Page 49 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
She wrinkles her nose. “But tomorrow I’ll be sober and totally embarrassed.”
I won’t let her. “Do you need help getting down the hall and into the shower?”
“Are you offering to shower with me?” She sends me a come-hither glance.
It’s damn hard to resist. “Not when you’re tipsy.”
“What about when I’m sober?” she asks hopefully.
I swallow. “We’ll talk then.”
“That’s a no, isn’t it?” Her shoulders slump and she rolls her eyes at herself. “I should have known. I’m the ordinary girl who smiles at guests from behind the front desk and hands them their room keys. And you’re…”
“I’m what?”
“Hot. Of course you’re not interested. Of course you’re friend-zoning me. Tell me to shut up.”
I don’t. Instead, I pull her against my body, wrap my hands in her hair, and tug until she’s looking right into my eyes. “You want the truth, little girl?”
Her blue eyes go wide. “Please.”
Fuck. She even begs pretty. “The first time I walked into the hotel and saw you, all I could do was stare. Now? I think of you. I want you. I dream of you. I masturbate to thoughts of you. I would love to kiss you. I ache to spread you out on this kitchen counter and make you scream my name. And I would kill to fuck you.”
She gasps. Her eyes dilate. Her pulse beats wildly at her neck. Her nipples harden.
“And I would ruin you. I’d mark every inch of your skin so every man would know you belong to me.”
“But—”
“I would.” I pull harder on her hair and lean into her face, so close I can smell the wine on her breath. It makes me crazy because I know how fucking sweet she would be. God, I wish like hell her goodness could purify me and make me worthy, but nothing can. “I would destroy you. Don’t let me.”
Then I let her go and watch her scurry from the room before disappearing into the master. I want to chase her…but I don’t. If I put my hands on her again now, I’ll stop caring about everything except getting inside her and making her mine.
When I reach the washing machine, I take deep, angry breaths. Motherfucking son of a bitch. Of all the women in the world to fall for, why did it have to be the daughter of one of Uncle Sam’s most deadly covert spies? And why won’t he even consider me worthy enough to date his daughter?
I scoff because I know why. This business is dirty, and I’ve done things for God and country that would horrify most, especially someone with a soft, sweet heart like Vanessa.
With a defeated huff, I extract her ruined pajamas from the heap and trash them. I throw the knife in the sink, not giving a shit that it clatters loudly in the little room. It matches my frustration. I feel even better when I shove the sheets in the washer, toss in a pod, then slam the door. The thought of some bastard even thinking about touching Vanessa, lying in her bed—where I want to be—and feeling pleasure to thoughts of her, makes me want to hunt him down and put a bullet in his brain. At the moment, I can only start the cycle with a grunt.
What the fuck am I going to do with myself now?
I’m in uncharted territory. I need advice.
After yanking the phone from my pocket, I scroll through my contacts. All of my brothers’ names are lined up alphabetically. Mom thought it was darling that we all had names that begin with an R, and Dad, God rest him, loved her so much he indulged her.
Calling my oldest brother, Ransom, is a bad idea. Something happened to him. Not the shit with his baby mama, Lydia, that went down when he was in high school. We all know that messed with him. But recently, like the past two months. Whoever she is? She fucked him up. And now…he’s more deadly than ever.
I don’t dare reach out to Ridge right now. He’s deep undercover. But that fits. Not only is my younger brother buckets full of crazy, he’s the wildest of the bunch. My résumé is hardly sparkling, but Ridge’s is soaked in blood. How he’s not dead yet, I have no idea.
That only leaves Rand—but that’s a good thing. He fell for pop princess Sophie Larsen and they got married a couple months back. They’re already expecting a baby. And they’re perfect for each other. Best of all, he might have the answer to my dilemma.
I hit the contact, and he answers right away. “Hey, Rush. What’s going on?”
“You good?”
“I’m great. You?”
His voice sounds smoky, and I hear Sophie softly whisper something in the background. My guess? They’ve been enjoying married life this evening—and for them, the night isn’t over.
