Full Exposure

Page 35

“Trying to keep you alive!”
“My safety isn’t what’s in jeapordy here.” He shoved a hand through his hair, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Call Grayson, Serena. Tell him what happened.”
“I will. But I want to hear you say—”
He swooped down and kissed her, hard. “Don’t push me on this.” He tossed her the phone and headed down the hall for the kitchen.
She joined him a few minutes later, just as he slid her waffle onto the table. She looked from him to the food blankly. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “He’s got an alibi.”
“For what?”
“For yesterday and for the car accident. He doesn’t remember where he was the day the scorpion showed up.”
“Of course he doesn’t.” Kevin’s voice was viciously sarcastic. “Does Grayson know it’s bullshit?”
She shrugged helplessly. “I think so. There are calls from the prison phone to my home number. We all know it’s him, but any decent lawyer could make a case against circumstantial evidence.” She snorted. “Like I know so many other people at Angola.”
He sank into the chair next to hers. “I won’t let him hurt you, Serena.”
Her smile was strained. “Let’s not start that again. Besides, is it really even the point? I’m tired of this. I need it to be over.”
“Is Grayson at least going to pick him up?”
She shrugged. “Not yet. But he is going to have someone follow him, at least for a few days. Since the calls come almost every day, he figures he can catch him in the act. And he’s going to fingerprint the phone booth Damien just called from—it wasn’t a throwaway phone after all. It’s still circumstantial, but the more nails in his coffin at this point …” Serena’s voice trailed off as she fought tears.
Kevin studied her for a minute before commenting, “You need to get your mind off of this crap.” He gestured to the full plate. “Hurry up and eat, bebe. And then I’ll take you on a boat ride, show you the swamps.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“One of the benefits of being self-employed. Besides, I will be working.”
“Oh really? Planning on bringing your blowtorch along?”
He shook his head, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “Just a sketch pad and a few pencils.”
Serena’s eyebrows rose as he caught her interest. “You’re going to do a swamp piece?” she asked.
“I’ve done lots of swamp pieces. But today, I’ve got something different in mind.”
“Like what?” Was that breathless voice really hers?
“Like sketching you, n**ed and replete from my lovemaking.”
Her breath lodged in her chest, but she refused to make things easy for him. “I don’t think so. I’ll be eaten alive by mosquitoes.”
“I’ve got insect repellant.”
“Oh really?” Her eyebrows rose. “There are certain, sensitive parts of my anatomy that I refuse to put bug spray on.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be more than happy to take care of those spots for you, cher. No sacrifice is too much when it comes to your safety.” He snatched a slice of bacon off her plate before heading down the hall for his own shower, a wicked grin on his lips.
Chapter Sixteen
Things were working out exactly as he’d planned. She was back in the bayou with that laborer, cut off from everyone and everything that mattered. There were no police stations nearby and that stupid cop in Baton Rouge was too busy chasing his tail to bother checking in with her every day. That, plus the budget crunches of the last couple of years made it impossible for him to have a tail on her. God bless Katrina.
The path to Serena was clear and soon—very soon—he would make his move.
He could barely resist doing a little dance of glee right here in the hardware store, something that would look admittedly strange here among the cattle standing in line to check out. They wouldn’t understand his happiness, wouldn’t understand anything that existed outside their narrow scope of existence.
But they might remember, and though he was disguised, there was no reason to call undo attention to himself.
The line was moving slowly and the chains he carried were heavy and cumbersome. And he was bored, more than ready to get on with things. Patience, he reminded himself as he smothered his natural impatience by thinking about Serena. About how glad she would be to see him once he’d taken care of that bayou rat. How she would eventually be grateful that he’d saved her from a life of such mundane ordinariness. What he would do to her to teach her to be grateful.
Restlessness quivered inside of him—like a child before Christmas morning he wanted to rush straight for the prize. But it was a game of skill he was playing and there could be only one victor. One checkmate. He was determined that at the end, his king would not be the one in jeopardy.
And at the end of the game, only he and his queen would be left standing. Serena. Glancing at his watch—for the tenth time in three minutes—he sighed as the second hand slowly counted down. That bayou rat was already checked, he just didn’t know it yet. And if things kept going his way—again he shifted the heavy chains—Kevin Riley wouldn’t know what had hit him until it was too late to do anything about it.
Don’t worry, Serena, he told her silently. Your king is coming for you and he’s more than prepared to scale the castle.
* * *
Serena stretched lazily in the shade of the heavy trees. All around her the bayou buzzed with the sounds of wildlife—insects, raccoons, even alligators were out and about. And she was lying here, stark naked, right in the middle of it.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she told Kevin as she moved her eyes so that she could see his face. She was careful not to move her body as she’d already provoked one glorious temper tantrum when she’d stretched her aching muscles without permission.
“It’s no different than those photos you took of me.” His reply was absent, his mind quite obviously miles away as his pencil flew over the sketchpad.
“It’s very different. One, we were indoors and away from dangerous predators.” She eyed a passing alligator warily. “Two, it took a lot less time than your drawings are turning out to take. And three—” Her voice broke as Kevin looked at her—at her, Serena, not just the subject of his sketching. His eyes were hot and wild and more than a little turned on.
She felt her heart rate double, then triple. But he made no move to end the agony of lust she’d been existing in for the last hour. “Just a little longer, ’tite bell,” he murmured as he came toward her, shifting her slightly so that she was lying on her right hip—her right arm extending straight above her head while her cheek rested on her biceps. Her legs were almost straight—the bottom one bent just slightly. “I’m almost finished.”
He skimmed a finger over her nipple and it hardened instantly, begging for his attention. But he was already turning away, already picking up his sketchbook. And as the fever raged in his eyes, she forgot about the pose, about her modesty, about the insects buzzing around them and got lost in the powerful heat of his gaze.
It was incredible watching him work. Thrilling to see the intensity that came over him, the fierce concentration that took him over in the entirety.
Did he realize what he looked like, she wondered. When he sculpted or sketched or merely contemplated his art? The power, the beauty, the total and complete sexuality that flowed from him to his work and back again? It wrapped her up, took her along for the ride and suddenly she realized she had never felt more beautiful, more desirable, more cherished than she did at this moment.
How had it happened? When had he slipped past her defenses and become the first man—the only man—she wanted to wake up with? To stay with. To take from and give to. She would give him anything he asked, everything he wanted. It was frightening to realize how much she loved him, terrifying to contemplate what would happen to her—to Serena—if she yielded to him as completely as he wished.
Would she simply cease to exist? And if she didn’t, would she even recognize whatever parts of herself were left when the fire between them burned itself out?
“Serena, bebe, come back to me.” She shivered as Kevin’s voice slipped over her, around her. She refocused her eyes and realized he’d stopped sketching and was standing above her.
She grinned, shrugged off the fears it was too late to do anything about. “I’m right here.”
He shook his head as he settled next to her, his fingers rubbing soothingly at the sudden tension in her neck. “You were a million miles away.”
“Nah.” She shook her head. “Just a few hundred thousand.”
His grin was quick, but his eyes were quiet. Quieter than she’d ever seen them.
“I’m not like him, Serena. I won’t hurt you.”
She nodded, leaning into Kevin’s strength—because it was there and because she needed him in more ways than she was ready to acknowledge.
He picked her up and settled her on his lap so that she was stradling him—so that they were eye to eye. “Tell me you believe me.” His eyes were narrowed, intense, powerful—all the passion she’d seen him show for his work now focused on her. “Tell me you know that I’ll never do anything to cause you pain.”
Her heart rose to her throat. “Kevin—” Her voice broke and she had to start again. “I know you won’t mean to.”
His eyes narrowed even more while his h*ps surged powerfully beneath hers, and she realized—for the first time—that he was fully aroused. Huge and long and thick and more than ready to bury himself in her.
She moved against him, but his hands clamped on her h*ps like a vice—cementing her in place. “That’s not what I said.” He thrust again, this time so hard that he almost bruised her. She felt an answering heat uncurl deep inside. “Say it.”
Serena eyed him disbelievingly. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound, trying to intimidate me into saying I know you won’t hurt me?” She struggled to get away, but he held her firmly as he continued to thrust against her, the hard ridge of his jeans riding between her slit.
His eyes turned black, stormy. “That’s bullshit and you know it.” He lifted and lowered her and the rough material of his jeans against her wide open pu**y sent rockets of sensation shooting through her.
His callused fingers came up and squeezed her nipple, his thumb flicking over the hardened tip again and again. She tried to move, to rock against him, but his hand was still clamped on her hips. He was still in control and torturing her seemed to be the name of the game.
“Kevin—” Her cry was low and keening as heat streaked from her ni**les to her stomach. Down her spine, between her legs, into every part of her. “Come on …”
He shoved himself inside of her—jeans and all—and she screamed, but couldn’t get away. Couldn’t get closer. All she could do was take what he gave her, helpless to control his movements or her body’s response to him. Helpless to regain control of herself.
“Say it.” He bent his head, whispered the words in her ear before his tongue licked the sensitive spot behind her lobe. “Say you’re mine and you know I’ll never hurt you.”
Shivers ripped through her as his breath added another layer of sensation to the feelings already bombarding her. “Or what?” Her voice was shaky, but it was the best she could do.
He lowered his head, nipped at her shoulder and her neck before settling down to suck on the vulnerable curve where the two met. “Or this is all you’ll ever get.” He slid his hand away from her nipple, down her stomach to her hot and hungry clit. He flicked it once, twice—brought her right to the edge of orgasm with his thumb and the powerful heat of his body between her thighs. And refused to send her over.