Hostile Takeover by Hill, W (best novels to read for students .TXT) 📕

gave out, convulsing like a fever victim, leaving her mind blank, facial features numb, making it difficult to speak. She was panting, seeking air. At a certain point she’d unconsciously let go of the counter, had grabbed hold of his forearm across her body. Now she saw she’d dug her nails into his flesh, drawn blood. He’d have at least three crescent marks there. She was still holding him that tightly, but she couldn’t make herself let go.

“Does Lucas know what you are?”

Her gaze fluttered up to meet his in the mirror. He had his jaw pressed to the side of her head, his lips cruising along the hair at her temple. It wasn’t tenderness, not exactly. He looked like he was learning her scent like a predator, so he could hunt her again.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what he and Cass talk about.” Enough belligerence slipped into her voice that she earned a deeper push of those fingers. Plus a third one, despite the constricted nature of her post-climactic tissues. She bit her lip.

“Does Cass know?”

“Yes.” She swallowed against his hold, met that formidable stare. “She and I talked…when I figured it out. She also had me talk to Dana. In case I felt reservations about discussing certain things with her. I asked her not to tell Peter. So I don’t think any of the other…”

“Guys” didn’t fit, not at this moment. Five hardcore Masters, bonded like a wolfpack. A more respectful honorific was needed, but her brain was too foggy to figure it out.

“Christ.” Though he still held her on her toes, he slid his fingers out of her. Her hands convulsed against his arm, the one she’d marked. If he rolled down the sleeve, he’d get blood on it. When he eased her back to her feet, she was already reaching for the basket of thick paper hand towels. Her fingers shaking, she tried to run one under the water.

“Got to wipe that blood off,” she said, hearing her voice break. “Make sure you don’t mess up your shirt.”

Marcie: I know you’ve had sex with a million women. How many women have you had that mattered?

Ben: I’m not having this conversation with you.

Marcie: Why?

Ben: Because it’s entirely inappropriate, and none of your business.

Marcie: I’m just curious what it is you really want.

Ben: Men aren’t that complex, Marcie.

Marcie: Maybe most men aren’t. But I think you are. Otherwise you’d just answer the question.

Phone call between Ben and Marcie

Chapter Four

He pressed against her back, closing his hands on her wrists. “Stop.” He spoke against her hair. Pulling the towel from her hands, he set it aside. “Come here.”

Since she was already right against him, she wasn’t sure what he meant, but it didn’t matter. Turning her in his arms, he picked her up, smooth and easy. In the small sitting area adjacent to the bathroom was a settee, probably to give him a place to sit down and put on his shoes if he was dressing in here. Now he set her down on the firm cushions. “Stay there.”

Returning to the sink, he blotted the blood off his arm, quick and functional. Then he wet another paper towel and brought it and a couple dry ones with him. Nonplussed, she watched him drop to one knee beside her, bringing them to eye level. Cupping her chin, he dabbed at her mascara, dried tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed when he took her over so completely. She didn’t understand why that would make her cry, but it felt right, like it should.

Reaching out, she touched the pocket of his shirt, her fingers hooking briefly in it, caressing the man beneath. “No handkerchief,” she managed.

“It was in my coat,” he said. “We’ll make do with this.”

He sat back on his heels then, out of her reach. Bending his head, he gripped her ankle, began to massage the strained arches, her toes, through the silk of her stockings. “Oh.” She suppressed a moan of sheer joy at the sensation. The little ripple between her legs at the intimate touch surprised her, her body responding as if that hollow of her foot was an erogenous zone.

“Unzip your skirt,” he ordered, his head still bent over his task. It took a little fumbling, since coordination wasn’t happening right now, but she managed to reach behind her and do that. Rising, he lifted her back onto her bare feet, and then worked the skirt off her hips himself. The strength and yet precision of his hands captured her, the way he was able to remove the skirt with firm pressure, no jerking or awkwardness. On one hand, it was a reminder of how many women he’d undressed. On the other, it was undeniably sexy, the competent way he did it, no haste.

“How you breathe in this is beyond me.”

“Lycra and cotton blend. It’s a wonderful thing.” She hiccupped on the chuckle, felt a little silly and more than a bit nervous, flushing as he flicked a glance at her. The skirt dropped to the ground around her bare feet. She wanted to cross her arms over herself, rub arms that now had goose bumps. Instead, her hands had landed on his shoulders as he’d bent to free the skirt, and they were still there. Until he straightened, and then they slipped to his forearms, her fingers curling into the folds of his sleeves. He took her wrists, lifted her hands away from him, but gave them a squeeze.

“At your sides, Marcie. You don’t have permission to touch me.”

It was odd, how it kicked in. That post-climactic lassitude, the numbness of her brain, didn’t make her numb to instinctive obedience to her Master’s order. Though he said it in a relatively mild tone, she immediately put her arms at her sides. Keeping them there became a little more difficult when he hooked her panties, drew them down her legs, his fingers following the same track over her thighs.