With his free hand he undid the top buttons and slipped his shirt over her shoulders—all without breaking the kiss.
Hel, drowning as she was in the sensations of his generous lips pressed against hers, didn’t care what else he did as long as he held his line, his tongue marauding, her system reveling in this rare moment of being overpowered.
Pressing closer, he drew her body against the long length of his hard body, heedless of his sea-soaked clothing, which did nothing to cool the heat building in her veins.
As he drew her nearer, his thigh pressed against the crease of her thighs, wedging an opening between them, his wet clothes a sensual abrasion against her sensitive bare skin.
The echo of a sharp inhalation bounced around the room when he made contact with the molten core of her, and it took her mind a moment to process the fact that the sound came from her. Rational mind struggling to come back to itself, back to its home in the driver’s seat of her consciousness, she tried to remember the terms of their deal and her vow and her very name, but couldn’t seem to hold thought in the face of each sensory revelation.
He tasted like salted caramel on a shortbread cookie, the sweet savory combination of the one thing her mother knew how to cook that she looked forward to every holiday season. A flavor she couldn’t get enough of.
He smelled like salt water and leather and rope, and something she had never encountered before but her mind told her was his skin, a scent she’d find nowhere else but here.
He completely encompassed her, hard and hot, pressing against her like a molten iron bar, reshaping her into something new.
Waves of electricity rode through the remaking of her until she couldn’t be sure that she hadn’t become merely a conduit—a vessel created to contain all his energy and power.
He growled and the sound rippled across her skin, leaving a trail of shivers before burrowing deep in her core.
Eyes closed, her remaining inputs heightened, overloading her system with information.
His fingertips were rough, his skin was smooth and soft. His lips were full and he was in absolute control of their kiss, not so much guiding her into new territory as grabbing her hand to take her running into the unknown, fast, heady and daring. And though the destination was forbidden, it was hard to remember that, when his invitation had been delivered in exactly her language.
Though her balance was excellent she was filled suddenly with a sense of vertigo, falling, the only constant thing his kiss as she went.
From far away, she heard the sound of laughter, growing closer as her breath turned shallow and quick. Her breasts were sensitive beacons on her chest, alert in a way she hadn’t known they had the capacity to be, straining for contact she wasn’t supposed to want.
Reading her mind again, his hand came to her breast, the thin fabric of his shirt serving only to enhance the erotic sensation of the searing heat of his hand cupping her swollen flesh. She gasped, and in her mind, the laughing grew louder until she could recognize whose it was.
Like an ice bucket from the underworld, her father’s ghostly cackles bounced around her head, reminding her that he would always win in the end, even from beyond the grave.
Gasping, though no pleasure lingered, Hel brought the flexed side of her palm down against Drake’s aorta before gut checking him with a one-inch punch to the solar plexus. Remarkably, he remained upright, taking a step back with a grunt, sucking in a breath, eyes squeezing shut, before he cracked open an eye to look at her.
She remained bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard.
Looking up, she caught his open eye.
For a moment they simply stared at each other, Hel’s bangs falling in front of her face, which she knew was a mask of exasperation. She had never been good at hiding her feelings. No amount of practice in front of the mirror could remedy her of the failing.
Then he cracked a one-eyed smile, white teeth flashing, and reached out a hand to her. “Deal?”
Hel stared at the hand offered. It was massive, rope-scarred, marked with faded tattoos, and she couldn’t help herself. Rising to meet his hand with one of hers, the woman who’d grown out of the girl known for making risky wagers with the devil, the woman who had learned to put responsibility above desire, said, “Deal.”
God help her.
CHAPTER FOUR
TRIUMPHWASTOOsmall a description for the rush of sensation in his veins. Joy, relief, rage, pride—all of them coalesced into a throbbing new emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn’t closure—that would take bringing his father back, saving his mother from the hard life and exposure that had taken her early from him. But it was close. Close enough that he was tempted to let out a little of the tidal wave.
But he also didn’t respond to threats, not even his own emotional ones, and so none of it escaped.
Once again, he had grasped victory from the jaws of certain defeat. And all he’d had to do to do it was catch a high-voltage current wrapped in moonglow. His plan had hinged on her, that had always been true, but he realized he’d underestimated the power that gave her all the way up to her declaration. The fact that she had a choice had been in his mind the whole time. That she might refuse had never truly crossed it.
He had come this far through relentless self-assuredness, and emerged as the natural leader in every group effort he’d been a part of. He had been irritated by the element of uncertainty she introduced into his endeavor, and yet he’d underestimated it all the same.
Her eyes had steel in them as she’d spoken. She’d been serious. He’d been prepared to break down defenses that were social—they were weak at best. He was an excellent catch and had her disdain for her father on his side. Despite the absurdity of it, he’d never imagined her walls would be of such a deep and personal nature. Nor so irrevocable.
In her gorgeous blue eyes, bright and inviting as the Caribbean Sea, he’d seen her resolution, as binding as his own promise to himself and his mother’s memory. She would not be moved. And in that liquid firmament, his grand plans began to drown. He would return to Calla a failure, just as he’d arrived decades before. The admiral and captain, everything he’d done going down with the ship because in the end, he was just like his father—brought down by the d’Tierrzas.