One hand holding her head, his other hand slid down her body and cupped her breast. She moaned as he massaged her through the layers of her clothing, his thumb stroking over and over against the hard nub of her nipple. Her hands found his hair, soft and thick, and grasped and tugged at it as he tormented her with his mouth and fingers.
His hips rocked against her belly, and Becca gasped and shifted against him. Groaning, he dropped the hand from her hair to her ass and urged them more tightly together. Wetness created a maddening need for friction between her legs. God, this was crazy, but she wanted him like she’d never wanted another man. She dragged her fingertips over his chest, slipped her hand between their bodies, and grasped his cock through the denim. Oh, he was a delicious handful. She couldn’t wait—
“Stop.” He pulled back and grasped her wrists.
“Why?” she asked, missing his heat against her.
Chest heaving, he rolled his tongue over his bottom lip, like he was tasting her there. “Because you’re upset and vulnerable. And I shouldn’t take advantage. I won’t.”
“It’s hardly taking advantage if I want it.” And she did. She just wanted to lose herself in his body, his intensity, his strength, for a long while.
His fingers dug into her wrists, just shy of painful. “It’s not a good idea.”
Her gaze dropped to the bulge filling out the left front of his jeans. Jesus, if he straightened himself out, she had a sneaking suspicion the rise of the denim might not cover the whole of him. Her mouth watered. “Looks like a pretty good idea to me.”
“Damnit, woman.” The percussive blast of his curse drew her gaze back to his face. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“Why? If I don’t want you to—”
“Because I want to make you hold onto that bag while I bury myself in you so hard and so deep you don’t know your own name. But then tomorrow, in the light of day, when your brother’s still missing and we’re still trying to figure out the mystery of who broke into your house, getting fucked by a stranger in a warehouse will be just one more thing you have to deal with. And I won’t do that to you.”
The words absolutely stole her breath. She tugged out of his grip. His words dragged Charlie back to the center of her thoughts, where he should’ve been all along. Guilt sloshed over her arousal and pricked at the backs of her eyes.
“Fine.” She scooped her gloves off the floor and crossed the room to return them to their shelf, then made for the door. “What’s the code to your apartment?”
“Becca,” he called, a note of regret in his voice.
She lifted her gaze to him, and his face was all shadows and hard angles. Harsh, but beautiful. “No, I should thank you. You’re right. The code?”
He braced his hands on his lean hips. “Zero-five-zero-one-two. But Becca—”
“I enjoyed the boxing, Nick. You’re a good teacher.” She pulled open the door and decided to just leave it all out on the floor. With everything he was doing for her, he deserved the truth from her. One last time, she looked his way. “But you should know. You fought beside my father. And you’re helping me when you don’t have to. You don’t feel like a stranger to me.”
Without waiting for his reaction, she stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her.
Chapter 8
“Way to fucking go, Rixey.” He blew out a long breath, eyes still glued to the door through which Becca had just departed. “No matter which way you have to march, it’s always uphill. Shit.” He stalked across the room and slammed his gloves down on a shelf.
He thought about going after her but quickly dismissed the idea, because he wasn’t sure he could resist finishing what they’d started.
Watching her punch that bag, her eyes blue diamonds of concentration, her curves moving and flexing under that thin T-shirt, small grunts of exertion spilling from her open lips. It had been about as much as he’d been able to bear. Then, when he’d realized she’d been crying, that she’d literally been beating the emotions out of herself, a surge of protective possessiveness had run through him so swift and potent all he’d known was the need to get her in his arms.
And then she’d kissed him. Licked him. Sucked on his skin.
All those urges he’d had while she’d boxed had grown darker, needier, irresistible. Between his injuries and the ginormous mindfuck he’d been grappling with since his discharge, it had been more than a year since his body had last known the tight pleasure of a woman. And she’d stirred up a freight train of lust he hadn’t been able to hold back.
Jesus, her taste, her heat, the feel of her lush curves in his hands. Sweet fucking perfection.