Bad Deeds (Dirty Money #3)



My palm flattens on Emily’s gorgeous backside, and she is trembling all over. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

“I know that,” she whispers, and then her tone becomes firm. “I trust you. Do it.”

Trust.

There it is.

This isn’t just about escape. This is her sending me a message. She trusts me, and even beyond that, she can handle anything and everything in this life we now share. It matters. And holy fuck, now I think I’m shaking and I don’t shake. Ever.

“Shane!” she hisses, arching her back slightly. “You have to do it. The anticipation is killing me.”

“That’s part of it, sweetheart,” I say, caressing her cheek. “The anticipation.”

“It’s too much. It’s too—”

“I’m going to count to three.”

“One,” she says. “Two—”

My lips curve and I add, “Three,” before my hand lifts and comes down on her. The first contact is forceful, but nothing that will hurt her. A sting that doubles that arch in her back and draws her gasp. The second stroke is immediately after, and a little lighter. The third is the hardest of all, and I finish it by cupping her cheek and leaning down to kiss her shoulder.

“No more,” I whisper, turning her to face me, cradling her body. Our lips are close, our breath mingling. “Tell me you’re okay?”

Her fingers curl at my cheek. “I am always okay with you, Shane.”

My hand covers hers. “I want to know who did this to you before.”

“No one who mattered. I told you. Nothing before you matters.”

“I still want to know.”

“Not now.”

“No,” I agree. “Not now.” I shift us, lifting her and pulling her across my lap, her legs straddling my hips, and then her hands are on my shoulders, and one word comes to my mind. Naked. She has allowed herself to be totally, completely exposed with me, in ways her past says she should never allow it to happen.

We linger together, our lips still a lean from touching, the air thickening, the need between us swelling like a wave that suddenly breaks, the two of us moving at once, our lips and bodies melding together. And in a collision of everything that’s happened tonight, we are kissing, touching, and all I can think about is being inside her. She tugs at my shirt, but I have no patience to remove it. I shift our bodies, and both of us attack the unzipping of my pants, and when I lift her, intending to set her aside to undress, somehow we are kissing again, and she’s back on top of me.

Urgency pulses between us and we shove down my pants. Holding her waist with my arm, I hold her and she wraps the thick, hard ridge of my erection with her hand and guides it to her sex. I groan as the wet, tight warmth of her body slides down my shaft. When finally she has taken all of me, I am buried to the hilt, and we stay that way, joined together. And in this moment, I again think that she is everything right in my world, in a night when everything else is so damn wrong.

My hand settles at the back of her head. “I will protect you,” I vow, and I don’t give her time to tell me why that’s wrong. It’s not wrong, and it will never be wrong. I kiss her, a long, deep, drugging kiss that seduces me when it’s meant to seduce her. No longer do I feel that dark, hard part of me. She softens me. She changes me. And as we begin a slow sway, I feel like I come back to her and to myself. Her fingers slice through my hair, tangling there, a brush of warmth, a tug of temptation. My fingers splay between her shoulder blades, molding her to me, even as my other hand covers her breast.

She moans. She sighs. She whispers my name and everything else fades. There is just the here and now. There is just Emily. She is the sunshine that was never supposed to exist in this storm I’m living. A calming breeze in the heat of demand, and still she manages to be fire in my blood. In this moment, I know it’s with her that I will always find me. With her, I will always escape them. And when she stiffens, when I know her pleasure is a few thrusts away, I want to hold back. I want to keep her in that moment, but I don’t. I want her pleasure too much. I want that moment that follows when she shakes and trembles for no one but me, and her body drives mine to an explosive release.

I collapse onto the cushion, and Emily melts into me, her cheek pressed to my shoulder, and I want to stay in this moment. But I can’t. Already my phone is ringing, calling me back to reality, and with it the memory of Adrian Martina standing in my apartment, where he should never have been at all.

“I need to take this,” I say. “In case—”

“There’s a problem,” she supplies, leaning back to look at me. “I know.”

And I wish like hell she didn’t know. I roll her to her back, reluctantly pulling out of her as I do. “Stay here,” I say, brushing hair from her beautiful, troubled eyes. “I’ll get you a towel.” She nods and I push off the couch, righting my pants I haven’t even taken off and tucking back in my shirt, which is a testament to how wrong this night has gone.

My phone starts to ring again, and I walk toward the bathroom, fishing my phone from my pocket. A quick glance at the caller ID with my brother’s number surprises me. I answer the call. “Is something wrong?” I ask, flipping on the bathroom light and grabbing a towel for Emily.

“What do you know about his treatment?” he demands, his tone gravelly, affected, and I have no doubt despite his every intention of beating me to the top, he’s as shaken as I am.

Inhaling, I lean against the sink. “I know the program is real.”

“Confirmed after dinner tonight?”

“Yes. Confirmed.”

“What are his real odds?”

Fleeting memories of our shared past, when we were not enemies but family, brothers, fill my mind, tempting me to answer him with every detail I know. But those times ended forever tonight when he threatened Emily’s life. “Does it really matter?” I ask instead. “He’s dead if it doesn’t work.”

He’s silent for several heavy beats. “He’s a bastard.”

Translation: Why is he letting Father’s potential death get to him? “I tell myself that every time I give a damn too. It doesn’t work. The idea of him dying still guts me.”

“That’s the magic of his manipulation,” he says. “Not only does he know how to drive a blade and twist it, he enjoys it.”

“We don’t have to be part of his game, Derek.”