Wicked as Sin (Wicked & Devoted 1)

That made no sense to Brea. In a roomful of women, she was never the prettiest. Or the smartest. Forget the most gregarious, so she was never the most popular. She definitely wasn’t the funniest or the sexiest or the most interesting. Why had Pierce agreed to something so perilous and horrific to have her?

“Other than some frazzled nerves, I’m fine.” Another lie to mask her confusion, her desire. “What about you?”

He shrugged, his big body moving with stealthy grace. “Fine. If you didn’t know, the EMTs took Cutter to the hospital for some tests, but he’ll be all right.”

“I heard. I called Cage shortly after I received your text. He said his brother rang before the medical team took him away. He and Sweeney are on their way over there. Cutter is going back for an MRI on his head before they stitch him up.”

Pierce hesitated, then set his keys on the foyer table. He tucked his gun case on the floor underneath. “They’re waiting for you, right? Go on.”

He was letting her leave? Just like that? Without expecting anything in return? “But…I owe you. I’m prepared to give you what I promised.”

He looked her up and down, then raised a brow at her. “No, you’re not. And I don’t want a martyr. Get out.”

When Pierce brushed past her and headed for the kitchen, Brea whirled, frowning as she watched him pluck a tumbler from the cabinet. Her frown deepened when he filled it with whiskey and knocked it back in one swallow, ignoring her.

He’d not only given her a reprieve but seemingly released her from their deal altogether. She should be thrilled. She should be breathing a sigh of relief and running for the door. Instead, she felt shocked and disappointed. Angry, even.

What the devil was wrong with her?

It didn’t matter. Cutter was at the hospital. Cage and Mama Sweeney were waiting. She should be beside them. They might need her moral support and prayers.

Still, she couldn’t just leave without saying something. “I don’t understand. You did something extraordinary for me today that I—”

“It’s the same damn thing I did for Uncle Sam on the daily for eight years.”

The math on that astounded her. He’d seriously killed that many enemy combatants? “But you were paid for your work. I owe you.”

“Fuck that. I’m not your charity case, and I won’t have you feeling guilty because you ‘endured’ my filthy hands all over you. Besides, I don’t want the Boy Scout’s leftovers. So get the hell out.”

He poured another tumbler of whiskey and swallowed it back. Brea just stared. What was up with him? He pretended his kills didn’t matter, as if he’d prefer to be alone and screw the rest of the world. But under all his bluster, she felt his hurt and loneliness. He was lost, wounded. And he had no one.

Except maybe her.

Brea softened. “Despite what you think, I committed tonight to you and I’m prepared to see this through. But if you don’t want to have sex with me, then—”

“Oh, don’t kid yourself.” He slammed his glass on the table and stalked toward her on almost silent footfalls, spearing her where she stood. “Can you honestly say that you believe, for even a single second, that I’m not desperate to fuck you?”

Given everything he’d admitted the evening she’d brought him cookies? Given the way he was looking at her right now? “No.”

“No,” he confirmed. “I wanted you the second you opened the door at Edgington’s house, skirt swishing and good-girl smile in place. I wanted you even after I knew you were Bryant’s. Even when you refused to admit you want me, too. Hell, I even wanted you when you told me how much you love Cutter and offered me your body to save his life. I’ve imagined you, masturbated to thoughts of you, dreamed of you. So don’t think, for one instant, that I’ve changed my mind.”

His words stunned her. Brea’s heart raced. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m being straight-up honest and I want the same from you. That’s how you can repay me.”

His demand terrified her…but she couldn’t refuse. “A-all right.”

“Good. Now we might get somewhere.” Brea barely had time to grasp that he’d seen through her before he grabbed her arms and pulled her against his hard body. “I’m touching you. How does that make you feel?”

Heat radiated from him like a furnace, singeing all her exposed skin. She gasped. “Hot.”

“And?” His nostrils flared. His eyes turned impossibly blacker.

When she tried to draw in a steadying breath, his scent filled her head instead. He smelled like musk. Like man. Like the most tempting sin. Her knees wobbled. Her eyes went wide. Her heart quaked.

And her whole body came alive.

What was it about Pierce Walker?

“That, right there.” He pointed at her. “You want me, too, despite your better judgment. I see it all over your face. But you’re still reluctant to admit it. You promised to stop lying.”