Mine To Take (Nine Circles) Read online

  Gabriel sat in his chair, his big, long body utterly still. The light from the lamp on the table at his side threw the powerful lines of his face into shadow, his eyes so dark she could have sworn they were black. But she could see the heat in them. Feel it radiating from him.

  He wasn’t in his leathers tonight, wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt instead, the fabric pulled tight over the incredible muscles of his chest. The simple clothing only emphasized how sexy he was, all muscle and power and heat. Like the motorcycle he rode.

  With an icy heart. Don’t forget that.

  Oh, no. She wouldn’t. He was a game player, cold and calculating. Using what he could to get what he wanted. But that was fine, she wasn’t after anything more.

  What she wanted was control over this situation. Over the intense physical feelings that flooded through her whenever he was around. She was sick of him keeping her on the back foot all the time, surprising her, shocking her. It was time to give him a taste of his own medicine. Get back a little bit of the power. And like him, she would use whatever weapon she could.

  Tonight her weapon of choice was sex.

  It was a potentially dangerous move, but she was strong. As long as she was in control, she’d be able to handle him without losing herself.

  “That,” Gabriel said softly, “is a very compelling argument.”

  He didn’t smell of warmth and musky leather now. He smelled of winter, pine and fresh snow, the bite of ice at the back of the throat. “I take it you’ll be investing then?”

  “With an offer like that, how could I refuse?”

  “Didn’t think you would.” Her gaze moved over his body, a rolling kind of heat moving through her veins. He was so not the kind of man she’d ever thought she’d want. Rough and dominant and raw, without an ounce of smoothness or polish in him. So not her type. Yet she wanted him all the same. Because some part of her loved the danger of him. Loved that he had no slick, sophisticated veneer nor felt the need to have one. And appreciated, too, his brutal honesty.

  “You asked what I wanted,” he said into the thick silence of the room.

  She looked into his eyes. “Tell me.”

  “I want you to lift your skirt. Get in my lap. Fuck me right here. Right now.”

  The heat in her veins ignited. He didn’t move, didn’t try to touch her or reach for her. Only pinned her to the spot with those black eyes and his dark voice, the words harsh, blunt, and erotic.

  Yes, he was dangerous. Because she wanted to do all those things he’d said. Prove herself to him in some way. Prove that she wasn’t afraid, that she would meet any challenge he set.

  Be careful. Don’t let the rush go to your head.

  “You don’t think I’ll do it, do you?” she murmured.

  “Perhaps you won’t. This is a public area and the door isn’t locked.”

  “Do those things bother you?”

  “No. But they bother you, don’t they?”

  Honor straightened up and still he didn’t move, only sat there, watching her. He was hard, she could see the rigid line of his erection through the denim of his jeans. He made no move to hide it and for some reason, she liked that very much indeed. He wanted her and that knowledge gave her power.

  God, are you really going to do this?

  Well, she hadn’t come in here to talk, had she? Besides, he didn’t think she would. Which meant she had to. Yes, it was probably another mind game he was playing with her, but she had her own she wanted to play. Let him think she would do what he told her to. Let him believe she was at his mercy. It would make it extra sweet when she turned around and showed him exactly who he was dealing with here.

  She didn’t turn to check the door, moving toward him, sliding her skirt up to her thighs so she could straddle him. It was kind of awkward in a pencil skirt, the fabric stretching tight as she placed one knee down on the chair cushion on either side of him. There wasn’t a hell of a lot of room but she managed it, kneeling upright, looking down into his face. The heat of his body was intense, searing the insides of her knees where they touched his thighs. She almost didn’t want to sit down, half-afraid she might go up in flames on the spot. But fear wasn’t part of this equation so she ignored the feeling, slowly lowering herself so she was sitting in his lap.

  He remained motionless as she sat, her hands gripping the back of the chair, and she could feel the vibrating tension in him, his muscles coiled and tight beneath her. The look in his eyes burned, the line of his jaw rigid.

  “This,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “is how much they bother me.”

  Another silence fell, so thick and charged she could hardly breathe.

  He had his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingers loosely linked together. His gaze dropped down her body to where her thighs were spread on either side of his. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Now that she was here, the physical reality of him beneath her, no, not really. But it was too late to pull back now, at least not without revealing herself. She’d chosen to do this and she was committed. As long as she remained in control of herself, she’d be okay.

  “I’m sure.”

  Gabriel unlinked his fingers, moving the tips of them to the hem of her skirt, touching lightly. “You’d better. Because if you think I’m going to suddenly turn into some kind of good guy at the last moment, you’re going to be disappointed.”

  “I don’t.” Her voice sounded thick, not like hers at all.

  Painfully slowly, he began to ease her skirt up her thighs. “I meant what I said about what I want, Honor.”

  She swallowed, her throat dry, her heart hammering in her chest as he raised her skirt higher and higher. “You sound like you’re the one having second thoughts,” she said, trying to sound cool and knowing she didn’t.

  “Just making sure you know that you don’t have to do this. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll stop at any time.”

  Her skirt was now up around her hips, his attention on where her thighs were spread on either side of his. “I … I’m not going to say the word.”

  “Black lace,” he murmured. “My favorite.” He ran the tip of one finger up her inner thigh and she shivered, heat washing through her, the heavy, insistent ache settling down between her thighs. He shifted his hands, palms resting hard and hot just above her knees, his thumbs brushing back and forth on the soft skin of her inner thighs.

  She couldn’t seem to stop shaking, that nagging ache gathering tighter and tighter.

  “You know what I think?” Gabriel said softly. “I think you’re playing head games with me, baby.”

  Honor gripped the back of the chair, looking down at him. She felt the same as she had on the back of his bike. Terrified and yet exhilarated, with all that power and contained energy between her thighs. A machine capable of giving intense excitement and yet also the possibility of complete destruction. Except Gabriel wasn’t a machine, he was a man. Which somehow made him all the more dangerous.

  Like you didn’t know that already.

  She swallowed. “What head games?”

  “Being a good girl and doing what I want.” His stroking thumbs inched higher, making the breath stutter in her throat. “Do you actually want this or are you doing it to push me? To prove something?”

  “D-does it matter?”

  “It’s not going to change what I do now. Once I decide I’m going to take an offer, I fucking take it.” His thumbs moved agonizingly higher, almost grazing the underside of her sex. Almost but not quite. “But when I told you I wanted you to want me, I meant that, too. So if you’re doing this purely to get me to invest in Tremain then…”

  Honor sunk her nails into the fabric of the chair, fighting to breathe through the thick desire that gathered in her throat. She looked into his dark eyes. “Then what?”

  His hands stilled, his expression completely unreadable. “Then I might have to stop.”

  No, he was not going to take the control away
from her like that. She was the one calling the shots here, not him. She reached down, took one of his hands and placed it between her thighs so his palm rested directly over her sex. “Does that feel like I’m only doing it to get you to invest in Tremain?”

  Something moved in Gabriel’s eyes. Changed. A dark fire burning brighter, hotter. “Say ‘yes,’ Honor. I want to hear you fucking say it.”

  The word came out before she could think about it. “Yes…”

  His fingers flexed, pushing gently against her, sending an electric bolt of sensation directly to her clit, making her draw in a sharp, harsh breath.

  “Wet. Hot.” His fingers flexed again, his palm pressing down, the heat of it making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. “That’s some proof, baby. But tell me, if your stepfather’s business wasn’t on the line, would you be sitting there, letting me stroke your pussy like this?”

  No.

  Yes.

  Honor trembled, desperate for more than the gentle movement of his fingers, wanting to ease the terrible ache inside her. But God, she had to think, had to concentrate. Had she made a mistake here? She’d counted on her control being better than his but that light, tantalizing movement was driving her crazy.

  She took a silent, shaking breath. “My stepfather’s business is on the line, so I guess you’ll never know the answer to that, will you? Now, are you going to do something or are you going to sit there and talk all night long?”

  His mouth turned up in a wicked half-smile that made the breath she’d just drawn in vanish again. “Oh, I’m going to do something all right. Keep still. Hold onto the back of the chair. And let me do all the work.”

  Gabriel didn’t wait, hooking the fabric of her panties to one side, baring her. Then he slid his fingers over her slick folds, stroking gently before easing a finger inside her in a deep, slow glide.

  She gave a strangled moan, her eyes closing, a lightning strike of pleasure bursting through her.

  “You like that?” His voice was rough and soft, velvet stroked the wrong way. “You’re all hot and wet and tight. This is for me, isn’t it, baby? All for me? Answer.”

  She didn’t even think about not obeying. “Y-yes. It’s for you.” She rocked her hips, moving instinctively, gasping as he added another finger, a delicate stretch.

  “You’ve been thinking of me doing this, haven’t you? My fingers in your pussy, making you moan. Making you come.”

  “Yes.” The hard leather stitching on the chair back bit into her palm as she tightened her grip, his fingers moving, sliding out of her then in again. Slow. Deep. “God … yes…”

  “Tell me what else you’ve been thinking about. All your dirty fantasies, I want to hear them.”

  A voice inside her head whispered a warning, but it was so hard to think clearly, pleasure gathering tighter and tighter as his fingers moved. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d had an orgasm that hadn’t been entirely self-administered.

  Have you ever had one that wasn’t?

  But no, she didn’t like to think about that either. Or about the things men had said to her, the nice, intellectual, respectful types she went for who never pushed her or challenged her. Never made her sit in their laps and whispered dirty things into her ears.

  “Tell me, baby. You can’t come until you tell me.”

  “You,” she said in a voice that she barely recognized as hers. “Screwing me on your bike. I’m in … your lap … like … like this and you’re inside me.”

  Hot darkness glinted in his eyes, the movements of his fingers slowing, maddening her. “That seems … tame. I think you can do better than that.”

  She didn’t know where the words came from but they came out all the same. “You’re holding my hands behind my b-back. So I can’t struggle. I can’t … fight. I can … can only…”

  “Feel,” he finished softly. “Yes, that’s what you want, isn’t it? To not be in control for once. To not have your head telling you what to do all the time. Only to feel.”

  Like she was feeling now, the tightness of pleasure, the ache. The restlessness. The burn. Too much. Too much.

  She tore her gaze away, closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see what was in his, the rhythm of his fingers changing, becoming faster, making everything get even tighter, more intense.

  “I don’t…” she panted, “I don’t … want…”

  An arm curled around her waist, holding her still, the warmth of his body pressing against her front. His fingers moving, faster, faster. His thumb circling over her clit, sending a streak of white light through her whole body.

  She opened her mouth, a strangled sob coming out of it, her body gathering itself into a tight, hard knot.

  Too much. Way too much.

  Yet she couldn’t stop it.

  Another pass of his thumb and a column of pleasure shot straight up her spine, spreading out through her body. The sob became a cry she couldn’t keep inside, more ecstasy ripping through her, the raw energy of it laying waste like a force of nature.

  She could feel herself shattering, breaking apart, and the feeling was so terrifying she tried to rip herself free of him but he only held her tighter, like he was holding her together.

  Biting down on the sobs, she kept her eyes fiercely shut, riding out the intense aftershocks.

  Oh, God, how had that happened? Usually she had to fake it because she could never let herself go enough to come, at least not when she wasn’t giving herself pleasure. But not with Gabriel. He’d given her an orgasm so quickly, undermining her control so easily.

  Intense. Powerful. Addicting …

  Fear clawed its way inside her. To be so exposed, so vulnerable to a man like him would be a fatal mistake.

  Honor waited until she felt his arm loosen around her, until her legs felt less like jelly and more like they could actually carry her. Then she moved, sliding off his lap, pushing down her skirt. Turning and walking toward the door.

  “Honor?”

  She didn’t pause. It wasn’t backing down or running away, no, it definitely wasn’t. She only needed space, some time to get her armor back in place.

  “Where the fuck are you going?”

  She pulled open the door and went through it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Gabriel was out of the chair and halfway to the door before he caught himself. Because what the hell did he think he was going to do? Chase her down the hallway? Pin her up against the wall and demand an explanation? His cock might have no problems with that, but hell, he did. He didn’t run after women.

  “Fuck,” he bit out under his breath, running a hand through his hair, pacing from the chair to the window and back again.

  He was so hard he ached. He couldn’t get the feel of her tight, wet pussy around his fingers, the scent of her arousal, and the soft sob she’d made as she’d climaxed out of his head.

  She’d been so unbelievably sexy, daring him, challenging him. And just as he’d known it would be, her final capitulation had been so fucking sweet. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her as he’d touched her, watching the color rise on her face, the blue of her eyes darken, thick black lashes falling on her cheeks.

  He wanted her out of that prissy blouse and tight little skirt. He wanted her naked. White skin on white sheets, her legs spread, her back arching as he tasted her. Sobbing in his ear as he pushed inside her. He wanted her surrendering to him, letting go of that precious self-control of hers, giving in to pleasure and to him.

  Jesus Christ, he’d thought she was into it. He’d thought she’d wanted it as badly as he did. And yet … she’d come apart in his arms then ran as if the hounds of hell were on her tail.

  What the fuck was that all about?

  He looked toward the open doorway. Had he fucked up yet again? And if so, how? All he’d done was given her an orgasm, a pretty intense one from the sounds she’d made.

  He cursed, pacing over to the fireplace, looking moodily down into the leaping flames.
Letting her go was what he should be doing because he never chased a woman who didn’t want to be chased.

  But you still haven’t gotten anything about Tremain from her.

  “Fucking hell,” he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  He had two choices. Either he went after her to find out what was wrong or he stayed here and gave her some space. Normally, his gut instinct would tell him which choice to make but that gut instinct didn’t seem to be working too well around Honor St. James.

  You know what you want to do.

  Gabriel let out a breath. Yeah, shit, he knew. He needed to go after her. See what the problem was. Because if he was the cause, he had to fix it. He wanted more information about Tremain and if he started asking questions, there was no way she’d answer them now.

  Are you sure it’s only about Tremain?

  Yeah, well, of course it was. Everything was about Tremain and the justice he was going to mete out in his mother’s name. Sure, that little seduction scene had been pleasurable and he couldn’t deny he wanted more of that for himself, too. But his focus had to be on his ultimate goal.

  Stalking over to the door, he went out and down the hallway to the hotel foyer. Outside it was snowing, the air freezing through his T-shirt but he barely felt it, his boots scuffing through the snow as he walked down to the path to the cottage.

  Swiping his card, he pulled open the door, barely pausing to scrape the snow off his boots before striding down the hallway and into the lounge area.

  Honor wasn’t there.

  Cursing, Gabriel turned and went back into the hall, crossing to the bedroom she was using. The door was closed but not locked so he pulled it open and went in.

  Honor was standing by the bed, her suitcase open, throwing clothes into it. Her head jerked up as he came in, her eyes huge and dark in her face. Shock crossed her finely carved features before it vanished, leaving behind an expressionless mask.