Page 2 of Tamed Enemy
But then—holding my gaze like he’s issuing a challenge to a duel—he traces the scarlet curves with the very tip of his tongue. A white-hot wave breaks across my scalp, flooding my entire body so suddenly my knees begin to buckle.
Cole’s arms are around me before I can sway. One possessive hand spreads between my shoulder blades, pulling me close to his black-clad body. The other grips the back of my head, finding the perfect angle as his lips seal mine. His kiss is hungry and hard, demanding and desperate. Eyes closed, body forfeited, I meet his tongue with mine.
He breaks away first, but only to bite my lower lip, hard enough to raise a squeak at the back of my throat. “What was that for?” I ask, pulling back to press my palm against my mouth.
“Punishment,” he says, not letting me go. “For what you were thinking.”
“You have no way of knowing?—”
“You were thinking Tarasov has a chance.”
“He does. He?—”
“Not at marrying you.”
“You say that, but?—”
“No,” he says.
“You only know Pyotr,” I say. “The son. He was bad news, but he’s nothing compared to Nik?—”
“No,” Cole says again.
“Trust me,” I insist. “I’ve known the bratva my entire life. They alw?—”
“No,” Cole says one last time. “They don’t. Not now. You’re my wife. You’re mine. And nothing that Russian motherfucker says will ever change that.”
I want to believe him. My heart is beating so hard, I feel it in my fingertips, in my toes.
But then, I realize that’s not my pulse. It’s the barrage of fireworks outside, the grand finale of the national July Fourth celebration. Cole’s arm slips around me and we both turn to the sliding glass door, to a display of red and green, blue and gold and breathtaking, shimmering white, filling every inch of the sky.
It goes on for longer than seems possible, explosion after explosion rocking the hotel. Every time a star fades to black, another takes its place, even larger, lingering longer.
The fireworks are stunning and they’re beautiful and they’re a little bit terrifying, because I can’t help but think of what could be done if all that gunpowder was harnessed as ammunition. But finally, finally, finally the wall of light comes to an end.
I gulp in a deep breath, wondering how long my lungs have been starved for air.
You’re my wife, Cole said.You’re mine.
A month ago, I would have fought him over that. I don’t belong to any man. But tonight, I want to sink to my knees in front of him. I want to work his belt buckle and slide his zipper down and take his cock into my mouth. I want to feel his fingers tangle in my hair, pulling hard to remind me that he’s the one in charge, that he sets the rules.
Because Cole Wolf is always in control.
“My,” I say, stroking the generous bulge I can feel through his black jeans. My voice goes husky as I play out our now-familiar joke. “What a hard cock you have.”
“The better to f?—”
He only gets out half of his gruff reply before the balcony door slides open, and my sister tumbles into the room. Breagha’s blonde curls frame her heart-shaped face, her hairsoft with summer humidity. Her cheeks are flushed with heat or excitement, and her laugh is breathless.
“That was incredible!” she gushes. “I always thought Baltimore’s fireworks were amazing, looking out over the Inner Harbor, but these put them to shame! We were so close! It was like we could touch the Washington Monument! They were so loud! I can’t believe you missed the finale!” Breagha finally pauses her exclamations to suck in a deep breath, and she turns to help our grandmother over the threshold. “Granny? Can you believe they missed the grand finale?”
My grandmother’s eyes are as sharp as a raptor’s. She zeroes in on my face, on my lips, which feel like they’ve been injected with a year’s supply of collagen. She glances at Cole, who has moved to stand behind me, letting my body hide whatever his black jeans can’t disguise. She raises an eyebrow at the wildfire of my hair, as if she can detect which tangles come from summer heat and which from Cole’s flexed fingers.
“I don’t think they missed a thing,” Granny says to Breagha, her tone tart enough to make my cheeks flush.
Even Breagha catches Granny’s meaning, and she laughs with delight. “Cole and Kate, sitting in a tree,” she chants, as if she’s still five years old.
I cut her off before she can make me blush again. “Go pack up your things.” I nod toward the bedroom she’s sharing with Granny. “We need to get home.” Now that Nikolai has delivered his threats, it’s not safe for us to stay downtown. We need the security of Cole’s fortified Georgetown mansion.
