Unbidden Desires (Den of Sin Book 12) Page 4

  Zora made a soft noise that sounded more like a curse. “You’re a horrible person.”

  He chuckled and picked up his glass again. “But a good newsman.”

  She cupped the bottom of her glass and held it in her lap. Finally she just shook her head. “It’s not the dirtiest tactic, but it’s still pretty scuzzy.”

  His scalp prickled as insanity dug in. He leaned forward and inhaled. Of course his scent on her was long gone, but that still left her seductive fragrance. “And how long before you use it?” A gruffness invaded his voice. He couldn’t help it. “I’d bet you already have a source in mind.”

  She propped her elbow on the table, turned her head and her lips were right there. Their hurried fucking hadn’t left much room for foreplay. Red stained her lips, but he knew they were pink, full, under the make-up. He just knew they could wrap beautifully around his cock.

  Zora didn’t pull back. “I’m not a friend to my sources. That’s what you do to get them to talk. It crosses a boundary you can’t get back. And like I said before, it’s scuzzy. I’d rather get a story—”

  He lifted his hand. “You don’t condone what I do. Understandable. I don’t like some methods I’ve seen from others. How someone gets a story isn’t a reflection of who they are.”

  “The way you get a story is an exact reflection of the person you are. Were you always this shady?”

  “No.” Since he let that out there was no need to turn back. “I used to be just like you. I’d go about getting the story in a proper way. At night, before I went to sleep, I wouldn’t worry about what else I could have done. I did my best and did it in a completely honorable way.”

  “You’re saying there’s no honor and respect in what we do? Or rather, leave all honor behind to get the really good stories?”

  “There’s an ocean of it, and if that’s what gets you the story then do it, but sometimes you have to get dirty.” His mind reeled back to London. Smoke and screams had filled the streets. His ears had rung and it wasn’t just because of the bomb.

  He lifted his hand and dragged his thumb over her chin. He’d touched her to ground himself, and because he had wanted to. Her eyes closed, and she shivered.

  He whispered, “This business isn’t for the faint of heart. You’ll get your teeth kicked in if you don’t pay attention. But one day you’ll find the story that makes you vicious. You won’t like it. You’ll hate to stand by and report a tragedy. You’re a human just like anyone else. You’re scared. You’re worried. And most importantly, you want to be remembered.”

  He touched her lips with the tip of his fingers and remembered her mouth pressed against his. She kissed like she wanted to sink into him. Despite everything, he wanted to be kissed like that again. He noted she hadn’t turned from his touch. “And you hate yourself for wanting to be remembered. It’s about the story, and it’s about the glory. You’re never going to make peace with the fact it’s always about both things. It’s going to be a war. Every day you’re going to have to decide what’s the casualty.”

  She opened her eyes. Pity and maybe sadness reflected back. “And your morals were one of the casualties?”

  He shifted. “If that was the case I’d do a story about two baseball players having an affair.”

  She licked her lips and pulled back. “I don’t buy it.”

  His hands balled. He wanted to throttle her, and then drag her to the floor and fuck her just as hard as he had at the Den. “You don’t have to.”

  Zora’s chin notched up. “And that’s fine with you?”

  “Your revenge. Your belief.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “I’m not that bad of a reporter.”

  “No,” he agreed.

  Maybe she did it on purpose or it was a thoughtless action, but Zora slid her left leg closer to his. The slit in the dress was demure, but he’d seen her legs bare. He’d scraped his nails over her caramel-colored skin.

  His throat tightened from the need to run his tongue over her curves. Why hadn’t he the first and second time? Why didn’t he think that would be the last time she’d let him touch her? He should have savored every moment, every moan.

  Alastair shouldn’t have wanted her like this, but still…“You’re just not that hungry.”

  God. He could admit he was. The pang in his stomach had nothing to do with the fact he’d forgone lunch and they hadn’t served dinner yet. He could also admit it wasn’t just lust he felt for her.

  “Then why are you so hungry?” She crossed her legs.

  The material fell back more. She was trying to kill him. He tore his gaze away from her thighs and met her gaze. “Wrong question, love. Always the wrong bloody question.”

  A quizzical expression crossed her face. “What?”

  “Why aren’t you hungry for it?”

  Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip and her face flushed. She blinked and shook her head. “Why did you come to America?”

  He knew she wouldn’t answer, but disappointment lowered his shoulders. “I came with my girlfriend. We broke up a year later.”

  “I checked and you didn’t work as a reporter then.” Her expression turned wary again. “Matter of fact, you did a series of articles on the London Bombings and then there was nothing.”

  His jaw clenched. “Nice work. Now if you just did that for everything else.”

  Her brow arched. “You’re pretty touchy about this. I’m going to keep poking the bear.”

  “Since I’ve poked back, I think you should be cautious.”

  She gasped, and he laughed. The things they’d done should have stripped any embarrassment over innuendos.

  When she didn’t push the subject, he asked, “Are you ever going to answer the question?”

  She fiddled with the stem of her glass for a moment. “Which one? Am I still hungry for you or why don’t I go for the jugular in print?”

  He loved that she’d faced the innuendo. “Now I want the answer to both.”

  She leaned forward again. “I am.”

  He grunted and forgot why he shouldn’t listen to the urge pounding in him. “Which one?” he pushed.

  There was a blatant tease to Zora’s smile. “The jugular. I don’t go about getting a story the way you do. That doesn’t mean I’m not hungry. My conscience is still intact.”

  That was an interesting answer and told him a lot about her. “Who is it?”

  Her hands stilled. “Who is what?”

  “The journalist that made you saddle your high horse.”

  Zora broke her stare and looked around the room as though the attendants could save her from this question. People spoke to their tablemates or flagged down a waiter for more wine.

  She sighed and looked him straight in the eye. “Peter Jennings. Until September 11th I’d never seen a journalist really at work. You see them caked in makeup. Or during some horrible weather, and it’s like just report in the damn studio. That’s funny and amusing. But until that day…When he signed off that night, I felt like we’d been through something together. He’d been my eyes and ears. It mattered.”

  He took a drink from his glass. “The London Bombings were the same for me.”

  “But you were the reporter.”

  He chuckled and it sounded bitter. “Yes.”

  Her head tilted. “You actually lived in London when it happened. You reported everything during that time. I read your articles.”

  He waited and when she didn’t say anything, he pushed, “The question?”

  “Just seeing how you’re squirming at the facts.”

  Again, he found a smile pulling at his lips. “But you keep toeing at the real reason why you’re perturbed with me. Why have I scooped only you?”

  She tucked a tendril of hair away from her face. “I know why.”

  There was no reason, that he knew, but now he was intrigued. “What’s the reason?”

  She touched her throat, sliding her finger down the slender column. “First I have to work backwards. I
must have somehow left breadcrumbs for you. That’s the most troubling. I can’t control how you feel about me. Or why you’ve decided to fixate on my stories. I can control what clues I leave behind. For the life of me, I can’t figure that out. But why you’ve chosen me? That answer is simple and obvious.”

  He opened his mouth to reply when a shift rippled through the room. They both glanced toward the podium. The event had begun. He took the reprieve and sat back as much as he could in his chair.

  Time is all they needed. It was a crazy weekend where something happened that should have never happened. They would go back to bickering and truly hating each other. One day she’d find the stones and steal a story from him. Some part of him looked forward to the day. Until then he needed to avoid her. He just had to forget her hungry mouth and her tight, wet heat around him. He had to not want her. Willing it so had to be enough.

  Zora let her gaze stray back to him and he could practically read every thought. She wanted him, still. This wasn’t any easier for her. If the situation allowed it, they’d fuck again.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, and did his best to ignore the way she looked or how she looked at him.

  He couldn’t acknowledge it, or he’d do something daft.

  ***

  With his hands braced on either side of the door, Alastair used his thick head to knock. Obviously, there was nothing of worth in his head anyway. He considered stepping back so she could see him through the peephole then reconsidered. She still might not open the door. He needed her to.

  His mental pep talk during the evening hadn’t fucking worked. The talk had actually made it worse. It had kept her at the forefront of his mind, reminding him of all the things they hadn’t done and how much he needed to do them. So much so, here he was.

  The door opened right when he started to let his forehead drop on the wood again. She must have swung it open with no thought to what she wore—a shirt that barely skimmed her upper thighs. Zora was trying to fucking kill him with lack of blood flow to the brain.

  She sputtered for a second and then said, “What the h—”

  “Four hours we sat at that bloody banquet quipping and acting like we didn’t want to have sex.” He sounded as annoyed as he felt.

  She lifted her hands and the shirt rose with it. “Did you expect me to put it on a billboard?”

  “No.” He pushed the door wider and stepped in. Alastair shouldn’t have been surprised her flat was colored coordinated down to the crocheted throw lying haphazardly over the couch. The tones reminded him of autumn. He liked it, but said, “Cute place. Screams single.”

  “Get out,” she ordered in a flat tone, but he heard the door close behind him.

  He ran a hand through his wet hair and then faced her. “I went home, took a really long cold shower and that didn’t work.” He kicked off his shoes. “So to answer your question, I hunted you down. That’s what the hell I’m doing here.”

  He started to unbutton his shirt. Her hungry gaze followed the motion. “You stalked me?” Her voice had gone husky.

  “You should be nicer to your newspaper’s secretary. She knows about our little feud and she gave me the information straightaway.” He tossed his shirt onto the couch. “She’s probably hoping I came over to strangle you.”

  “Um…Uh.” She blinked and finally looked him in the face. “I am nice to her. And my place doesn’t scream single.”

  He tucked his thumbs beneath his belt buckle. “That’s all you have to say?”

  She swallowed and her attention roved over his bared chest, down to where his hands rested. The desire he’d seen in her face all night flared hotter. “I’m not having sex with you again. Once was enough.”

  “Twice.” He unfastened his belt, let his pants drop and stepped out of them. “Once from behind and then the second time I held you up.”

  She backed up to the door. Her face had flushed with color, and she was having trouble holding his gaze. “I didn’t invite you in and now you’re getting naked. We hate each other. This is…not good for either of us.”

  “Nope,” he readily agreed and then took off his briefs.

  If she had done anything else but drink him in, Alastair would have colored from embarrassment and put his clothes back on. That kind of expression would have reaffirmed this was crazy. That he had lost all hold of reality and what was right, but her chest rose and fell in a rapid pace. Zora wore the same expression she had the first time they’d had sex. It practically screamed fuck me hard, fuck me senseless. They both needed a voice of reason and levity but that voice was nowhere to be found.

  Alastair would have been fine if he hadn’t run into her again so soon. He could have written it off, but now here he was and he didn’t plan to leave unless she asked him to. “I told myself after I left the banquet that this was over. It happened. The Den encourages that kind of behavior, but in the real world people are rational. We’re rational. But my mind kept going over how you looked, how you smelled.”

  “And?” She inched toward him, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt.

  “I took a cold shower, settled into bed and all I could think about was your mouth.”

  Her teeth scraped over her bottom lip. “Just my mouth?”

  “I started to rationalize the incident.”

  She took another step. “What did you tell yourself?”

  “Not a bloody thing, because I realized I hadn’t seen you properly naked. Parts of you, my favorite parts so far, were nice.” He stopped long enough to rake his gaze over her. “Nice legs, love. You’re not wearing a bra either.”

  “No. I’m not.” Zora sighed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  She scrubbed her hands over her face. The conflict was clear in her body language until she stilled. A decision had been made. She dropped her hands and met his gaze. “I was thinking about you too,” she said and then took off her shirt.

  He hissed. She wore no underwear either. He took in every golden inch of her. Her nipples were dark brown and perfect. A memory flashed through his mind of cupping her full breasts, and how she arched into his mouth.

  His memory hadn’t did her justice. Her long legs connected to lush hips. And her pussy was bare. The lips beckoned for his mouth. He made a sound closer to a growl than a groan.

  With that, Alastair accepted the ugly truth of their situation. She drove him mad. She didn’t trust him, and if given the chance she’d probably fuck him over. Only one of those things should have shriveled him. All of them together still couldn’t bank the ache of wanting her.

  She reached out to him and ran her hands over his shoulders. He could admit he didn’t too much care for what he should feel. She opened her mouth to speak and he bent down and nipped at her bottom lip. She closed her eyes and moaned.

  The same twisted need from before clawed into him. He had to do all the things they hadn’t done the first and second time. Alastair looked to her for confirmation, their labored breathing the only sound filling up the silence.

  Zora took his hands and put them to the curve of her breasts. He traced a finger beneath the swell and reveled in the way she gasped. She pressed closer. He obeyed the silent command and cupped her breasts, massaged them until her nipples were tight points. Dipping his head, he took one into his mouth and licked around the nub, teasing her until she gripped his neck.

  He nipped the tip. Her breath shuddered out. Alastair didn’t know how their coupling made her feel, he just wanted to drive her mad with wanting. He needed her to feel a fraction of the wicked flare of desire burning his gut. She squirmed, telegraphing that he was close to doing just that. His hard cock left a smear of pre-come on their skin as she continued to move.

  He tightened his hold on her to keep her still. God. He shook from fighting the urge to slam into her like before, taking her hard and mindless. If he planned to succumb to insanity, he’d take his fucking time and enjoy every moment. So he let go of her breasts and ran h
is fingers over them, her stomach and her hips. Her skin was soft, perfect.

  He sighed. He would lick her from head to toe just so he’d know what she felt like under his tongue. Some distant part of him hoped he’d do this and get her out of his system, but it wasn’t bloody likely.

  He glanced into her eyes. Desire had clouded her brown irises. He scraped his nails over her hips. Pleasure or punishment? She shivered. Did it matter? No. All he could do was give in to the madness.

  He dragged her up to his mouth. Her legs went up. He lifted her without breaking the kiss. And, well, he now had the perfect excuse to let his fingers sink into her arse cheeks. She rocked, sliding her pussy up his shaft. Soft. Wet. Perfect.

  He broke the kiss. “If you want me to drop you, by all means keep doing that.”

  Zora laughed and then tugged his hair. “Then I better hold on.”

  He nuzzled her neck and chuckled. “Where’s your room, Zora?”

  She told him and brought her mouth to his. Blindly he staggered through the hallway and found her room by sheer luck. Could have been the bathroom and it wouldn’t have mattered to him. He needed her now. If there were regrets to feel he’d worry about them when he was sated—if he could ever be.

  He dropped them onto the bed, pulled them to the middle and then used his mouth to memorize her curves, her taste. He started with her collarbone, brushing his mouth over her skin. When he got to her breasts, again, he used his teeth. The soft scrape elicited a moan from her.

  His balls drew tight, and more pre-come rose to the tip of his cock. He tilted his hips into the mattress. The smell of her, the feel of her had him rutting against the comforter. Fear and longing mixed into a heady concoction. He didn’t want her out of his system. He just wanted her. Zora’s laugh, her wit…the taste of her pussy on the tip of his tongue. He pressed his cock into the mattress harder. It’s all he would allow himself until he finished discovering everything he denied them before.

  Alastair drew his mouth lower, sucking the flesh below the curve of her breast. She dropped her hands from his head, her back bowing.