Wanted Page 7

  Or was he simply watching over me? Looking out for me the way that Jahn had said he always would?

  "He was dangerous, Angie," Evan said, leading me to the edge of the dance floor. "And what the fuck are you doing here, anyway?"

  My eyes snapped to his face, and the words were out before I could think better of them. "Maybe I like dangerous men."

  He hesitated only a heartbeat before replying, but even if he'd planned the words for a year, he couldn't have cut me deeper. "Maybe you shouldn't."

  Without thinking, I lashed out, intending to slap his face. I didn't make it. He caught my wrist and pulled me close until I was mere millimeters from him, the heat from our bodies so intense I feared I might spontaneously combust.

  He stood a full head taller than me, and he had me so close that my lips were almost pressed to the indentation at the base of his neck. He smelled like sin and despite how riled up I was, I had to fight the urge to sneak my tongue out and taste him.

  He bent his head, his breath brushing over the top of my ear as he whispered to me. "I get it," he said simply.

  I went completely stiff. "What exactly do you get?"

  "That you're still crying for him."

  I felt frozen and my breath caught in my throat. Somehow, I managed to force my words out. "What do you mean?"

  Something brushed my hair, and though I couldn't know for certain, I imagined it was his lips. For a moment he didn't answer, just held me. The thrum of the music pounding through me had nothing on the surge of blood through my veins. I wanted to stay like that forever. Lost in a forest of the senses. Lost in his arms.

  This was what I'd craved--why I'd come out tonight. Not the club or the music or the alcohol, but this. The numbness vanquished, my senses on overdrive.

  I'd known that the music and the dancing would get me there. That I'd be able to thrust my hand through the curtain and draw in at least a moment or two of real, solid sensation, even if most of it slipped through my fingers like trying to clutch sand.

  But I'd never imagined this. Never imagined that I even had it in me to feel so much all at once. To know--to really and truly know--that I was alive.

  I swallowed again. Part of me was afraid to speak for fear of breaking this spell. But another part of me had to know. "Evan?" I finally whispered, not at all certain he'd be able to hear me over the roar of the club around us. "What do you get?"

  "You," he said simply, and though it couldn't possibly be true, right then it was the best thing he could have said to me.

  "I miss him," I said hoarsely, as if that explained why I was going wild in a sleazy club instead of curled up under a blanket sipping hot cocoa and crying.

  "I know," he said, and I felt a shiver run through me because I knew it was true. He knew. Not about the numbness. Not about the times I couldn't take it anymore and had to fight through the fog. But about tonight and my grief and everything that I'd lost. About the fact that being here in this anonymous crowd with music pumping through my veins took the edge off just a little. It filled up the black hole of grief and loss. Made it bearable.

  I didn't understand how, but he got it. Everything that Kevin couldn't see in me, Evan did.

  I eased back so that I could tilt my head up, and found those gray eyes on me. Wolf's eyes, I'd thought earlier, and the analogy was even more apt now. I saw danger there. Hunger. As if he would gleefully eat me alive.

  And oh, dear god, I wanted him to. "Why are you here?" I whispered.

  "You wanted to fly. I wanted to make sure you didn't crash."

  "So you're just looking out for me?" I held his eyes, drawing courage from the need I saw reflected back at me. "Or are you interested in helping with liftoff?"

  His words were slow and measured. "It's never wise for a princess to tease a dragon."

  "Who says I'm teasing?"

  "It's not wise to tempt one, either."

  "Why not?" My voice was breathy and full of need.

  "Dragons burn. And the wounds leave scars."

  "What if I don't care?"

  He didn't answer, but his eyes darkened and I knew damn well that he wanted this, too.

  "Evan." I didn't realize that I'd spoken his name aloud until I heard my own voice, soft and low like a plea.

  He shook his head slowly. "No."

  The word was firm and insistent--and I didn't believe it for a second. This was my chance. My one shining, sparkling moment. I shouldn't push--I knew that. Hadn't I already told myself that this was a line I shouldn't cross? That I needed to keep myself in check. That I needed to not push that envelope.

  But dammit all, when I looked at his face, I knew without a doubt that I could fall with Evan. If he would make the jump with me, I was absolutely certain that he wouldn't let me get hurt. He'd said it himself--he knew how to keep control. And I so desperately wanted to let go of it.

  Fear and desire and an odd unwelcome shyness twisted inside of me. I was risking everything but I couldn't stop. I had to have him. At the very least, I had to try. "Please," I said simply.

  "I stopped being reckless years ago," Evan said, his tone firm and determined. "That shit gets you in trouble."

  I swallowed. Every ounce of reason told me that he was right,--that I needed to take a step back. That I needed to stop, to go home, to count to ten. To calm the fuck down.

  I didn't do any of that. Instead, I took a step closer. "So now you're all about control?"

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Yes," he said simply, but I knew that he was fighting to hold it together. I could see the tension in him, and a surge of feminine satisfaction cut through me because I knew with absolute certainty that if I pushed him, he would break.

  I reached out, then gently pressed my palm to his chest. I felt wild. Hell, I felt reckless--and the irony really wasn't lost on me. "All right," I said, tilting my head up to meet his hard, heated gaze. "In that case, control me."

  "Holy fuck, Angie," he growled, and I knew that I had won.

  "Evan." That one soft word was like taking a match to dynamite, and I saw the fire ignite inside him. His hand slid around to my lower back and he yanked me close. I pressed against him, so hot with need it was a wonder I wasn't reduced to ashes. I felt the hard length of his erection press against me and thought I might cry, simply from the knowledge that he was as desperate for me as I was for him.

  I'd truly never felt anything like this. As if each vein, each hair, each atom inside me existed for no purpose other than to spread pleasure through me. So much pleasure that I wasn't sure I could withstand the force of it. This was everything I'd wanted. Everything I'd imagined I would feel when Evan finally touched me. But it was so fast and so hard and so overwhelming that I was on the verge of exploding.

  Either that or stripping off my clothes and pulling him down to the floor right then and there.

  And that probably wasn't the most prudent of plans.

  Breathing hard, I backed away, increasing the space between our bodies. I saw the question on his face, the dark disapproval at our broken connection, and before that could shift to regret, or prudence or responsibility, I moved back to him, pressing my body against his torso and my hands over his ass. For the first time, it registered with me that he'd changed clothes. The tuxedo was gone. The man in front of me wore simple Levis and an even simpler white T-shirt that exposed the vine tattoo that encircled his upper arm.

  He looked young and hot and completely fuckable, and once again I was blown away by the fact that he was here. With me. A very literal fantasy come true.

  I felt the quick rhythm of his heartbeat and knew that he was real. I swayed against him, moving in time with the music--and then realized that Evan wasn't doing the same. "Dance with me," I pleaded, edging toward the dance floor.

  His gaze raked slowly over me, leaving me feeling fully exposed and very needy. "I don't dance."

  "Oh." My chest tightened, and suddenly I was afraid that all this--whatever "this" was--was going away.

 
Then his mouth curved up into a slow, sensual grin and he slid his hands along my waist and over my hips, the friction making a flurry of sparks between us. "But I think you're doing a good enough job for the both of us."

  "Yeah?"

  "Dance for me, Angie." His voice was low and firm, and the command I heard was undeniable.

  I'd been doing exactly that, but now my moves seemed more sensual, more erotic.

  I was aware of Evan's eyes on me, the heat of his gaze burning through me, giving me confidence to flirt, to beg, to tease in time with the music. Never had I been more aware of my body--or of the effect I was having on a man.

  Damn Jahn for what he'd wanted or feared or forbidden. Right then I didn't care. There was no way in hell I was letting Evan Black get away from me tonight. I needed this. Hell, I needed him.

  And if the way he was watching me was any indication, I was pretty sure he needed me, too.

  I danced even closer, my breasts brushing his chest, one arm going around his neck. I eased myself up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his ear. "There are all sorts of ways to dance," I murmured, as I cupped my free hand over his crotch and felt the hard steel of his erection straining against his jeans. "So tell me, Evan. Are you sure you don't want to dance with me?"

  six

  His eyes went dark, and I was afraid that I'd pushed him too far. That he was going to blink, and then we'd suddenly be just two people on a dance floor in a sleazy bar without this heat, this tug, pulling us together.

  Then his hands cupped the back of my neck and he pulled me in closer. I gasped, breathing in the scent of arousal, his and my own. He bent his head and a shudder cut through me as he nipped, just a little too hard, at my earlobe.

  "I swear to god, Angie, you're like Kryptonite--you fucking break me." He pulled back, moving his hands to either side of my head, his fingers twining through my hair as he held me just a little too tight, keeping me completely locked in his grasp.

  I was breathing hard, my body primed. My lips parted ever so slightly and I tried to lean in, drawn like a magnet to the energy of this man. He held me fast, though, and I knew in that moment that whatever edge I thought I held over Evan Black was a tenuous thing. He could turn the tables on me whenever he wanted to. Hell yes, he was dangerous. And right then, he was mine.

  "I've done a lot of fucked up shit," he said. "But this--right here, right now--this may be the worst."

  I tried to shake my head, but he still held firm. "I don't believe that," I said.

  "I do." He slid one hand around to cup the back of my head, keeping me steady as he moved his other hand so that his thumb could brush gently over my lower lip. Automatically, I opened my mouth, my breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps even as a shiver ran through my entire body. There was no hiding anything from him now, and I didn't want to. The air between us was thick with heat and lust, and though I stood fully clothed in front of him, I'd never felt more exposed in my life than I did in that moment.

  The edge of his thumb continued to torment my lip. He eased it inside my mouth, just barely, and though some tiny, rebellious part of me wanted to play it cool, there was no way that was going to happen. I closed my lips around him, my tongue tasting, my lips sucking.

  I shut my eyes, hyperaware of the heaviness in my breasts and the demanding throbbing in my cunt. I moaned, not quite able to believe that I could be this turned on when the only physical contact between us was his thumb in my mouth and his hand in my hair.

  "If you knew what I wanted to do with you right now, you'd run." His voice was low and edgy and as sharp as a blade, and it cut right through me, leaving me wide open and vulnerable.

  I tried to respond but couldn't seem to make sounds. With supreme willpower, I tried again, and somehow managed to form words. "I'm not running."

  His eyes were dark. Stormy. And I could see the battle raging across his features. His face was cast in shadows, giving him an even more dangerous appearance, and for just a moment I wasn't certain if I wanted him to win the battle, or lose it.

  Then it didn't matter, because his fingers tightened in my hair, pulling me roughly to him in the split second before his mouth captured mine. Around us, other dancers hooted and whistled, but I barely heard them over the rush of blood pounding in my ears.

  I parted my lips, and his tongue swept into my mouth, claiming me. He tasted decadent, like the finest of chocolates, the headiest of liquors. I clutched tight to him, my fingers lost in the silky waves of his hair, my body pressed against him. I felt lighter than air, and it was a good thing he held me so tight, because if he had let go I would probably have floated all the way up to the ceiling.

  Our kiss was hard and wild, nipping and teasing. I tasted blood and didn't care. I wanted to feel everything, to give everything. To take everything. I felt frantic, as if I needed it all--every bit of his touch, his emotion, his being--because if I stopped or blinked or backed off, it might all go away. This might turn out to be a dream. A mistake. A fantasy.

  I didn't think that I could handle that. He was like a drug, and now that I'd tasted him, I knew that I could never give him up.

  He pulled away from me then, his breath hard and shallow. I whimpered in protest, terrified that this was it. But my fear dissipated when I looked into his eyes. We weren't stopping. Hell, if I went by the fire I saw burning in his eyes, I didn't think we'd ever stop.

  For a breathless eternity we just stared at each other, and I imagined getting drawn into him, lost in his eyes. Melding and merging and never doing without this feeling again. My heart was pounding so hard I was certain that everyone could see the movement of my dress in time with my pulse. I wanted to beg for him to touch me again, to kiss me again, but at the same time I didn't want him to stop looking at me, because under Evan's gaze I felt more alive and real and solid than I had in years.

  I didn't know if we stood like that for hours or seconds. I was deaf to the music, blind to the crowd. There was only Evan, watching me. Wanting me.

  He broke first, taking my hand and tugging me impatiently across the dance floor. I went willingly, following him down a dark hallway to a propped open fire door. He kicked it all the way open, then tugged me outside into a dimly lit alley. Immediately, I was accosted by the stench of stale beer and french fries, but I really didn't care. Alley or five-star hotel, it didn't matter to me. All I wanted was this man. This moment. All I wanted was to surrender.

  I remembered my frustration with Kevin, but that wasn't a problem with Evan. He took what he wanted, giving what I needed. Power, control, intensity.

  In one motion, he had me back against the alley wall, his arms caging me.

  "Dear god, Angie. You're beautiful."

  "Evan." That single word was all I could manage. The only sound I could push out past the swarm of emotions clogging my throat.

  "Do you have any idea how long I--"

  "What?" I demanded when he cut himself short. My word was a whisper, a plea. Hell, it was a prayer.

  "I'm sorry," he said, and fear shot through me, making me cold. "Christ, I'm so damn sorry."

  I reached out and clutched his T-shirt, refusing to let him walk away. It was only when I did that I realized that he wasn't walking and the apology wasn't meant for me. Or maybe it was. I didn't know, and I didn't care, because whatever he was doing or apologizing for or thinking about, it had nothing to do with leaving. I figured that out from the hard and fast way his mouth came down on mine, the way his knee edged between my legs. The way his proximity thickened the air between us, making it warm and liquid and sensual and safe.

  He broke the kiss long enough to meet my eyes. His were dark with passion. Mine, I'm sure, were wide with wonder and delight.

  I opened my mouth to speak, though I didn't know what I intended to say.

  He shook his head, then brushed a soft kiss over my lips. "Don't talk. Don't even think."

  I shook my head, then nodded, then shook it again. Don't think? Hell, I couldn't think. Not then,
and certainly not when his lips brushed my temple and his hand closed over my breast. Then, all I could do was gasp.

  His thumb brushed over my nipple, now hard behind my bra. What the hell had I been thinking? I should have burned the thing. Worn lace. Worn nothing at all.

  "Damn clothes," he murmured, and I almost laughed with delight at how in sync our thoughts were. That bubble of laughter, however, soon faded in the wake of the words that followed. That smooth masculine voice telling me he wanted to touch me, to drag his teeth over my nipples, to tug my skirt up and my panties down so that his fingers could cup and stroke me.

  No, it wasn't laughter that bubbled inside me anymore. Instead, it was molten lava. Hot. Thick. I wanted to bathe in it. To melt under his touch. To let him take me wherever he wanted to go.

  I sighed with pleasure, my hips shifting in response to his words. My back arching in silent demand for more of his touch. More of him.

  "Evan," I said again, only this time it wasn't a name, it was a plea. Hell, it was a command.

  His fingers twined in my hair, and he tugged, forcing me to tilt my head back and look at his face. I felt drugged and woozy, all the more so when I looked at the deep gray of his eyes, soft with lust.

  "Angie," he said, his voice flat and almost sad. I saw the lust fade from his eyes, replaced by something hot and hard. Before I even had time to fully process this change in him, he released my hair and smacked the brick wall behind me. I jumped, surprised and confused by this change in him.

  "Goddammit," he said. And then, more gently, "God, I'm an asshole."

  I shook my head, denying his words and his actions. I didn't want him to stop, and I didn't understand why he was.

  No, that's not true. I understood it--but I just wanted it to go away. The world around us. Promises. Loyalties. They had no place between us. Not now. How could they, when the fire that burned between us would render everything else to ashes?

  "Tell me." My voice was low. Breathy, but determined. "You said if I knew what you wanted, I'd run. So tell me, dammit, because I'm not running yet."

  "Tell you?" he repeated, his voice rough and uneven, as if he wanted to hold back but couldn't. "Tell you how I want to strip you bare? How I want your breasts to fill my hands, your nipples pinched between my fingertips until you cry out in pleasure and in pain?"