Burn For Me (Phoenix Fire 1)
Page 68Richard was perfect. His best creation, by far.
He had to find him. . . .
His cane thudded lightly over the floor. Blood stained the tiles. Ash. Lights swayed drunkenly from overhead. It had taken him almost a full day to reach the facility. He’d been in Washington when he’d gotten the call from one of the fleeing guards, and he’d come to Beaumont as quickly as he could.
When you were already supposed to be dead, it was hard to move fast.
His men crowded in behind him, and when he reached Richard’s office, one of them actually tried to go in first.
Fool. Jeremiah shoved his cane into the guy’s gut. He could handle this scene on his own. If Richard wasn’t there, trying to salvage their research, then his son would have left some sign showing where he’d—
Richard was there.
Jeremiah frowned and his cane hit against the floor.
Thud.
Thud.
Richard’s eyes were closed and his arms were spread wide, looking almost like an angel’s wings.
There was a giant bullet hole in his son’s forehead.
And a wooden stake had been shoved into his heart.
Thud.
Thud.
Jeremiah’s eyes burned. No, no, not his experiment. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
He bent, his knees creaking, and his hand closed around that stake. His fingers were slippery with sweat and twisted with arthritis, but he grabbed that stake and yanked it from his son’s chest.
He wasn’t healing. Richard wasn’t breathing. His body was icy to the touch.
Please, Daddy, don’t!
The boy had cried so much when the experiments started. So damn much. But the pain had been necessary. He’d transformed the boy. Made sure that he could survive anything that came his way.
Please, Daddy . . .
He hadn’t survived. “Someone knew his weakness.” A weakness that only Richard himself could have revealed. Jeremiah’s hand tightened around the cane as he levered himself up. He hated to see his son like this. Such a pitiful waste. All of that time. All of that research.
Now I have nothing.
Jeremiah’s gaze swept the room, rising to the tall bookcase on the right. The office had once been his, so he knew exactly where all the video surveillance equipment was hidden. “Get the feed,” he said, pointing one finger at the camera he knew was there. “I want to know who killed my boy.”
He’d make that person pay. His legacy had just been destroyed. His best experiment.
His son.
The cane slammed into the floor as he turned away.
He’d find his son’s killer, and make him pay.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When she slept, Eve looked so peaceful. Always beautiful, but sleep made her appear . . . innocent, too.
Cain leaned over her and brushed the back of his knuckles over her smooth cheek. He’d gotten them away from the nightmare in the mountains. Taken her to Charlotte. Booked a room in the fanciest hotel he could find.
Then they’d both crashed.
The silk sheets were soft beneath him. But they weren’t even close to being as soft as her skin.
Eve stirred beneath his touch, and her eyes opened. “Cain.”
He smiled. He liked the way she said his name when she woke. The husky whisper. The purr of sound. The hint of sex.
Her arms rose and wrapped around his shoulders. “Is it really over?”
He didn’t let his expression change. “Almost.”
She licked her lips. “They’ll be here soon, won’t they?”
He nodded, though he knew the words weren’t a question.
She glanced over at the bedside table, at the glowing face of the small clock. “How much time do we have?”
“Just enough,” he told her, but the words were a lie. They wouldn’t have enough time. Soon, he’d have to leave her.
Their lives were waiting for them. Time to get back to the way things had been.
So why did his chest feel so hollow when he thought of being without her?
“I called the reporters,” he told her, “ just like you asked.” An anonymous call. To the press . . . and to the cops. “We probably have about ten minutes before our company arrives.”
Her lashes lowered. “I want longer with you.”
He pushed back the covers. Slid his body over hers. “And I want you.” Cain kissed her, putting his mouth against hers and letting his tongue drive deep. Every instinct within him screamed for him to take, take, take . . .
But for this time, this last time, he forced himself to be gentle. He could be gentle, for her.
Her legs parted, and he slid between them. His c**k pushed at the entrance to her sex, but he didn’t thrust inside her. He kept kissing her. He stroked her with his hands.
Her moan teased his ears. Her hips arched against him.
“Cain . . .” A demand. He knew she wanted more than the soft caresses. He’d learned that Eve liked the sex hard, demanding. Normally, so did he.
But he wouldn’t go harder. Wouldn’t be rough with the passion that wanted to rage inside him. When she remembered him, Cain wanted her to remember more than just fire and fury.
He wanted her to remember the man he could be, too.
His fingers slid over her sex. His thumb pressed against her clit. Her gasp told him how much she liked that touch, and when one finger slid into her, her sex was warm and tight around him. Ready.
But . . . not yet.
His head lifted. Cain stared down at her. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but all that came out was, “I won’t forget you.”
Her eyelids flickered. Her chin lifted just a bit. “No, you won’t.” Her nails scraped down his back. “You never will.”
Cain thrust inside her. Her sex was paradise. Clasping him tightly, squeezing all along his length. He wanted to thrust and thrust, to drive in as deeply as he could go, but Cain kept a stranglehold on his control.
Hold back. For her.
He didn’t want Eve to forget him, either. He wanted her to remember the pleasure he’d given her.
He kept the rhythm slow. Steady.
He heard footsteps coming in the hallway.
But he kept thrusting. Her eyes were on him. Only him.
Another thrust. Withdrawal. His thumb pressed over her clit even as he pushed into her creamy sex.
He saw the pleasure flash in her eyes when she came. Felt the ripple of her inner muscles around his length. Only then, then, did he thrust harder. Deeper.