He pried her fingers from his T-shirt and kissed her knuckles. As tenderly as he was able, he said, "No, Pagan. This is good-bye between us."
"But . . . but . . ." Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. "Blue. Don't do this. Please."
Maybe he should have done to her what he'd done to Noelle Tremain, and given her a reason to break things off with him. That way he could leave her with her heart intact.
No, he thought next. The guilt of what he'd done to Noelle still haunted him. This was the better way. The honest way.
The right way.
Sometimes the truth could tear a person apart piece by piece, but at least the pieces could be welded back together, stronger than before. With lies, the pieces went up in flames before they ever hit the ground, and there was nothing left to patch.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to change my mind about this. And, Pagan? You should be happy that I won't. You're far better off without me. You want a family. I don't."
"But I don't have to have a family," she rushed out. "Besides, I don't even want one. Not without you."
"Don't say that. Don't change your heart's desires for me or any man."
She pressed on. "Take some time to think about this. It's late, and you've been gone, so you're probably tired right now. Yes. You're tired, that's all. Get some sleep and we'll talk again."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not going to change my mind."
"Yes. You will. You must."
He tried again. "You're a beautiful, passionate woman, and someday a man will come along and put you first. But that man isn't me."
"I don't have to be first. I just want to be with you. Please, Blue. I love you. Love you so much."
He'd never considered the fact that she might actually love him. He wouldn't have stayed with her this long if he had. "You'll get over me," he said softly. "One day you might even thank me for this." Then he stalked out of the house, feeling like a total tool because the breakup was over--and all he wanted to do was go to Evie.
Twelve
BLUE BROKE SPEED RECORDS to get to Evie's house, hid his car, and swiftly snuck his way to her back porch, out of sight of her neighbors. Then he pounded on the door with enough force to bend the entire structure.
For the first time in their acquaintance, he was single.
A minute passed. Two. She didn't answer.
He knocked harder, leaving an indentation. If she wasn't here . . .
If she'd changed her mind . . .
He could have disarmed her system--again--but he didn't want to give up his advantage or add to the bill he still hadn't paid. She hadn't yet realized that no matter what improvements she made, she would never be able to keep him out. His power could fry the wires in mere seconds.
Finally, she opened the door. His heart kicked into an uncontrollable rhythm. Unlike Pagan, she hadn't dressed to please him. She wore a tank top and shorts, and she wore them well, her slender body on perfect display. Her hair was loose. Fistable. Her eyes were unreadable, but that was okay, because he could feel the emotion pulsing from her.
White-hot, consuming desire.
His own, always there, roared to the surface.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," she muttered. "For what I've said throughout the years. For what I've called you. I was wrong and I was cruel. I was a judgmental bitch, just like you called me. And I know these words aren't good enough. I know I owe you so much more, and I'll understand if you can't forgive me."
Something clenched in his chest. She saw him. In that moment he realized he'd never stopped hoping for this. "Princess, I've done bad things. I get why you said what you said. Yes, I can forgive you."
Relief bathed her expression. "Thank you."
He nodded.
She nibbled on her bottom lip. "You did it, then," she said. "You ended things with Pagan." It wasn't a question.
He answered anyway. "Yes."
"Good." She had her arms wrapped around his neck a second later, her lips mashed against his, her tongue thrusting deep into his mouth, demanding a response. He lifted her off her feet, his hands firm on her ass to hold her against him. Now that he had her, he wasn't letting her go.
Gentle. You'll break her.
He stepped deeper into the--kitchen, he noted--and kicked the door closed, then walked to the wall and slammed her against it. Screw gentleness. The kiss became a wild thing, so down and dirty he couldn't stop the little growls rising from his throat, his mouth pressing harder, insisting on more from her. Everything. All.
"Any idea . . . how good . . . you taste?" he asked between sucking and nipping at her.
"Don't talk. You'll ruin our truce."
His chuckle was dark and hungry.
His hands tangled in her hair, such silky, soft hair, and he fisted the strands the way he'd always wanted. He angled her head for better access, needing more, desperate for more. He was like a starving man at a buffet, taking, taking more, taking all that he could get, doing to her mouth what he wanted to do to her body. Possessing. Branding.
"You wet for me, baby?"
"Soaking." She jerked at his shirt even as she arched her hips forward, back, rubbing her core up and down on his erection, creating the most delicious kind of friction.
He removed her tank with a single tug. Her nipples poked through the thin fabric of her bra, and abraded his chest. He was so desperate for her, so hard. And his power was tugging at its leash. Beside him, several pots and pans floated in the air.
"I'm going to play with you for hours," he rasped. He wanted to tongue her nipples while his fingers thrust into her, pushing her over the edge once, twice. He wanted his mouth to descend and devour, and push her over a third time. Then . . . finally, then . . . he wanted to lift up and slam home.
"Don't bother," she said, biting his bottom lip. "Just do it."
The words startled him, and he frowned. No foreplay? "Why the hurry? You got somewhere to be?"
She licked her way across his jaw, then delved lower to suck on his neck. "Just want to . . . reach the . . . finish line."
Finish line? A quick in and out? So they could both get off, and the wanting could stop? So they could both walk away and forget it happened?
She didn't want to want him, did she.
Maybe he'd been wrong before. Maybe she didn't see him or like him, even in the smallest way. Because, despite her apology, she definitely didn't respect him.
Anger mixed with his arousal.
No sex, then. Not yet.
Not ever--Michael's daughter!
Yeah, but that was starting to matter less and less. Right now, it was her attitude he couldn't get past. But he had to take something from her. Otherwise he'd have a power surge.
Sure. That's why.
He scooted her higher up the wall, nuzzled her bra aside with his chin, and sucked on a pretty pink nipple. A broken groan left her. He tunneled a hand under her shorts, palmed the very heat of her, thrilling when she shouted with relief and pleasure.
"Yes!" The back of her head hit the wall. "Going to . . . oh, so close already . . ."
So beautiful. So mine.
"Grip me," he commanded.
Her eyelids flipped open, and passion-drugged eyes stared at him. "What? No. You'll come."
That was the point. "Do it."
"But--"
"Do it or I'll remove my fingers from between your legs. Tonight, we're going to make each other happy with a hand job. But that's as far as we're going to go."
"Why?"
"Because I said so. If you've got a problem with that, we can stop right now."
Her gaze fumed as she did as he'd commanded. She would never know how thankful he was for her capitulation--or how close he'd come to begging. She reached past the waist of his pants to clasp his length, and hell. With that one touch, she almost unmanned him.
"You're so big," she breathed. "Are you sure you don't want to put it in me?" She nibbled on his earlobe. "I think I'd come with
the first thrust."
Killing me. "Lick first," he commanded.
She licked his ear.
"Not there."
Understanding, she pouted for a moment, then removed her hand. He swallowed a moan as she licked her palm. Then, while her skin was wet, she clasped him again. The moist heat provided a smooth glide.
"That's not good enough," he said. He took her hand, forced it under her panties, between her legs, and let her rich wetness coat her skin. Then he returned her grip to his shaft.
"Harder," he said, "and I'll give you a finger."
She squeezed, slowly pumping her hand up and down. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure. This wasn't what she'd wanted, but she wasn't going to be able to stop herself from enjoying it, he noted with pride.
And when her clasp tightened, he sucked in a breath, doing as he'd promised and sliding one finger deep inside her. And, oh, he almost wished he hadn't. She was tight, hot, and soaking, just as she'd promised. He had to get in her soon.
"Faster, baby," he instructed, "and you'll get another."
Her speed increased, enough to wring a deeper moan out of him. So he gave her a second finger, stretching her. How long since she'd had sex? As tight as she was, he'd have to guess years. The idea filled him with a heady sense of possession, and he decided to reward her, working his thumb in a circular pattern at her apex.
"Blue!"
"You feel so good. When I finally get inside you, I'm going to pound so hard, take so much, you'll swear you're dying. Later, you'll beg me to pound even harder, to take more."
The dirty talk sent her over the edge. Her broken cry echoed as her inner walls clutched around him, again and again, holding him close and wringing every drop of pleasure she could from him.
Knowing she'd climaxed sent a white-hot lance up his shaft, and he exploded in a rush, pumping into her grip until the last of his shudders faded.
It took him several long minutes to come down from the high, and when he did, he heard her breakfast table crashing to the floor, followed by the pots and pans. He removed his hand from her--maybe the most difficult thing he'd ever done.
No. Wait. Not tasting the moisture on his fingers was the most difficult. But if he did it, if he gave in to the craving, he would next be on her. He wouldn't be able to stop himself.
He bent down and grabbed his shirt, then used the material to clean her hand. "One day soon," he said, "after we've both had a little time to think, we're going to talk."
She eyed him warily. "And what will our topic of conversation be?"
"Expectations."
*
A roommate.
A single, sexy male roommate.
A single, sexy male roommate who'd just given her an earth-shattering orgasm.
The thoughts rolled through Evie's mind, unstoppable. She'd attacked Blue the moment she'd found out he was single. He'd been just as frantic to be with her . . . but he hadn't wanted sex from her. Just a hand job.
She wasn't sure what to think about that. Or the fact that he wanted to talk about expectations.
What kind of expectations? His? Hers?
She knew what his were--no strings. He could see other people and she couldn't complain.
But what were hers?
She didn't want to think about it. She thought she might actually cry.
Apparently, for now, they were just supposed to pretend they hadn't had their hands in each other's pants.
"We've got work to do," he'd said, moments after dropping the chat bomb. "Go and get dressed in something that covers you from neck to toe, then meet me in your office. I want to watch the video feed from the club and listen to audio feed from Star's house. After that, we can figure out the best way for me to run into Tiffany."
Tiffany.
Gah. He had to charm the girl. Maybe more.
Evie wanted to kill her.
See? This is why you can't get involved with someone like Blue.
"I protest only one detail of your work plan," she'd replied, trying to act calm. "Let's do our watching and listening in the living room, not the office."
Now, dressed in a pair of flannel pj's, she hooked her laptop to her giant holoscreen TV, allowing them both to view the Lucky Horn video feed from the comfort of the couch. Blue already reclined there, gorgeous and shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose slacks.
He was allowed to show skin. So unfair.
She wanted to lean into him as she settled beside him. Thankfully, she had a big bowl of popcorn clutched tightly to her middle, preventing her from making a fool of herself.
She forced herself to concentrate. On the screen, Timothy Mercer, the man who'd tried to burn Blue alive, wandered throughout the Lucky Horn, shaking hands with a few of the patrons, leering at the girls as they paraded past him, and even slapping a few on the ass.
"Pig," she said, tossing a handful of popcorn at the screen.
"Good to know I'm not the only one," Blue muttered.
She stiffened as she read between the lines. He claimed he forgave her, but clearly he hadn't yet forgotten. "You're not a pig. I was wrong to call you one, and I'm sorry."
No response.
Fine. Back to the video, before she became a needy bag of pleas. Please tell me you've truly forgiven me. Please don't be mad at me. Please like me.
After hours and hours of watching Mr. Mercer repeat the same routine, she began to feel as though she were on a merry-go-round.
Finally Blue pressed Pause, the image freezing. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "We're friends, right?"
Yes. No. Maybe. After what had happened in her kitchen . . . "Right."
"Can I tell you something without getting a lecture about my whoring ways?"
He'd slept with Pagan after all, and that's why he hadn't wanted to go all the way with Evie. "What did you do?"
His eyes narrowed. "It's not what I did, it's what I feel."
Oh.
Her guilt became the white elephant in the room. She had to stop thinking the worst about him. He wasn't a bad guy. He was actually a great guy. And bottom line? She had absolutely no room to judge. It was just easier to acknowledge his faults and ignore her own.
"Tonight was hard," he said.
A pang cut through her chest. "With me?"
He threw a pillow at her. "No, smarty. I hurt Pagan pretty bad."
Finally she understood. The breakup. She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "You feel bad."
"Yeah."
"Even though you did the right thing?"
His gaze was stark. "Yeah. Even though. She cried."
A serial bang-and-bailer wouldn't care. He was so much more than Evie had ever given him credit for, wasn't he. "Do you love her?" she asked, tensing.
"No."
"Then you gave her a small hurt now to prevent a big hurt later on. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, Mr. Blue. I think I told you something along those lines at our first meeting."
Their eyes locked, neither of them willing to look away. The air thickened with awareness, always that awareness, and waves of his power brushed against her skin. Why? Why was this happening? She'd climaxed once tonight. She shouldn't be gearing up for another.
Blue jolted to his feet and backed away from her, toward the exit. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. We'll figure out a plan of action in the morning." With that, he turned and stomped from the room.
Thirteen
MORNING SUNLIGHT WASHED THROUGH the bedroom, splashed on the bed . . . on Evie, who was sprawled across the entire mattress. And she'd once accused him of being a bed hog, Blue thought with a wry smile.
He peered down at her, his entire body buzzing with energy--and need.
It wasn't going away.
Surrounded by wisps of white lace hanging from the posts of the bed, and the pale blue fabric of the comforter, she was Snow White after she'd eaten the apple. Or maybe Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince . . . and a kiss. I've had my hands in her hair. I've had m
y face pressed against hers. I've moved my lips against hers.
I almost had that pale, soft skin completely bared . . .
He fisted his hands to stop himself from reaching for her.
Last night, shortly after leaving her in the living room, he almost said to hell with it and jumped her. The heat of his desire practically scorched his soul. But first he wanted her to want him with the same ferocity he wanted her. Because if he took her, he would disappoint a very good man; a man he loved. He could even lose his job.
That was a lot to deal with, just for a casual affair.
Too much, really. And he wasn't going to do it, he decided.
Things with Evie had to be platonic from now on.
For the best.
Blue gave her a gentle shake. "I need you to wake up now, dewberry." Unable to sleep, he'd spent the entire night listening to the audio feed from Star's house. Finally, a few minutes ago, he'd heard something worthwhile.
She blinked open her eyes, her irises a deep, rich brown with striations of gold. He'd never noticed the gold before.
He really liked the gold.
Great start there, Platono.
"Blue?" She batted his arm away and grumbled, "What the flip are you doing in my room? And did you just call me 'dewberry'? Because I am fully prepared to castrate you with a dull spoon."
He grinned. "Get up and get dressed. We have a lead, and I know you want to tag along."
"A lead? What lead?"
"Star's guards have information about someone matching Solo's description. Apparently, he was spotted at an abandoned warehouse in No Man's Land, and they plan to gather the troops and go in guns blazing at dark, since they don't have the stones to face him in broad daylight. That means we can beat them there."
Blinking, she jolted upright. Dark locks tumbled down her shoulders and arms, and he had to force himself to back away from her before he did something stupid.
He strode to her dresser and pawed through the drawers, throwing a pink T-shirt in her direction, followed by a pair of socks, a bra, pink, like the top, and lace--nice--and a pair of pink panties. Lace as well. Really nice.
His stomach clenched as his craving for her intensified.
You respect Michael. You want to keep your job.
How many times would he have to remind himself?