Liquid Lies (19 page)

Neither of them breathed. God, she was so fucking beautiful, and how warped was he to think about that when her life had been ripped out from underneath her? He made himself look away. Her head fell into her hands. The sound that came from her throat was an amalgam of a groan and a sob, a frustrated laugh and an enraged shout.

“Hey,” he said again, because he was stupid and didn’t know what else to say. He fisted his hands so tightly the knuckle of a forefinger popped. He had to, otherwise he’d reach for her.

Her hands covered her face. She shook her head slowly, a few long, blond strands of hair getting snagged in the zipper of her sweatshirt. “There’s a tornado in my brain,” he thought he heard her say.

He couldn’t tell her it was going to be okay, because he didn’t believe that anymore. “Look at me.” Too late he realized his hand had sprouted a mind of its own. He touched her knee and didn’t take it away.

Slowly uncovering her face, Gwen looked at him in dazed wonder.

She wove a little on her seat. Her eyes traveled over him, inch by arduous inch. Had this been how she’d felt in Manny’s, when he’d let himself touch her, smell her, discover her with his blatant stare?

He straightened, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. What he
wanted
to do.

“I should go…” he began.

She launched herself at him.

They came together with a force that made him grunt. He caught her, one arm snaking around her narrow rib cage, the other hand hooking behind her knee. He pulled her legs around his hips, fitting her to him. Crushing her to him.

Their breath mingled in space a half-second before she devoured his mouth. The world went dizzy at her taste. Sweet from the silk of her lips and tongue, salt from the tears she’d shed before she stepped back into the house.

Fire licked through his body—fire that had been contained behind iron doors since the moment he’d tugged her against him outside her apartment. It raged free now, and he groaned into her mouth. Her answering whimper was tender and hot and…desperate.

Oh. What the fuck was happening?

Her mind wasn’t in the right place. And he had to keep a clear head to get them both out of this alive.

He gripped her waist and pried her off him. “Wait.” But she’d taken his breath and held it hostage, and his voice came out in a thin shred of a whisper. She dove for his mouth again, but he forced himself to duck away. “Stop. What are you doing?”

“Please.” Those gorgeous eyes brimmed with tears. “Make me forget. Make me forget where I am and why I’m here.”

He swallowed hard. Her heated gaze skipped to the tattoo where it escaped his collar and curled under his ear. She let out that incredible whimper again and bent to kiss the black lines on his skin. Right there, where the sensation of her moist lips shot straight to his dick. His chest vibrated with a moan.

“Gwen. Wait. I don’t…”

Her hands slid down his chest, grabbed fistfuls of his T-shirt, and pulled it out of his jeans.

“Ah, Jesus. Gwen, I don’t do this with clients.”

She dropped her hips, the hot place between her legs grinding against his erection. She tightened her knees and growled into his ear. “I’m not your fucking client.”

Holy…His body went completely rigid for one second. Two.

He paged through a million possibilities, but they all ended with him inside her.

Snatching both her wrists, he lifted them above her head. Noses inches apart, eyes meeting in furious lust, they breathed like they’d just staggered across a marathon finish line.

Peeling her off him like a wet shirt, he tossed her backward on the bed. She sprawled easily. No resistance, her head falling back, her spine arching. Goddamn, she was desire, all wrapped up in a tight little package that wanted him, of all people. She licked her lips and he wanted to tell her exactly what else she could do with them.

A new rush of blood raced for his crotch and he fell on top of her. The hard mattress didn’t give her up. He felt all of her beneath him, every curve, every bone, every movement. She met his mouth halfway, their mouths grinding together like teenagers making out in the backseat of a car minutes before curfew.

He’d been ready for this in Manny’s, when she’d teased him about the museums and he’d actually been truthful with her. When she’d smiled at him and laughed. When she’d told him to break a guy’s leg and then stood there to watch it done.

This woman…yeah, she was more than a body. She was the one with the hammer who’d shattered his wall and destroyed the Retriever, the sorry-ass dog.

Her fingers tickled his waist as she fumbled at his shirt. “Take this off.”

Gladly. He pushed off her and whipped off the T-shirt, tossing it somewhere far away. Gasping, she came up on her elbows and gaped at his chest. “Wow,” she breathed.

He knew what she saw. The vine tattoo originated on his left shoulder. The mass of leaves and twirling stalks tangled down one arm, across most of his chest, and trailed down his ribs. She liked it; he could tell by the glint in her eyes and the not-so-subtle clue of her fingers snapping open her jeans.

He watched her, breath snagged somewhere halfway up his throat, as she slid the jeans from under her fine ass. She was taking too long. He reached over and yanked them off her long legs. The palest light coming through the window made her skin gleam. Her underwear was bright white and sat low on her golden hips. The flat place between her hipbones begged for his mouth.

She sat up and reached for his zipper, but he was a step ahead of her. He toed off his boots, ripped open the fly of his pants, and pushed them down and off. The hunger he saw on her face couldn’t possibly match what he felt. No way.

Sliding a knee between her smooth thighs, he came back over her. Elbows outside her shoulders, he allowed himself a gentle touch and smoothed her hairline with his thumbs. The gesture seemed to startle her, and she jumped. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw a new sheen of tears draw across her dark eyes, but then it was gone and he was kissing her again.

His hands drifted to her ears, then her neck, then her chest. Something crinkled in her bra. Something sort of papery. Didn’t matter. All he cared about was that she still wore too many clothes.

He flicked the zipper on her sweatshirt, started to draw it down. She swatted his hand away. “No. Just fuck me.”

A melting glacier slid down his back. His lust snapped in half and crumbled to the floor. He shoved away from her and staggered back.

It didn’t matter to her who he was. It could have been Xavier groping her, his cock halfway home, and she would have taken it. Anything to get her to forget, right?

Wow, did he feel like a fool. He deserved it, though. He deserved that sick feeling of wanting everything from someone and in return only being wanted in part.

Gwen blinked up at him, confused. Then she sat up in horror. “Reed. No. I meant…”

He plucked his jeans and boots from the rug and straightened, throwing a hand between them. “I know what you meant. What you wanted.”

“I want
you
.” The words seemed to shock her. She even touched her swollen lips.

He paused, his body straining to get back to her, his mind dragging him in the opposite direction. “Think about what you just said. Then look at where we are. And ask yourself what you would believe if you were me.”

Though it took every ounce of power he had, he gave her his back and retreated to his bedroom.

EIGHTEEN

The hard knock on the other side of the bathroom door jolted
Gwen from sleep.

“You up?” Reed sounded gruffer than usual.

Maybe if she buried herself deeper under the blanket and pillows, he’d think she was invisible. Forget about her. Yeah right.

He pounded again. “Gwen, get up.”

She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to be here. Didn’t…

“I’m coming in.”

The door flew open. From inside her bed cocoon, she lifted a corner of the blanket and watched him stride across the floor. He stood at the edge of the mattress, a steel mask for a face.

“Up.”

She was the worst kind of fool: the kind of person who knew she was doing something idiotic and did it anyway. Reed wasn’t the same guy she’d wanted to sleep with back in Manny’s. He never would be. What the hell had she been thinking last night? That she could erase the pain of thousands of Tedrans and Ofarians by fucking the guy who’d kidnapped her?

They needed
her
, not her orgasms. She was immature for thinking sex could be any sort of cure, however temporary, and beyond embarrassed that she’d attacked Reed and demanded what she had.

She pulled the covers down to her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

The headboard seemed to fascinate him. “Forget it.”

Forget what exactly? That he’d grabbed her as eagerly as she’d jumped him? How his stubble had rubbed her skin wonderfully raw? The tattoo that spread organically across his skin and the fact that he was beautiful in the most dangerous sense of the word?

Stop it
. She tried to hate him again, to get back the emotion she’d thrown away last night. He’d done the right thing by refusing her. Nothing good could come of them being together like that. The memory of his mouth and hands on her narrowed the focus of her senses to only him, and she couldn’t afford that.

She sat up, holding the blanket high on her body. “It started off as one thing and turned into another.”

He cut her off with a slice of the hand. “I’m taking you somewhere today.”

“Where?” Only one place was possible: Genesai.

Now the lamp in the corner had his attention. He shrugged. “Not my business to know.”

Of course. Twenty-four hours ago she would have spit those words back at him. Tried to make him feel guilty for how he’d ruined her life. Only now she knew the truth. Now she was grateful for his ignorance.

Or was she? Because now she couldn’t hide behind loathing him. His presence in a house full of Secondaries compromised any chance she might have of escape. She couldn’t risk exposing herself to him. Maybe he really had volunteered to stay to make sure she was safe, but what good would that do now? Gwen was as good as dead no matter if he stayed or not. And because he was more deeply involved, he’d never be free either. He’d be a perfect witness for the Primaries when the Ofarians were discovered. He could go on TV shows, write a tell-all about his intimate encounters with the aliens. Make millions. Maybe he’d love that.

What an ugly, ugly mess.

“You have five minutes.”

“Are you going to tell Nora? About last night.”

His shoulders rolled back, down. “No. I won’t say anything. That wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

She sighed in relief and the blankets fell to her lap. He was in the middle of turning around, but he froze. A dark, scary look cloaked his face.

“What are you wearing?”

She looked down and pointlessly tried to cover her chest with her arms. All that did was push her boobs tighter against the gray T-shirt. Reed’s T-shirt. The one he’d been wearing when they met.

After he’d left last night, she’d thrown off her clothes in disgust, as though they were the things that had twisted her focus. His discarded shirt had lain crumpled by the lamp, still warm from his body and holding his distinct scent.

Now he stared down at her, looking like he wanted to rip it from her body, and not just because she’d taken it without asking. His lazy gaze traveled from her shoulders down to the T-shirt hem stretching across her bare thighs.

His long legs brought him to her in three steps. He loomed above her, much like he had last night in all his fearsome beauty. A shudder skittered through his breath.

Touch me again. Push up this shirt. Slide inside me and take what you wanted to last night.

When he went to one knee before her, her fingernails dug unconsciously into her ankle. Her lungs refused to work. Only his eyes moved. They dropped to her mouth, and it watered in response.

He thought he was so good at hiding his desire, but she recognized the tight coil of his arm muscles and the little clench in his jaw. She’d seen them last night, moments before she took his mouth and gave him hers.

She recalled the disconcerting moment when, in the midst of their wild, hungry, half-naked clawing, he’d draped himself over her and cradled her head. Dragged featherlight fingers over her hair and face. Kissed her with an aching tenderness that switched the area of highest intensity from between her legs to her chest.

There was none of that in him now. Only hardness. Only duty.

He leaned in, an animalistic twist to his mouth. She gasped, wondering—and perhaps fearing—if he intended to give her what she’d wanted last night: sex that was hard and fast and devoid of any emotion except anguish. She no longer enjoyed the prospect.

He edged even closer. Her mind swam dizzying laps in a turgid pool.

Then his hand opened, and in his palm lay the syringe and the
nelicoda
pill. “Pick one.”

Her arm still burned from where the needle had punctured yesterday. Keeping her eyes on his, she snatched the pill and popped it in her mouth. She moved to get up, maybe torture Reed a little by walking to the closet in only his T-shirt, but his fingers clamped on to her arm.

“Swallow it.”

The rolling thunder voice made her shiver. Made her imagine another situation in which he might say that.

She looked past him, out the triangle window to the glittering lake surrounded by frosted mountains and trees painted in orange and gold. Using her tongue, she pried the pill out from where she’d stashed it next to her gums and gulped it back dry. The pill lodged in her throat then finally slipped down. She opened her empty mouth and circled her tongue.

Reed’s hand slid from her arm and he rose gracefully.

“Five minutes?” she choked out as he walked away.

“You used up time with your little show-and-tell.” His back was still to her. “Now you have two.”

A silver Range Rover waited in the drive. No white van, no
blindfolds, no funky handcuffs with leashes. Apparently, Reed didn’t think he needed those. Cocky jerk.