Want Me (Dark Obsession 2)

“What about the threat?” Phil called after him.

Clark glanced back at the lawyer’s question.

“Is my client in danger?”

Clark turned his stare on Duvato. “You want extra guards?”

Duvato smiled. “They’ll only get in my way.”

Right. Whatever. He motioned to the officer on the other side of the door. The guy hurried and had him out in seconds. Clark was striding down the long corridor when Duvato’s words finally sank in…

They’ll only get in my way.

Those words didn’t really make sense. Not unless…

Unless the bastard was planning something.

Clark stilled.

An escape attempt? Impossible. But…

Phil’s briefcase had spilled. Duvato’s hands had reached for that case. Had he grabbed some kind of weapon from it? Hell, to a desperate prisoner, even a pen could be a weapon. Jab it into your victim’s neck and—

“Guards!” Clark bellowed as he whirled back toward the interrogation area. “Guards—secure the prisoner! Secure him now!”

The officer who’d just let Clark out was already rushing inside that little room.

But the sinking feeling in Clark’s throat told him it was too late. He ran inside.

Blood. So much blood.

Phil was on the ground, twitching. The guard who’d led Duvato into interrogation was on the floor, too, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, his body far too still.

Duvato was still leaning over Phil. The lawyer was alive—his chest shuddering and—

“Get away from him!” Clark bellowed.

The guard who’d rushed in right before Clark had frozen. The man’s weapon was out, and Clark knew the guy was seconds away from shooting Duvato.

Duvato’s right hand was fisted around what looked like—shit, it was—a bloody pen. A damn fountain pen. Clark looked down at Phil. The lawyer was shoving his fingers against the hole in his throat, a hole that still heavily pulsed blood.

“Told you…” Duvato said, “I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself .”

Shoot him. The words were on the tip of Clark’s tongue. He knew he was staring at evil. At evil that had to be stopped. Only…

Duvato dropped the pen. “I still want that deal, ADA. I’ve got plenty to stay to you about Ethan Barclay. Plenty.” He laughed and he put his blood-covered hands up as more guards swarmed into the room.

He just killed a man. An officer of the law. And he thinks I’ll still deal with him?

The world really would be better off with Daniel Duvato dead.

I should have given the fucking order.

***

When Sophie opened her eyes, Lex was beside her. His blond hair was mussed, tousled from her fingers, and his eyes were closed. He looked peaceful in sleep. But then, most people did. She was one of the few that nightmares always haunted.

Sunlight trickled through the curtains. Another day had come. But this was the first day she’d ever woken with a lover beside her. She didn’t usually let anyone sleep with her because Sophie was just always worried. Afraid that she might let the wrong words slip during the night.

Thanks to Ethan, she’d learned that she talked in her sleep.

The things she said in sleep could incriminate her.

Another reason not to let a lover get too close. But Lex was close. So close that his arm was wrapped around her stomach even then. So close that her hip touched him. So close that she felt totally protected by his warmth and strength.

So close that she knew it was time she slipped away. So Sophie pulled in a careful breath and she began to inch to the left side of the bed, the side that promised freedom. She was completely naked and that just made her feel even more vulnerable. She’d slip away, go find the bag of clothes that they’d picked up from her place the night before, and then she’d face him feeling far more normal. She would—

“I don’t want you to leave.”

His eyes opened. There was none of the drowsy confusion that should have been present. He just opened his eyes and focused completely on her.

Unnerving.

Dammit, sexy. Why did she find so much about him to be sexy? Was it because he’d saved her life—twice? And now she had some kind of hero issue going on with him?

“You’re even more beautiful first thing in the morning.”

Okay, so maybe he had woken confused. She was sure her hair was a crazy tangle. And any makeup that she’d had on the day before would be long gone.

But he was still staring right at her and he made her feel beautiful in that moment. Part of her wanted to smile at him. To roll back toward him and sink fully into his embrace.

But her world didn’t work like that. She’d given in to her need the night before. The day had dawned. “I need to get to work. I have clients who’ll be waiting to see me today.” Did she sound suitably in control?

In control. That was the role she always had to play. Even when she wanted to give up the mask, just for a little while.

Screw control.

She lifted his hand off her stomach. There were calluses on his fingers. She’d felt them when he caressed her last night. Those caresses had been so thorough. Inside and out.

She pretty much quivered thinking about some of them.

Lex definitely wasn’t a selfish lover. The guy was so sensual. So fierce. So wonderfully focused.

He was probably the best lover she’d ever had.

“Running?” Lex asked her as she rolled from the bed. Sophie pulled the sheet with her, wrapping it around her body.

“No, just slowly walking…heading to the bathroom and then to find my clothes.”

He sat up. Lex didn’t seem to care that he was completely naked. With the sunlight hitting him, she saw the scars on his chest. White ridges. Red lines. From his time in the military?

Lex watched her, his gaze unfathomable. “Still don’t trust me, do you?”

Not even a little bit. Well, maybe a little.

She turned and made her way to the bathroom. Her steps were a bit too fast for normal walking but being naked with Lex wasn’t a good idea. Because when she was naked, when he was naked…she wanted to jump him.

Instead, she shut the bathroom door. Then she locked it. When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see her controlled image staring back at her. She saw a woman with eyes that were too big. Lips that were too red. Skin that was flushed.

She looked like she’d just had an amazing night.

She had.

And I didn’t worry about being alone in the dark. Because I wasn’t alone. I had Lex. I wasn’t afraid. I just felt. So much pleasure.

He rapped on the door and Sophie jumped. Her right hand slapped against the countertop even as her left kept the sheet from falling to a puddle at her feet.

“Sophie?” Lex called out. “I brought your bag in for you.”

Oh. That was nice. Thoughtful.

Not at all what a dangerous and wild lover would do.

Or was it? She’d never shared a morning after with the others so she wasn’t real sure what they would have done.

Sophie opened the door. Lex stood there, her bag gripped in his hand. He lifted his brows at her. “It was your step two, right? Get to the bathroom, then get your clothes.”

Her right hand grabbed for the bag. “Thank you.”

He didn’t move. “Sooner or later, I’ll get you to trust me.”

“Why?” She just didn’t understand. “I’m paying you for the job, so nothing else really…”

Her voice trailed away.

Uh, oh. She could tell by the way his oh-so-muscled shoulders had just stiffened that she’d screwed up.

“Don’t talk to me about payment.” A muscle flexed in his hard jaw. “What happened between us last night had nothing to do with payment. It had everything to do with desire. With the freaking uncontrollable desire that I feel for you.”

She had a death grip on her ba

g.

“And that you feel for me.” His glittering gaze held her stare.

I do feel that desire for you.

“Get dressed, Sophie. Feel safer when you have your clothes on.”

She, um, would.

“Then come find me. Because we’ve got a whole lot of talking to do.” He spun on his heel. Took a step forward.

The light hit his back then. The pure sunlight. It fell on that powerful expanse and showed her all of the marks that he carried. Old marks…scars. They were faint white lines now, and, during the night, when it had been so dark, she’d never seen those marks. She hadn’t felt them beneath her fingertips because they weren’t raised. They were flat, smooth now from time.

And there were so many of them. Dozens.

She forgot about holding her sheet. Forgot about keeping her perfect mask of control. Her bag—and the sheet—fell as she lunged after him. Her trembling fingers touched his back.

Beaten. He was beaten. She knew exactly how he’d gotten those marks that covered so much of his back. “Who?” Sophie asked, her voice coming out angry and hard. These marks were so old. Had he gotten them when he was a child?

Her father had never left scars on her, not on the outside, anyway. He’d just liked to make her bones snap. Liked to twist until her wrist popped. Punch until a rib cracked. He’d—