But you want it.
No, he didn’t.
Yes, you do.
She didn’t touch him, only looked at him, not pushing. Waiting. The next move was his and he knew it.
He’d left Woolf’s office and spent the afternoon visiting various contacts, letting them know, some subtly and others not so subtly, that he was now in charge. Letting them know who the big boss now was. Getting them to spread the word.
It would take time and no doubt there would come some protests, but he’d started the process of taking over Fitzgerald’s empire. Soon it would be his. And once it was, he could destroy it.
He’d taken what satisfaction he could from that as he’d come back to his apartment, as he’d walked up the steps and seen the small shape of a woman curled up beside his front door. And for the first time in years he’d been genuinely shocked.
And then he’d gotten angry. So fucking angry.
How dare she come back here. How dare she wait for him. After he’d come to terms with the fact that he would never see her again, how dare she come here and screw everything up.
He should have left her there or put her in a taxi and sent her away. But he’d found himself bending to pick her up, everything in him wanting to hold her again, feel her warm body next to his for the last time. She’d been so cold he couldn’t leave her there.
A mistake. Because now she was here, telling him what he’d done for her. Telling him she loved him. Making him want everything she said to be true so badly he could barely breathe.
A tear slid slowly from the corner of her eye, down over the sweet, soft curve of her cheek. “Say something,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Eli. If you want me to go, I’ll go, but please … just say something.”
But it had been too long since he’d felt anything at all for him to be able to talk about it, and he’d lost the hang of it anyway.
He didn’t know what to say but his heart knew what it wanted.
Elijah lifted his hands and took her face between them. And covered her mouth with his own.
He could feel her gasp, taste it on his tongue, along with the flavor that was all Violet. Sweetness like honey with a faint tart edge. It made him dizzy and at the same time soothed something deep in his soul.
He kissed her deeper, harder, letting his hands stroke down the side of her neck, to her shoulders. Then further down over the elegant bow of her spine to the curves of her ass, sliding his palms over her and easing her against him.
She was shaking, her hands pushing against his chest.
He should say something. He really needed to.
He let his mouth trace the line of her jaw, kissing down her neck to the soft hollow of her throat. And he lifted his lips a fraction, inhaling her soft, musky feminine scent. “You’re my peace, princess.” His voice was raw and ragged, and he should probably have said more than that, but he couldn’t. Those were the only words left to him. “You’re my peace.”
She went still in his arms. “Oh, Eli…” His name on a long breath.
And the tension went out of him suddenly, as if a weight that had been pulling him down had been cut. And he put his arms tightly around her, holding her as a weird feeling of lightness swept through him. It was strange, alien, and he had to turn his face into her throat, opening his mouth and nipping at her, desperate for something to ground him.
Violet shuddered as his teeth closed on the delicate tendons of her neck, and he felt her palms press flat to his chest.
Hunger filled him at the pressure of her hands and the taste of her skin on his tongue. A biting, clawing need that he accepted without question. And there were more words he wanted to say after all.
“You’re right, I do need you,” he whispered, like a vow. “And that’s why I’m never letting you go. Never ever.”
Then he picked her up in his arms and carried her through the doorway into the hall and down to his bedroom. Setting her onto the bed he’d once shared with the woman he’d loved most in the world.
She was gone now, nothing was going to bring her back. And he’d thought that once Jericho was dead he’d finally be able to let her go. But it wasn’t revenge that’d helped him do that.
It was Violet.
Carefully he took off her clothes, a slow unveiling of her perfect golden skin and soft curves, and he wanted to let her do the same to him, but by then he was too desperate. Instead he tore off his own clothes and pushed her back onto the bed, pausing only to find the condom box he’d stashed in the nightstand and grabbing one for protection. Then he was easing into her, sheathing himself in her tight, wet heat, feeling her legs close around his waist and her arms around his neck. Surrounding him.