“Which is the only reason he’s still breathing,” he said, narrowing his eyes in a way that made her think he couldn’t quite figure her out. “You’re with a McDade now, Shyla. Do you understand what that means? You can’t play games with people. Every interaction you have has the potential to get someone killed.”
“Killed?” she asked, leaning away. “What are—”
“Sure I’ve cut ties with the family, but I’m still one of them. I’ll always be one of them… which means if this works out, you’re one of them too. Insulting or upsetting a McDade woman can get a guy killed… Seducing you, even thinking about seducing you… baby, there are veteran intelligence agents who’d wilt at word we’re coming for them.”
Shyla hadn’t thought about how the wider world would react to the news they were together. With him illuminating reality, she had a better understanding of his need for discretion.
“I wouldn’t ever ask—”
“You don’t have to ask,” he said. “Some guy shouts at you for stealing his cab and a wannabe whoever overhears, he’ll bring me the guy’s corpse just to impress me. People want in. Biz and me might not be tight, but Burl listens to me… Even when I don’t want him to.”
“What about Doran?”
He shrugged. “Did most of his growing up while I was inside. But he’s smart. Knows to stay off Biz’s radar. Likes the world to think he’s a punk, but he knows what he’s doing… Knows more than I did at his age.” He sat up. “Never let a bitch set him up for murder.”
Trying to tug her hands free to sit up at his side to comfort him was futile. No matter how she twisted and pulled, Shyla couldn’t free herself. Score must have heard her efforts because he turned to look over his shoulder.
He watched until she gave up and sagged into the bed. “Help me,” she said. “Please.”
Flipping over, he reached up to loosen her bonds. “I’ve been tying people up since before I could walk,” he said. “You won’t get out of my knots.”
The minute the string slackened, she pulled her hands down and looped her arms around his neck. “Kiss me again.”
“Not a chance,” he said, raising the circle of her arms to duck out from beneath them. “Get yourself something to eat. Clean up in the foyer.”
He left the bed, tugging down his tee-shirt and running a hand through his hair.
She rose onto her elbows. “Will you come home to me early?”
“Not tonight,” he said and must have read her disappointment. “We want to keep this quiet, Shy.”
“I understand,” she said on a sigh and sat up, crossing her legs. “Should I call Gavin?”
His scowl snapped into place. “The fucker from tonight? No, never talk to him again. Never, Shy. I don’t give a damn if he approaches you, you walk away and call me immediately.”
“What would you do to him?”
A moment of nothing passed and then his jaw shifted as clarity crossed his expression. “You want me to pound on guys to turn you on, I’ll do it,” he said. “You wouldn’t be the first woman turned on by seeing others in pain.”
Scrambling up to her feet, she ran to the corner of the bed and launched her upper body forward, catching her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t care about their pain. I care about your want,” she said, trying to pull him closer. “Seeing them hurt wouldn’t mean anything to me. But just the idea that you could want me so much to protect me like that—”
Grabbing her thighs, he pulled them out from under her, sending her onto her back with a thud. Before she could breathe in, he was on top of her, dragging her leg up, curling it around his hip.
“Possessing you is all that matters to me,” he growled and crushed his mouth onto hers.
Wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his body, she was enamored by the weight of him pinning her down, but cursed their height difference. It limited her to grinding herself against his torso.
His kiss deepened. She ran a hand down his back to gather his tee-shirt in her fist. The draft on his lower back must have alerted him to what she was doing because he broke their kiss.
“You’re a masochist,” she breathed when he forced her limbs away from his body to free himself.
He stood up again, leaving her there, undone and desperate, but too boneless to fight him.
“No, baby,” he said, rubbing a hand over his groin like he was in discomfort. “You’re not my pain, you’re my pleasure… No playing tonight. That sweet spot of yours is mine to touch, no one else’s.”
“Not even mine?” she asked, managing to drop the back of her hand to her forehead.
“Not unless you’re under orders… I’m in charge of your pleasure.”
“And my pain,” she whined, pressing her legs together and drawing up her knees. “It’s torture.”
He might have been amused; Shyla’s vision was too hazy to tell. “It’s worth it.”
“It’s not fair. I’ve been waiting twenty-nine years to be filled by you… You had sex last week…” In a slow blink, she frowned at herself. “So to speak, I… I don’t think you were having sex last week.” Though he had technically ended whatever they’d started. From the way Fish talked of the club, they didn’t specialize in jazz. Pushing her weight to her elbows, she tipped her head up to look at him. “All mine? Only mine?”
Coming to the corner of the bed, he leaned over her to lay a hand
