Page 68 of Desire Me
“Agreed,” Sokolov said. “I’ve had plenty.”
Sokolov didn’t break a smile when he said that, so…not joking, presumably. Saint wondered just how many head injuries the man’d had, what exactly they’d done to him, and what the hell they were getting themselves into with him.
Whatever it was, he had no doubt the man could pull his weight in a fight. And a fight might very well be what they faced in Maine.
Chapter Thirty-One
“There’s something wrong with that man,” Rae murmured as Saint swiped the key card to open the door of their hotel room. King and Elliot were in the room to their left, and Luka Sokolov had just walked into the room to their right. They’d landed at the Portland International Airport midafternoon, and a short run north on I295 would take them to New Portsmouth after dark. In the meantime, between their interrupted night and an expected long night ahead, he and Rae needed sleep.
Saint led the way inside. “You mean Sokolov?”
“Obviously.” She headed straight for the bed, telling him exactly how tired she was. “He barely speaks, just stands there and stares.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if she was chilled. “And that stare… it’s not natural. Your team can be dangerous—I knew that when we first met—but Luka is definitely more…”
“Overt about it?”
“Yes. As if he couldn’t hide it even if he tried, so he just doesn’t.” A shiver shook her. “Scary.”
“Good thing he’s on our side.”
“No kidding.”
Saint set their duffel bag on the bench at the end of the king-size bed and sat beside it to take off his boots and socks. “King is waiting for a call from our local PI with any further news. It’s Sunday, so the warehouse is closed, but Murphy will keep an eye out, make sure the coast is clear for our visit tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “We have time for a nap before dinner.”
A tiny pause, then, “Just a nap?”
He glanced toward the bed and found Rae sitting up, in the middle of pulling her sweatshirt over her head. Her breasts were framed in black lace that he knew matched the panties she wore beneath her jeans—he’d watched her put them on this morning. Had refused to let himself think about them all day. When he did, he got hard, and there’d been too much going on to stop for even a few minutes alone, no matter how much he’d wanted it. No matter how much he needed to reaffirm that Rae was here, with him.
His.
Alive.
But now…
He stood to face her. Slowly, deliberately, he drew his shirt up and off and crossed his arms over his bare chest. Rae’s focus dropped to his bulging muscles.
“Come here.”
His voice was gravel-rough, the effect on Rae instantaneous: her eyelids lowered to half-mast at the command, and then she was rounding the bed, one slow step at a time, her hips taking on a sultry sway that sent blood pounding into his cock. When she was a foot away, she stopped. “Did you need something?”
His body tightened at the question. He reached out, let one rough fingertip trail along the edges of the lace that cupped her full breasts. His heartbeat began a hard pounding, shifting from his chest to his throat. “I needyou, Rae.”
Her mouth opened on a small gasp, whether at his words or his touch, he didn’t know. And didn’t care, because suddenly it wasn’t just his cock aching, it was his chest, and he had to get what was inside him out now, before they risked everything to get the Di Angelo cartel off her back. Rae might not be around tomorrow. Hell, he might not either if something happened tonight, and he wasn’t going to waste another fucking second without her knowing how he felt.
“I love you, Rae.”
She covered her mouth, and the ache in his chest tripled when he saw tears gathering in her eyes.
“Hey, don’t cry.” Stepping closer, he gathered her face in his hands and tilted until her mouth was beneath his, open, ready. He delved inside, and Rae met him halfway, her tongue gliding along his, her lips closing around him to suck gently. The pressure had his cock thumping against his zipper, demanding attention, but he ignored it. This moment was too precious to hurry, too important to rush.
When Rae drew back, he was grateful to see the tears had dried, but she still didn’t look happy. Not like he’d hoped she would to hear that he loved her. “What is it?”
“Saint, I’m still not healed.”
He frowned, rubbing his thumbs along her jawline. “You think I don’t know that?”
She traced the stubble gracing his cheek. “I know you do.” A deep breath. “What I mean is, I can’t promise you anything. I don’t know what my life here is like, not really. I don’t know what my plans and ambitions were. I don’t know what my future will hold.”
“If there’s room for me in it, I don’t care what it holds.”
