Page 49 of Price of Angels

She looked down too, hair falling to shield her face, as she stared at the way he cupped her. “Yes.”

“Does it feel good?”

“It…God,yes.” She was breathless, like she couldn’t believe it. “It does,it does.”

Michael pulled his hand away, adjusted her top so she was covered. Her bra was still out of place, and he could see her nipple outlined perfectly beneath the fabric.

“Oh, no,” she gasped. “We have to. Because you said you would do it after all.” The killing, she meant. Her hand went to his lap, pressing at his erection through his jeans. “Michael” – she lifted her eyes to his – “I want to honor our bargain.”

Her little fingers found the shape of his cock, straining against the denim, and she molded her palm to him, gave a gentle squeeze. She took a deep breath, her chest lifting, and there was her raised nipple staring at him, and he could almost believe she was ready for this, that she truly wanted it.

His hips lifted without his permission, boot heels digging into the rug as his body sought contact with hers.

He ground his teeth. He had to stop this, and stop it now, or he’d be on top of her, and it wouldn’t be the careful gentling that she needed.

“Stop.” Taking her by the waist, he swung her off his lap, setting her on the sofa beside him.

Holly looked surprised. “But I–”

“You’re not paying me that way,” he said, roughly. “You’re not paying me at all. I’m taking care of those bastards because no one’s ever deserved to die as bad as they do, and when I come inside you, it’ll be because you want it, not because it’s part of a business deal.”

Her eyes were huge.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

He had to get out of here. He staggered to his feet, and only then realized just how truly drunk he was. Unsteady, stiff and hurting and wanting her, he walked to the door and pulled down his jacket like an eighty-year-old.

“Michael.” She followed him. “You had too much to drink. You can’t get on your bike like this.”

“Right.” He leaned against the wall a moment. “I’ll sit on the curb for a bit.”

It sounded like she giggled. “No, come on. You can lie down for a while.”

“Oh no.” Like hell was he lying on her sheets, that smelled of her, when he was already hard and aching for her. He’d probably hump the mattress in his delirium.

“At least let me make you some coffee–”

“No,” he snapped. “Open all these damn locks.”

She did, fingers nimble on all the latches.

“Get some sleep,” he commanded as he stumbled out onto the landing.

“Yes, sir,” she said, and he definitely heard a giggle this time.

Holly stood in front of her bathroom mirror, naked to the waist, halfway through changing out of her uniform and into something warm and comfortable. As she watched her reflection, she reached to cup her left breast in her hand, the one Michael had touched. She ran a fingertip around the nipple, watching it shrink and tighten. A pleasurable chill chased through her, just as it had when it had been his hand against her.

That had never happened before. So tiny a gesture, such a small stirring, and he’d been the first to give it to her.

It felt like a gift. Some awareness she’d always been lacking.

Turning away from the mirror, she pulled on a hip-length hoodie and went out into the loft, in need of the coffee she knew would be ready by now.

Before she filled a mug, she glanced through the dew-glazed window out at the street below. Michael was still sitting on the curb, feet in the gutter, a thin wisp of smoke curling over one shoulder as he worked on a cigarette. Two white butts lay on the asphalt, tiny from her view up here.

With a smile, she pulled down two coffee cups, filled them both, and then began her careful way down to the front foyer, not spilling a drop.

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