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  “Yes,” he whispered, dark satisfaction thick in his voice. “Take what you need, kitten.”

  Oh God, the word kitten was like a tongue against my clit. I moaned, a loud sound in the room.

  He gave me more. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck yourself with my cock. Make yourself come.”

  It was like I had turned to liquid, and I swayed with him, rode with him, just a conduit for his heat. My head fell back, and pleasure turned into sparks behind my closed eyes. I’d had boys kiss me and grope me. I even had one unfortunate incident during the dark times, before Shelly—and Philip—saved me. But through all of that, I’d never felt as controlled as I did now, as under his thumb, not from the strength of his body but the force of his will. He could tell me to do anything in that low, pleased tone: to undress, to suck his cock.

  What he told me instead was somehow more humiliating. “I can feel how wet you are,” he said. “Give me more, kitten. Come for me.”

  My whole body tightened at his words, my secret muscles clenching around nothing. I could feel him there, stiff and throbbing even through his suit pants and my jeans. I could feel him, and he could feel me, even though we were completely clothed. And the more I pressed against him, the harder it was to resist.

  The climax didn’t come in a rush. It came inch by inch, vines wrapping around my ankles and dragging me down, scraping my nails along the ground in a desperate bid for freedom. It came with the breath squeezed out of me, every nerve ending attuned to the darkness beneath me.

  And when I hit the bottom, it was a sweet relief. I didn’t have a choice. Couldn’t fight him, fight this.

  My body knew who it belonged to, and its master groaned in dark satisfaction.

  He was still hard between my legs. He hadn’t climaxed yet, but I had. With a gentle shove he rolled me to his side—barely a foot of space on the bed by his uninjured side. I curled up there instinctively, my mind already hazy, drifting back to sleep.

  “That’s good,” he murmured, his voice thick. “You’re perfect.”

  Even with my cheek tucked against his chest, I could see the broad plane of him—and the erection that hadn’t subsided, barely contained by the fabric of his slacks. He must have been aching. He must have wanted to come.

  I could have helped him. I could have touched him.

  I could have taken him out and tasted him.

  But I wasn’t that forward. I wouldn’t even have known how to be. A hard teenage facade and brief stint in the Chicago underworld hadn’t change me at my core. I was still the innocent girl, the one who didn’t know how to please people, the one who didn’t really belong. I needed the roughness of his grip, the confidence of his tacit commands to tell me what to do.

  His hand stroked my hair slowly, and that command at least was clear. Sleep.

  I obeyed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  WATERY LIGHT FILTERED in through the plastic white blinds. Nightmares filled my head—the tang of blood, the taste of fear. I buried my face in the pillow, waiting for the memories to fade. It had been years now, but the dreams still came.

  Except as I became fully awake, I realized this wasn’t a dream.

  Last night. Philip. That really happened.

  The bed was empty. I bolted upright and scanned the room. He wasn’t here. Then I heard the water running. The bathroom door was closed. He must have been in there. Even knowing that, even with the logical answer clear in my head, I knew a moment of pure panic. Someone was in my room, and I couldn’t be sure it was him.

  Fear gripped my throat, making it hard to breathe. One day I’d been a sarcastic teenager, my biggest problems in life what lipstick to wear and passing my precalc test. Then men had dragged me out of the back of a club, and just like that, I wasn’t a little girl anymore.

  I wasn’t quite a woman either. I had been collateral then.

  And I wasn’t sure that had really changed.

  Only the courage and kindness of a call girl saved me that day. She took me to the one man who could keep me safe from anyone, from anything. Because every dangerous, bad man in Chicago knew that he was worse.

  So who could have hurt a man as powerful as him?

  What had happened to him last night?

  Shelly had kept in touch with me—with more than anonymous post cards. She had left the life for good and worked with a shelter helping other women do the same. And sometimes she would tell me about her time with Philip. Nothing dirty. The unexpectedly sweet parts. His love for his family. His loyalty. Things I fantasized about almost as much as his hard-packed body.

  The bathroom door opened, and I tensed. I hadn’t been able to fully relax for years.

  Except for last night, when he held me.

  All that strength, wrapped around me. A shield. A shelter.

  And so very temporary.

  Philip still had his shirt off, exposing broad shoulders and muscled arms to the morning light. That sweeping tattoo across his chest was a gritty counterpoint to the sharp, tailored clothes he usually wore. It was like a secret, this tattoo—something buried beneath the surface of his suits and his guns, something only I could see.

  My eyes drank in the secret, the black lines embedded in rough flesh. A strange rhythm beat through my veins—mine. As possessive of his body as his hands had been on me.

  His attention was on the towel he still held to his side. When he pulled it away, I winced at the spill of bright red. The strange and unsettling arousal faded away, leaving only urgent concern.

  “You need stitches,” I said, already crossing the room.

  He reached for the first-aid kit on the counter. “I’m fine. I just need you to do the bandages again so I stop bleeding.”

  It was a foreign pleasure that anyone would need me, that this man would need me. Even for something as ridiculous as applying bandages. “They’re not going to help. Not for long.”

  “I don’t need them to last long,” he said. “Just until I can get home.”

  “You keep a doctor on staff?”

  “Still with the attitude, kitten? I thought you’d grown out of that.”

  Indignation burned deep in my stomach, eclipsing my concern for him. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or the woman I’ve grown into.”

  Heat flared in his dark eyes, and his gaze traveled low, past the neckline of my tank top and the strip of skin exposed at my waist, to the private place between my legs, the one that still throbbed just from looking at him. A pleased light entered his eyes that told me that, despite his pain and delirium, he remembered what had happened last night.

  “I know how you sound when you come,” he murmured.

  A moan escaped me, half protest, half desire. It probably sounded just like when I came.

  “And I know what your hot pussy feels like when it rides my cock.” He paused, his gaze challenging me to deny it. “Or did I just dream that last night?”

  I pressed my lips together. My cheeks burned hot. “You were the one who grabbed me. I didn’t want to hurt you by fighting you off. Now of course I see that you would have deserved it.”

  “Probably,” he said, bending his head so we were close—so close. “Dreaming never felt that good. And I have dreamed about you, kitten. Don’t doubt that.”

  Surprise flared in my chest—along with a kind of panic. From the first moment we met there had been a connection, a wild recognition from one animal to another. It didn’t need words. We both felt it, even when I was too young to actually do anything about it.

  And I was still too young for him.

  He was still too dangerous for me.

  Nothing could happen between us beyond a rough grope in the dark.

  “What’s that from?” I asked, pointing to the necklace.

  “None of your business,” he said without missing a beat, stone cold.

  I didn’t flinch. I was proud of that much, at least. Of course I knew he didn’t owe me an answer, but a few hours ago he had been hard between my legs—it was a chil
ling reminder how little that meant in the world.

  I took the first-aid box and pulled out the last few butterfly bandages. The task was just a distraction. I didn’t meet his eyes while I smoothed the tiny strips of white into place over gashed, bloodstained skin.

  “Will you be safe?” I asked softly, still looking at the wound.

  “Of course,” he said, sounding surprised. Though I wasn’t sure if he was surprised because I cared or because I had ever doubted his ability to defend himself. There was a time I wouldn’t have doubted it. As a scared teenage girl on the run, he had seemed like some kind of god, invincible and capricious.

  He hadn’t been a god last night.

  He had been raw and wild and vulnerable. A man.

  I already knew I would never forget the fear I’d felt for him, finding him leaning against my door and bleeding. I would never forget how he made me feel with his hands on my hips and his cock a hot pulsing presence against my sex. He made me feel like a woman.

  A woman strong enough to ask the question we’d been avoiding. I straightened and forced myself to meet his cold, challenging gaze. “If it’s safe there, why did you come here?”

  His eyes were an unfathomable well, too deep and dark to see beneath the surface. “I’m always here. Wherever you go, I follow. Watching you, waiting for you. Wanting you. The only difference is last night—I didn’t leave.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  HIS WORDS FELL like bombs in my chest, igniting years of doubt and denial. It should have been a childish crush, my love for a man fifteen years older. For a criminal with enemies all over the city.

  It had always been more than a crush.

  And if he felt the same for me… God, my heart. It didn’t feel like relief—not the visceral bodily sigh of pleasure from last night. No, this was a minefield being set off all at once. This was destruction.

  How could I let him walk away, knowing he’d wanted me all this time?

  But how could I go with him and leave my entire life, my entire future behind?

  He solved my dilemma with a half-smile and a tap of my nose with his forefinger. It was the way an adult would treat a child, a return to our roles within this little play. It was a reminder that he had never asked me to go with him, so it wasn’t like I even had a choice.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said.

  “You aren’t invincible.” I ran my hand over his side, an inch away so I didn’t touch his injury. The whole area radiated intense heat, as if the destruction and fire came from within. As if the violence had always existed inside him, just waiting to get out.

  “I’m going to die one day, kitten. And I don’t want you to mourn me.”

  The thought of his fierce light going out made my heart clench. “That’s not up to you.”

  “Isn’t it?” His expression darkened. “Everyone in this city does what I tell them to. You should listen if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Did the person who did this listen to you?”

  Philip’s expression was grim. “He didn’t live to regret it.”

  I snatched my hand back, burned. A killer. That was what Philip was. Of course, if the person had been hurting him, it would count as self-defense. Somehow I doubted Philip was innocent in the whole thing, though. I couldn’t straighten out the tangled-vine morality of bad men doing bad things to each other. That wasn’t for me. He wasn’t for me.

  “Well,” I managed to say, my voice uneven, “then I’m sure you’ll be perfectly safe now that he’s gone.”

  That was a lie, and we both knew it. There would always be men lurking, waiting to take Philip down. It was a parting shot, because once he left, I doubted I’d ever see him again. This night would feel like a dark dream, much like the days hidden away in his house felt now. I’d fallen down the rabbit hole and somehow found my way out.

  I didn’t think I’d be so lucky a second time.

  His voice sounded hollow as he echoed me, “Perfectly.”

  My heart twisted. Our relationship may have been frozen in the wasteland of impossible dreams, but I still cared about him. I still needed him to be safe.

  The shrill of the phone made me jump. I wasn’t sure I had ever heard the landline ring before. Mostly I used my cell phone. The beige plastic phone attached to the wall came with the room.

  Philip must have seen the trepidation on my face. “You expecting a call?” he asked.

  I shook my head. Why would someone be calling now, right when I had a big, dangerous, wounded man in my room…unless it was about him?

  “Answer it,” Philip said softly, no mercy in his gaze.

  This was one of those moments with the earth shifting beneath me, splitting apart right under my feet. Like finding out my parents had adopted me. Like meeting Philip and discovering the dark side of myself. This was one of those times when I knew everything was about to change—had already changed, and I was just going to find out how.

  “Hello?” I said, my voice strangely normal.

  “Ella?” A whisper. “It’s me.”

  Confusion flickered through me. Why would he be calling me? “Sloan?”

  “There’s some people asking about you. Cops.” Then I remembered he worked in the building office downstairs.

  “Cops?” I squeaked. Philip’s gaze sharpened.

  “They’re on their way up,” Sloan said. “Are you okay? Do you need me to—”

  The line went dead. Philip had his finger on the button.

  “Hey,” I protested faintly.

  He wasn’t listening, though. He was already crossing the room toward the window, stopping only to pull a gun from his suit jacket. “How much time do we have?”

  My heart stopped at the glint of black, the smooth barrel. The confidence and grace with which he wielded it. This was who he was. A criminal. A killer.

  “Not long,” I said, my voice shaking. I doubted they would have lingered at the front desk once they flashed their badges and got my room number. They were probably already on the elevators. “You’ve got to get out of here. Take the fire escape.”

  “They’re waiting for me.”

  “The cops?”

  “Worse. They’re waiting for us to go out that way.” He gave me a resigned look. “We’ll have to take our chances with the cops.”

  Relief filled me. “Thank God. I’m sure if we just explain what happened—”

  A surprised laugh. There was something like tenderness in his eyes. “You’re adorable, kitten.”

  “I’m starting to think the kitten thing is condescending.”

  One eyebrow rose. “Do you want me to stop?”

  No. “What I want is for you to be safe.”

  “Good,” he said, opening the door.

  In one smooth move he pulled me into the hallway. I stumbled in surprise—and would have fallen, except he hauled me up against him, my back to his chest. His arm was a thick band across my shoulders. I didn’t understand why he was holding me this way.

  At the end of the hallway there was a ding, and then the elevator doors opened.

  Something hard and small pressed against the side of my head. A gun.

  Suddenly I did understand why he was holding me this way. My heart pounded against my ribs, fighting to be free. The rest of my body went completely, unnaturally still.

  “Philip?” I whispered.

  His voice was soft. “Try to act scared.”

  Act scared? He had a gun pointed at my head. I was terrified. “That won’t be hard.”

  A low laugh. “Good kitten.”

  Then we were moving. He propelled me forward, which was handy because I didn’t think I could move. My gaze was on the cops—they pulled their weapons and shouted threats to stand down—but the rest of me was focused on the metal barrel pressing against my hair. Would he really shoot me? God, even holding the gun to my head was a risk. What if his finger slipped?

  I shouldn’t have let him into my room. I never should have trusted him.

>   “Hello, boys,” Philip said as casually and confidently as if he were meeting men for business across a conference table. “What brings you here?”

  “Give it up, Murphy,” one of them said. He looked like he was in charge, a scowl etched into his face and hatred burning in his eyes. His skin was brown and weathered, his hair white at the tips. It was a rough-hewn appearance, as if he’d been hunting us through the woods instead of up an elevator. “Let her go.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s in my self-interest. Come to think of it, I don’t think a pretty little coed getting killed on your watch is in your self-interest.”

  I gasped in outrage even as a small, horrible part of me liked being called pretty. “How dare you. Let me go.”

  Both men ignored me.

  The cop’s eyes were threaded with red veins as if he hadn’t slept in days, weeks. Maybe he hadn’t. Those eyes narrowed, completely focused on Philip. “Hostages aren’t your style, Murphy. Getting desperate?”

  A soft laugh—this one somehow completely different from the one he’d given me a minute ago. That one had been genuine amusement. This was hollow—a mocking sound but somehow weary. “Detective Barnes, do you really think you’re going to nail something on me that I can’t shake off?”

  “It’s only a matter of time.” He nodded toward Philip’s side, the wound there. “There will be DNA evidence—”

  “Oh, that. I had the unfortunate luck to be mugged. So you might find my blood in the room. I don’t think CPD is in the habit of arresting victims of crimes, but maybe you’ve changed some things since you took over the shop from Daddy.”

  “I will catch you,” Barnes said coldly, nostrils flaring. “And you better pray there are people around when I do.”

  Even the other cops looked a little shocked at his words.

  “Until then,” Philip said, sounding unconcerned. He gestured with the gun to the side, and the cops reluctantly moved to make way for us.

  The hallway was so narrow that I could reach out and touch one of them. I expected them to make a move for the gun, to get me to safety, but they didn’t. I couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed by that, even if they didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt; I just wanted someone to care about me, someone besides Philip. And that summed up my entire existence.