Fall from India Place (On Dublin Street 4)

“Nothing. It just figures he’d have to buy his technology from Ian. So who broke it off? Klinf or you?”

“Neither of us, really. It just sort of . . . faded away. It wasn’t like a blazing-comet romance or something. I wasn’t that interested, and Jason isn’t the type to settle down or anything. It was just two single people passing some time together pleasantly while he was here in town.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“No. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“According to you, it’s precisely my business,” he said calmly.

“I never—”

“You said I should be as prepared as I possibly can be for these meetings,” he interrupted. “Don’t you think any former relationship between two of the players, sexual or otherwise, is relevant to the situation?”

Her mouth fell open but her words stuck in her throat.

“Just tell me this,” Kam continued, taking advantage of her speechless state. “Is Jason Klinf one of the guys that Ian mentioned who you were unfortunate to have dated? One of the guys who didn’t appreciate your refinements and sensitivities or sensibilities, or however the hell he put it.”

“What?” she sputtered. “No, of course . . . Ian said that?”

“Yeah. He seems to think that you’re like a piece of fine porcelain that we men trample all over in our blind, savage stupidity.”

At first she just stared at him incredulously before the ridiculousness of what he was saying struck her. She burst into laughter. The familiar thundercloud expression darkened Kam’s face.

“What are you laughing about?” he demanded.

She tried to stop giggling, but only snorted. His scowl was priceless. She brushed her hand over his jaw, heartened to see her caress lighten his expression ever so slightly.

“It’s just hilarious. Why would Ian say something so strange to you?” she asked, repressing her mirth with effort.

Kam scooted closer to her. One second, they’d been apart, and the next his solid male body was close, skimming and brushing against tingling patches of her skin. His movement erased her erupting amusement like nothing else could.

“You think it’s strange, do you?” he murmured, a warning glint in his eyes, his face just inches from hers. His big hand opened at her lower back and lowered to her ass. He pushed her closer yet with a precise flex of his arm. She zipped across the sheets and thudded against his solid length. He paused, squeezing her buttock. Desire rippled through her when she felt his obvious response to their pressing naked bodies.

“Yes. Don’t you?” she asked, her chin tilting up to bring his mouth into striking distance of her own.

He held her stare and shook his head slowly. “I think Ian’s got a point. You certainly turn me into an animal.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “I don’t think that’s what Ian meant.”

“He meant I should be careful with you,” Kam said distractedly. Even though the light was dim, she sensed his gaze drop to where her breasts pressed against his chest. “But it’s just so fucking hard when all I want to do is . . . fuck you hard,” he muttered before he kissed her—hot and toe curling—and Lin gave up entirely on making sense of their conversation. He lifted his head slightly a moment later. “I want you again,” he stated the obvious, which throbbed against her thigh. “I know you’re probably sore. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be civilized.”

She closed her eyes and moaned softly as he shaped one of her breasts to his palm.

“I don’t want you civilized,” she whispered before she pressed her lips to his and lost herself in Kam’s wild, fierce heat.

•   •   •

Kam awoke in the early morning hours. Rather than being disoriented like he had been almost every day when he woke up in his claustrophobic hotel room, he knew precisely where he was. The scent from Lin’s hair combined with the unmistakable fragrance of sex lingering in the air had pleasantly warned him even before he’d opened his eyes.

He’d left the bedroom door open when he rushed Lin in here earlier, laid her on the bed and ravaged her. A light was on in the hallway, the distant glow sufficient for him to see Lin’s face on the pillow next to him. For a few seconds, he just studied her sublime beauty cast in shadow and pale gold. He recalled in vivid detail their last joining. She’d been on top, her face tight with pleasure, her breasts heaving, her round hips gyrating in a graceful, precise rhythm that had left him sweating. He’d finally taken control, driving her down on him until her cries had grown frantic and she’d shuddered around him, her bliss driving him straight over the edge with her.

So much for going easy on her. He knew very well she was tender from his forceful lovemaking, but he couldn’t seem to stop this frenzy of need.

He waited for the urge to leave her bed to settle on him, studying her peaceful expression the whole time. It finally dawned him that the impulse wasn’t coming. Instead, he wanted to pull her against him and join her in the warm, secure cocoon of deep sleep.

He stiffened at the realization. The only woman he’d ever regularly spent the night with had been Diana. Even with Diana, however, he’d sometimes awakened in the middle of the night feeling claustrophobic. Suffocated. He’d controlled the impulse to flee, however, knowing it wasn’t appropriate with the woman he loved.

The Kam Reardon who had first arrived in London for college at seventeen, the awkward, brutish young man, had vanished, replaced by a well-groomed and cosmopolitan, if occasionally taciturn, cardiology resident with a brilliant future. The nearly ten years he’d spent in London had altered him beyond recognition. Many of the quirky mannerisms he’d acquired at Aurore Manor had to be willfully abandoned, strangled out of existence, or at best controlled. His brooding, harsh moods morphed into reserved, aloof ones. He’d believed in the rightness of his self-discipline of his more idiosyncratic, loner mannerisms until the day Diana had found out about his parentage and bizarre, inglorious upbringing. He’d believed until the day she’d fabricated a lie for him to give as a cover story to their affluent “friends.” Until he’d stubbornly shoved his ragged, shameful past into her and her friends’ faces, publically humiliating her—or so Diana had claimed.