Broken Hearts (Hearts 2)

“What did you tell her?” she asked, sitting up, and I made no effort to hide how I watched her body.

“I gave her an address in London. Told her she needed to get there as fast as she could and to tell no one where she was going. I let her know that you were safe and we’d be in touch.”

“What did she say?”

“She threatened to castrate me if I hurt you.”

She sat back with a sigh and smile. “Classic Zilla.”

“She threatens castration a lot, does she?”

“Actually, yes.” She bit her lip, pushing a small mountain of suds back and forth between her hands. I refused to follow the movement, even though I starved for the glimpses of her body revealed and then hidden. “Is she there? At that address?”

“I gave you an answer. Now I get one.”

“You won’t get shit from me unless I know my sister is safe.”

“As safe as I could make her. Now you really owe me an answer.”

“We’ve played this game before.” She was so bold looking up at me through her lashes. But I still saw that fear. That was the balance between us: fear and arousal. I’d played on it before and I could do it again. Hold myself distant while pulling her close.

Not sure why it seemed so fucking hard right now, but it did.

I stood and shrugged out of my jacket. It fell in a heap on the floor and the cool air woke me up, straightened my spine.

“That game isn’t fun anymore,” she said, pursing her lips and tucking her hair back.

“Sure it is.”

“It wasn’t real,” she said. “You were only pretending.”

“You were a job, Poppy,” I told her. Lied to her, really. Poppy was never part of the job and killing the senator hadn’t been an order from Caroline. But the truth behind both of those things didn’t serve anyone right now. It would make the shitstorm we were caught in worse.

“Right.”

“But I wasn’t pretending,” Through my dark pants, I cupped my aching cock in my hands, and Poppy—my beautiful girl, my beautiful curious girl—couldn’t help but watch. “I fucking want you, Poppy. From the second I met you, I’ve wanted you. That is very real.”

She licked her lips and glanced away, trying to be strong, only to glance back. She was breathing hard. Her skin was pinker than before. Those fucking nipples . . .

“What do you want?” she whispered. Poppy liked filthy intentions spelled out with dirty words. I could give her that. Because it would give me something I wanted.

“To get my mouth on those tits,” I told her. She put a hand against her breast. Her right shoulder still and dry.

“What else?” she whispered.

“Put my hand between your legs.” She sucked in a breath and another one. “I want to make you come so hard, you break, Poppy. You break wide fucking open for me. I want you wet and I want you broken.”

That was very much the truth.

“Why was I job for you?” she asked. “Like, what was the point?”

“Caroline wanted you . . . biddable.” Lie. Caroline would have killed me if she’d known I’d put my filthy hands on Poppy’s beautiful body. The order had been to keep her safe. And to keep my distance.

“And she thought sex with you would make me biddable?”

“You being preoccupied with me made you biddable.”

“But you kept telling me to leave? What part of the job was that?”

“It wasn’t,” I answered and watched her eyes go wide.

“This isn’t part of the job, either, is it? This cottage. Being here?”

“It would be safe to say I am no longer employed by Caroline Constantine.” In the mad run from New York to this place, I hadn’t actually thought that before. I’d betrayed the one person I’d sworn never to betray and there would be a reckoning. That was how it worked. And whatever I fucking felt about that, I put away. Far away.

“Why won’t you fuck me?”

The question knocked me sideways for a second. “You asked your questions, Poppy. It’s my turn.”

“Right,” she said with a sharp laugh. “The game. It’s always a fucking game with you.”

I crossed the small bathroom and braced my hands on the tub beside her body. She looked up at me, the balance of the scales between us shifting—more fear than arousal.

“It’s business, Poppy. Not a game.”

“What’s the difference?”

“In my business? Life or death.”

She lifted her hand and touched my face, the scar beneath my chin, and I was tired, so goddamned tired, that it was the only reason I let her. The only reason I stood there and soaked up her touch like sunshine after a long night.

“You’re in a bad business,” she whispered, her slick fingers touching the corner of my mouth, pulling at my lip. I gave her what she wanted, which was to be inside me. The only way I was ever going to let her. I sucked her finger into my mouth and watched her eyes go wide, then half-lidded, instantly drunk on our chemistry.