Page 99 of Broken
She fought against the desire to jump in his arms and kiss him, then unleash her innermost demons on him. Her hair must’ve been crazy wild because he pulled a chunk from one side to the other.
“You’re sexy and adorable.” His deep voice rumbled through her. “Sorry I scared you.”
“Next time, knock, will ya?” She offered a little smile. “What’s with the SWAT look?” Then, reality sunk in. “You were on a mission.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing here?”
“When no one lives here, I stop by after a mission. I need a few hours to get my head on straight. The jobs are intense.”
She hadn’t removed her hand from his arm, so she took a step toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you a drink, so you can shake off the evil.”
In the kitchen, she stepped out of his way. “I just moved in, so I have no idea where the booze is.”
Prescott opened a cabinet over the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of McCallan whiskey. Then, he set out two glasses. “You want to join me?”
“I’ll have water.”
She filled her glass. “If you need to be alone—”
“No,” was all he said.
“Where do you sit?”
“In the chair overlooking the river, but I want you next to me.”
Her heart—her traitorous, little heart—leapt for joy. “There’s not enough room. I’ll sit on the sofa.”
“On my lap.”
She loved that he wasn’t asking. He told her what he wanted. Now, it was up to her.
After flicking off the stove light, he turned off the living room pole lamp.
When he sat, his broad shoulders and thick thighs dwarfed the oversized chair. She eased onto his lap. The connection was immediate, electric, and so damn powerful. She loved being close, her body snuggled against his. She closed her eyes, savoring the way he felt, his familiar smell, the rise and fall of his chest against her.
She’d hated him for so long, she was struggling to make sense of how she felt now. The desire to be close to him, to touch him, to connect with him turned her wild with need, but also filled a place in her heart she’d never known existed. The power and strength and confidence radiating off him was addictive. She’d found her drug of choice in Prescott Armstrong.
Together, they stared out at the sprinkling of lights across the dark water.
Being in his arms soothed her. She couldn’t begin to comprehend what it must be like to take another person’s life, to accept a job where the best possible outcome was their death.
As their breathing fell in sync, she wondered if their heartbeats did too. She loved his hard body beneath hers. Loved that he was caressing her arm, slowly. His long, thick digits, stroking her skin.
Dressed in a tank top and panties, she would have been cold, but his warm body wrapped her in an invisible blanket. She had been forcing herself to peer into the night, but she desperately needed to stare into his eyes. Unable to resist, she turned.
Their eyes met.
A low growl rumbled from the depths of his chest. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Youshouldn’t be here,” she retorted.
“But I am.”
“So am I.” A tremble skirted through her, lust jumping to the forefront. She set their glasses on the side table.
Her insides were on fire. Had to kiss him, ravage him, lose herself in his angry energy. She had to have him.
