Covert Vengeance

Jesse startled her by pulling the door open. Whatever she’d been about to say died in her throat because the man was standing there two feet away, backlit by a lamp in the corner, all his shirtless, muscular glory on display.

Power. Sheer masculine power and grace, his ripped chest and abdomen a shade or two lighter than his face and forearms, a thin trail of dark hair arrowing down from below his indented navel to disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Damn. And when she managed to drag her gawking eyes up to his face, the stark desire in his gaze stole her breath.

A wave of heat roared through her, a sexual awareness so intense it made her dizzy. A hungry ache ignited between her thighs. Yeah, she was sick of denying her needs.

“Need something?” he asked in an almost lazy tone, arching a dark eyebrow as he held her stare. Completely aware of what he was doing to her, and clearly enjoying it.

“I brought you this,” she blurted, holding out the ointment. “Marcus gave it to me for Kiyomi, but I thought you could use some. If you’re still sore.” Of course he’s still sore, dumbass.

He held her gaze for a long, breathless moment, then lowered his sculpted arm from the doorjamb and stepped back, granting her entry. She walked in, a gasp breaking from her when he turned to cross the room and she got her first look at the wide expanse of his back—and the damage she’d done.

A mass of painful-looking bruises marked him from the base of his neck to the small of his back. Large, angry blotches of dark blue and purple, a few turning greenish-yellow around the edges. She winced in sympathy. They must hurt like hell, especially given how he’d carried Kiyomi out of that basement earlier.

“I’m…sorry,” she said lamely. Sorry didn’t fix it or make the pain go away, but it was all she had.

He stopped partway to the bed where he’d tossed his shirt, and looked over his shoulder at her. “You gonna put it on me, or what?”

She blinked at him. “Me?”

“I can’t reach back there myself, can I?”

Okay, true. Yeah. “Sure.” It was the least she could do. And while touching him that intimately wasn’t smart, it also wouldn’t be a hardship.

He stood there unmoving, watching her expectantly.

Fine. “You want to sit down first?”

“No.”

Okay. She uncapped the tube and approached him slowly, her heart beating faster with every step. It was like walking up to a hungry tiger, a sudden tension filling the air.

Squeezing some ointment out onto her palms, she put the tube in her back pocket and raised her hands, pausing inches from his bare shoulder blades. “Ready?” Her voice sounded a little husky.

“So ready.”

His body heat radiated against her palms from inches away. When she finally touched him, lightly as she could to spare him more pain, she bit back a gasp at the tingles that shot up both arms.

She spread the cream across the skin between his shoulder blades, keeping her touch gentle. “Too hard?” she murmured, trying and failing to ignore her physical response to touching his bare skin. Smooth and warm, with a honeyed undertone that spoke to his Hispanic heritage.

“No, you’re good.”

She kept going, easing the cream into his sore skin, being careful not to miss a single spot as she worked her way down toward the small of his back. The entire time he stood unmoving, allowing her to try and ease his pain.

“There,” she finally said after a couple minutes, her voice barely above a whisper. “All done.”

He turned to face her. “Now my shoulders.”

She glanced at them, and the sculpted contours of his chest in between. “Both?”

“Both.”

She studiously avoided his gaze as she squeezed out more cream and stepped close, heart tripping all over itself at the way he watched her, this powerful, dangerous and sexy man mere inches away. Still, silent, and ready to pounce.

A low groan smothered in her throat when she cupped her hands around the powerful curves of his hard shoulders, a melting heat slipping through her lower belly and between her legs. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and even harder to pull her hands away from all that hot, smooth skin.

Strong fingers caught her chin. She jerked her gaze up to his, mouth going dry at the fire blazing in his eyes as he stared down at her.

All the need she’d been suppressing suddenly exploded to life. She reached for his face at the same time he captured hers between his hands and brought his mouth down on hers.

Heat and pleasure shot through her, every nerve ending in her body lighting up. She moaned into his mouth as she opened for him, her breasts pressed to the hard wall of his chest.

He slid one hand around to plunge into the back of her hair, taking charge, holding her still while he kissed her like he’d been dreaming about it for months. His lips were warm and firm as they sucked at hers, savoring. He nipped the bottom one, then soothed the little sting with a velvet stroke of his tongue that made her come up onto her toes, chasing it.

Their bodies were plastered together from chest to groin, the unmistakable hard length of his erection pressing into her abdomen. She moaned again, meeting the satin strokes of his tongue against hers as he locked a powerful arm around her ass and welded her to him, her hips pinned to the ridge of his erection.

Amber pulled her mouth free to drag in a breath but he came back for more. Always more, nipping and licking and sucking at her lips, stroking the sensitive inside of her mouth with sensual strokes of his tongue.

Her breasts ached, the nipples hard and needy, wetness gathering in her core. She rubbed against him, wanting more, gripped the back of his head with both hands to get as close as she could.

Again and again he kissed her. Hungry, fervent kisses. Then tender, more sensual ones that left her straining to get even closer, desperate for more. All the while he kept her body tight to his, adding the light caress of his other fingers down the side of her face.

He trailed the pads of his fingers over her cheek and jaw. Down the side of her neck to find a place that made her shiver. He zeroed in on it, dropping his head to suck at the sensitive spot, his tongue stroking for a moment, just long enough to make her gasp and arch, then back up to capture her mouth.

Amber was drowning and she didn’t care.

His free hand wandered over her collarbone. The outer curve of one tingling breast. Teasing her with the promise of what would happen next. And when she thought of what it would feel like to have his hands and talented mouth on her breasts and then between her thighs, she shuddered.

Immersed in pleasure and need, she skimmed her hands down the front of his body to the button at the top of his jeans, dying to feel that hard length in her hand. Inside her.

A strong hand closed around hers, denying her. “Uh-uh, belleza.”

Confused, sure she’d heard him wrong, she jerked her gaze upward. His eyes blazed with molten desire and he was hard as steel against her belly, both things completely at odds with the set look on his face. “What?”

The left side of his mouth kicked up in a sexy half-smile. He pulled her hand from his waistband and leaned in to kiss her again. A slow, liquid kiss that melted her insides, then he lifted his head and gently set her away from him.

It was like having a glass of ice water thrown in her face, the shock startling. “What the hell?” she said, the sudden punch of anger sweeping away the daze of confusion. He was seriously stopping this now? When he’d just set her on fire, worked up higher than she’d ever been in her entire life, and now he was going to leave her hanging?

His fiery stare made her over-aroused body whimper with unfulfilled need. “I’m not interested in being with you for only one night. So when you’re ready for more than just scratching that itch, let me know.” Then he nodded at the door behind her. “Thanks for the rubdown. Good night.”

She gaped at him. Good night? He was freaking dismissing her?

Outraged, Amber spun on her heel and took her aching, frustrated body down the hall to her own room. When she was ready for more than scratching an itch? What guy had ever said that, in the history of mankind when a willing woman was standing in front of him, dying for more?

Screw him and his games. “Scratching an itch,” as he put it, was all she was willing to give him.

Except it would have been more than that to her. It would have been unforgettable, and he’d robbed her of it.

She stripped and got into the bed, cursing him, then thought of the mass of bruises on his back.

Good. At least he would suffer more than her tonight.