He raised a brow as she trailed off.
She bit down on her bottom lip. “Extremely coherent. As in, no drugs in my system.”
“Are you afraid I’ll hurt—”
“No,” she said, her denial so quick it soothed his pride. Made Wick believe he could help her while he helped himself. “I know you would never hurt me.”
“But?” he asked, prompting her, encouraging her to talk to him.
A furrow between her brows, she looked away, then back again, letting him see her vulnerability. The sight made him ache for her. He knew what it felt like to be insecure and uncertain. To live with unease every damned day. But as he waited for her to continue, patient in the wake of her silence, Wick wanted nothing more than to soothe her. To carry her burden, banish all the angst and replace it with comfort and confidence.
“Look, if you really want the truth, I’ll be honest. I came in here with every intention of getting close to you, but one look at you, like that and… God, Wick. You’re so strong. So much bigger than I am, and…” Shaking her head, she blew out a shaky breath. “It’s second nature for me to protect myself. My track record sucks. I’ve never been with a guy who hasn’t hurt me, and even trusting that you won’t, I’m just… I don’t know… freaking out a little.”
“I understand, Jamison.” He really did. His hands-off policy predated the Second World War. A helluva long time to live in darkness, without the warmth of another’s touch. But here… right now… in the presence of a female he couldn’t resist, Wick saw a chance to change tack and head in a healthier direction. Fear was a terrible thing, and trust more than just about knowing. It was about showing. So instead of backing away, he took his hands from his pockets and stepped toward her. When she didn’t shy, he raised his arm and held out his hand, palm up, in invitation. “Come, vanzäla. Let me show you how gentle I can be.”
The entreaty surprised him. The meaning behind it even more so.
He’d never thought of himself as a gentle male. A killer without conscience? Without a doubt. But as Jamison slipped her much-smaller hand into his, trusting him to keep his word, Wick reevaluated, seeing himself in a new light. Maybe change was possible. Maybe he wasn’t destined to be alone. Maybe… just maybe… he’d finally met his match.
20
With a gentle tug, Wick drew her into the circle of his arms. J. J. shivered in reaction, but let it happen. Resistance wouldn’t help her solve the mystery. Nor give her what she longed to collect… answers that would unlock the paradox he presented. Intense warrior vibe. Comforting touch delivered by gentle hands. Delicious dichotomy. Beautiful polarity. And as she waited—breath hitching, heart thumping, uncertainty rising—she wondered what he would do next.
Pick her up. Lay her down. Strip her bare.
All seemed like excellent possibilities. The kind most girls wanted. Problem was…
She wasn’t most girls. Not with her past and prison record. History had taught her caution. Her ex had taught her fear. So the question—the one she really needed to answer… and fast—went something like: respond with the desire she already felt or run scared?
Her hand still in his, J. J. exhaled long and slow. Such a big decision. So little time to decide which way to jump. Stay and discover. Or run and hide. The second option was the safest, but the first tugged at her, urging her to be brave. To move forward instead of away. To take what she wanted for a change and seize the moment.
So few opportunities, after all, ever came her way.
Good thing fate had a funny sense of humor, tossing her into circumstance, feeding on her curiosity, making her yearn to know him. Really know him every way a woman could a man. And as he closed his arms around her, and she settled into the hard curve of his body, J. J. let it all go. Every bad deed done. Every hurt suffered. Every punishment received. She deserved to know. Had earned the right to explore, and to a little happiness. So here… now… today, she would find the courage to reach for what she wanted. No fear. No second guessing. Self-preservation be damned.
The thought made her smile.
His eyes reflected her mood, shimmering like golden stars as Wick pressed her closer. Her palms met the wall of his bare chest and… oh my. Skin on skin. The zap of physical and emotional connection, two souls reaching out to touch each other. Instant recognition. J. J. perceived the shift, felt her world tilt on its axis, heard his low growl before she relaxed and leaned in, moving toward the inevitable instead of away.
Her cheek brushed the wall of his chest, then touched down over his heart. The steady thump picked her up, making hers catch and tumble until it kept time with his. Unable to resist, she caressed his shoulder. Muscles rippled beneath her fingertips, chasing her chill away.
“Beautiful,” she whispered, her head nestled beneath his chin. In an exploratory frame of mind, she played, allowing her hands free rein. Her touch soft, she stroked over his biceps, then changed direction. Brushing over the tops of shoulders, she moved lower to draw gentle circles down his spine. A tremor rumbled through him. She sighed, marveling at the incredible size and strength of him. “You’re always so warm.”
“Curse of a fire dragon.”
No way. Not even close to a curse. She liked that his temperature ran hot. “Do you breathe fire?”
“Kind of,” he said, his voice hoarse as she continued to caress him. Getting in on the action, Wick flicked at her T-shirt. J. J. sucked in a quick breath as his hand dipped beneath the cotton hem. Fingers spread wide, he palmed the small of her back. She arched. He took advantage of her slight twist and slid his free hand beneath the fall of her hair to cup the nape of her neck. White-hot sensation slithered down her spine. As her breath caught, he dipped his head, brushing his mouth against her temple. “My exhale is candy coated. Three layers of deadly. Magma surrounded by poisonous gas… fire on the outside.”
“A fireball with attitude.” As he chuckled, she rubbed her cheek against his. Day-old whiskers scraped across her skin. Hmm, yeah. She’d made the right decision. He was going to feel so unbelievably good in bed. “Must set the Razorbacks back on their heels.”
“That’s the idea.” Retreating a little, he raised his head and met her gaze. Molten heat made his golden eyes shimmer, sending shockwaves through her. Holding her immobile, he shifted his hips, pressing the bulge behind his button fly against her belly. “Where we going with this, Jamison?”
Ah, and there it was. The demand for truth. Do or die time.
Rubbing her lips together, she dragged her gaze from his and glanced over her shoulder. A messy tangle of rumpled sheets, the bed sat in the center of the room. No more than ten feet away. A ripple of excitement shivered through her. Desire picked up the cue, sending her sideways, urging boldness, making her give him the honesty he demanded earlier.
“We’re going over there,” she said, a husky shiver in her voice. “I plan to take you to bed.”
His grip on her nape tightened. “Is that a fact?”
“It is.”
“Probably should warn you, then.”
“About what?”
“I’m not good at this shit, vanzäla. Never had much practice,” he murmured, color spreading across the tops of his cheekbones. “I don’t know how to please you in bed.”
Tension rode each syllable, infusing his admission with emotion. Shame. Humiliation. Raw honesty. Wick owned every bit of it. And as his words tore at her heart, J. J. felt herself tumble down a slippery slope and straight into love. The fierce kind that came with compassion and a healthy dose of respect. For Wick’s courage. For his honor. For the vulnerability he showed her.