Venom

20

Owen seemed startled by my sudden movement, but I flicked my tongue against his lips, and he got with the program. There was no hesitation with Owen, the way there had been with Donovan Caine. Owen kissed me just as hard and long and deep as I did him, until we were both panting for breath and aching for more — much more.

Owen was gentle and fierce at the same time. His hand gliding through my hair, softly massaging the back of my neck, even as his hot tongue wrestled with and thrashed against mine. His fingertips skimming down my throat and chest before boldly cupping my breast through the satiny fabric of my cocktail dress. At his light but aggressive touch, those little twitches and tingles of desire I’d felt with Owen before flared higher than ever, coalescing into a tight ball of fiery want and aching need that settled between my thighs. His smell filled my nose — that rich earthy scent that made me think of cold metal. I breathed in and felt my own Stone magic quicken in response to the elemental scent of him. Mmm.

But I just didn’t sit back on the desk and let Owen have his way with me. I was too busy with my own explorations for that. I ran my fingers through his ebony hair, enjoying the coarse, bristlelike feel of it under my fingertips, before sliding my hands lower. His shoulders and biceps were wider and stronger than I’d realized and coiled tight with pent-up tension, as though he were holding back. As though he were afraid of hurting me or scaring me off. I didn’t want him to hold back, so I upped the game, sliding one hand down to cup and rub his bulging erection.

Owen hissed with pleasure

“Do you like that?” I murmured.

He hissed again, then pulled back and smiled at me. His eyes sparked with violet fire and mischief. “Probably just as much as you like this.”

Owen’s hand slid down my leg and up under my short dress. He ignored the silverstone knives strapped to my legs and went straight to the sweet spot, drawing his finger up and down the junction of my thighs. I moaned in response, wanting him to rip away my silken panties so he could really touch me.

But instead, Owen drew his finger away and smoothed my skirt back down.

“But we’ll get to that in a little while,” he said. “I haven’t finished my work up top yet.”

“You’re such a tease,” I muttered.

His grin widened, and he leaned forward to kiss me again. I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him closer, tighter, so our bodies were flush against each other, his erection pressing between my thighs. I rocked my hips forward, grinding against him, letting him know exactly what was waiting for him, if only he’d get on with things. Owen’s shoulders bunched and tightened that much more under my fingers — along with other parts of him.

“Now who’s teasing?” he rasped.

I laughed.

Owen started kissing my neck, nibbling at it the dainty way a rabbit might work on a carrot. One hand held me close to his chest, while the other one started its exploration of one of my breasts, then the other.

Somewhere between that first kiss and Owen’s hand sliding up my leg, a funny thing had happened — I realized that I wanted him. Not just for a round of hot sex, though that was in the immediate offing. Somehow over the last few weeks, Owen Grayson had worn me down with his open, unabashed interest, playful banter, and calculated determination. I wanted to see what could happen between us — starting tonight.

As Owen worked his magic on my neck and breasts, I opened my eyes and weighed the options. The desk I was sitting on was wide enough, but the leather couch to the side would be much more comfortable—

The doorbell rang. A low, sonorous chime that echoed through the mansion. A moment later, the bell sounded again, and then again, as though someone was jabbing it repeatedly.

I sighed. “That’s probably Finn.”

Owen pulled back. “And he can’t wait, can he?”

I sighed again. “No. More like Roslyn can’t wait.”

I didn’t often feel guilt, but a sort of shame filled me. Roslyn Phillips had been stalked and worse, and instead of figuring out how I could kill the bastard who’d tortured her, here I was getting busy with a man I knew almost nothing about. Fuck. I was getting soft in my pseudoretirement.

I scooted off the desk and got to my feet. Owen stepped back and watched me finger-comb my hair and put my dress back into its proper position.

“Duty calls,” he murmured. “Even for an assassin.”

I gave him a tight smile. “Sadly, yes.”

Owen Grayson escorted me to the front door and opened it. Sure enough, Finn stood outside leaning against the doorjamb, his Aston Martin parked in the driveway behind Owen’s Mercedes.

Finn’s green eyes took in my flushed faced and red lips. A sly smile filled his face. “I do hate to interrupt,” he said. “But we have work to do, Gin.”

“I know.”

I turned to Owen. “Sorry to cut the evening short. Rain check?”

His violet eyes glittered with a hot promise. “Definitely.”

Owen grabbed my hand, his thumb tracing over the spider rune scar on my palm. I enjoyed the sensation for a moment, before squeezing his hand and slipping mine free.

I didn’t look back as I slid into Finn’s car, but I could feel Owen’s eyes on me as I got inside and buckled up. Finn hopped into the driver’s seat, cranked the engine, and roared down the driveway away from the gray stone house.

“Well, I see someone ended the evening on a high note,” Finn said as he drove through the iron gate that ringed Owen’s property.

“Not really. You rang the bell before I could get mine done,” I sniped.

“Sarcasm does not become you, Gin,” he replied. “So I take it Owen took the news well? What exactly did you tell him?”

“Just about everything.”

Finn looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Why would you go and do something like that?”

I shrugged. “Seemed like the thing to do. He knew I was involved with Tobias Dawson’s death, and he had his suspicions about me killing Jake McAllister at Mab Monroe’s party. He would have put it all together anyway when Slater’s body turns up cold and rotting somewhere in the next few days.”

“Do you think he’ll talk?” Finn asked in a low voice.

I thought about Owen’s confession that he’d wanted to kill Jake McAllister himself. About the other men that he had hurt and killed to protect Eva and himself. About what he thought he owed me for giving him food that night all those years ago. About the hard, passionate way he’d kissed me even after I’d told him exactly who and what I was.

“No,” I replied. “Owen has his own reasons for keeping his mouth shut.”

I told Finn what Owen had said about living on the streets and how Fletcher Lane had gotten him his first job as a blacksmith.

“Dad helped Owen and Eva?” Finn asked. “I never knew about that.”

“Me neither,” I muttered. “It would have been nice for Fletcher to mention his altruistic streak before he died.”

Memories of Fletcher Lane flooded my mind. The knowing look in the old man’s green eyes. The way he so thoughtfully and carefully studied everyone and everything around him. My heart ached, the way it always did when I thought of all the things I wanted to say to him, all the things I wanted to ask him — and would never get to.

Finn and I didn’t speak for a few minutes, but I could tell he was still thinking about Owen and the possible risk the businessman represented to us.

“Don’t worry about Owen, Finn,” I finally said. “Besides our past history, he wants to fuck me now, remember? Spilling news of my secret identity is only going to get him a knife to the chest. He knows that. And I seriously doubt he wants Eva to finish growing up without big brother around to keep her safe and in line.”

“And what happens if you’re wrong?” Finn asked.

My stomach tightened, and I stared out into the darkness. “Then I’ll fuck him once, and when we’re done, I’ll stab him where he lies.”

“That’s hard core, Gin,” Finn replied. “Very hard core. Kind of kinky too.”

A grim smile tightened my lips. “That’s me. Gin Blanco. Hard core and kinky to the bitter end.”