Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Violet

An hour later, we wrap up for the night. Cain calls it "taking a break," giving me a good idea of what it's like to work with him. I'm not surprised, though. With his background, he's used to working in godawful conditions at any hour he needs.

I saw the doctor, a rather short, stocky woman with wiry black hair graying at the temples and thick, round glasses. She was brief. She pronounced me banged up but otherwise unharmed, her examination taking place around me talking over her shoulder at the guys.

"Someone already bandaged you up pretty well," she said. When I told her it was Cain, she didn't respond.

His team has a list of details to investigate, and we're trying to get a read on Dossier. I want to stay up and help, but my eyes feel so heavy I can hardly keep them open.

We have work to do. I have to let his team handle it.

I gave them my information. I don't want to put this down right now, but I can hardly keep my damn eyes open.

The bartender told us they were going to Canada. A lie, maybe?

Derrick Dossier has no listed address, no job that we can find, and virtually nothing to lead us to where we might find him. Honestly, the rest of the details begin to meld into my brain. I'm so tired, I feel like I'm starting to short-circuit.

Cain's standing by Joe, his arms crossed on his chest. I'm behind him on one of the stools, trying to sit upright before I keel right over. He looks over his shoulder at me, then turns around and faces me.

"You need to get to bed."

I yawn widely and want to protest like a small, petulant child. I'm not tired. But I'm no good to anyone if I can't see straight.

"Yeah."

I go to pick up my bag, but he reaches for it and swings it over his shoulder. I'm in no mood to fight with him, so I let him. Without a word, he slides his hand over the small of my back.

A moment ago I felt like I could fall asleep and not wake up until Christmas. Now, I'm suddenly very, very awake.

We were pretending earlier that I meant something to him. Why's he doing this now? A part of me wants to pull away, and another part of me realizes that stumbling right now would only make me look foolish.

"This way," he says, like the only reason he's got his hand on my back is so he can show me where to go.

Very interesting, Mr. Master. Very interesting indeed.

He leads me to a staircase I've only seen from a distance. I stare at the steep, hardwood stairs and briefly consider asking if he'll let me sling myself up on his back, but that seems kinda desperate, and I don't even have the energy to do that.

When he takes his hand off my back, I wobble a little. I'm vaguely aware of him frowning at me. I push myself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, but every step feels like my feet are getting heavier.

Finally , we reach the top of the stairs. My vision blurs as he steps to the left. "This way."

In my mind's eye, his voice is the low rumble of volcanoes churning. I follow the rumble automatically.

"Why so far?" I ask, my words slurred. I'd sleep on the damn landing at this point. That carpet looks pretty inviting.

"Just about there," he says almost gently, in that tone he used earlier. "I want your room near mine."

Of course he does.

He stops short, and like an idiot, I don't stop in time. I crash into his back like I've just learned how to walk. He turns and catches me as I wobble on my feet.

"Sorry."

"Christ, woman," he says in a low rumble. Without a word, he does what I wanted him to do but had been too proud to ask. He bends, then effortlessly lifts me, my feet dangling and my head lolling to the side on his chest.

"Well, this is a nice office perk." I sound like I'm drunk.

That earns me another grumble.

The door to the room is open, but I hardly notice. My senses are on overload, and every damn detail is filled with him. The masculine scent of him, raw and primal. The broad stretch of his muscled shoulders exposed because he's wearing a tank, his stubble thicker now that it's so late in the day. The heavy sound of his breathing.

Can he hear how fast my heart beats? Can he feel the way my skin heats?

Can he see the flush that creeps over my body because we're touching?

I'm intoxicated from lack of sleep and adrenaline from all the events of the day.

I try to keep my body erect so my head doesn't snuggle up in that hollow of his neck like I want it to. "You're crossing a line here, you know."

"Doing what?"

Thump goes my heart. "Touching me."

A beat passes before he responds. "I know." It's dark in here save for the yellowed pool of a nightlight beside the bed, but even with the shades drawn and lights dimmed, I can tell this room's outfitted in luxury. I don't care.

He could have had one of his men show me the way. He could have pointed or gestured or even just walked beside me.

I need him. I need what his team can do for me. I have to make sure I don't say or do anything that jeopardizes what I need.

He's still holding me. I'm barely breathing, afraid if I move too quickly, I'll wake and find I was only dreaming.

Men don't touch women like me, and those that even think about it face the consequences.

I want him to know it's okay, or maybe I just want to assure myself.

So I reach my hand to his jaw and do what I wanted to from the first time I saw him. I lay my hand on his stubbled jaw, thrilled at the prickly feel.

"I'll help you find your sister," I whisper.

Heat flares in his eyes. "You will. And we'll find your parents' killers."

I swallow, not sure what else to say.

I have to get ahold of myself.

"You could put me down, now." My voice doesn't sound like my own, all breathy and whispery yet somehow husky. I feel… sexy.

How does he make me feel sexy?

"I could."

Still, he doesn't.

I want him to kiss me, but there's no telling what will happen if he does.

Just a kiss, I taunt myself. What harm could come from a kiss?

His eyes spark at me, like he's reading my mind. Maybe he can, I think in my sleepy state. He's already larger than life and fearless. It only makes sense that he has superhuman abilities too.

I feel as if I'm standing on the edge of a precipice. One gust of wind, and I'll plummet to my death.

But I've always been more afraid of complacency than taking chances.

Slowly, so slowly at first I think it's my woozy, exhausted imagination, he bends his head a bit closer to me. I stare at his full, gorgeous lips, and imagine what it would be like to lick and bite them. I wonder what he tastes like.

Fire licks through me.

My eyes rove over his stubble, then down to his neck. I watch him swallow. The cuts he sustained are no longer bleeding, but the skin's an angry red between his collarbone and neck.

"You're hurt," I say in a hushed tone. And before I know what I'm doing, my hands are at his neck to anchor myself and I'm pulling myself closer to him. My lips meet his skin, kissing it better. I feel like I could cry.

The energy between the two of us crackles and sizzles. I tremble at his nearness, at his scent. I want to taste him.

I close my eyes and go for broke. I lick where I just kissed.

The groan he utters lashes through me as his grip tightens. I suckle his skin. I want more. I need more. I swear I feel the snap as his resolve breaks.

His mouth is so close I can feel his breath. I'm on the bed. I don't even know how I got here. He kneels beside me, the bed sagging under his weight.

Strong fingers grasping my chin, he lifts my mouth from his neck, and for one heart-stopping moment, I don't know what terrifies me more—the thought of him kissing me or the thought of him turning away.

His fingers tangle in my hair as if to prove to himself that I'm real, that I can't get away from him. I watch his lips part. My heart slams against my rib cage… then his mouth meets mine and my thoughts come to a stuttering, screeching halt as my brain short-circuits and I fall fully into my body.

Like everything about Cain Master, his kiss is too much.

Too much everything.

My heart beats too fast, my breathing's too ragged, my body's on fire just from this one kiss. He tugs the lock of my hair wrapped around his fingers, pulling my head back, and when I gasp from the intensity of it, he takes advantage, moving to fully claim my mouth until there's no room for escape.

I want everything. All of him. His hands on my breasts, his naked body pressed to mine, his length inside me. I want him in me .

I want to live in this moment, revel in it. Every fiber of me's alive with excitement, need and desire rolling through me to the tips of my toes. I don't know if I'm awake or dreaming, but if it's a dream, I don't want to wake. If I'm awake, I don't want to fall asleep.

I squeeze my legs together as pressure builds between my thighs, a throbbing, burning need.

Something behind him blares like a foghorn. At first, he ignores it, but at the second raucous shriek, he pulls away. I stifle a whimper.

His goddamn phone.

"I have to take this." He slams his phone on and smacks it to his ear. All I have to say is, whoever's on the other end of that line better have something important to say or the both of us won't think twice about murder.

"What?"

I sit up, awake, but can't hear a thing.

He curses. "I'll be right there."

When he hangs up his phone and glares, I know his anger isn't meant for me. He doesn't like to be interrupted on a good day, never mind now.

"I have to go. We got a lead on another case we're working on." He runs a hand through his hair. I've never been so jealous of another person's fingers. "I need you to get some sleep. Tomorrow, we will investigate further, and you get your shooting lesson."

He turns to leave. I feel cold and hot all at once as I watch him. Before he goes, he looks over his shoulder at me.

"I'm sorry." I don't know if he's apologizing for leaving or for kissing me. Maybe both. "Shooting range is opposite the pool. Meet me there at seven."

The door shuts with finality.

I stare at it for a moment, wondering if everything that just happened was my imagination. My fingers roam to my lips, and my eyes flutter closed.

I did not imagine that.

He kissed me. He kissed me, and I want more.

Did I just sell my soul to the Devil?