Venom (Page 79)

"You know what?" I replied. "I think you’re right."

I dropped my head back down against the headrest. "Now, use your mojo to get me up and around again. I need to go see a man about some swords."

Jo-Jo smiled. "With pleasure, darling. With pleasure."

I knocked on Owen Grayson’s front door just as the sun rose over the eastern mountains. I’d just let go of the hammer knocker and stepped back when he threw open the door and stuck his head outside. Owen wore a baby blue shirt that made his eyes seem more blue than violet in the gray dawn. His clothes were rumpled, as if he’d spent the night in them.

Owen’s eyes widened at the sight of me, and his violet gaze took in my disheveled appearance, bloody clothes, and the two swords that I held out in front of me. After Jo-Jo healed me, I could have gone home, changed, and showered. Probably should have.

But the blood was part of me, part of who I was and what I did. If things were going to work between Owen and me, he had to realize what being with me really meant-and he had to accept me for who and what I was. Donovan Caine hadn’t been able to do that. Now I was going to see if Owen Grayson ever could.

"Hi there," I said in a low voice.

"Hi yourself," Owen replied. He looked at my bloody clothes once more before his eyes lifted to my face. "Long night?"

I shrugged. "You could say that. I wanted to come by and apologize. I think I might have scared Eva a little last night when I came over. But there was an emergency, and I didn’t have time to explain things to her. I also brought your swords back."

I held out the weapons to him. They were just as bloody as my clothes. So I stood there, and I waited. Because now it was Owen’s turn to make a decision.

He stared at me again, taking in my bloody black clothes before he slowly reached forward and took the swords out of my hand. Owen looked at first one weapon, then the other. Dried blood gleamed like dull red ink on both of the blades, making it ever so obvious what I’d done with them during the long night. That I’d used them to cut and hurt and wound and kill. It was one thing to make weapons. Quite another to see their brutal application in the harsh light of a new day.

For a moment I thought that Owen would turn around, go inside, and shut and lock the door on me. That’s what Donovan Caine had done, only he’d been the one to leave instead of me. But to my surprise, Owen nodded his head, then looked up and gave me a small smile.

"Come on," he said in a low voice. "Let’s get you cleaned up."

Owen stepped forward, slipped his warm hand into my cold one, and pulled me inside.

He led me back to his study, where he laid the weapons inside the door. Then, his hand still in mine, he walked us down another hallway. He opened a door, and I stepped into what was obviously his bedroom. My stomach tightened with anticipation.

But instead of leading me over to the bed with its black silk sheets, Owen took my hand once more and pulled me into the next room, the master bath. I eyed the gray marble and granite that made up the enormous room. The shower was large enough for four people and even came complete with its own seats, each one surrounded by several jets of water. A place to relax and let the scalding streams pound into your muscles, if you so wished. All around me, the smooth stones whispered of water, heat, relaxation.

Owen Grayson didn’t say a word as he reached into the shower and turned on the water. I started to take off my blood-crusted vest, but he stepped in front of me.

"Let me," he said.

He slowly unzipped the silverstone vest and gently dropped it on the floor. His strong, capable hands pulled my black turtleneck up out of my jeans, and I obediently raised my arms over my head so he could get it off me. My boots and socks were next, followed by my jeans. Owen did all the work, wrestling with the buttons and peeling the stiff, sticky, blood-soaked fabric away from my skin. I stared at him the whole time he stripped me. Owen’s violet eyes burned brighter with every piece of clothing he removed. The desire in his gaze matched my own.

Finally, I stood there in my black bra and panties. Owen stared at me for several seconds, then removed those too, his hands gliding down my blood-flecked skin in a way that made me shiver. When I was naked, he took my hand again, guided me over to the steamy shower, and directed me to stand under a stream of water. Pink rivulets ran down my body and swirled away down the drain as the water sluiced the blood from my skin.

Behind me, I heard the wisp of more clothing and the hiss of a zipper. I smiled and reached for a bar of soap in a recess built into a wall. A few seconds later, Owen stepped into the shower behind me.

"Let me," he said again.

I turned, and he stood there naked in front of me, the distinctive foil packet of a condom in his hand. Of course, I took my little white pills so there wouldn’t be any unwanted consequences. Still, nothing wrong with extra protection.

My eyes drifted over his tall frame, toned biceps, solid chest with its dark hair that ran all the way down his stomach to his cock. Even without his designer suits, Owen radiated strength and confidence. Mmm.

Owen put the condom in the spot where the soap had been. Then he took the ivory bar from me and lathered it up between his hands. Our eyes locked and held for a moment before he stepped forward and began to wash me. My face, chest, stomach. Owen slowly scrubbed the blood from my skin and hair the way someone might wash dirt off a child. But a fire began building between my thighs at his gentle ministrations. A fire that I knew was finally going to be quenched today.

When Owen finished washing me, I stepped under the hot spray of water, rinsed the soap from my skin, and finger-combed my wet hair. He stood there in the rising steam, just watching me with his violet eyes, the grin on his face telling me how much he liked what he saw. I tugged the bar of soap from his hand and smiled.

"My turn."

I washed him much the same way he’d washed me. Slowly, carefully, gently, showing him the same respect that he’d shown me. The same care and tenderness. When I finished, he stepped in a spray of water, watching the soap bubbles foam up and swirl down the drain.

"Now that we’re both clean," I said in a sly tone. "Why don’t we do something dirty?"

Another smile tugged at Owen’s lips, softening the slashing scar on his chin. "I thought you’d never ask."

We moved toward each other and met in the middle of the shower. I threaded my hands in his slick hair and pulled his mouth down to mine. Our lips met in a kiss that was as gentle as the water cascading over our bodies-and that quickly turned into one of white-hot passion, desire, and need.

Owen growled low in his throat and backed me up against the shower wall. His hands were everywhere. My neck, br**sts, stomach, hips, back. Kneading, caressing, teasing. Just like mine were all over him. Neck, chest, stomach, ass. Kneading, caressing, teasing. We couldn’t get enough of each other, couldn’t explore each other’s bodies quickly enough to satisfy this hunger, this need that flared between us.