Page 6 of Venus

Piston was thorn in my side. I hated him. I was also more attracted to him than any person I’d ever met. Man or woman. There were reasons I never had relationships. First and foremost was the fact that, being in relationship meant you had to care about someone. Caring about someone meant you had to protect them. Protecting them meant you put yourself between them and danger. I’d found out hard way, when I’d left for my training in FSB, best way to protect people you cared about was to stay away. Or not care in first place. Through years since leaving Russia, this was rule I’d broken. Not intentionally, but by becoming part of Salvation’s Bane, I’d put club directly in path of my enemies. Something I hadn’t seriously considered until Victor had abducted Lemon. So, Piston needed to get lost. Which meant I needed to push him away harder.

Room I used at Tzars was barren of furnishings save single-size bed, small table doubling as desk, and storage cabinet. I rarely needed it, but Sting’s woman, Iris, had insisted I have more than simple bed. I was surprised she hadn’t insisted on more furniture, but she’d respected my boundaries and refrained.

There was knock at my door. I had to grin, wondering if Daisy and Clover had let the other kids know I was here. They liked pink. Especially my eyes. I opened the door, not to the gaggle of kids I expected, but to big baboon I’d been trying to get away from.

I scowled. “I’m busy.” I tried to shut door, but Piston stuck his heavily booted foot in way preventing satisfying slam I wanted.

“Calm down, Shortcake. You’re not so busy we can’t have a little chat.” The look on his face was positively carnivorous.

“Shortcake?” I frowned up at him.

Smile split his face, but it wasn’t happy look. Was more like he was mocking me, or maybe there was hint of challenge there too. “Yeah. Shortcake. Because you’re sweet when you wanna be.” His grin got wider. “And you remind me of that little doll back in the eighties. My little sister had several of them.” Then he chuckled. “Strawberry Shortcake and Lemon Meringue. Gonna have me some fun when we get back to Grim Road.”

It took me moment for what he’d said to register. “Strawberry Shortcake. And… Lemon Meringue?”

“Yeah. Little dolls. One dresses in pink with strawberries over her dress. The other in yellow. One smells like strawberries, the other…” He let obvious linger, not finishing his sentence.

“Are you… calling me… some kind of…doll?” That couldn’t be right. “Because if you are, you know you die now. Right?”

The very last thing I expected was for Piston to bark out genuine laugh. This kind of displeasure usually had my prey quaking in fear. But not this man. Of course, not this man. Because, for some reason, hesawme, yet still wanted to be near me.

I rolled my eyes, trying to brush off his amusement as well as unwelcome warmth flooding me. “What do you want, Piston?”

He leaned in, his bulk feeling like wall even with door somewhat between us. “Let me in. We need to talk.” His words were serious, but he still had amused expression on his face I didn’t like. Not since Victor had sent me off to start my training had anyone been amused by me. When I stared at someone like I was looking at Piston now, only feelings they had were fear. Terror even. Not Piston. He looked like he knew exactly what he was in for and relished the challenge.

With exasperated sigh, I stepped back to let him in. Partly because I knew he wouldn’t leave until he’d said his piece, and partly because I was secretly relieved to delay the solitude that would force me to confront my conflicted feelings about him. And the pressing need to find Victor again.

Room felt smaller with Piston inside. His presence was too large, too intense. He looked around, probably noting Spartan furnishings with raised eyebrow, but said nothing about it. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against closed door casually. When he said nothing, only stared at me, I had to stifle urge to squirm under his gaze.

“Well?” I frowned, trying to read him. Might as well have tried to decipher hieroglyphics for all good it did me. There was amusement on his face but also that hungry look in his eyes. How long had it been since man had looked at me in sexual way? Had anyone ever? I was adept at reading people. Came with territory. Intent was everything in my world. If I didn’t read someone’s underlying intent, it could get me killed. With Piston, all I saw was hard lust. Like he wanted nothing more than to strip me bare and lick my body from head to toe.

“Well, indeed,” he muttered, wiping his hand over his mouth.

“Byad!” I took in deep breath, looking to heavens for patience. If I believed in God, I’d definitely pray for the stuff. In abundance. Or just the will to actually kill big fucker. “I don’t need this.” I had to turn away from him, which normally I’d never do. If I hadn’t, he’d have seen how much that fucking look affected me. Because it had. More than any sexual encounter in my life, this man affected me. With only a look.

I chanced glance in his direction in time to see him move from door and cross scant distance between us. He took my arm and turned me back to face him. His grip was firm but not harsh. Once I faced him, he did the same with my other shoulder. My leather vest was sleeveless so his warm, calloused hands on my bare skin was unexpected thrill. There was no way to stop soft gasp from escaping my lips.

For long moments we stood like that. Piston stared down into my upturned face. His jaw worked, bunching at the sides like he was angry. At me? Not that I cared. Or maybe, he was just as turned-on as I was getting and fighting it just as hard as I was.

The next thing I realized, my hands were on his chest, my fingers curling against his T-shirt-covered skin. Muscles played, giving me delicious hint at what lay under the thin cotton, and I wanted to dig in and hold him to me. My nails, which I kept razor-sharp, had to be poking against his skin. Wouldn’t surprise me if I’d left little pricks of blood in my wake.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Then he was kissing me.

I stiffened, unsure if I wanted intimate contact or not. I should push him away. Should drive my nails into his belly and eviscerate him. As soon as I got my fill of his delicious kiss…

His lips, warm and insistent, melted resolve I had thought fortified by steel and shadow. I kissed him back with ferocity that surprised even me, my hands moving from his chest up to tangle in his hair. If I scratched him accidentally, he didn’t seem to notice. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, yet it felt terrifyingly right.

Piston’s hands moved with possessive urgency, tracing line of my spine before pulling me closer. His touch sparked wildfire threatening to consume everything I’d built around myself. My defenses, my missions, my very identity negated relationships. Yet hadn’t I just been thinking how I’d managed to build relationships with people over years?

Yes. I should kill him. And I would. Just as soon as this unbearable tension eased. Just as soon as I figured out how to breathe again without his scent filling my lungs.

And that kiss, it wasn’t gentle or tentative. It was all-encompassing, fervent, as if he was trying to meld our souls into one. His lips moved against mine with desperate intensity that left no room for doubt. This wasn’t just lust. It was something fiercer, something that didn’t care about deadly secrets we both carried or the scars we’d hidden under our clothes and bravado. And I knew Piston had as many secrets as I did.

As his tongue sought entrance, my initial resistance melted like ice on hot blade. Against such incomprehensible lust, I had no defense. I should have. My training had been intense in not only combat and killing, but seduction as well as how to control myself and not get caught up in moment. But I now knew something I doubt anyone of those sadistic bastards who trained me knew. There was no way to combat feelings this intense, because they couldn’t be inspired by just anyone. And, oh, how they’d tried…

What I was experiencing currently, though, seemed to shove past back where it belonged, weaving through layers of my guarded self, unraveling years of solitude and survival instincts in moments both fleeting and eternal. Piston moved a hand to nape of my neck. It anchored me to present, to him. His fingers threaded through my hair, pulling slightly, sending shivers down my spine that were both pleasure and dire warning.

Suddenly he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes searching mine in dim light. There was vulnerability there I hadn’t expected to see -- mirror to my own raw exposure. We were warriors, killers, not meant to find anything but death in our futures. Right? That mantra had been drilled into me from beginning of my training.

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