When He's Bad (Walker Security Adrian’s Trilogy #2) - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,10
his expression indiscernible, a pulse in the air as he says, “It’s not as simple as me just deciding to trust you, Pri.”
I’m remotely aware of the drip-drop of water nearby, stone to stone, a simple, discernible act of nature much like our attraction. But as he’s made clear, that is where simple ends for us.
But I am just whiskey’d up enough to plow forward, not in the slightest deterred from my mission, a mission I can only call him. I want him to stop seeing me as a person who will judge him instead of a woman who cares about him. “I haven’t trusted anyone in a very long time,” I say softly. “But I trust you.”
“You think this is about trust, but it’s not.”
“Then what’s it about?”
His jaw flexes. “The cold-hearted facts. I did things. Things you won’t like.”
“I did things, too,” I remind him. “Things you won’t like.”
He sets the bottle down. “Pri, damn it—”
“Adrian, damn it,” I snap back.
“You heard what Deleon claimed,” he counters. “Why are you ignoring it?”
“I’m not ignoring it. You won’t talk to me. Not without that immunity agreement. I get that.”
“I will never talk about my brother.” His voice is low, almost what you would call soft, and yet somehow it bands around the words and converts them to pure steel.
That steel cuts through the whiskey haze, but it doesn’t shut me down. “You killed him,” I say. “I know.”
“How would you know that, Pri?”
“It’s bleeding from you. You did it, but unlike what Deleon said, you didn’t enjoy it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you had to come to the cabin to deal with killing a teenager you didn’t even know. There’s no way you weren’t torn up over your own brother.”
His response is to take a long drag of the whiskey before he sets it aside. The next thing I know he’s laying me down, his big body pressed to mine. The delicious weight of him sends a surge of adrenaline pulsing through me. “You think you know me?”
My fingers curl on his cheek. “I know enough.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I think you’re the one who’s wrong,” I counter.
He doesn’t ask what I mean. His lips lower, lingering above mine, teasing me with a kiss not yet realized. “This right now,” he says softly, “changes nothing.”
And now, I don’t ask what he means. I already know. His demons don’t just dance in his eyes, they dance with us, they mock us. They promise to end us.
And what he doesn’t understand is how little that matters to me. So much so that I can’t wait to meet them up close and personal and tell them, and him, they don’t matter. But he does. So fast, so easily, Adrian matters to me.
Chapter Eight
ADRIAN
I tell myself to get up, not to kiss her, not to hold her this close. The more I take from her, of her, the more she’ll hate me for it later, and yet she’ll hate me no matter what. And hate is hate.
Now is now and the rest can’t be changed.
With a mental “fuck it” I decide now is all we’re guaranteed, and my mouth closes down on Pri’s. I lick deep, drinking her in, the sweet taste of whiskey, chocolate, and sin on my tongue. She moans and my cock thickens, my body a live charge of lust, and that’s what I want this to be: lust, just lust.
Her fingers dive into my hair, tangling there, heat coursing through my veins, and I tell myself that this draw to Pri isn’t just lust. It’s about the forbidden. She’s forbidden. We’re crossing lines and I’ve learned I do that too damn well. I like living on the edge far too much and too easily.
I’m playing a dangerous game and doing it with the wrong woman. Pri will soon know too much about me, see too much of me, and I tell myself that’s the draw. My desire for her is fed by a burn to live on the edge. I did it for so long that I don’t know how to stop. Or maybe the truth is far more complex. All I know is that I want her more than I remember wanting anyone, ever.
“Adrian,” she whispers, eager for me when she’s too smart to go down this path, and yet she does with me. What the hell is she thinking?
She pants into my mouth, and my teeth nip her bottom lip, punishing it while my tongue laves the offended