Kidnapped by the Billionaire Read online

  Still, she’d desperately wanted to look after him. Give him something to take the pain away, if only for a little bit. Was it too much to hope for that after he’d let her take care of that gunshot wound, given her the code for the door, and let her call her mom, he’d let her give him pleasure too?

  Did you really expect he would?

  She had. Kind of.

  Elijah’s hold on her shifted, the hand between her thighs moving up to rest on her lower back, his arm tight around her. He lifted his other hand, running the pad of his thumb along her lower lip.

  She gave another helpless shiver at the touch, the aftershocks of her orgasm sparking like cut electrical wires, and tipped her head back slightly, meeting that enigmatic black gaze.

  He was a beast of a man, that’s what he was. Dangerous. Merciless. Wholly unpredictable. But she knew why that was now. He was wounded inside, hurting from a blow that had never healed, a loss he’d never come to terms with.

  Because he doesn’t want to heal it or come to terms with it.

  As Violet looked up into his face, she knew the truth. Of course he would never want the wound to heal, because he needed the pain. It fueled his anger, and without his anger he wouldn’t have his revenge.

  Which means he’ll never let you get near. He’ll never let you help him.

  His physical wounds maybe. But his emotional ones? No.

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat, a bleak certainty filling her. And she didn’t try this time to ask herself why that thought made her so upset because she knew.

  She’d fallen for him and she had fallen hard.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Elijah kept a tight grip on the woman in his arms. She swayed against him, all soft skin and naked heat, her vivid eyes clouded with pleasure. But there was something else in her expression too, and he thought it looked like bitter disappointment.

  Of course it’s disappointment, you fucking prick. She wanted to give you something and you wouldn’t let her.

  But what the fuck else could he do? Marie and what had happened to her, how he’d failed her, were out of bounds. He wouldn’t ever tell anyone, a secret he would keep until he died. And if that caused Violet some disappointment, then so be it.

  He just hadn’t expected that it would cause him pain too.

  She turned her head away, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He could see the curve of her cheek flushed pink from the orgasm he’d given her, her lashes a small thick fan of gold against her skin.

  He ached. Not just his cock, but his chest too, like someone was pressing down hard on it.

  “I know there are many things you have to fight, Eli, but I’m not one of them.”

  But he’d wanted to fight her, that was the problem. That’s all he’d been doing for seven fucking years, and he’d had to because how else was he going to do what he had to do? Keep fighting and trust no one, those were the lessons that working for Fitzgerald had taught him. Those were the only lessons that mattered. And he couldn’t stop now just because some lovely girl seemed to have the ability to reach right inside his chest and put her hand around his heart.

  No, fuck that, it wasn’t his heart she had her hands around.

  She’d wanted to take care of him, make him feel good, but he couldn’t let her in, not even a little bit. Because he had a feeling that once he did, he’d never want to let her go.

  Would that be so very bad?

  Elijah pushed the insidious thought away. He shouldn’t even be thinking shit like this, not when he had Jericho to meet and a plan to work out. A plan for how to protect the lovely girl in question.

  He looked down at her, all soft golden spikes of hair and creamy, satin skin. The sandalwood scent he associated with her had faded over the past couple of days, and now she smelled faintly of flowers and the musky scent of sex.

  Christ, he wanted to eat her alive.

  He took a step back in the direction of the couch, holding her in his arms, taking her with him as he sat down so she ended up in his lap. Her head turned, her cheek against his chest, and then she stilled.

  His heart was beating fast, and he was so fucking hard. Her butt was pressed to his groin, the heat of her pussy soaking through the fabric of his shorts, and suddenly he wanted to be naked, to feel her against his bare skin.

  He reached for that stubborn little chin of hers and tipped her head back so he could look down into her face. She didn’t resist—which surprised him—staring back at him with a wary expression. She seemed more guarded now, as if she was hiding something, and he knew she didn’t want him to see her disappointment. Too late.

  He ran the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, enjoying the warm, giving softness of it. “I know what you want,” he said after a moment. “You want to make it all better.”

  “Is that so bad?” She had crossed her arms, covering her breasts in a protective gesture that annoyed him, even if he understood it.

  Resisting the urge to pull her arms away, he satisfied himself by continuing to stroke his thumb back and forth on her lip, keeping it gentle even though he felt anything but. “It’s not bad, it’s just not going to happen.”

  Violet met his gaze silently, her jaw tight. Then she said, “I know why you need it, Eli. All that anger and pain … It’s fuel, isn’t it?”

  He wanted to deny it. Wanted to deny that he even felt either of those emotions, but he couldn’t. It would be a lie. They were there no matter how hard he’d tried to get rid of them, lingering like ghosts in his mind, in his heart. And she was right. He did need them. Because without them …

  You’d be useless, soft Kane Archer. The man who let his wife die.

  Fucking hell, this conversation needed to end. She seemed to be able to see below the surface of him in a way that nobody else could, and that was unacceptable. Yet another reason he had to keep her out any way he could.

  “This isn’t amateur psychology hour, princess.” He slowed the movement of his thumb, tracing up to include the delicate curves of her upper lip too. “And I’m not your fucking patient.”

  Temper flashed across her face. “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Then stop trying to psychoanalyze me.” He dropped his hand from her mouth, holding her gaze. “I don’t need it. I don’t want it.”

  Her jaw jutted mutinously, a green spark of anger glowing in the blue depths of her eyes. “I’m just trying—”

  “I don’t care what you’re just trying to do.” He leaned forward to the box of condoms sitting on the coffee table in front of him and took one out, leaning back against the couch again. “You can’t save me. Not if I don’t want to be saved.”

  She looked away, down to the condom in his hands. Then she grabbed it from him and tore open the packet, turning to face him, sitting up and straddling him with her knees on either side of his thighs. “Fine,” she said tightly. “I’ll just fuck you instead.”

  It was the response he wanted and yet it made him angry. Because he didn’t like that she wouldn’t look at him. Didn’t like the disappointment in her voice that laced each word.

  Didn’t like that he cared.

  But he didn’t know what else to say. This was the way it had to be and he had nothing else to offer her.

  The anger stirred inside him, thick and hot, threaded through with a frustration he didn’t understand. Jesus Christ, what the hell did she expect? For him to get all emotional and pour out his heart to her like a goddamn teenage girl?

  Okay, so maybe the grief and the pain and the anger hadn’t entirely gone like he’d thought, but that didn’t mean he had to share them with her or anyone else for that matter.

  He grieved his wife. He was angry that she’d died. No, not angry, fucking furious.

  And yeah, that was fuel. Seven years was a long time to pursue revenge, but he’d always understood it was a long game. And he had to have something to keep the engine running hot.

  Violet was reaching for his shorts, all business now.
The expression on her face was shuttered, her jaw full of tension. There was no softness there anymore, none of that terrible understanding that had the ability to crack him apart. It was the way it should be.

  Yet he hated it.

  Fucking hell. You liar. You do want her to save you.

  Elijah pushed her off him all of a sudden as if he could push away that thought too. Because it wasn’t happening. It was too late for him, had been too late the moment Marie died. The day he’d finally realized the depth of his failure and what he’d have to do to make amends. Nothing could change that. Nothing could change what he’d had to do over the course of seven years either.

  There was no saving him.

  Violet’s eyes were wide and wary. “What did I do now?”

  He couldn’t explain, not when he was barely able to even admit it to himself, so he ignored her. Standing, he pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it on the floor, doing the same to his shorts and boxers, until he was finally naked.

  Then he turned back to her.

  She was sitting on the couch, the condom clutched in her hand, staring at him. Flushed and golden and bare.

  Christ, he’d had enough of this emotional shit. Enough of talking. Maybe once he’d been able to do that, share his feelings, let someone in, but that had been a long time ago, before Marie had died. Now the ability had been burned right out of him. And the sooner Violet learned that, the sooner she understood that he had nothing to give her, the better.

  He reached out and grabbed the condom from her, rolling it quickly down his achingly hard cock. “Turn over.” He made the order hard and cold.

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  He could have told her that he wanted her on her stomach so he didn’t have to look at her face or see the disappointment in her eyes, but he didn’t. Instead he moved over to her and without a word, flipped her over so she was facedown. Instantly she put her hands on the couch cushions, levering herself up a little. “Eli, I—”

  “Stay like that. Don’t fucking move.”

  Her mouth became a hard line, but she did what she was told, turning her head to watch him as he got onto the couch behind her. He knelt and put his hands on her hips, lifting them up and back. Her skin felt so good under his fingers, soft and satiny smooth.

  He looked down, unable to help himself, following the elegant curve of her spine, the indent of her hips, the swell of her buttocks, the sweet vulnerability of her bare neck. And fury and hunger twined suddenly inside him, making his heart race, making him pant like a fucking dog.

  Why did he always feel this way around her? Why could he never make sense of it?

  Because you don’t want to make sense of it. Just like you don’t want to admit that you want her to save you.

  The truth stared him in the face, inevitable. Irrevocable. It had been a long, long time since he’d had an emotional response to anything and he was out of practice. Self-analysis had never been his thing anyway, and besides, while he’d been with Fitzgerald, he simply couldn’t let himself think too deeply about anything.

  She mattered, he’d already decided that. But he’d thought that had been an intellectual decision, a clear, logical choice.

  Yet something inside him wanted more than that. That darkness, that hunger, the yearning he couldn’t ever admit that he felt, it wanted so much more. To consume her, devour her, make her his in every way possible. Hold her tight. Keep her safe. Never let her go.

  It rose up inside him, inevitable as the pull of the tide, shattering the hard, cold shell he’d tried to surround himself with. He found himself gripping her hips as he positioned himself, holding on tight as if he was afraid she was going to get away, before pushing hard and deep inside her, the wet heat of her pussy clenching around his cock like a vise, a choked cry coming from her.

  And he couldn’t stop. He pulled out then flexed his hips, slamming back inside her. She made another soft, desperate sound, her body trembling, but even then he didn’t pause, didn’t take a breath. He did it again and again, watching her body move restlessly beneath him, her head turning to the side, her lush mouth open, panting like he was.

  Pleasure and that primitive, savage need began to unfurl inside him on great, black wings, making him grab the back of her neck to hold her still as he drove himself inside her. Violet jerked, her spine bowing, a long, low moan breaking from her. He could feel her pussy squeezing him tightly as the orgasm gripped her, and he felt the satisfaction of it rip through him like a hit of Columbia’s finest.

  Oh fuck, yes. He couldn’t resist this. He’d been too long without it, without warmth and softness and the smooth skin of a woman under him. He’d been too long without Violet. And hell, maybe he didn’t need to go without anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in any hurry and he could gorge himself on her while he had the chance. He didn’t have to let her in, he didn’t have to open himself up. But he could give her this. That would be enough wouldn’t it? He wasn’t the only one who’d gone without.

  He slid his free hand down her back, feeling her muscles shift and flex as he thrust into her, listening to her hoarse cries. She shivered under his touch, the cries turning into little sobs.

  “Again, Violet,” he murmured roughly.

  She shook her head, but he reached for one of her hands, gripping her wrist and pulling it down, guiding her fingers between her thighs to her clit. “Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Again, princess. Again.” And he covered her hand with his, moving her finger on her own slick flesh.

  “Eli…” His name was a broken sound. “Please…”

  He slowed his thrusts right down, easing in and out, watching her shift and tremble beneath him. She’d told him she wouldn’t fight him, and she wasn’t. She was all soft and pliable, like prey in the jaws of a wolf.

  She had surrendered.

  Yours now.

  Satisfaction spread through him, the hunger coming with it, and there was no thinking anymore. Only the raw, savage desire that gripped him tight whenever she was around.

  Elijah held his hand over hers, guiding her finger in tight, slick circles around and around her clit, stroking his cock in and out of her, not stopping, not pausing. Driving her closer and closer to the edge. She sobbed then gave a sudden hoarse scream, her whole body shaking as she came.

  Then he pushed her down flat and leaned forward, right over her, his hands on either side of her head, covering her with his body. And he began to fuck her hard, deep, fast. Giving into the savagery inside him, so that the sounds of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the room, along with the hoarse gasp of his breathing and her sharp cries.

  He lowered his head as the pleasure began to tear into him, sinking his teeth into her shoulder, wanting the salty taste of her skin on his tongue as he came. And when the orgasm finally detonated, blowing his mind completely, he came down on her, pressing her softness into the couch.

  “You’re mine, princess,” he whispered as it began to hit. “You’re fucking mine.”

  * * *

  Violet kept her eyes shut tight, her brain cloudy with the effects of two intense climaxes in a row, fighting to breathe. Because he was all around her, the heat of his body, the scent of forests and snow and sex, and Jesus, she could even hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.

  It should have been suffocating, she should have felt crushed. But she didn’t. In fact, there was a part of her that wanted to lie here forever and never move. There was something comforting about the weight of all that muscle, all that contained power. She felt safe tucked beneath him, anchored. No longer alone, but protected.

  You’re mine, princess. You’re fucking mine.

  The words echoed and reechoed inside her head, and the warm, safe feeling began to dissipate. What the hell did he mean by that? He’d been very clear that he wasn’t going to let her in, so why was he getting all possessive of her?

  She swallowed, her throat dry, the aching, lonely thing inside of her shivering with pleasure at the thought of suc
h possessiveness. At the raw heat in his voice as he’d said it. No one had ever gotten possessive of her. No one had wanted her enough, and even thinking about it made her feel desperate. And also afraid. She’d lost so much already—did she really want to let herself think she could have this?

  The weight on her eased, and she had to bite her lip to keep from protesting, wanting it back. He slid from her body, shifting away from her, and then there was cold air at her back, the couch dipping then rising up again as he got off it.

  She kept her eyes closed, listening to his footsteps recede, then she curled up tight, folding herself around the ache in her chest.

  How had it come to this? That she’d fallen for the man who’d kidnapped her at gunpoint? A hard, cold man, twisted by grief and the need for revenge. A man who wouldn’t ever let her help or heal him. A man who wouldn’t ever trust her.

  She’d hoped that by not fighting, that by surrendering to him completely, she’d get him to drop his guard. Yet he hadn’t, not even a little bit.

  How naive of her. How stupid. Perhaps she should have used that damn code when he’d given it to her and just gotten out.

  Footsteps sounded again, coming closer and closer. He moved quietly for such a big guy, but she could hear the sound of his breathing as he paused beside the couch. She could feel the heat of his bare skin too. He was close.

  She didn’t move, keeping herself curled up tight. With any luck he’d just leave her alone, which would be good, because right now she had nothing left, feeling bruised and hard, used both physically and emotionally.

  Pathetic. He won’t give you what you want and now you’re sulking like a little bitch.

  Well, okay, yeah, it was pathetic. But shit, she’d had a hell of a day. All her fears about her father had not only been confirmed, they’d ended up being worse than anything she could possibly imagine. Her mother had basically told her not to call her. And now she’d ended up having feelings for a guy who shot at her.