protect him. If he’d been found in bed with a dead man he’d have paid the price. So maybe he should be worrying less about Emily Masterson and more about himself and his own safety.

  He turned on his cell and checked for messages. It had been at least eight hours since Vincent’s last call. Maybe the man had given up. Or maybe he’d turned the problem over to his associates. He switched to his browser, first noting the time. His money should have been transferred by now. He typed in a password and his account balance flashed across the screen.

  N
ada. Zippo. Nothing.

  Where the hell was it? He’d been clear enough in his demands.

  As if to answer his thoughts, someone knocked on the motel door. His heart rate ratcheted upwards until he remembered the pizza he’d ordered. No one else knew he was here.

  He stubbed out the cigarette, crossed over to the door and stuck his eye to the peephole. Son of a bitch. With another muttered curse, he yanked open the door.

  "How the hell did you find me?" He stepped back into the room, tipping his head toward the armchair. "I told you to deposit the money directly." He turned back toward the door and blanched at the sight of a gun. Terror clawed at his gut as pain exploded through his head. As he fell to the ground, his only thought was that he’d gotten it all wrong—and now he was paying the price.

  CHAPTER 21

  SUNBEAMS SLANTED THROUGH lace curtains. It was early still, but Gideon had never been one for sleeping in. The light danced across the bed, highlighting Emily. In sleep, her body relaxed against him, the haunted look banished from her face, she looked young and carefree. His heart did a little hitch as he remembered the night’s activities.

  She sighed, nestling closer into the curve of his body, her golden hair splayed out across the pillow. He tightened his arms around her and closed his eyes, inhaling the soft sweet smell of her. In some ways it was as if no time at all had passed. And in others—well, it felt like an eternity.

  She rolled over, her breasts pressing against his chest, and his groin tightened with anticipation. It had always been like this with her—the wanting, the needing, never truly getting enough. Despite the fact that he’d believed she’d betrayed him all those years ago, he hadn’t been able to let her go. And now here they were.

  Only he had no idea how to go on from here. Or even if she wanted to try and find a way. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he knew his own mind—which meant there was no fucking way he could try and figure out hers. He stroked her hair and she arched her back with a tiny moan that could only be described as sensual. His erection swelled and desire rose, hot and heavy.

  "Is it morning?" Her voice was husky, barely more than a whisper.

  "Barely," he replied, still stroking her hair.

  "Then there’s time?" Her eyes flicked open, a spark igniting in their fathomless blue depths.

  Maybe this was all they had. Time outside of reality. But if so, then he was damn well going to seize the moment. With a growl, he rolled over so that he was braced on his elbows above her, his hips cradled between her legs. She smiled up at him, her fingers threading through his hair.

  "Make love to me, Gideon."

  Not needing further invitation, he lowered his head and took possession of her mouth, his lips branding hers. His need well beyond physical. He kissed her eyes, her nose, the soft whorls of her ears. And then he traced the curve of her neck with tiny kisses, stopping to caress the soft hollow where her pulse pounded.

  She moaned his name and shifted restlessly as he kissed his way down the valley between her breasts. Then smiled as she pushed his head toward a nipple. Pulling it deep into his mouth, he sucked on it—teasing her as he let his hand drift slowly downward, stroking circles across her belly and inner thighs.

  His body tightened as he dipped his fingers into her wet heat. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He stroked the center of her desire and she cried out, lifting her hips, urging more. Slipping two fingers inside her, he began rocking them in and out. And then he shifted so that his mouth found her soft center. Using both fingers and lips he caressed her, driving her higher and higher. She tipped back her head, eyes closed, clearly lost in the moment—lost in his touch.

  He stroked harder now, her fingers clenched in his hair as she urged him on.

  "Gideon," she panted. "Oh God, Gideon."

  "Come on, baby, come on. Come for me." He sucked harder and pushed deeper and faster, her breath coming in taut gasps now. And then she arched upwards, her slick passage spasming around his fingers.

  He rolled over onto his back, holding her against his chest as she shuddered and then collapsed bonelessly on top of him.

  The room smelled of sex and passion. His body still ached for her, but he wouldn’t have traded a moment of watching her come.

  She sighed and pushed the hair from her face. "That was one heck of a wake-up call." Her smile was a little crooked, her eyes still glazed with passion, and he felt his heart hitch. "But it was a little too one-sided for me." She kissed his neck and then moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of hair arrowing down toward his groin.

  She kissed her way lower and then lower still, until her wet, hot tongue traced the length of his erection. Cupping his balls in her hand, she squeezed lightly as she licked her way back to the head and shifted, her grin turning wicked as she closed her lips over him.

  He nearly came up off the bed when her moist, hot mouth pulled him deeper, sucking and licking as she continued to squeeze his balls. It was his turn to lose his mind and he clenched his fists in the sheets as she worked her magic.

  As his body tightened—climax nearing, he pulled her back into his arms, kissing her deeply, tasting himself on her lips as he devoured her mouth. Then with a need that threatened to unman him, he lifted her until she straddled his hips. With a purely sensual gleam in her eyes, she braced her hands on his shoulders and slid slowly down his length until she sheathed him completely. Buried to the hilt.

  For a moment they stayed still—eyes locked on each other—bodies bound together as one. And then she began to move. Up and down, up and down, her breasts undulating with the rhythm. Her eyes closed as she let sensation rule. He began to rock his hips as her body rose and fell, and her excited moans had him hardening even more as he moved inside her.

  He grasped her hips, their bodies working together, climbing—climbing. He pushed deeper and she came down harder. She bent forward, her lips finding his and her silky hair swinging around them like a curtain. He breathed deeply, his lungs filled with her scent.

  "More, Emily," he urged. "Give me more."

  His fingers dug into her, and he flipped them once again so that he was on top. Bracing on his elbow, he looked deep into her eyes as he began to move again, her hips rising to meet every thrust. Their fingers laced together as they rode each other. Faster and harder. More. More.

  And then she screamed his name and he felt her body clenching around him—urging him on as he pounded once, twice and then again—his body jerking with the power of his climax. Her arms closed around him, pulling his sweat-slick body close to hers, her breathing matching the cadence of his heart. He stroked the hair back from her face, and bent his head to kiss her. Slowly and softly now, passion spent, but desire still heating his blood.

  Settling her against his chest, they lay exhausted, still entwined, and he reveled in the power of the passion between them, wondering at the same time if it would be enough to get them through the hell that still lay out there waiting.

  *****

  EMILY LAY ON HER side watching Gideon sleep. It was moving toward mid-morning, which meant that they both needed to get up and face the day. Face being the critical word. Although she didn’t relish the idea, she knew she had to confront her father with what she knew. What he’d done. It wasn’t as if she had a choice, but still she dreaded the idea. Confrontation had never been her forte, as evidenced by how quickly she’d run at the first sign of trouble with Gideon.

  But she was older now. Hopefully wiser. And more willing to fight for what she wanted. At least she hoped that was true. Helen Keller had once said that character could not be developed in ease and quiet. And Lord knew her life of late had been anything but easy. Now all that remained was to rise to the occasion.

  Famous last words.

  The brash ringing of Gideon’s cell broke any semblance of peace.

  He sat up and grabbed for the phone, his tousled hair and bare chest making Emily hungry for something besides breakfast. "Sloan here."

  Sh
e turned away, trying not to eavesdrop, suddenly feeling awkward in her own bedroom. She pushed to her feet, slipped on her robe, then walked into the bathroom to give Gideon some semblance of privacy. She brushed her hair and teeth, staring at her reflection in the mirror, thinking that she ought to look different somehow. In less than 24 hours her world had fallen into even greater disarray. And in all honesty, she would have bet her life that wasn’t possible.

  Her gaze dropped to the reflection of the bathtub behind her, and she felt her gut clench and her skin turn clammy. Someone had left an open wine bottle on the side of the tub. And her favorite blue glass.

  But that was impossible. Gideon’s people had taken it all away. She’d never have come back if she’d thought…

  She spun around, heart pounding, but the glass and the bottle had disappeared. There was nothing there. Nothing there. Her mind repeated the litany but she felt a scream rising anyway. She fought for control, but couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was here—watching her—wanting her dead.

  Fear clawed at her, her mind conjuring an image of the whoosh of the running taps, wine bleeding red down the side of the tub as her lifeless body sank beneath the water.

  If Gideon hadn’t come that night…

  Struggling to breathe, her knees buckling, she flung out her hands to protect herself, but before she could fall, strong arms surrounded her.

  "Em, sweetheart, it’s all right." She turned to bury her face against his chest, shutting out the site of the tub and the surrounding bathroom. "I’ve got you," he crooned. "It’s okay."

  She pressed closer, letting the warmth of his body and the strong beat of his heart soothe her, even as her shaking turned to sobs. "I thought…I thought…"

  "Hush now, everything is going to be okay," he whispered, kissing the top of her head, his touch feather light. He swung her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed, nestling her in his lap, his strength surrounding her. He rubbed her back and shoulders and kissed her hair and her temples, whispering nonsensical worlds of comfort as she cried great big, gulping, ugly, sobbing tears. He rocked her back and forth, simply holding her until the shudders stopped and she was almost breathing normally again.