His to Take (Wicked Lovers 9)

she grabbed his arm and pulled him back around. “Stop making me question my sanity, then ignoring me. I might be small, but I’m not some wimpy little pushover—”

“I’m warning you right now. Unless you want to be flat on your back again, this time naked and stuffed full of my cock, don’t touch me.”

It took a moment for his words to register. Finally, her eyes widened, and she uncurled her fingers slowly from him, then lifted both palms beside her head as if he’d barked at her to put her hands up. It would almost be funny if her rebuff weren’t so irritating. How had this girl twisted his balls up in knots with one damn kiss? He’d kind of been an ass about it, too. Being on edge in more than one way wasn’t good for his mood.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing at his tired eyes. “I’m out of line.”

“So you’ll give me my phone and let me talk to Blane?”

Why didn’t she just stab him in the guts? Faster and more straightforward than this verbal torture. He was already more addicted to Bailey than he wanted to admit—than he could even believe—but that didn’t change a damn thing. “No.”

Before she could argue with him again, forcing him to listen to her whine for her boyfriend, Joaquin yanked the door open and slammed it behind him. Quickly, he locked it.

Flopping back against the surface, he closed his eyes and sighed. What the fuck had happened in there? He’d gone in to convince her that she was Tatiana Aslanov and nearly ended up fucking her. Worse, now his body seemed cued into her, like she was the itch he hadn’t scratched and he was going to suffer a terrible set of hives until he did. No, it was more. Deeper. He hated this confusing feelings shit.

Distance between him and Bailey would be good. The door wasn’t enough of a barrier between them. He couldn’t afford to separate himself from her by a few miles, so he’d settle for a few hours, a few drinks, a few work-related problems. He’d check in with Hunter, Jack, and the others to see what new information they’d gleaned about her adoptive parents. Yeah, that would work. And this fucking boyfriend stood between them, too. Couldn’t forget about that.

Joaquin marched down the hall until he came to the smaller bedroom he’d crashed in last night. As soon as he entered the little space, he hunted through Bailey’s phone until he found the button that played her voicemails. He listened to Blane’s message once, twice. Then he couldn’t decide whether to be furious or thrilled as fuck.

He clasped her mobile in his hand, gripping it so tightly it flickered. With a curse, he shoved it back in his pocket, took a deep breath, and counted to ten.

If he were smart, he’d wait on this confrontation. With a bad mixture of desire and anger juicing his veins, he wasn’t feeling like he had two brain cells to rub together. He wanted to blame her because he desired her so badly, but that would make him an absolute douche. He was a grown man able to take responsibility for his penis. Honestly, he had no one to blame for this antsy, overheated mood but himself. He’d wanted to avenge Nate, so he’d pursued this case. He’d been determined to learn Bailey’s real identity, so he’d stripped away the façade of her life and exposed the truth underneath. He’d allowed his need for her to burn past his good sense, so he’d kissed her. No, he’d all but fucked her mouth with his own. And now . . .

“Shit!” He stalked back to the bedroom Bailey occupied, unlocked the door, and let himself in. He wasn’t at all quiet as he banged it shut behind him.

Bailey snapped her gaze his way. She sent him a wary stare but didn’t back down. Why did that make his dick hard all over again?

“What?” she snapped.

“He’s your boyfriend?” Joaquin challenged.

“My sex life is none of your business. What happened earlier between us shouldn’t have. Don’t try to coax my cooperation again by doing your level best to nail me. I was stupid enough to fall for it once, but never again.”

Every time she opened her mouth to defy him, he clawed an inch closer to taking her over his knee. He ground his teeth together and drew in a bracing breath, looking for some self-control.

“Answer. The. Question,” he snarled.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled him with a glare. “My relationship with Blane has nothing to do with your case.”

Damn it, she was right. Whatever bad attitude had crawled up his ass needed to crawl right back out . . . but he couldn’t seem to make that happen.

“I heard the voicemail he left.” Joaquin held up the phone. “Blane would be far more interested in being my boyfriend than yours. Why did you lie to me?”

She hesitated. “I just let you draw the wrong conclusion.”

“Bullshit. You lied.”

“I didn’t. I said I was involved with someone. I simply didn’t say it was in a dance capacity.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why the misdirection, then? You thought if I believed you were taken I’d keep my hands off you?”

“Something like that,” she admitted.

Joaquin scoffed. “Did it feel that simple when I kissed you? Did any part of that feel like I wasn’t dying to touch you?”

She couldn’t quite meet his gaze. With head bowed and light brown curls swirling around her shoulders, she looked fragile, confused, and a little contrite. “No. It felt like you wanted me, but that doesn’t make sense in my head.”

You aren’t alone.

“I don’t know what to think,” she went on, almost pleading for some sanity.

The anger drained from him. “Bailey, I’ve heaped a lot on your shoulders today. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have picked a fight with you.” He frowned, genuinely confused. “Or did you pick one with me?”

“Probably both.” She smiled a bit ruefully.

“Yeah. Whatever . . . I didn’t mean for things to be this way.”

Her expression fell. “I’m scared, Joaquin. I’m scared of where my life is now. I’m scared of who’s after me.” She hesitated, looking so delicate once more. “I’m scared of you.”

Hell if that didn’t make him feel like a heel. “Baby girl, I would never hurt you. I know we didn’t have the most auspicious meeting. I came on strong today. I’ve been an ass. I don’t have an excuse, just an apology.”

She lifted one delicate shoulder in a half shrug. “I tore into you, too. I just . . . I’m overwhelmed. There’s so much happening, and I don’t have anyone to blame except you.”

He nodded, taking a careful step forward. Touch her? Don’t touch her? Finally, he settled for cupping her slender arm, but he wanted so much more. “It’s fine. I’m a big boy. I can take it. Put everything on my shoulders.”

Instead, Bailey closed her eyes and seemed to withdraw into herself. “Even if you’d let me make a phone call, I hardly have anyone to talk to but you.”

His first thought was that she must be exaggerating. Then he paused. Parents gone. No siblings. Who else did she have in her life? “Tell me about your relationship with Blane.”

“He’s my best friend. I jokingly refer to him as my gay husband. He’s an incredible dance partner. He’s helping me prepare for the upcoming audition. He guides me through some of the catfights and ugly politics of a professional dance company. I listen to the trials and tribulations of his rocky love life. He pushes me to open myself more so that when I dance, people see my soul.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Joaquin blurted. He didn’t like the idea that Blane used her as a sounding board, then turned around and criticized her.

“No, he’s right. What separates a technically beautiful dancer from a spellbinding one is their ability to emote with their body. Technically, I’m great. Everyone says it. I have a hard time coming out of my shell. I want to. I mean to. Blane is . . .” She smiled, clearly in awe. “When he dances, you just feel all his life experience. His joy, his heartbreak, his struggles. He’s wide open for the audience, and they drink him in. He can move people to tears. He’s trying to help me be more like that.”

/>   “How?” Had he misjudged Blane? Maybe the guy swung both ways and wanted to give Bailey more “life experience.” If he did, Joaquin would be happy to knock his nuts back against his spine.

“He encourages me to take a chance here and there. He tries to help me find ways to laugh or cry or . . .” She shrugged. “Get mad, fall in love. Care about something other than the perfect pointe. I’m not sure I’m a very good student. I know he’s right, but I just don’t know how to actually follow his advice.”

This wasn’t his area of expertise. Emotions were something he usually avoided at all costs. They got people killed in action. But Joaquin couldn’t not try to help her. “What about when your adoptive parents passed away? Didn’t you feel something then? Or after your first boyfriend or . . . ” He grasped at straws. “What about after you had the dreams?”

“I feel plenty,” she corrected. “I think I’m releasing myself through dance, but everyone who sees me says I look like I’m just on the cusp of opening myself and giving something beautiful through performance before I pull back behind my walls. I’m not even aware of it.” She shook her head. “Sorry. But that’s what Blane and I do together. When we rehearse, he pushes me to my limits and tries to make me reveal my soul.”

Well, he wasn’t any expert, but he didn’t see how Blane talking and demonstrating would be productive. Something had to motivate her to tear down her barricades and share herself. She was keeping her feelings in for a reason. Fear? Self-consciousness? Could be anything. “I have faith in you. You’ll find it.”

Of course, until he figured out how to stop the crazies at LOSS from chasing after her, she wouldn’t be dancing for anyone. But one glance at her and Joaquin knew she’d been born for it. Her soul would wither without it.

He still wanted to avenge Nate, but he needed to fix this for her, too. How and why she’d become important he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t going to examine it, just admit that she was now a priority. He would make it better for her, period.

She sent him a tremulous smile, her pillowy mouth curling up. “Thank you. You know it’s really twisted that you abducted me, and yet I’ve had more meaningful conversation with you than I had with my last three boyfriends put together. File me under Patty Hearst.”

Joaquin laughed. Bailey was unpredictable—and he kind of liked that about her. The last colleague he’d tried to date? Snorefest. He’d known what she’d do next way before it had even crossed her mind. But this little ballerina seemed constantly full of surprises.

“Maybe it would help if you think of me not as a kidnapper, but as someone who just wants you to live to dance another day.”

Her eyes lit up. “I like that. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans before he grabbed her again and kissed her breathless.

She took a half step toward him like she might want the same thing. Joaquin sucked in a harsh breath. If he touched her now, he’d lose his damn mind and peel her clothes off. As good as fucking her senseless sounded, she was too raw. She needed to process the revelation of her identity. He didn’t need to give her something more to deal with.

But even with perfectly sound logic rolling through his head, Joaquin reached down to cup her face as she lifted it to him. Hell, he could drown in her eyes. She retained an innate sweetness he could almost taste on his tongue . . .

Christ, listen to him. Next he’d be drinking red wine and reciting poetry while taking long walks on the beach. What was up with that?

Still, he really didn’t give a shit how stupid he sounded as long as he got to taste Bailey again.

He leaned in, closer, dropping his lips near hers. His cock stiffened. His heart pounded. His breathing turned sharp. Just another inch until he had her mouth under his again . . .

A knock at the door startled him, and he jerked upright to find Thorpe barging inside again. He swore. Jesus, this guy had the worst timing ever. Hell of a bad trait for a Dungeon Master.

“What?” Joaquin barked, stepping close to Bailey. Shielding her as if he had to protect her from Thorpe? Where was his head? Well, besides in her panties . . .

“Just had a call from Axel.” Thorpe sounded grim.

Joaquin looked over his shoulder at Bailey, but she met his gaze head-on. Despite all the bad news she’d already had today, she hadn’t totally fallen apart. The woman was made of stern stuff.

“You ready to hear this?” he asked, double-checking.

“If it has anything to do with the people looking for me, then yes. I need to get back to my life so I can figure out what that’s meant to be.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that she didn’t have to wade to a conclusion all alone, but he stopped himself. After this case was over, probably in the next day or two, it was unlikely he’d ever see her again. He might not be a peach, but he refused to make promises he couldn’t keep.

“Good,” Thorpe said into the silence, shutting the door behind him. “Here’s what I’ve got. You have an elderly neighbor on your west?”

Bailey stepped up beside him and nodded. “Mrs. Lester. She’s kind of a busybody, but she means well. Why?”

“Magically, Axel charmed her into talking.”

“No, she likes to talk.”

“Maybe that’s it, because Axel doesn’t have a charming side. Anyway, she’s been watching your place all day. Seems she got suspicious when men started showing up at your house. She said that you having so much male company was out of character.”

She didn’t deny it. “Except Blane. She’s used to seeing him.”

“Apparently, Mrs. Lester saw you snooping around yesterday, Joaquin. She got pretty indignant when she didn’t see you leave and assumed you’d spent the night.” Thorpe chuckled.

He didn’t see the humor. “Who else dropped by?”

“When Blane showed up looking for Bailey today, Mrs. Lester realized he had no idea where she’d gone, so she went from annoyed to alarmed.”

“Mrs. Lester likes to bake cookies for Blane. She says he reminds her of her son. Poor thing has no notion that he can’t keep his dance regimen and eat those cookies.”

“After Blane left, she kept watching your place. Then it got interesting . . .” He grimaced. “A soldier she’d never seen before knocked on the door. She said she saw him walk around the house and peek in the windows. She was about to call the police until he knocked on her door and explained that he’s your uncle Robbie, home for a surprise visit.”

“I don’t know a soldier, and I don’t have an uncle Robbie.” Horror spread across her face.

“That’s what I thought. Axel asked her to describe your ‘uncle’s’ uniform. What she said was bang on with what Callie had seen before. They sound exactly like the uniforms the nut jobs of LOSS wear.”

So their speculations had been right. Someone who’d tried to dig up Aslanov’s research and silence Callie had turned their attention to the scientist’s long-lost daughter. That didn’t particularly make Joaquin feel better. “Thanks for the confirmation, man. It’s what we expected. Did anyone send a sketch artist to Mrs. Lester so we can try to ID this guy?”

“Already on it,” Thorpe said. “We should have something by tomorrow.”

“It doesn’t exactly set me at ease that someone snooped around my house.” Bailey’s voice sounded a little thin, thready. Afraid.

“It gets worse.” Thorpe whipped out his phone and opened his text messages. A small collection from Axel contained pictures of the inside of Bailey’s little quirky, historic-charm house. It had been trashed—every room, every surface, every nook and cranny. All of it turned upside down and inside out. A broken chair, papers scattered, dishes in shards.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The silent devastation all over her face was like a mule kick to the gut. “Why?”

“All of the previous victims’ houses have been thoroughly searched. They’re looking for

whatever they can find about the victim and her ties to Aslanov’s research. And since you weren’t home, I’m sure they poked around for e-mails or travel arrangements—anything to indicate where you might be. You’re next on their list.” Without thought, Joaquin wrapped his arm around her.

“But they don’t know I’m Tatiana Aslanov.”

“None of the other women they’ve slaughtered were, and that didn’t stop them.”

Bailey began quaking against him. “Did Mrs. Lester see who did this?”

“We’re speculating ‘Uncle Robbie’ is the culprit, but she didn’t see him enter the house, so not definitively,” Thorpe murmured, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“Whoever it was also didn’t leave behind any prints to identify him. The police checked. They only found yours and Joaquin’s.” Another damn dead end.

Chances were that “Uncle Robbie” was also the killer or his right-hand man. Either way, he was a person of great interest, worth hunting down and grilling. They had to figure out who the