Hostile Attractions Read online

  “Elliot.” She says it slow and careful, like she’s never said it before. And maybe she hasn’t. I can’t remember.

  “I like the way you say my name.” It seems to fit me better coming out of her mouth.

  “I like the way you say mine.”

  Everything shifts then, goes crackling and sharp. Like the air is carrying way too much charge, ready to spark against anything it can.

  Her eyes are deep, dark, the color of fall leaves. I can’t look away. But then there’s the sweep of her cheekbones, the curve of her lips, the beat of her pulse in her throat. I want to lick it, press my tongue hard against it.

  “Elliot.”

  When she says my name like that, breathless, needy, I’m a fucking goner. To hell with lines and caution and what we should be doing.

  I gather her close and kiss her.

  Chapter 20

  Elliot is never gentle.

  I know that by now, but it’s coming home in an entirely new way as he’s kissing me. The man was on death’s door not even a few hours ago, but he’s kissing me like…

  Well, there’s no other way to put it: he’s fucking my mouth. All hungry and urgent and demanding.

  I wrap the hem of his shirt around my fist and tug upward. If I can’t get at his bare skin in the next few seconds, I won’t be responsible for what happens.

  He stops kissing me long enough to get his shirt off, then dives in for another round. My clit is already throbbing, achy, and he’s barely even touched me.

  I run my hands over his chest, moaning at the sensation of all that hair. It’s just so primitive. Makes me feel wild and free myself.

  When I find his nipples, give them a tweak, he rumbles deep in his throat. I have to swallow the sound because he hasn’t released my mouth. I run my hands down his pecs, using my nails just a bit. Just to remind him that I can be primal and wild too.

  He takes my lower lip between his teeth, bites down softly. Not gently, because there is a difference. And the difference sends tremors of pleasure echoing through my belly, pooling in my pussy.

  As if he knows, he finds my sex, presses snug against it. It’s good, but I twist up, seeking more.

  “I miss your pajamas,” he says. “They were so fucking sexy.”

  “I could tell.” I gasp as he rubs me through my panties. He’s not even near my clit, but I’m already seeing stars.

  “These clothes have to go.”

  My eyes flutter closed, because bossy. Who knew that Elliot Martell ordering me around in that tone was better than any vibrator?

  And then he’s undressing me. Again, not gently. Some alarm in my brain is telling me to slow down, that he’s been sick, but it’s like trying to wake up from some deep dream. The alarm is so annoying, so faint, and the dream is so much better.

  “Are you okay?” I manage to get out just as he’s pulling off the yoga pants.

  He frowns. It’s a what the fuck are you on about? frown. “No,” he says bluntly. “You’re still wearing your panties. And I have to eat you out.”

  My mouth falls open. He said it like… like he said tits before. So natural, so common, which makes it all the dirtier. Discovering all these new sides of Elliot has been a delight. He just… delights me.

  He doesn’t seem to notice my shock—he’s too intent on tugging my underwear past my ankles. He lets my panties drop to the floor without even a backward look.

  Instead, he’s staring at me. Like he’s going to unlock every bit of me in a few moments. As raw and open as I feel with him, I want to let him. With deliberate motions, he positions me on the pillows, my back propped against them, my chest high and my legs wide.

  He leans back on his heels, takes in what he’s done. Like if he doesn’t get me at the perfect angle for this, it will all be ruined.

  Meanwhile, I’m so worked up by his hands on me he could breathe on my pussy and I’d climax.

  He nods once, as if satisfied, then leans over…

  “Fuck,” I hiss out.

  His beard is dragging along my inner thighs and it’s like too much. My head thrashes on the pillows and my thighs clamp shut.

  At least they try to. Elliot grabs my knees, holds me open. Licks my pussy long and slow.

  My toes curl and my lungs seize. He doesn’t relent. He licks me like he fingered me—trying every kind of stroke, testing every secret, tender spot. Using his lips, his teeth, that way-too-clever tongue. I can’t hide from him even if I wanted to.

  I take his head, grind myself into his mouth. He makes an eager, encouraging noise that vibrates through me. So I do it again, searching out that friction I’m desperate for.

  I’m so close. The orgasm is inside me, trying to claw its way out. Only inches more to go…

  Elliot’s mouth closes over my clit and he sucks. Hard.

  That’s all I need to fall over the edge. Elliot doesn’t stop though. He keeps it up, pushing me to another peak. And yet another.

  When he finally slows down, lets me catch my breath, I’m boneless. Rubbery. He’s dissolved me in orgasms.

  The gleam in his eye tells me he knows exactly what he did. He cocks one eyebrow. “Speechless, huh?”

  Oh, if I could move, I’d toss a pillow at him. Toss a pillow, then snuggle close to him. Let that chest hair scratch against my cheek. Breathe in his scent, savor his heat. Hold him and let him hold me. Savoring each other.

  He’s on his knees, sitting between my thighs. Beautifully bare chested…

  My gaze runs lower. And he’s magnificently hard.

  This time when I reach for him, he doesn’t stop me. Instead, he closes his eyes, sighs. His cheeks are stained dark, but not with fever.

  Even through the soft weave of his pajama pants, touching his cock is like gathering sparks. Hot and buzzy in the palm of my hand.

  He hooks his thumbs into his waistband and drags his pants off. I catch a glimpse of muscular thighs, hard shins, tight calves, and then he’s kneeling again, his thighs spread to offer me his cock.

  I wet my lips, move my hand over him. His cock is thick, the veins stark. And his balls are heavy, thick with hair. Again, it’s like discovering a secret—tucked into his practical black boxer briefs is this beast. Just like with the chest hair and the dirty talk.

  “Do you remember what you said?” His voice is rough, like he had to drag the words out.

  “About your hard, thick cock in my mouth?” I look up at him through my lashes. I keep stroking him, tugging hard when I reach the root.

  “Yes.” The s dissolves into a hissed exhale.

  I run my tongue along my upper lip, teasing him. “What about it?” Coy, as if my thighs aren’t shaking with the urge to taste him.

  “You’re a monster.”

  I lower my head. “So sweet,” I say. “Just the best compliments.”

  “A beautiful, maddening monster.” He puts a hand to the back of my neck, asking me to go lower. “The sexiest, smartest—”

  I close my mouth on his cock, which shuts him right up. I’d smile, but my mouth is too full. He’s even thicker, harder like this. The crown nudges the back of my throat.

  I run my tongue up and down his length, positioning myself so he can see everything. I get him nice and wet, cupping the weight of his sac as I attend to every inch of his cock with my mouth.

  He runs his fingers through my hair, closing his hand tight. He tips my head back, sets the purple head of his cock at my lips.

  There’s a question in his expression. Is this okay?

  I nod. This is all more than okay—this is exactly what I want. Need. He tastes like sweat and musk and hard, grinding sex. He thrusts into my mouth, and with every move, my clit pulses in time.

  I clench my thighs together, but it isn’t enough. So I reach between my legs with one hand and find my clit.

  “Mmmm,” I moan around his cock. He thrusts faster, harder. My hand between my legs keeps up with his tempo.

  Soon enough, he’s coming and I’m coming, all me
ssy and entwined. I release his cock with an audible pop. It gleams with my spit and his come.

  We both sort of fall over together, him landing below me on the pillows. Low enough to give my breasts a nuzzle, more like hello than Hello! Sweet and affectionate. Almost, almost gentle.

  I reach over and rub his beard. “This is magical.” My voice is slurry with pleasure. And my thighs tingle from the marks his beard left on them. My heart… I don’t want to examine the state of my heart.

  He reaches up, wipes my lips with his thumb.

  “I have to go,” he says. “But tonight…” He leans in, kisses me deeply. He must taste himself in my mouth, but it seems to turn him on.

  I can still taste hints of me on his lips, and I can confirm: it’s hot as fuck.

  Don’t go, I want to say. Stay here with me.

  But I know better. And he did promise me tonight.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Chapter 21

  I’m deep in a contract—and trying not to get distracted by thoughts of Emily—when a knock comes at my open office door.

  My head jerks up. There’s Logan, standing in the doorway and holding two brown paper sacks.

  “Lunch?” He holds up the bags. “From that burger place over on Alma.”

  “You brought me food?” Logan can be the typical protective older brother, but he doesn’t usually feel he has to feed me.

  Logan shrugs. “I thought we could talk too.”

  Great. I already know what this is going to be about. But he is my brother. “Let’s eat on the patio.”

  The day is pleasant, I guess you could call it. Not warm but not chilled. And the breeze is quiet instead of rising up and running through the patio columns.

  Logan hands out the food, always the older brother. He knows who gets what, and I simply have to accept what he gives me.

  But he also knows my favorites, has since I was born. So I get a roast beef sandwich, piled high with banana peppers, au jus to dip it in, and jalapeño chips along with a Dr. Pepper to wash it all down.

  Not exactly a complicated order, but Logan knows it without my even telling him.

  “Thanks for this,” I say. “I didn’t even realize it was lunchtime.”

  Logan picks up his own sandwich. Pastrami on rye, thickly smeared with Dijon mustard. I’d know that without him telling me too. “I heard from Finn you were sick. You look okay.”

  “Just a fever. It’s gone now.” I watch him eat. Logan’s always looked more like Dad than I do, with his nose and the way his eyes sit in his face. “Do you remember that one time we were both sick and Dad convinced Mom to go to work anyway? That he’d take care of us?”

  Logan snorts. “And the asshole took us to the track. Had some foolproof scheme to bet on the horses.”

  I shake my head. “It was worse than that. It was a dog racetrack, remember?”

  Logan cocks his head. “No, I don’t. I could have sworn it was horse racing.”

  “Dogs. Because he figured fewer people were betting, so he was sure to win.”

  The whole thing reeked of desperation and sadness. The dogs, the spectators, even the stupid mechanical rabbit.

  “You’re probably right. I just remember being so hot. Like I’d turned into a furnace.”

  “He lost the grocery money for the entire month. Luckily, Mom found Hamburger Helper on sale. Remember?”

  Logan’s expression is grim. “I hate that shit.”

  Most families get together and remember happy times, laugh together over well-worn stories. Logan and I talk about all the times our old man fucked up.

  Logan exhales deeply, rolls out his shoulders. “That’s all over now. Dad’s dead, and Mom’s all set up in her house with her trust. No matter what happens to us, she’s taken care of.”

  It’s true. Dad might have failed her, but in the end, Logan and I made sure she was safe. That she wouldn’t die penniless.

  “How’s Callie?” I ask after a few bites.

  Logan doesn’t smile, but he does start to… glow. “Great. The baby’s kicking away. Any day now and you’ll be an uncle.”

  I can’t help but smile. “And you’ll be a dad. Are you ready?”

  “Hell no. I’m already terrified. Imagine how much worse it will be when the baby’s finally here.”

  “You’ll do great.” I’m not just blowing sunshine up his ass—he’ll be great. He’s already devoted to Callie. He’ll be even more devoted to their kid.

  “You have to help too, Uncle Elliot.”

  I’m definitely not ready for that. Uncles are supposed to be fun, supposed to let you do all the things your parents won’t. I’m too rigid for that.

  “Calling the baby it is weird. Could you please find out the sex beforehand?”

  “Callie wants to be surprised.” Logan sounds like he doesn’t though.

  “Isn’t getting a baby a big enough surprise?” I’d go crazy not knowing. Why would you willfully keep that kind of information under wraps?

  “Whatever Callie wants, she can have.”

  Of course, the guiding principle of Logan’s life. Everything for Callie. When she left him, he had nothing left. He just kind of… went hollow. It scared me, seeing my brother like that. And didn’t help endear Callie to me.

  But it’s all fixed now. Logan’s forgiven her, and she’s forgiven him. I’m… happy for them. Really.

  Logan sets down his sandwich. Uh-oh, I know that look.

  “You sure you’re okay? I know you don’t like people in your space.”

  It’s true, but Emily isn’t in my space. We’re sharing it. And I’d better be careful to not slip up and call her Emily.

  “It’s fine. We’re dealing.”

  “I’m sure you are—you’re good at that,” Logan says. “But she seems to get at you. In a way other people don’t.”

  He has no idea. “What do you mean?”

  “Like at the partners’ meeting. You were practically defending her. I’m just wondering if having her stay with you is messing with your head.”

  I set my own sandwich aside. I’m done. “I promise you, my head is fine. You’re all against her, and I understand why, but she’s brought out some incredible information. And completely blown up her whole life to do it.”

  Logan shifts in his seat, props his elbow against the table. “You just have to take up a struggle, don’t you?”

  “Struggle? What are you talking about?”

  “People say you love to argue—hell, I say it too—but it’s more than that for you. You don’t argue about stupid shit, like saying the sky is purple just to be a contrarian ass. The argument has to matter to you. The struggle.”

  It sounds too much like when Emily was talking about the things that mattered to her. Save the whales. Stop the war. Keep on with the struggle.

  My chest is tight, my throat clogged. I don’t like being so seen, not even by my own brother.

  But hell, if we’re doing raw confessions here, I might as well go all the way. I clear my throat. “When you fell in love with Callie, how did you… How did you know?”

  Logan’s very confused. “I just knew. I can’t explain it in words. Why, have you met—” His mouth tenses. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck me.”

  “It’s not—”

  “It’s her.” Logan makes it sound like I’ve caught the plague. “Did you fuck her?”

  I tighten up. She’s not the plague. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Goddamn it, you did.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s why you’re defending her.”

  “I thought I liked the struggle,” I say dryly.

  “The struggle and sex.”

  “We didn’t have sex.” And now I’m parsing the meaning of sex like a true lawyer.

  “But you think you’re in love with her.”

  My heart gets squirrely. I’m not in love with her. I like her, sure. I’m worried for her. She… she connects with me in a way no one else ever has.

  But it’
s not love. It can’t be. “I never said that.”

  “Then why did you ask about it?” Logan raises his eyebrows like he’s scored a game-winning point. Which might be fair.

  “Can we forget about this? I thought we were in the trust tree here.” Logan’s the only person I know who’s fallen crazy head over heels in love with someone. I just wanted to know which symptoms to worry about.

  “Always.” Logan grins. “But I’m still going to ride your ass.” He gets serious again. “Whatever’s going on with you and Minerva, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I slump in my chair because I’m pretty sure I don’t. I don’t like this out-of-control feeling, like I have to be with her, see her, hold her. Especially since we have no future as a couple, even if she weren’t likely to go to jail.

  It isn’t love—I don’t even know her real last name—but whatever it is, it’s got me worried. Not worried enough to stop sleeping with her though, which should terrify me.

  Yeah, you could say she’s gotten into my head.

  “It’s complicated,” is all I say. When Logan opens his mouth again, I cut him off. “Remember when you and Callie were having all your issues and I tried to be supportive?”

  “That was supportive? Because you kept telling me to divorce her.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  Logan reaches over and clasps a hand on my shoulder. “And I’m worried about you. I can’t help it.”

  His hand is heavy on my shoulder, a solid weight that won’t budge. It’s a hell of a comfort.

  “Thanks,” I say. “And I know that all this is… not ideal.”

  Making me chicken soup, taking care of me when I’m sick, cuddling with me: these are not things I do with anyone. It was always going to be a brief interlude even if I wasn’t expecting it to be so… nice.

  “Yeah. I hate to say it, but there’s almost no way she’s got a happy ending coming.” Logan lifts his hand, sits back.

  I make myself sit up, straighten up. Slouching just doesn’t feel good after a while. And feeling sorry for myself won’t help anything.

  “I know there’s no happy ending,” I say. I make my voice firm, steady, because there’s no getting around that truth, no matter how badly I might want to. “And so does she.”