Читать книгу Men Of Honour - Lori Foster - Страница 31

LITTLE BY LITTLE, Dare relaxed until his hand curved around her breast, cuddling her. Molly could hear the acceleration of his breathing, the increased heat from his body.

With his voice going low and harsh, but his touch gentle, Dare asked, “They put their hands on you?”

Recalling the total humiliation, the nausea and fear, she nodded and said brokenly, “Yes.”

“Here?” When Dare’s thumb found her nipple, they both drew in sharp breaths.

“Yes.” Oh, God, she couldn’t think when he touched her. “They did … but not like that.”

The maddening stroke of his thumb continued. “More to hurt you?”

Words were beyond her, so Molly nodded again.

With small kisses to her temple, her cheek, the bridge of her nose, Dare nudged her face up until he could feather light, teasing pecks to her open mouth. When she made a sound of excitement, he nibbled on her bottom lip, licked her upper lip—and finally sealed his mouth over hers in a consuming, tongue-twining kiss.

All the while, his hand played with her breast. Molly wore a T-shirt and the sweatshirt, and still the touch of his hand on her was unbearably intoxicating.

Clasping a hand around the back of Dare’s neck, she tried to kiss him harder, deeper.

He lifted away, but not far. “If I’m going to do this—”

“You are.” She needed him so badly that she’d insist if she had to.

Dare smiled. “Then I want to do it right.”

She had no idea what he meant by that.

His eyes glittered at her in the darkness before she saw his resolve. “Tell me if you feel any panic at all.”

“I won’t. Not with you.”

He freed her from the quilt and spread it out behind her.

Cold air washed over her, but she wasn’t chilled. Far from it.

Easing her down to her back, Dare stretched out beside her. Even with the quilt as a cushion, the wooden boards of the dock should have been uncomfortable to her back. But at the moment, all Molly felt was Dare, breathing so close to her, touching her so carefully. She stared up at a velvet blanket of stars and the fat, glowing moon, and she knew the truth.

She was fast falling in love with a man who wanted her almost as much as he pitied her.

For now, it just didn’t matter. She needed this, she needed him, too much to care about anything else.

DARE LOOKED DOWN AT Molly, so trusting and so vulnerable in ways she didn’t even know. He’d made a vow to himself, but how could he have known that she’d offer herself like this?

All during his drive home, he’d thought of Molly’s life thus far. Her mother had died too young, and her father was a world-class bastard. Growing up under Bishop Alexander’s rule would have been a trial of endurance; that man could make anyone’s life hell.

Now, thanks to the photos Trace had shared, Dare knew that Bishop had the affiliations necessary to continue making Molly’s life miserable. He held close associations with a number of shady characters, but two in particular were of interest to Dare.

The grainy shots had been of Bishop and his wife at a formal party, chatting up well-dressed couples. But Trace had recognized a few faces: Ed Warwick and Mark Sagan. Trace had gone one further and done a preliminary dig on the relationship background between the men.

During a political fundraiser years back, Bishop had aligned himself with Ed Warwick, a retired military man who’d taken a post as an immigration official. On the surface, the two had only associated in their combined effort to financially back a senator. Later, when Warwick was accused of accepting bribes to clear the way to citizenship for ineligible aliens, Bishop broke ties, and Warwick hired Mark Sagan, a highly paid, very elite lawyer to represent him.

Amazingly enough, Sagan was known as a white separatist. Many despicable deeds had been attributed to him, but without proof. Sagan was the kind of man that Dare detested: polished and suave on the outside, bloodthirsty on the inside. Throughout his law career, Sagan had acquainted himself with numerous criminals who always managed to skirt the law.

Shortly after Warwick hired Sagan to represent him, one witness died in a hit-and-run, and two others changed their stories. Warwick wasn’t cleared, but lack of evidence made it impossible to prosecute. Bishop and Warwick had celebrated a subdued reunion, and since then, they’d been involved in many joint efforts with Sagan.

It was clear to Dare that Molly’s father had contacts he could have easily used to set up her kidnapping, and with Sagan, he had access to the muscle to see it done.

The facts didn’t lie: Bishop had the associations and the means.

But what would be the motive?

As Dare smoothed back Molly’s hair, he couldn’t think of a single reason why her father would want to cause her so much physical harm. And without a reason that would lead him to some hard evidence, he couldn’t officially accuse the man.

That meant that the worst—not knowing—was still ahead of her.

How could he ever turn her loose without knowing she’d be safe? And how could he, in good conscience, accept her intimate offer when she needed him so badly for protection?

Dare made up his mind, and it already tortured him. He’d give Molly what she needed, but he wasn’t going to have sex with her.

Not yet.

Finding her on the dock, half-frozen and with so much need, worked miracles toward shoring up his sometimes-misplaced honor. She needed to know that her life could still be the same, and that the nightmare would eventually fade into a dark but manageable memory.

“Are you cold?” She kept trying to crawl into him, clutching at him to keep him near, pressing herself close.

“No.” Her nails dug into his upper arm. “Dare, I want—”

“Shh. It’s all right.” He unzipped the oversize hoodie and slipped his hand inside. “Just relax for me.”

The second he touched her breast through the thin T-shirt, she tensed—and a soft moan escaped her parted lips.

The sound was sweet and desperate, proof that she’d been thinking about this, about him, for a while now.

“You’re in a bad way, aren’t you?”

She nodded, licked her lips. “I need you, yes.”

Because they had touched her, hurt her, abused her.

He had to remember that this was to eradicate ugly memories. He had to remember all that she’d suffered.

Seeing the bruise on her cheek, Dare bent to brush his mouth over it. “They hit you … here?”

She said nothing, but her breath hitched.

“And here?” Skimming his mouth along her throat, he gently touched each mark, occasionally licking over a fading bruise or putting a soft love bite over angry fingerprints. It was so dark out that he worked by memory—not that he’d ever forget a single mark on her delicate skin.

“My … my ribs,” she whispered by way of encouragement, making Dare smile.

Overcome with tenderness, rigid with lust, he pulled the T-shirt up. “Right here,” he whispered, knowing that his jaw brushed her breast as he pressed openmouthed kisses to her ribs.

“Dare.” She tunneled her fingers into his hair and arched up a little.

Her tight hold on his hair stung a little and showed her level of urgency. Knowing she was ready, Dare turned to see her breasts. Thanks to the cold and her excitement, her nipples were puckered tight.

God. Holding her shoulders, he bent to lick first one nipple, then the other, before closing his mouth around her.

Her drawn-out groan echoed over the lake. Her knees came up and she started to turn toward him. Dare held her down and tried to slow her response a little.

This was for her—but he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of her body in the process.

She grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand down to her belly.

Dare paused. His chest tightened with painful possibilities. Repeatedly Molly had told him that she wasn’t raped. But had they—

“They didn’t,” she said as if reading his mind. “They threatened, and, yes, they sometimes touched me … in ways they shouldn’t have. But … but that’s not why …”

He laid his hand over the soft, womanly rise of her belly. “You’re a woman, and you want me?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her nipple again. “Already?” And then, a little more desperately, “Are you sure, Molly? We have all night. There’s no rush….”

“Don’t make me wait, Dare.” She shifted and squirmed. “Please.”

Amazing. Still unsure, but unwilling to push her, Dare cupped his hand between her legs, touched her lightly along the seam of her jeans.

Her reaction was swift and strong.

He sat up in a rush and had to move aside her hands so he could unsnap and unzip the jeans. Once he had them opened, he paused. Hell, it was March in Kentucky. The breeze tonight was downright frigid.

He glanced up at his house. Not that far away, and a hell of a lot more comfortable for her …

“Dare?”

She clutched at him, confused and anxious, and he whispered, “Fuck it.” He dragged her jeans and panties down to her knees, exposing her sex. Everything was in shadows, and the moonlight that had felt so bright moments before didn’t give him the light he wanted now.

He wouldn’t take her, but he wanted to see her, damn it, all of her.

But of course he remembered, so maybe it was better that he couldn’t see; bruises, scratches—injuries that went deeper than the marks on her skin and flesh.

Aching for what she’d endured, Dare lowered his head and put a gentle, barely there kiss to her ribs, her abdomen, her flat belly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Molly.”

Eyes huge and dark, she stared up at him. “Then don’t stop.”

He smiled to reassure her, but his heart was breaking and his body burned. “I won’t.” He wouldn’t stop, because she needed this too much, but he would go easy. He would use ultimate care with her.

Resting on his elbow beside her, close enough to share his body heat, Dare cupped each breast in turn, enjoying their heavy weight, the sensitivity of her taut nipples. Slowly, he stroked his hand down to her belly and finally cupped it between her legs again, this time over her naked sex. Exhibiting uncommon patience, he lightly teased the soft pubic hair. “Can you open your legs for me, Molly?”

He needed her to be a willing participant every step of the way. He needed to know that she was with him, not held captive in bad memories.

On a sharp inhalation, she turned her face away, and her knees parted.

“Nice.” The cool air now felt good to him, he was so damn hot. “Look at me, Molly.”

When she did, Dare leaned over to kiss her again, touching his mouth to hers, easing her into the kiss to help relax her. At the same time, he explored her with his fingertips, finding her flesh sleek and hot and already damp.

Dare thought of sinking into her, of making her his in every way, and his body tightened, hardened. Carefully, he opened her, stroked over her, slipped his fingers slightly inside her.

She felt so perfect that, without meaning to, Dare pressed his erection against her hip.

Holding on to his shoulders, kissing him with hunger, Molly moved against him and with him.

Damn, but she wouldn’t let him go slow.

He left her mouth to kiss a trail down her throat to her collarbone and down to her breasts. She had beautiful, full, firm breasts. How the hell she kept them from being a focal point, he didn’t know.

He wished he knew the color of her nipples, but as he took her into his mouth again, he knew the texture and taste.

Perfect.

The air was cold, but their combined body heat, scented by lust, wafted around them both. As he sucked on her left nipple, Dare pressed his middle finger into her.

She clenched hard, cried out and lifted her hips.

Moving to the other nipple, Dare licked her, closed his teeth gently around her and tugged until she groaned raggedly, and then he suckled. He felt her slick moisture on his finger, and worked a second into her, stretching her, filling her. As she cried out again, already on the ragged edge, he brought his thumb up to her distended clitoris. Teasing over it, manipulating, he found a rhythm that pushed her.

Within minutes she was lost, her head back, her eyes closed as she cried out long and loud with a hard release.

Dare raised up to look at her, drawing in a shuddering breath, feeling so connected to her and caring so much about her.

Fuck, but it scared him.

Shaken, he watched her as the sensations faded and she went utterly limp, and very silent.

Did she expect him to move over her now, to take her on a damn dock in the cold of the night? Or was she dreading the possibility?

Trying to find the right words, Dare gathered her close and held her to his chest. She sighed against him, her pants still down, her shirt still up.

What the hell was he doing?

Stroking her hair back from her face, he kissed her forehead and hugged her again.

Somewhere behind them, a light came on. Molly flinched in reaction, and Dare, going on the alert, moved to shield her with his body.

He waited, poised to react.

From the front door of his cabin, sounding chagrined, Chris called out, “The dogs are barking.” He cleared his throat loud enough for even the fish to hear. “I guess they heard something.”

With no threat imminent, Dare relaxed, cursed and then muttered, “I’ll kill him.”

Chris laughed at that. “Voices do carry.”

“Shut up, Chris.”

“Just letting you know that the girls refused to stay inside.”

Just then, Tai and Sargie came charging across the yard and onto the dock. Dare groaned, looked down at Molly and saw she was snickering.

And that made him grin, too.

He pulled her T-shirt down and closed the hoodie around her. “Britches up, woman. We need to go to the house.”

He stood and then moved in front of her to ward off the enthusiastic dogs. They were thrilled to see Dare, and doubly thrilled to think it wasn’t yet time for bed.

Aware of Molly moving behind him, of her silence, Dare petted the dogs and waited.

She touched his shoulder. “Dare?” She sounded horribly uncertain and more than a little embarrassed.

Dare faced her, bent to kiss the bridge of her nose and asked, “Ready to go?”

She held the quilt in her arms. “Yes, but … what about you?”

He put an arm around her. No reason to tell her that he’d intended to suffer in silence. Not now. “I’m fine. Tired, actually.” He urged her along the dock toward the house. “Time to call it a night.”

“But I wouldn’t mind—”

He had to interrupt her. If she offered herself again, no way in hell would he be able to resist. “My girls aren’t used to overnight guests.” Circling them with every third step, the dogs showed their excitement. Dare laughed. “Definitely not used to women sharing my bed. And they have no respect for privacy.”

Molly went silent, and it bothered Dare. What did she think? Was she feeling rejected?

Bending to her ear, he said, “The lake amplifies everything, even a whisper, remember? Whatever we say, Chris will hear.”

“Oh, my God.” She stopped dead in her tracks. “That’s what he meant …”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dare’s arm around her back propelled her along the path. “But we might want to hold all conversation until we’re inside, okay?”

She looked toward Chris’s cabin. He’d turned the lights back out, but Dare was willing to bet that Chris was inside laughing his ass off.

Molly put her palms to her cheeks. “Was I … loud?”

She spoke so low that Dare barely heard the question. He hugged her into his side. “You were, are, beautiful, and Chris is just a dumbass. Don’t give him another thought.”

He opened the back door to the house, and they both stepped inside. Dark except for a low light over the sink, it was even more difficult to see in here. Dare drew her up against his body and put his chin to the top of her head. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Still cold?”

“I’m fine.”

Of course. She was always fine. “Then let’s turn in, okay? Together.”

She perked up, until Dare shook his head. “To sleep, Molly. I like having you next to me, but we’re not going to have sex tonight.” He used the side of his fist under her chin to lift her face. “Not because I don’t want you. You know I do.” He nudged his erection against her and saw her lips part.

So damned sweet and honest.

Dare opened his hand on her face and cradled her cheek. He couldn’t resist kissing her one more time. She leaned into him, languid and warm and ready.

When he lifted his head, her eyes slowly opened, and as she refocused she looked down at Tai and Sargie sitting beside him. The dogs started thumping their tails.

“No,” Dare said, reading her thoughts. “Not because of the dogs, either.” He loved his girls, but if they were the only thing keeping him from her, he’d put them on the other side of his bedroom door for an hour or so and not feel even a smidge of guilt about it.

Her exasperation sounded in a small huff. “Okay, then why?”

Might as well be honest with her—to a degree. “Because I think we need to go slow. I think you need to go slow.”

She licked her lips, bit them and cleared her throat. “You told me to tell you when I was ready.”

Yeah, he had, but he hadn’t expected her to be ready so quickly.

“Soon,” he promised her. He led her out of the kitchen and toward his room. “There are a few more things we need to clear up first.”

He could feel her consternation—and maybe a little annoyance.

“Like what?”

Like whether or not her father was enough of a monster to arrange for her kidnapping, and the abuse she’d suffered. But he knew from experience that bedtime was no time to dwell on upsetting possibilities. Whether Molly felt “fine” right now or not, she still had a lot of adjustment ahead of her.

“Let’s save that big discussion for tomorrow, all right?” Relieving her of the quilt, Dare eyed her clothes and asked, “Are you sleeping in all that?”

“No.” She stripped down to the T-shirt and panties and crawled into his bed.

Just like she belonged there. And maybe … maybe she did.

The dogs jumped up onto the bed after her, circled, found a spot and dropped. They, too, acted as though she’d always been a part of their lives.

As Dare went into the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth, he thought of what he’d learned about her father. He saw again those incriminating photos and felt the animosity Bishop Alexander had revealed toward his oldest daughter.

After he’d finished up and returned to the bedroom, he found Molly resting on her side, her hands beneath her cheek, her eyes watchful as she took in his every step.

Tomorrow, on the way back to her apartment, Dare would tell her what he’d uncovered so far. He hoped like hell she was as strong as she seemed, because she’d need that strength to come to grips with reality.

“I’m cold,” Molly said. “Are you ready to come to bed?”

“Yeah.” Dare undressed down to his boxers and got in beside her. After he turned out the light, he automatically reached for her, and she automatically curled into his side.

If someone hadn’t tried to harm her, and if that someone wasn’t still a vital threat, life would be pretty damned sweet.

AFTER A REFRESHING sleep, Molly woke before dawn. Dare had one big arm around her waist, one leg trapping both of hers. His chest hair tickled her nose, and she loved it. He was always so warm, so secure.

But she’d awakened with a fabulous idea in her mind, and she needed to write. It amazed her that, with very little time for recovery, her muse was back in full force. But then, it had always been that way for her. Writing was her escape, her entertainment, her catharsis for whatever bothered her. Through storytelling, she could set aside worries and instead immerse herself in someone else’s problems—problems that she could and did fix.

Trying not to awaken Dare, Molly scooted out from under his hold. Right before she left the bed, his hand snagged her wrist.

“What’s wrong?”

Oh, crud. She hadn’t meant to disturb him. “Nothing,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Instead he sat up and looked at the clock, then ran a hand through his hair. “It’s only five-thirty.”

“I know.” Now feeling foolish and very conspicuous, Molly tried to explain. “I wrote a few pages yesterday. I sort of stopped at a good spot, and I wanted to get back to it.”

“Where?”

“Where … am I in my book?” No way was she going to start trying to synopsize for him.

“No.” He scratched his chest. “Where did you write?”

Why did that matter? Molly shrugged. “In the room you let me use. Upstairs.” Since she’d yet to sleep there, she couldn’t very well call it her room.

In the dim, gray light, Molly watched him stretching. The bed shifted as he rolled to his feet. Then he walked off, and a second later the bathroom light came on. He pulled the door shut, but he wasn’t gone long.

Molly heard the toilet flush, then heard water splash in the sink. When he returned, he left the door open so that the light spilled into the bedroom.

God help her, but Dare looked delicious in the morning with his whiskers and his rumpled hair.

And his body mostly bare.

So much strength showed in his physique, without him being muscle-bound. Tall, strong, gorgeous … How was she supposed to resist that?

He went to a drawer and pulled out sweats.

Molly stopped staring and jumped out of the bed. That made the dogs attentive, too. “Dare, what are you doing?”

“I’m usually up by six anyway.” He sat to pull on white socks and running shoes. “It’s a good time to jog with the dogs.”

When they heard that, both dogs stood, ears perked, in preparation to following him.

Glancing out the window, Molly saw the darkness. The whistling of wind sounded cold. And he’d still be sleeping if she hadn’t awakened him. “You’re going jogging now?”

“Yeah.” He stood and pulled on a hooded sweatshirt. “I’ll wait for my coffee until I get back, but help yourself if you want it now. Otherwise, Chris will be over soon, and he’ll get it ready.”

The dogs looked from Molly to Dare—and excitedly went to Dare.

She trotted after all three of them as they started out of the room. “How long will you be gone?”

“An hour or so. Maybe longer.” He turned, and she almost ran into him. Dare caught her shoulders. “After that, I’ll be downstairs working out for a little while.”

Who crawled out of bed before dawn, ran and then worked out—without coffee? “You’re kidding.”

He bent and kissed her hard and fast. Sargie barked, reminding them both that she had need of a grassy spot outside.

“Take your time writing today. I don’t have any plans until the afternoon.” And with that, he turned and started down the hall.

Molly stared after him. Plans? What plans did he have? And what did that have to do with her?

Unless … he planned to take her home.

The idea was both tantalizing and frightening. She probably had a dozen important calls to return; she could only imagine what her editor and her agent thought about her disappearing in the middle of negotiations. But going home meant she was that much closer to ending her association with Dare.

Was he anxious to get rid of her? And if so, did it have anything to do with her botched seduction effort last night?

She dredged up every word she’d said, and even though she tried to reassure herself, one fact come slamming back into her brain: Dare had been generous, but not interested enough to take what she had so freely offered.