The Risk (Page 9)

They strived, succeeded, and went on with life like it never happened. Like they didn’t leave us there to die.

One person did die because of that night.

They think it was two.

Jake continues to yak in my ear about all the ‘what ifs’ in the universe. I continue to shift my thoughts away from it all, because Logan keeps creeping to the forefront of my mind.

I’ll finally get to see him tomorrow.

Tyler lies down for the night, and I flip the monitor over to regular television. Bedtime seems to be ten consistently so far. In fact, everything he does seems to be scheduled, including his shit breaks.

“I’m getting off here, Jake.”

“Fine. Fine. Call me back later.”

Hanging up, I start taking inventory. My knives are in a row, lined up inside my homemade multi-sheath. They’re clean and wiped free of fingerprints, as always.

I move to the fridge and pour myself a glass of straight vodka. Smiling, I turn on the music, an old vinyl my father used to love. He and my mother danced to this song a lot at night, back before life was derailed in a metaphorical train crash.

As I sway with the music, dancing like they used to, I almost miss the sound of heavy pounding against my door.

My body jolts when I register the sound, and my heart slams into my throat. No one comes here. Ever. It’s a creepy driveway with gargoyles at the end just to make it a little creepier. Then there are several signs warning against trespassing.

Not even my mailman dares to venture the half mile driveway to my house. My packages get left at the end of the driveway.

My eyes dart out the window, but I don’t see a vehicle in plain view. After flicking off the record player, I push the knives into the drawer closest to me as the knocking persists. I pick up my gun, carrying it as I silently cross the floor to the door.

When I peek through the peephole, my eyes widen and my breath rushes out in disbelief.

“Shit!” I hiss, scrambling to toss the gun into the drawer attached the table beside the door.

“Come on, pretty girl. Don’t tell me you’re not home after I broke rules and privacy laws to find you,” Logan drawls from the other side of the door.

My stomach flutters as that goofy grin starts to spread, and I swing open the door to a smiling FBI agent. His grin broadens as his eyes rake over me, and he looks back up as an eyebrow arches.

“Best. Greeting. Ever.”

I’m confused for a second, so I glance down my body to see that, yep; I’m not wearing pants. I rarely do when I’m at home.

I look back up and shrug, ignoring the way a twinge of heat spreads up my neck. I’m embarrassed? Really? I didn’t know I could be embarrassed until this moment.

“Can I come in before anyone sees you? I’d hate to have to show my jealous side so early on,” he deadpans, but he winks as I slowly step back, trying not to say or do anything stupid.

Should I run and put on pants? Or will I look like an idiot who forgot to put on pants? Confident girls walk around in a T-shirt and panties all the time, right?

Fucking eh.

“My driveway is sort of creepy, and with all the vegetation growth, no one can see me here,” I ramble, then zip my lips.

As soon as he gets the door shut, he turns and his gaze shifts. Something subtle changes, and the amused glint there melts away for something far more enticing.

I start to speak, to explain why I stupidly answered the door without pants, when he’s suddenly on me. His hands go to my hair, tilting my head back roughly, and his mouth crashes against mine.

I go from surprised to melting within seconds, opening my lips so his tongue can sweep in and steal what small fraction of sanity I have left.

I moan into his mouth as one of his hands slides down my body, gripping my waist just enough to pull me to him. Both my hands come up and grab onto his shoulders so that I don’t sag to the ground.

It feels good. Not awkward or wrong or uncomfortable. It feels so good.

The kiss is hungry, almost as though we’ve both been starved for too long. I realize we’re moving too quickly, but I don’t give a damn. I give less of a damn when he lifts me and places me on top of the table beside the door, pushing himself between my legs as he devours me.

His hands move up and down my sides, back into my hair, then back down again. It’s like he can’t touch me everywhere at once, even though he wants to. But he’s also sticking to safe zones instead of groping me, despite my state of undress.

It makes me want him even more.

I tug at the front of his shirt and wind his tie around my other hand, pulling him as close as possible. He makes some strained sound before grinding into the vee of my thighs, driving me that much crazier.

“We should slow down,” he says against my lips.

“We really should,” I agree, still kissing him and pulling him impossibly closer.

“Where’s your room?” he asks, trying and failing to break the kiss.

“Down the hall and to the right.”

He lifts me and starts walking, bypassing the stairs to the part of the house he definitely can’t see. My legs stay wrapped around him as I try not to think of how dangerous this could be.

I never expected him to just show up without warning, and there’s an entire murder room upstairs just waiting to be discovered.

Mentally, I do a quick worry list over the things he might find in the bedroom, and realize most everything has already been put away. As long as he doesn’t accidentally turn on the monitoring system in my living room, we should be good.

My back crashes against the wall when he stumbles, and my thoughts flee as the kiss grows more aggressive. Too many times I’ve tried to feel this passion and never felt an ounce of the fire as what’s burning between us.

My fingers skate down the front of his shirt until I rip it open, fully opening it and pushing it out of the way as a few buttons skitter across the floor, running with their newfound freedom. Firm skin finds my fingertips, and I moan against his lips when he shudders against me like he feels all the flames I do.

We’ll burn good together.

His tongue demands more attention from mine, and I kiss with abandon like I never have before. My hands slide up and tangle in his hair, angling his head so I can devour him properly.

He grunts and pushes away from the wall, walking quickly again.

“Your other right,” I say when he starts walking into my guest room on the left where Jake stays when he comes to visit.

He changes course and continues to move quickly. I hear the fan humming in my room as we walk in, and anticipation buds in my core, ready to be released.

He drops me to the bed in a flurry of motion that surprises me, and I prop up on my elbows, taking in the sight of him as he finishes stripping his ruined shirt off. All tan, lean muscle and smooth skin.

A twinge of dread unfurls within me. The scars on my body aren’t all hidden. My face was easier to fix than the rest of me.

“Too fast?” he asks, apparently misreading the reason for my hesitation to join him in the getting-naked routine.

“No,” I say, forcing my thoughts to blank.

The past can’t continue to rule me, and I’m supposed to be beyond the worry of what people will think when they see the scars.

He looks hesitant now.

“Lana, I shouldn’t have barged in and came at you like a savage. But…” His eyes dip to where my thighs are spread wide, nothing but the thin panties hiding the goods from him. He swallows audibly before meeting my gaze again. “We can slow down. I promise this isn’t why I showed up.”

A slow smile curves my lips. He’s pretty amazing when he’s trying to be a good guy.

Climbing up to my knees, I crawl toward him, and his pupils dilate. He’s turned on, which doesn’t take profiling skills to figure out.

Slowly, I move toward him, and he remains completely still. When I reach him, I lean forward and flick my tongue against the firm flesh on his abs. A quiet sound escapes him, and that seems to snap that small thread of control.

His hand goes to my hair, and with a hard tug, he forces my head back as he lowers his face and finds my lips again. It’s rough and hungry, and completely different from anything I thought I’d ever want.

I’ve been controlling sex since I found it in me to be intimate again. This is the first time I’ve ever felt comfortable letting a guy lead.

“Where the hell have you been?” he says against my lips, causing me to grin against him as he pushes me down, coming down on top of me.

I’m not sure what that means, but I love the awe in his tone.

My smile dies as I wait for the inevitable panic attack of being pinned down, but it doesn’t come. More emotions bud inside of me, and I put all the confusing questions into the back of my mind, deciding to analyze this all later.

For now, I just want to feel.

And I do.

I feel his movements against me as he pushes his pants away.

I feel him shift as he slides his hand up my leg, eliciting small shivers from me because of how overloaded my sensory nerves are.

I feel when he touches parts of me that shouldn’t be so erotic—the bend of my knee, the back of my calf, the top of my foot.

I feel everything, and it all feels perfect.

He starts pushing my shirt up, and I force myself to allow it. He sucks in a breath when he realizes I’m also not wearing a bra. It’s escaped his attention since he’s avoided any groping.