Branded: You Own Me & The Virgin's Night Out (19 page)

her.

Her knees went weak.

Giving into the instinct, she pressed her hips back against him.

“Sloane.” Her name was a ragged warning on his lips. She rolled her hips against him once more and then she undulated her hips.

“
Fuck
!”

He caught the hem of her skirt and pulled it up, working the narrow skirt up her legs, over her hips. She gasped, the noise catching in her throat as he reached down, bold as you please, and cupped her between her thighs.

“You want this?” He pressed his mouth to her neck.

Sloane whimpered.

He slid his hand inside her panties, then, slowly, pushed two fingers inside. “Do you want this?” he asked, raw demand edging his voice.

In response, she just rocked back, riding his hand—or trying to. He leaned in, using his weight to still her body. “Are you certain?”

He bit her ear and she thought she just might die if he didn’t
hurry
.

Then he caught her cheek in his hand, pulled her mouth around. After a hard, brutal kiss, he said, “Answer me.”

“I…” Sloane licked her lips and tasted him. Just like she’d dreamed… She could taste him, hot and male and wild. “I want this,” she said, not moving her mouth away. “But…just this.”

As he lifted his head, the echo of his voice rose in the back of her mind.

Is there a problem…

If I disappeared…

“Just this?” he said quietly.

“Just this.” She slid a hand up, curled it over the back of his neck. Head craned up to meet his, she said, “After this…please. Don’t come back—don’t come looking for me anymore. Because you’re right. I am a smart woman and this isn’t good for me.”

Don’t come back
.

The words stabbed right through him.

That had been the plan, all along. Check and make sure…

He cut the thought off. He’d just check. Then he’d leave and stay away from her.

That had been the plan…

But then he’d touched her. She’d touched him. Even now, the warm of her body burned against his own, the scent of her surrounded him.
Back away
, he told himself.

That was the right thing to do.

But if Boone had given a damn about doing the right thing, he could have just called her. Or stayed away from her from the beginning—he’d known, even before he knew her name, that she was the kind of woman who needed a forever.

He whispered that, pressed his lips to her ear. “You deserve a forever…and I can’t give you one.”

Her body gave a hard, shuddering spasm. “I know,” she whispered, her voice soft. “Then just give me tonight—and then…”

Go.

He heard it in her voice. Weak bastard that he was, he’d give her tonight—her, and himself.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out the condoms he’d told himself he wouldn’t need. Tossing the strip on the counter next to her, he traced his fingers over the vivid purple that covered the heart of her.

She bent over the counter as he stroked her.
Slow
, he told himself.
I want to make this slow…

She cried out and twisted, shoving herself back onto his palm.

He caught the sad excuse of underwear in his hands and ripped it away.

Now she was naked, wet, open to him. He stroked one finger up the slick wet flesh as he bent forward, surrounding her. “I’m about two seconds away from fucking you, Sloane,” he said, pressing his mouth to her ear. “And this time…”

She whimpered, an involuntary shudder working through her body.

Boone fought to clear his head—impossible, though, when her heat pressed against him, her body soft against his as he bent over her.

“Please,” she whispered.

That was all she said, but the drugged, dazed heat faded away and he grabbed the savaged edges of control, forcing one hand, then the

other down on the counter on either side of her. “You’re certain?”

“For tonight,” she said, twisting her hips.

He pressed one hand to the middle of her back, urging her flat.

“Please,” she said.

His hands shook as he tore open one of the condoms. As he rolled it down his length, he watched, watched as she rocked her hips back once more.

“Be still,” he ordered. “Just…for fuck’s sake, be still.”

But she continued to rock her hips, as though he was already inside her and broken,
needy
little noises kept slipping from her.

He fumbled the rubber into place and caught one hip, stilled the desperate, feverish movements. He used the other to tuck the head of his cock against her entrance. She was so
wet
—

He groaned as he flexed his hips and pushed inside. She was just as tight as she’d been the first time and he grunted as he worked against the clenching muscles of her pussy. He went to withdraw and she made a keening noise deep in her throat.

Swearing, he surged back against her. She was so tight around him, tight and clamping down on him like she was already hovering on the edge of climax. “This…you…” He panted as he bent over her. “This is making me crazy.”

He pulled out, almost completely and then drove back inside, deeper, harder. “You’re so tight…and you squeeze…” He shuddered. “Just like that.”

Working one hand under her, he caught one small, firm breast in his hand. Sloane jolted against him and he teased her nipple, just the lightest pressure. She twisted her hips when he went to thrust deep.

“It’s not enough,” he growled against her ear, kicking her legs

farther apart. “Be still.”

Hard.

Deep.

Fast.

Over and over, he stroked, sweat dripping from him as her body twisted and writhed. Each hungry moan made his balls tighten, his blood burning so hot, he was surprised steam didn’t rise from his

flesh.

Her hands scrambled against the counter, desperate for something, anything to hold on to and he shifted his grip, his weight, reaching up to brace one hand near her shoulders. Her hand closed around it, her nails biting into his skin.

It was quick.

It was rough.

The room was filled with the sound of her desperate cries, the hard slap of his hips against her bottom, the sensation raced through her, radiating out from where they joined, where he filled her.

He bent down around her, pressing his chest to her back, needing as deep a connection as he could get. He raked her neck with his teeth and bit her, mindless. When she bucked against him, her pussy tightening around him, he thought he just might die from the pleasure of it.

And still she moved under him.

Sliding one hand down, he reached between her thighs and sought out the hard nub of her clitoris.

She sucked in her breath, going rigid. He pressed down—and she came, throwing her head back as a long, keening noise escaped her throat. He gave in, letting his own climax erupt—it was hard and vicious and he thought the top of his cock just might come off, just from the intensity of it.

Stunned, staggered, shaken, he had to brace his elbow on the counter to keep his weight from crushing her. Tiny little convulsions from her pussy still milked him. Groaning, he continued to lay there, letting the counter support the two of them. He should pull out, he should move…but he needed just one more minute.

Just one more minute.

He smoothed his hand down her spine, watching her in the darkness. She slept, deep and dreamless, not even stirring when he bent down and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

The night had been a haze of heat and sex, once more on the counter as he turned her to face him, her hair spilling around her like a veil as he gorged himself on her taste.

Then, in the hallway when he tried to make himself take her to her bed.

The fourth time happened in her bed and that had been hours ago. She’d barely stirred when he slid back into her bed but when he’d pulled her into his arms, she murmured his name and curled into his body.

Now, in the pre-dawn light, he sat on the edge of the bed and studied her, memorizing the curve of her cheekbone, the lush bow of her mouth. Not that he’d ever forget, but he needed the memory.

He wouldn’t be back.

The past few hours…

Even a smart woman can be stupid from time to time
, she’d told him.

Yeah, from time to time.

But Sloane was smart. She’d told him not to come back.

And he guessed he didn’t really have any reason to. He rested a hand on the slight flare of her hip, his fingers curling around to stroke the flat plane of her belly.

It was stupid, he guessed. Right up until she’d looked at him and told him not to come back, part of him had hoped.

“No.”

Boone looked at the woman who’d slid onto the rickety stool next to him.

She wasn’t the first prostitute who’d sidled up to him that night.

But she was the most determined, he’d give her that.

As she laid a hand on his chest, he caught her wrist and moved it away.

She whispered to him in Spanish, offering him things that might have interested him—once. Now, though, almost three months after he’d slid from Sloane’s bed in silence, it was her skin he felt against his own at night.

Her mouth he tasted in his dreams.

And her voice that echoed in his ears. Sometimes it would be his name. Other times, just the words,
Don’t come back
.

He’d spent most of the past three months telling himself he wouldn’t. That leaving had been the best thing. And every day, he found himself wishing he’d told the boss to send somebody else down here.

So far, the job had been a bust.

A mouth rubbed over his arm and then the hooker murmured, “I hear you’ve been looking for a missing little princess.”

Her words, although lightly accented with Spanish, were delivered in perfect English—and what she’d
said
…

Casually, he reached for the beer in front of him. After the heat of the day, the cold felt good going down his throat and he took his time taking another slow drink. Then he flicked her a look.

“I’m not looking for anybody.”

“Oh…” She leaned in, her breasts warm against his arm and her hand coming to rest high on his thigh. “I don’t think that is true. A rich man’s daughter, come to Mexico and she is now missing. You have been looking for her and you have money if there is news.”

Boone didn’t let himself react as she whispered, “I have news.”

Her eyes were almost as dark as Sloane’s.

Sloane
.

Her voice steady as she said,
There is no problem here.

No problem—

It had been bothering him, that talk, for the past few weeks.

“Would you like to hear my news?”

Boone shoved thoughts of Sloane out of his mind and looked over at the woman. Her eyes rested on his. “What kind of news do you have?”

Now she smiled.

Then she reached up and touched his mouth. “This news…we should talk about outside.”

He shrugged. “I’m still drinking my beer.”

“Bring it with you.” She leaned in closer. In the dim light, he could see the smooth texture of her skin, smell her, even. “Come with me.”

She slid off the stool.

Boone wanted nothing more than to stay there, with his beer as he continued his brood about Sloane.

But he’d spent the past two weeks in this armpit, looking for somebody with news.

Now it was time to get his head out of his ass and work.

• • •

Get my head out of my ass…

Boone jolted awake, that thought the one clear thing in his head.

Surrounded by darkness, a nasty, foul stench clinging to his nasal passages, his instincts screamed at him.

Even before he realized he had a bag over his head, he knew he had big problems.

His hands were bound behind his back—it felt like somebody had used a zip tie on him. Okay, that he could handle. Of course, he was also buck-ass naked, so any of the weapons he could have used were gone, but if he had the time and the opportunity—

“You’re awake.”

The voice was low and feminine.

Familiar, too, and Boone wracked his brain as he tried to figure out who it was.

“Awake enough,” he said after a quick mental debate. She already knew he was awake. No point in faking it.

He heard the rustle of clothing and then the warmth of her body.

Wherever he was, it was cold and he’d been there long enough that his skin was chilled. When she reached out to touch him, the heat of her felt like a blast from a furnace.

He didn’t let himself react.

She smoothed her hand up his shoulder, curved it around his neck. “You are…incredibly attractive.”

“If this is your idea of asking me out on a date, let me save you the trouble.” Boone fought to see through the weave of the bag, but it was too dark. The darkness was
all
he could make out. “I’m not interested.”

“Are you so sure? You’ve caused me a lot of trouble. If you cooperate, I could be persuaded to forget some of it.”

“Cooperative isn’t really in my repertoire.”

Nails scraped over his skin, a teasing, feminine touch.

Setting his jaw, he forced his body not to react.

“But if you don’t cooperate, I can’t let you go.”

“You’re not going to do that anyway,” he said bluntly.

She sighed. “Killing you doesn’t help me. And what I need is simple. It’s about the precious little princess you came to Mexico to find.”

Precious little princess
—

Fuck.

“Since I haven’t been able to find her, I don’t know what kind of help I can offer.”

“That’s easy.” A hand moved behind his head, tugging the hood off.

Now, just barely, he could make out a woman’s face. She was—

The fucking bar
.

He’d been sitting down, brooding over a drink and watching for his contact. His
late
contact.

And she’d slid onto the stool next to him.

“I guess you’re not a whore after all.”

In the darkness, her eyes glittered. “No.” Her lips curved, beautiful, sexual promise humming just below the surface. “I am not. But I would be happy to…service you if you will just assist me in this one manner.”

“I don’t need servicing, but thanks.”

She stiffened slightly, but relaxed so quickly he would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking. “Are you so certain? If you make me happy, your lifespan will be much longer than it currently is.”

With a gusty sigh, he rolled awkwardly into a sitting position. She continued to watch him, not pulling back even when he leaned forward. “Is this the part where you threaten to kill me? If so, just make it easy on us both and do it already.”

“You want to die?” Her eyes were black in the darkness.

“Not especially, but I don’t plan to tell you shit, either.” He managed a clumsy shrug. “So why not just do it?”

Her lips compressed. “Your brave banter will not last long.”

Boone held still as she leaned in. “Tell me what you’ve learned about Shiarra Kahl.”

Spoiled, rich little princess who took off into Mexico after her father refused to help her out of her latest legal problem. She runs a pregnant mom off the road and almost kills her—the woman loses her baby and the brat figures she can pay the woman off to make her be quiet.

All of that ran through his mind. He’d been trying to locate Shiarra for her father for weeks and he knew more about her than he wanted to.

With a crooked smile, he said, “Never heard of her.”

“Is that really the story you want to go with?”

• • •

Boone vomited.

Still naked, he all but hung from the chain dangling from the

ceiling. His wrists, arms and shoulders burned from the drag of his weight and at some point in the last hour—or had it been longer—his

vision had gone blurry.

Now, soaked with too much of his own bodily fluids, he half-choked as another spasm hit him.

“Do it again.”

He didn’t even look up at her voice.

He had just a few seconds to brace himself, and that didn’t do shit anyway. A prod was jammed up against his testicles and he screamed as pain exploded through him.

It lasted for what felt like days.

It was seconds or minutes, but long after the prod was removed, he continued to twitch.

“Are you ready to talk?”

He didn’t have the energy it took to tell her to fuck off so he just hung there.

Over the roar of blood pounding in his ears, he barely heard the footsteps, hadn’t even realized anybody else had approached until he heard a hard male voice.

In heavily accented English, the man asked, “Has he told you anything?”

“No.” The woman’s words were mournful. “He takes pain very well. Look at the mess he has made—but he won’t give me any information.”

There was a grunt and then, aware that he was being watched, Boone looked up and found himself staring at Eduardo Rosa Gonzalez. Boone’s stomach sank.

The man in front of him was head of one of the largest drug cartels in Mexico.

He was also the man reputed to be the last one seen with Shiarra Kahl.

“You must enjoy this, the pain,” Eduardo said, his black eyes bright.

“Breaks up the routine,” Boone said, his throat raw.

“Routine.” Eduardo smiled. “Your routine has landed you in a bad place, my friend.”

“Not the first time.”
Probably the last time, though
.

“Will he talk?” Eduardo asked the woman who was pacing around them.

“No.” She flicked Boone a dismissive glance. “I do not believe he will.”

Eduardo rubbed his chin and then came closer. “Tell me what I want to hear and you may leave here. My word.”

Boone’s laugh was a strangled, choked noise.

Shaking her head, the woman moved to stand at Eduardo’s side. “
Mi hermano,
he will not tell us anything. Shall I just kill him?”

Mi hermano
?

My brother?

“No, no.” Eduardo stroked a hand down her arm, smiling at the slight reaction Boone hadn’t been able to stifle. “What do you think of your host? My sister Luce. She is quite extraordinary.”

“Sure.” Boone looked at her. “For a crazy bitch.”

Her face tightened in rage but when she went to move forward, Eduardo caught her arm. “No, Luce. He wants to anger you into killing him.”

The thought
had
occurred.

“You won’t die,” Eduardo said. “I promised my beloved I wouldn’t kill you.”

Now Boone stared at him, hard.

“She is upset by the violence. Women.” He looked at Luce with a fond smile. “With the exception of my brilliant sister, very few are able to handle the harder realities of life. But this is an easy promise to offer. You won’t die—not at my hand.”

Eduardo’s eyes flicked past Boone.

He didn’t even have time to brace for the blow that drilled into the back of his skull.

• • •

The fetid air stank of human waste and unwashed bodies.

Boone sat with his back to the wall, lashes lowered. To the casual

passerby, he might look asleep.

But he was watching.

In a cell with eight other men, he had to watch. If he wanted to live.

He’d woken up in the back of a van and the
policia
had refused to answer his questions. After he’d tried to ask a second time, the butt of a Sig Sauer clubbed him in the mouth.

That had been four days ago.

The cut on his lip was slowly healing, but he had other wounds now. Scraped knuckles, a vicious black eye and he was pretty certain he had two broken ribs.

He was well aware that every time he closed his eyes, it might be the last time.

He was an American in a Mexican jail—the jails in this place were rough for anybody, but a lone American made a prime target and he had a bad feeling his days were numbered.

A ghost of a memory swam up from the back of his subconscious as his tired body tried to nudge him into sleep once more.

Sloane.

He closed one hand into a fist.

If he had any regrets at all, it was that he hadn’t had more time with her.

If I get out…

He cut the thought off before it could finish.

It was a sweet dream, but even if he
did
get out, nothing would change.

She’d told him not to come back and he understood why.

It seemed like that one night had happened in another life and now more than ever, he wished he’d tried for…something.

• • •

With a hand on the firm little mound of her belly, Sloane slipped out of the bedroom.

Pregnancy was going to drive her crazy.

For the first three months, she hadn’t been able to eat.

Now all she wanted to
do
was eat.