NYC Angels Flirting with Danger - By Tina Beckett Page 0,45

over each spot. He tasted wonderful.

Brad’s hands went to her shoulders, kneading and stroking, his eyes closed as she made her way down his chest, licking beads of water from a masculine nipple as she went. His breath hissed through his teeth, fingers tightening on her for an instant or two before relaxing their grip, thumbs stroking the sides of her neck.

Lord, her body was already pulsing down below, and he hadn’t even touched her in any of those places yet. When he did …

She was going to go up in smoke.

Reaching his other nipple, she changed tactics, tightening her lips, her mouth tugging on it with slow, steady strokes.

“Hell, woman,” he ground out, one hand moving to fist in her hair, though whether to urge her to continue or pull her away she wasn’t sure … and didn’t really care. Because she was already on the move. Down his abdomen, following a thin, fascinating trail of hair.

The muscles of her stomach turned inside out, clenching and releasing, a terrible excitement building deep inside her.

The moment of truth.

She went down on her knees, the water on the floor of the shower warm and wet. Just like his skin. Just like between her legs. Closing her eyes, she kissed his thigh, his arousal brushing intimately along the side of her cheek as she drew her tongue in a slow arc up to his hip.

The hand in her hair tightened fractionally, drawing her back toward the middle.

“I want your mouth,” he whispered.

Chloe froze, familiar pressure crowding her chest, obstructing her throat.

She’d been planning to. And she wanted it. More than anything. She parted her lips and started to lean forward, but the past wouldn’t release its grip on her airway. Her breath came in terrifying gusts, her lungs sucking down every drop of oxygen they could find. Fear began to paralyze her body, shutting down one muscle group after another.

Her lids squeezed together. “I can’t.” A half-sob came out. “I can’t. I can’t.”

The second he let go of her hair, she lurched to her feet, forcing her legs to move.

Move, move, move.

She ran, her feet slipping once, before she regained her balance, her only goal: escape.

Brad caught her before she reached the door, damning himself to hell for his mistake. The second his arms wrapped around her waist, she broke into wrenching sobs that gutted him, branded him the worst kind of fiend. He’d been so caught up in the moment, in the exotic sensation of her lips brushing across his skin, that he’d forgotten she wasn’t like the women he normally went after. And Chloe had paid the price.

“Shh.” Still holding her, he lowered himself to the floor, ignoring the chill of the marble, until he had her cradled in his lap, her head pressed into his shoulder as she continued to cry. “It’s okay. God, Chloe, I’m sorry. I never should have …” He closed his eyes, his throat working against the flow of emotions.

What had he been thinking? He’d known all along he was not the right man for this job. He’d just proved himself right.

He kissed the top of her head as her sobs slowed, tightening his grip to make sure she didn’t try to run again, his hand stroking up and down her back. “Talk to me. Please.”

“I wanted to … but Travis …” Her voice cracked between words.

Something from one of their earlier conversations came to mind. The whole talk of being frigid, the affairs with other women. “What did he do, Chloe?”

She shook her head, avoiding his gaze.

“Tell me.” He forced his voice to remain soft, trying to coax it out of her.

“He m-made me do things.”

He blinked then, as her meaning took hold, raw fury rose in his chest filling his head. “He forced you?”

Her head tilted back and watery eyes met his. “No, he didn’t rape me. But he would tell me what he wanted, and then when I tried to do them … it hurt. Or …” she licked her lips “… I couldn’t breathe.”

Which explained exactly what had happened in the shower. What kind of bastard got his kicks from hurting someone like Chloe? “Why didn’t you tell someone or leave him?”

Her shoulders rose and fell. “I was convinced it was me. And our marriage was good in most other areas.” Her eyes closed. “At least, I thought it was. And I felt trapped, like there was no escape.”

Trapped. Just like he’d felt when locked in that closet as a child.