Page 77 of One Secret

Cyrus is watching us. His face is high in color, his jaw a hard and square slab of granite. His eyes are practically demonic.

Jesus...

One heated look from him and my belly is quivering with excitement. Meanwhile, the self-appointed casanova Rocco has elicited exactly zero arousal out of me, no matter how expansive his caressing.

'You never know when being meticulous could pay off...' Rocco says to draw my attention back to him. The words are a clear invitation but I deflect with a demure fluttering of my lashes. I cock a hip against his hand and indicate my tight and limited outfit.

'Did you really think I could hide anything else in here?' I ask, deliberately adopting the past tense.

Rocco leans in close to whisper beneath the hum of chatter around us.

'Mmm... I was almost hoping you had.'

Before I can reply, that broad hand of Cyrus's anchors down on the back of my neck and spins me like a top. One second, I'm up in Rocco's personal space and, the next, I have none of my own. I'm pulled snugly against a wide and heavy chest, long lines of familiar muscle are pressed up against my body, and a memorable, hard length pokes firmly against my hip.

With his hand still on my neck, massaging my nape and working through my hair, and his lips close against my temple, I feel Cyrus's words as much as I hear them:

'If we've satisfied your suspicions...' he growls darkly. 'We'd like to head back to our room now...'

Another shiver runs through my pelvic floor and I snuggle closer to Cyrus's warmth.

'By all means...'

I can hear the smirk in Felix Caruso's voice but not even his gross chuckle can dampen my body's reaction to this man. To how I want to crawl over him and slip beneath his skin... to become part of him in a way that only sex allows.

Kept pinned to his front, and then his side, I barely see anything of our departure. I'm guided by Cyrus's hold and work to match my pace with his; to not trip over his feet. His sure steps carry us out of the Lexington Suite, across the hotel, and up through the elevator.

The entire way back to our room, Cyrus refuses to break our physical connection. One hand stays on my neck. The other works over my shoulder or my hip. It strokes the length of my bare arm or fiddles with my fingers.

He's forced to release me only to open our door with the little plastic key card.

Rushing inside, I exhale long and hard. Back in the suite, I hadn't felt fearful. Even in the moments of panic. Adrenaline had smothered anxiety and, with each hiccup, each mini-eruption of danger, I had adjusted, adapted, and evolved.

It had been nearly six years since leaving the armed forces but, apparently, that automatic response of action before reaction still lingers.

Now, behind only a single wooden door, I can react. I feel safe enough to decompress and take a long, hard breath.

'Phew...' My gasp is half-broken by a nervous chuckle. 'Well, that wasn't the most restful meal I've ever been invited to—'

I'm cut off by another powerful grip on my body. This time, Cyrus takes me by the arm, turns me to face him, and then backs me up hard against the nearest wall. I nearly trip over my own feet and he takes my weight with his pelvis by pressing it skin-tight to mine.

I gasp and then sigh deeply into his weight, into the delicious pressure of his body against mine.

'You know,' I mutter reproachfully. 'We really need to talk about this manhandling thing you've got going on—'

'I don't like it.'

I'm cut short by Cyrus's snarl and the look on his face. The demon eyes are back. This time with an added glint of frustrated betrayal.

'What?' I blink at him, lost in the mini-frictions and micro-sensations of his frame smashed against mine.

'I don't like it when other men touch you,' he growls, sending jolts of interest through my nervous system.

'You mean Rocco?'

I can practically hear his back teeth gnashing together.

'Him. Or anyone.'

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