Wanted (Most Wanted 1)

"Oh." I swallowed, liking the sound of that word on his lips. You.

For a moment, silence hung between us. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what he wanted. I didn't know what he was doing there or what was going on between us, or if anything even was going on between us. I waited for him to speak, but he seemed content to let the silence continue. He was doing nothing more than standing there, and yet I felt suddenly trapped, as if he'd captured me in that firm and unwavering gaze.

In desperation, I finally managed to form a sentence. "You're wrong," I finally said, looking down at my fingernails so that I wouldn't have to see his face. "I'm not strong at all." I thought of how much I wanted to escape this day. Of how much I wanted my uncle back. Of how desperately I wanted to cry, and of how hard I was having to work to keep all that grief bottled up inside.

Mostly, I thought of how certain I was that I wouldn't make it through the night. That no matter how hard I tried, in the end the explosion would come and somehow, someway, everything I'd wrapped up tight would come completely unraveled.

"You are. I've watched you," he said firmly. "Over the years, I mean. You keep yourself under tight control, Angie. That takes a lot of strength."

I fervently wished that what he saw was true. It wasn't, of course. I'd been trying for years to keep myself under control, but the tighter I grasped, the more pieces of me seem to break free.

Stifling a sigh, I turned away again to look out at Lake Michigan and the boats that were now nothing more than tiny points of lights in the distance. "You must not have been watching too closely," I said.

"On the contrary," he said, his voice low and even and so intense it seemed to erase all my protests even before I could voice them. "I paid a great deal of attention. I always do when something matters to me."

"Oh." My voice felt small and breathy.

From his position beside me, he hooked a finger under my chin and turned my head to meet his eyes. Heat from the contact shot through me, and I half-wondered if I'd see a burn mark there the next time I looked in the mirror.

He moved his hand away, and I wanted to cry out in protest. "Trust me on this, Lina. I know all about control."

I swallowed. I wasn't entirely sure I knew what we were talking about. And I sure as hell didn't know why he called me by my old nickname, but to my surprise, I found myself liking it. I liked even more the way that he was looking at me. I think I could have stood there forever, the city and lake below and the night sky above and this enigmatic man only inches from me.

His lips began to move, and I thought that he had a beautiful mouth. "It's not a weakness to want to let go," he said. "To want the thrill of taking a risk. The pleasure of feeling the rush."

I blinked. "How did you--"

"Shhhh." His smile was slow and easy, revealing a rarely seen dimple in his cheek. "You need it. You've been pent up all night, going crazy. Locked inside your grief. Go ahead, now. Close your eyes and turn around."

"But, I--"

That finger rose and pressed gently to my lips. "Don't argue. Just do."

Unquestioning obedience isn't usually my modus operandi, but to my surprise, I complied. I closed my eyes, letting the dark take me, and then I shifted, so that I was facing the glass again. If I had opened my eyes, I would have seen the night sky spread wide in front of me. Instead I saw only Evan, larger than life inside my head.

"That's a good girl."

I'd worn my shoulder-length hair loose, and I held my breath as he gently pushed the thick waves aside, then pressed his hand to the back of my neck. I shivered from the contact, then cringed with embarrassment because I know he must have noticed. His thumb moved ever so slightly, lightly stroking my skin. I had no way of telling if he was doing it on purpose or if it was simply a reflex. Either way, it was driving me crazy, and I bit my lower lip, thankful that he was behind me and couldn't see that additional break in my composure.

When he spoke again, his voice was husky. "Now put your hands on the glass."

I was confused and nervous. But, damn me, I was also turned on, and I hoped he couldn't tell that my nipples had peaked beneath my bra, and that he couldn't see the flush of my skin in the dark.

Before I could do what he asked, he moved behind me, taking my hands in his and guiding them to the pane. The connection was shocking, powerful, and a raging heat stormed through me as I let myself go, reveling in the incredible sensation of submitting to this man.

"Do you feel it, Angie? The pressure of the glass? It's pushing back on you. It's holding you up. It's keeping you here, safe beside me."

His words barely registered. All I knew was the way his voice caressed me, like a trail of kisses down my body. All I could feel was the pressure of his hands over mine, and the whisper of his breath on my skin, as tantalizing as a ray of summer sun.

"What if the glass were to tumble away?" His voice was soft and gentle, as if that was the most natural thing in the world to think about. "You wouldn't fall, Angie. You'd soar."

I squeezed my eyes tighter. He'd already captured the attention of my body, but now he'd captured my imagination, too.

"Maybe you wouldn't purposefully push the glass out of the way, but if that barrier disappeared, you'd experience it to the fullest. You'd spread your arms, you'd embrace the tumble. You'd breathe in the air and feel the wind rushing around you, gathering you up. Lifting you up. Because that's what you were thinking about, wasn't it? Not jumping. Not falling--"

I drew in a breath, gasping as I leaned back against him, my ass against his crotch. He was hard, and so help me, I was wet.

"You want to fly, Angie," he whispered, and then brushed his lips over the top of my ear. I trembled, and oh, dear god, if he touched me again I knew I'd come, my body exploding out to greet the stars.

And all I could do was stand there, the heat of our connection burning through me, and silently beg for him to never leave. For this moment to never end.

He moved his hands to my shoulders, then eased them around to place his palms against my ribs. His thumbs rested on my back and his fingertips brushed the swell of my breasts. I bit my lower lip, determined not to cry out, not to move. Not to do anything that

might make him stop. That might end this wondrous fantasy.

His hands eased lower, encircling my waist. I'm not particularly small, but I felt petite and fragile right then, because I knew in that moment that he had the power to break me. To utterly and sweetly destroy me.

"Angie," he said and began to turn me in his arms. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. But before I could shift--before I could even absorb the possibility that he was going to kiss me--the moment shattered, torn apart by the high-pitched chirp of my cell phone.

He drew his hands away, and as he did, I heard another sound. A whimper.

I'm pretty sure it came from me.

I opened my eyes just in time to see Evan's face shift into a stony, unreadable expression. I didn't know what it looked like before, but I imagined there'd been lust in his eyes.

I felt something tight squeeze at my heart, because we'd just lost this moment. And I knew damn well that we could never, ever get it back.

"You should answer it," he said.

"What?"

He glanced down to the tiny purse that I'd decided to carry tonight only because I had no pocket for my phone.

"Oh." I'd already forgotten. "It's a text." I fumbled to retrieve it, then glanced at the display.

"Kevin?"

"Flynn," I said quickly, not wanting to bring Kevin anywhere near this conversation. "Remember? The boy who lived down the street from Uncle Jahn in Kenilworth."

"Probably not so much a boy anymore," Evan said, in a tone that made the gooey feminine side of me shimmy with joy.

"No," I said casually. "Not so much."

I kept my focus on his face, and for a moment I thought that he was going to reach out for me. That he was going to pull me to him and press his lips to mine, and send us both soaring past that damn glass partition.

But the moment passed, and he turned away to look out over the darkened lake.

For a moment, we stood in silence. Then he spoke, low and steady. "I think about jumping, too."

"Suicidal?" I quipped.

"No." He turned back to me, and what I saw on his face wasn't heat or lust but bald determination. "Arrogant."

My brows puckered with confusion.

"I'm arrogant enough to think I can control my own fall," he clarified.