A Wicked Song - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,11
with how that makes me feel right now. I should have thought of this, but my brain doesn’t want to work right now.”
His expression softens and one of his hands cups my head while the other settles on my waist. He leans in close, and even in my diminished state, his scent is teasing me again. And how can I not? He smells like spice, the kind of spice a girl wants to press to her nose and just breathe in. “I care about you, not how you live.” His lips caress mine, a feather-light touch that is so very tender. “Trust me. Trust us.”
Those words are far-reaching beyond the moment, they are a star shooting across a dark sky, lighting a path he seduces me down, his path. And for now, it works. “What if I want your money?”
His lips curve, “What if you want my body?”
I laugh despite the screams of my own body. “Kace.”
“Aria,” he murmurs softly and before I know his intent, he’s picked me up again, scooped me into those powerful arms, and walked to my upper-level bedroom, easing me onto the softness of my mattress.
He comes down with me, setting me on the edge of the bed, and easing my purse over my shoulder before setting it on the nightstand. He then leans over me, one hand on the far side of my body. “I’m going to get your medication from the car. Then I’m going to order us food. Are you thirsty?”
“No,” I say softly. “You don’t have to do this.”
“No,” he agrees, and in this moment, his famously intense eyes live up to their reputation, inviting me to drown in a sea of blue. “No, I do not,” he adds softly, and then he kisses my nose, pushes off the bed, and heads down the stairs. I roll to my side and watch him disappear, sighing. Kace August is here in my apartment, and he knows who I am.
I’m suddenly drifting back in time again, and this time, I’m reliving the night he’d chased me down outside the bar:
I turn as Kace steps in front of me, his hand settling on the top of the door, successfully caging me between his big body and the car.
“I thought you’d come back by the table,” he says.
“I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Alexander is intruding. You wouldn’t have. And—about Alexander.”
That statement is a stab of reality. He’s not here for me. He’s here because of some battle between the two of them. “What about him?”
“He’s got an agenda.”
I bristle, embarrassment heating my cheeks. I actually thought he came out here for me. And I don’t understand this man or what game he’s playing. “What about you, Kace? Do you have an agenda?”
His eyes darken, burn, heat. His gaze lowers to my mouth and lingers before it lifts. “Yes. I do.” And before I know his intent, he’s stepped into me, tangling fingers into my hair and leaning in close, his breath a warm fan on my lips and cheek. “This,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted to do this every damn second I’ve been with you.”
Instantly I’m melting like chocolate under the hot sun for this man and doing it in the middle of a cold October wind. I sink into him, his hard body absorbing mine. And then he’s kissing me, his tongue licking against my tongue, a delicious caress that tastes of passion and hunger. His hand slides up my back, molding me closer, possession in that touch that should scare me, but it doesn’t. I’m lost in the intensity of my need for this man, a stranger I should resist, but I can’t remember why. Why was I supposed to resist?
A horn honks, and Kace pulls back. “You are my only agenda,” he says. “Don’t forget that.” And then he’s setting me away from him, leaving me cold where I was hot only moments before. “Good night, Aria.” He turns and walks away, leaving me panting and stunned.
I return to the present, and suddenly his vow that night has new meaning. He knew who I was. The question is: would he have told me sooner than later, or would he have waited for me to tell him? And really, at this point, does it really matter?
My lashes lower and I decide that no, it doesn’t matter. What matters are his motives, and his agenda, which he claims is me, just me. But, is it?
And I’ve drifted into two memories in one night.
Why these two memories?
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