Kidnapped by the Billionaire(47)

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.