The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,46
one slow nod. “I’ve seen it happen because of the damned box—people torn apart because of it. The worst of mankind want to possess that blasted thing and will stop at nothing to get it.”
Her body began to shake, ice spreading through her veins, her whispered words quaking. “They intend to tear me apart to get the box?”
His hand around the side of her neck tightened, his thumb jabbing into the flesh under her jaw. “I never wanted you to get involved like this. You were supposed to find the box, turn it over to Mr. Filmore, and we were to be done.”
Her gaze lifted to him. “You were the one that sent Mr. Filmore to me?”
His mouth clamped shut, but he nodded.
“Was the money Morty left me even real—the funds I was to trade the box for?”
He winced and he shook his head, his lips staying stubbornly closed.
“So whose money was Mr. Filmore going to deliver to me?”
He stared at her, not answering.
Her look dipped, her arms still holding her dress high falling to her sides, the fabric slipping from her grasp to land at her feet. The tiniest exhale passed by her lips. “Your money.”
She didn’t need to look up at his face for verification. His silence was all the confirmation she needed.
Her eyes closed for a long breath, the reality of how deep she was into this mess sinking into her mind, fear creeping into her bones.
She lifted her gaze to Wes, her voice quivering. “Would they truly rip me to shreds?”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to let that happen to you?” His words, raw, cut through the ice in her veins, his warm hand on her neck radiating heat. “Do you honestly think that, Laney?”
Her stare locked onto his.
She couldn’t lie, couldn’t escape what was right in front of her.
She shook her head, her voice a breathless whisper. “You wouldn’t.”
He crashed into her, his mouth meeting hers in desperation as his left hand wrapped around her back and he forced her body hard onto his, his right hand sliding up through her loose hair.
His mouth opened, his tongue demanding access and she fell into the kiss, opening to him, opening to his heat, to the brutal force that he held such rein upon and would only use to protect her.
Always.
He wanted her safe. He always did. No matter how he despised her, he wanted her safe.
Her head tilted to the side and he deepened the kiss, tasting her, drawing throaty mewls from deep in her chest she had no control over.
His face shifted slightly to the left of her lips, his words brushing against her skin. “I rescind my earlier words. There is one place I want to control you.”
Her eyes opened to him. “What? Where?”
“In bed. When my tongue is swirling about your nipples. I want to control every one of your screams. Every one of your gasps. Every twitch of your body. Every word uttered, begging me for release. In those moments I do want to control you and I’ll make no apology for that.”
The core of her tightened, the throbbing spreading fast and far along her inner thighs, her folds aching for him.
For all the hate he had for her, for all the hate she’d nurtured for him, she still trusted him. Trusted him with everything she was. Her body had known it before her mind had.
Her hands lifted and she captured his face in her grip. “I don’t need an apology. I need you to do that.”
A rumbled chuckle shook through his chest and his hand in her hair dropped, picking her up and setting her on the bed.
He stepped back for one frantic moment to strip off his clothes, then moved to the side of the bed, stalking her, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of her.
She scooted herself backward as he hovered above her, the air about him pulsating with his hunger.
His knee hit the bed, then the other, and she had to drop flat onto her back on the bed.
He grabbed her wrists, bringing them upward and stretching them high above her head. “What do you want? My teeth on your nipples? Me to make you scream? Beg?” The words rumbled around her, sinking her further into the bed, stealing away any control she thought she could hold onto.
Her mouth so dry, all she could afford was a nod.
A wicked grin crossed his face and with his right hand still clamped on her wrists, his