Secretly Craving You(37)

She lifted a brow, giving him a mischievous look. "What?"

"That you had a hidden wild side."

"Apparently, I do," she said, playful and breathy, trailing a hand down his abdomen. "You brought it out."

He loved knowing he was the one who inspired her naughty, sexual side. "What do you fantasize about?" Nick asked, wanting to understand and uncover everything about her.

"You really want to know?"

"Yes."

Emily pulled back a few inches, wanting to gauge his expression when she told him the truth. "You. I always fantasize about you."

His pupils dilated, his lashes lowered and he seemed to take in every detail of her face. "And what are we doing in these fantasies?" he asked, his voice deep and curious.

"Making love. Every kind of sex imaginable. Sometimes it isn't a fantasy at all. It's a memory of you wearing that kilt. You threw off the shirt, lifted the kilt and…that woman went down on you."

"That woman?" He chuckled. "Wasn't she a friend of yours?"

"Years ago, in college. Not so much after that."

"So, what did you see that you liked?"

"Your naked body. Your cock. The way you moved. You took her to the couch and…pounded her hard." Sultry animal sex, like she craved. He'd actually driven his cock into that bitch, making her scream out in pleasure. Sharp jealousy stabbed through Emily.

"Did it turn you on?" he asked.

"At the time. But now, not so much." Emily made sure some of her annoyance came through in her tone. "Clearly, you liked her better than you like me."

"What?" He frowned. "You're out of your mind."

"You gave her what she wanted. But you won't give it to me."

Shaking his head, he chuckled, but there was little humor in it. "You have no idea, Emily."

"About what?"

"How fucking bad I want you." His voice was low and forceful, his face hard with passion.

Arousal and emotion surged through her. "Then why—"

"Oh shit!" Nick leapt from the bed.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

The sound of shattering glass from downstairs riveted her attention.





Chapter Eleven


"That sonofabitch is breaking in," Nick said.

"Oh my god!" Emily jumped off the bed, fear lancing through her.

"Go into the bathroom and lock the door. Hell, I left my gun in my room." Glancing around, he growled a string of four letter words. "Do you have a gun in here?"

Yanking on a pair of panties, she shook her head. "I don't own a gun."

"A knife? Mace? A baseball bat?"

"No." She could hardly think, much less search for a makeshift weapon.

"Then how the hell do you protect yourself? We're going to have a serious talk after this." He grabbed a heavy Victorian fire poker from beside the fireplace. It was an antique and valuable, but she knew some things had to be sacrificed.

"Go into the bathroom and lock the door. Now," he ordered.

She nodded at the same time the bedroom door crashed inward.

Panic exploding inside her, she screamed. Nick swung the sharp iron poker at the black-clothed intruder's head, but struck him on the arm he lifted instead. Wearing a ski mask, the bastard jumped back and pointed his gun at Emily.

Oh my god!

"Hold it right there or I shoot your girlfriend!"

Staring at Emily with a fierce expression, Nick froze and slowly lowered the fire poker. "She's done nothing to you."

"Do you think that matters?" The intruder moved toward her. She shrank backward against the bathroom door. He grabbed her arm, yanked her forward and pressed the gun to her temple.

Oh shit! Icy fear covered her.

His face blanching, Nick dropped the poker. "Let her go! She's innocent." His voice was low and demanding.

"Ha. She doesn't look innocent. You both know what I want. And I know you have it. I followed you to a museum today. Why would you go there carrying a briefcase unless you have the Clach Torach?"

Eying him in that creepy black ski mask, Emily tried to figure out if she'd seen him somewhere before. But based on his medium height, blue eyes, non-descript mouth and bland voice, he didn't seem the least bit familiar.

"We don't have anything," Emily said, hoping the psycho wouldn't see the artifact on the dresser among her other knickknacks. If he got what he wanted, he'd kill them, wouldn't he?

"You're a bad liar, sweetheart." He leaned close to her and breathed into her ear.

Revulsion shuddered through her.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" Nick demanded.

"Give me the Clach Torach or I'm putting a bullet in her brain," he ordered.

"All right. But if you hurt her—"