Page 55 of Bullet

“And you thinkIlike to argue? This is most definitely a snuggle because we have clothes on.”

“Last night, I grabbed a shower but didn’t have a change of clothes.” As much as I’d enjoy a cigarette right now, I didn’t want to move either. She felt too fucking good lying next to me. “I wouldn’t consider wearing jeans and nothing else being dressed.”

Blood boiled in my veins from the heat of her palm on my bare chest. Her sleepy eyes held mine. The scents. The softness. The quivers and the heat. “You still want to pretend we’re just friends in bed?”

The curtains fluttered in the early morning breeze coming through the window, filling theuncomfortableness between us. Her focus shifted from my eyes to my mouth and took a slow journey over my inked chest and nipple piercing. I had the frame of a fighter, scarred and weathered, but hard with muscle.

“I don’t know what we are, Bullet. You’re nothing like Emerson. You haven’t lied about who you are. Maybe that scares me the most.” Her breaths grew shallow, and there was a tremble in her lips. “Emerson lied to me. What he didn’t lie about, he omitted. In the beginning, I was too naïve to know the right questions to ask. I had this foolish idea that we’d get married and have kids. But oops. Too late. He already had a wife and child.”

I stilled, then released her hand, and leaned up on one elbow. “He has a kid?” I had no issue killing a man who deserved death. Justice didn’t require a courtroom. But a man with the responsibility of a kid? If I was going to make a child fatherless, I had to know there was no path to redemption.

“Yes, and a wife.” She rolled to her side then sat up. She crossed her legs on the bed. “I didn’t know. Once we started dating, we were always together. I moved into his penthouse.” Her shoulders slumped. “Maybe there were signs. I made excuses for him. He worked long hours. Stress made him irritable. He could be mean. When he’s in a bad place, it’s best to stay out of his way.”

Her gaze locked with mine.

“When men show up at two in the morning to conduct business behind closed doors, you stop asking questions. He’d go out of town. I assumed he cheated since he wouldn’t take me on trips to the coast. I didn’t realize I was the secret.” She grabbed the quilt andpulled it higher, as if shielding herself from her memories.

“How did you find out?”

“I was so stupid about him until I wasn’t.”

I grazed my knuckles along her arm.

“He made the mistake of leaving his phone in the bathroom. The screen was locked. I couldn’t open the thread, but I could see the texts as they came in. His wife was emailing about their upcoming anniversary trip. He was taking her to Paris. To the Shangri-La overlooking the Eiffel tower. The same place he took me for our second date.”

“Sounds like a whirlwind romance.”

“It started that way. I was eighteen, and he blew my mind. I was charmed by his money and charisma. He claimed to love going to the ballet as much as I did. We were good until we got ugly.

“Sometimes, I wondered if I still would’ve fallen for him if I’d known he was married. Not that it matters now. Cheating on his wife is the least of his character defects.” Her eyes met mine again.

She continued, “I confronted him. He said the marriage was a business arrangement. The Paris trip was an obligation. I wanted to believe him, but I can be tenacious. I needed proof one way or another. When he left for work, I tore apart the penthouse. I found the evidence and a lot more. Weapons, cash, and photos…some that I wish I’d never seen.”

I lifted a brow.

“There were pictures from a party on a yacht.” She grew quiet. “There were young girls in thepictures. You want my secret. I knew then what he was. I was disgusted. I have so many regrets, Bullet.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” My tone wasn’t accusatory, but I wanted to know what made her stay.

“I tried. I only needed the lesson on betraying him once, but he made sure to remind me regularly.”

A volatile rage erupted in my gut. “What was the lesson, Stormy?”

A tremble rippled through her.

“Did he hurt you?”

She nodded once. “He never left a mark, at least not where anyone would see.”

The fucker was dead. I was glad she understood I was nothing like him. “You got me now, brown eyes. No one is going to hurt you again.”

“I want to kiss you.” She hesitantly leaned over. With the soft touch of her lips, I was fucking gone. With an unholy possessiveness, I fisted my hand in her hair, spun her to her back, and devoured her. I parted her lips with mine, sought her tongue, and curled around the taste of her.

I couldn’t kiss enough, touch enough, breathe her in deep enough.

I claimed her like I owned her, sliding my tongue into her mouth in a messy tangle of spit, teeth, and lips.

A submissive whimper from her lips was kindling on a barely banked fire. My cock dug into the curvature of her hip. Gripping my shoulders, she kissed me with a ferociousness that matched my own feral need.

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