“How do you know that?”

  “Because I watched you. You know, when you were busy letting Rylan rub his arm all over yours.”

  She jumped off the bed. Bumped into him. “I did not!”

  “Did not count the tables or did not let him rub his arm over yours? Because both things happened. I was there. Watching.” Being a stalker. Doing his due diligence.

  “You sound jealous,” Emerson accused as she tipped back her head and glared at him.

  “Probably because I am.” Guilty as charged.

  There was no fast, angry comeback from her. If anything, she appeared confused. When a bit too much time passed, she questioned, voice lower, “Why would you be jealous?”

  “Because I don’t want Rylan or any other jackass touching you.” He’d thought that was pretty obvious. “Because you belong to me, Emerson.”

  Again, she sent him a look that suggested he had two heads. “Because I’m pretending to be your wife?”

  Yes. Maybe. No. “Because you came harder for me last night than I’m sure you’ve ever come for anyone else.” Savage truth.

  “And that means…I belong to you?” Emerson shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Fuck. Gray sucked in a breath. “I’m screwing this up.”

  “It seems that you are. Yes.”

  His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  “What else have I counted?” she asked, quiet.

  “Windows when you’re in a house. Pretty sure you counted the number of books on my shelves at home.”

  “I stopped because I got distracted.” She wet her lips. “What other things have you noticed about me?”

  Everything. He held that stalkerish retort back. Clearly, he’d made a mistake saying she belonged to him. He wanted to grab tightly to her, never let go, and she wanted…

  To taunt a killer. “Wear a neon sign next time,” he rasped.

  “Excuse me? I never wear neon.”

  “No, you don’t. You typically wear your heels because you like to be taller. You don’t wear any jewelry at all—except for the rings I gave you. I suspect because your mother wears jewelry all the time, and you don’t like anything that reminds you of her. You prefer casual settings to fancy events. You’re shy, but you fight not to show it. You try to fit in with others and talk in crowds, but you would always choose to be in a one-on-one situation. You’re on guard all the time with other people, you keep your feelings in desperate check, and you won’t let your real self show…probably because you’re afraid that you can’t trust anyone to know the real you. The you that’s kept prisoner beneath the careful surface you wear.”

  “That’s a whole lot of profiling going on right there, Gray.”

  Yeah, it was. “I know a shit-ton about you. But I never expected you to just call out the killer and challenge him to come after you!”

  “I thought that was what you wanted. You kissed me and pulled me down to the sand so we’d create a show if he was watching on the camera at the rental booth.”

  “Back the hell up,” he barked.

  She tried to take a step back, but the bed was right there.

  Only he hadn’t been talking about a literal step back.

  “You think I kissed you on that beach to attract his attention?” Just so he understood.

  Emerson nodded.

  “No. No. I did that shit so I could hide the fact that I was telling you about the camera. I want him coming after me, not you.”

  “That’s not possible. You know that with this killer, it’s always a package deal.”

  And Emerson had just made them one very tempting package.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” Gray spun away.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that I had disappointed you?”

  Those words froze him. Gray shook his head because he must have misheard.

  “I wondered why we didn’t talk about what happened between us this morning. Or at all during the day. Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m going to pressure you for a repeat performance.”

  He spun around so fast that Gray was kinda surprised that he didn’t give himself whiplash. “You can’t be serious right now.”

  Those had better not be tears gleaming in her eyes.

  She blinked, quickly, to try and bat them away.

  Dammit, those were tears. His hands rose. He cupped her face. “There is nothing about you that could ever disappoint me. Not one single thing, do you understand me?”

  “You don’t have to lie⁠—”

  “Emerson, I have no tells when I lie. Unless I want to show someone a tell. Then I’ll rub my nose or swipe a hand over my jaw. Toss out some shit to make people think they understand me.” He used his fake tells in order to trick and manipulate others. “So you just have to take me at my word. I’m not lying. You were the best fuck of my life.”

  She…squeaked.

  So freaking adorable.

  Then she confessed, “You were the best of mine, too, though I didn’t exactly have a lot to compare you against.”

  Yeah, just her two-minute wonder of an ex.

  “You didn’t mention what happened between us last night,” she breathed.

  “Because I was trying to be tactful and not say, ‘Hey, Emerson, I want to fuck you up against the nearest wall at the earliest opportunity.’”

  “Oh.”

  Uh, huh. Oh.

  She licked her lips. “When we came in this room—the first time, you know, with Hannah⁠—”

  “Yeah, I know Hannah.”

  “You just dropped me on the bed. Then you backed away.”

  “The better not to fuck you because I was afraid I’d made you sore the night before. What with it being two years and all, and my dick being so big that I could feel you stretching around me with every inch that you took in that sweet, hot pussy.”

  Her eyes held his. “I was sore.”

  “I was trying to be a gentleman.”

  A pause. “I don’t care about being sore.”

  His breath expelled. He kissed his control goodbye and told her, “And I am sick to death of being a gentleman.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Touch my wife and I’ll rip you apart. Does that sound good? Am I getting the possessive vibe down just right? Let me try again…No one fucking touches my wife. Better?” – Gray Stone, practicing for no reason in particular because he already has the possessive vibe down when it comes to Emerson Marlowe

  He grabbed her. Those big, warm, strong hands curled around her waist, and he lifted her up. Their mouths crashed together. Open. Hot. Eager. She sank her fingers into his hair and loved the softness against her skin even as his powerful grip held her upright.

  He was aroused. His heavy dick shoved against her.

  She wanted him naked, and she wanted to see just how much of a non-gentleman he could be.

  As they kissed, he lowered her back down on the bed. Followed her. Parted her legs and shoved up her skirt and pushed his hips against her, thrusting over and over. Her panties were in the way. His pants. Both needed to go. She didn’t want some slow build up. She wanted to rip his clothes off him. Desire thundered through her blood.

  Her hands grabbed for his black shirt. Not one of his fancy button-downs. A t-shirt. So very un-Gray-like. She twisted and heaved and tried to shove up that shirt. Hard when he was still kissing her.

  Soft laughter came as his lips broke from hers. “I’ve got this,” he assured her.

  His t-shirt went flying. So did her blouse. Her bra. She sprawled beneath him on the bed as he levered up above her, and Gray reached out toward the nightstand with one hand.

  What is he reaching for? Are there condoms in the nightstand? When in the world would he have stocked them there? Or was this one seriously well-prepared resort suite?

  But when his hand came back, he wasn’t holding a condom.

  He had an ice cube in his fingers.

  “Gray, what are you—” Emerson’s question ended in a gasp because he’d just run the ice cube over one nipple.

  “Cold,” he said.

  Yes, yes, it was freaking cold.

  “Now hot,” he growled, and his lips curled around the same nipple. He sucked and licked and his mouth was warm. No, hot, and the opposing sensations were wild and sent lust spiraling through her.

  He treated the other nipple to the same sensual attention. Gray rubbed an ice cube over the tight peak, making Emerson gasp and shiver beneath him, right before that hot, hot mouth of his took possession of her. Sucking hard on her nipple. Making her push up against him even as her hips arched and a moan came from her lips.

  Then he began to slide the ice cube—rapidly melting now—down her body. Over her stomach. Her belly button. Down, down to the top of her skirt.

  Emerson realized she was holding her breath.

  Would the ice cube melt completely before…?

  He shifted his position, moving his legs from between hers. “You’re sexy as fuck in the skirt, but it has to go.” With one hand, he yanked away the skirt and the scrap of lace she’d been wearing as panties.

  Her sandals were still on, and she should ditch them.

  “Nope,” Gray said, as if reading her mind. “They are almost as sexy as your heels. They can stay. Not in the way at all.”

  In the way…

  Gray slid down. The ice slid down, heading straight for her core…straight for…

  “All melted,” Gray breathed. His breath blew against her clit. “Guess you’ll just feel hot, sweetheart. Are you ready to be hot for me?”

  Uh, she was hot for him. Done and done.

  His mouth took her. Licked and sucked and kissed with no hesitation. Only with a primal sort of possession that had her bucking her hips against his mouth. His fingers joined his mouth, working her clit with a feverish intensity. His tongue knew exactly how to taste her. How to make her crave him, and she did, oh, she craved him so much.

  Emerson knew she was going to come against his mouth. The orgasm built and built within her, and then, when his tongue thrust into her and his fingers stroked, stroked, stroked her clit, she cried out as she came on an endless surge against him.

  He lapped her up all the more. Greedily. So possessively.

  Then he left the bed. Even as her body still quivered, he left her.

  Emerson blinked.

  He’d stalked toward their bags. As she watched, Gray ditched the rest of his clothing. He pulled out a small packet from his luggage. He tore open the packet, rolled the condom onto his dick, and strode back to her.

  She was still sprawled on the mattress, with her legs wide open. Uh, she should move, yes?

  “On your knees, Emerson,” Gray ordered.

  She scrambled to her knees. The shoes were in the way, so she unstrapped them and kicked them aside.

  “Ah, Emerson, I liked those. Gonna have to punish you for that.”

  Say again?

  He climbed onto the bed. She hesitated beside him.

  “On me, baby.”

  She jumped on him. His hands caught her. Positioned her with her knees on either side of his body. With her basically sitting right on his dick.

  “Take me in,” he said.

  She pushed down hard and⁠—

  “No.” His fierce grip stopped her. “Don’t hurt yourself. Slow. Inch by inch.”

  “For someone who…um, said he wasn’t going to be a gentleman…” Speech was hard. Way hard. She was too lost to feeling. The woman who—before—hadn’t been able to shut off her thoughts now felt too much. “You sure are…being…” She stopped, mostly because Emerson just could not form more words. The head of his dick was in her. Her knees pressed into the bed. She rocked down on him, over and over again because she just liked that sensation.

  He pushed up inside of her. Another inch. Two. “What am I being?”

  Her mouth opened in a moan.

  He pushed deeper. Gray’s hold on her waist tightened. “Tell me what I’m being, Emerson.”

  She squirmed against him. She wanted all of him inside her. “Gray!”

  “Eyes on me, Emerson.”

  Her eyes flew open. He’d said something like that to her before. The words were familiar. Her gaze locked on his, and she didn’t stare into a gentleman’s eyes. His gaze blazed with a ferocious lust that seemed to scorch her.

  “You want all of me?” he gritted.

  Her inner muscles clamped hungrily around him. “Yes.”

  He yanked her down fully on his dick. Every single wonderful inch was inside of her. Her hands slammed onto his chest. Her fingers splayed as she gasped out his name.

  “Ride me.”

  Her knees pressed into the mattress. She lifted up. His fierce grip brought her down. She rose up. He brought her down.

  A moan choked from her. One of his hands slid to her clit.

  “Up,” Gray demanded. His fingers strummed her.

  Emerson’s body tightened. She pushed into his fingers, then went up.

  Gray brought her surging back down. He did that move again and again, and each time she went up, his fingers strummed her clit.

  Up.

  Down.

  She could not stand it.

  “Up!”

  Her knees pushed down on the mattress. Her body heaved up, until only the head of his cock was in her again, and then when those fingers of his raked over her clit, Emerson lost her control.

  He didn’t have to slam her down. She did that herself. She crashed onto him even as her climax exploded and sent waves and waves of pleasure pouring through her.

  “You feel fucking fantastic. Yes, Emerson, yes, but…eyes on me. I need to see you. I need to see everything.”

  Her eyes opened. As the pleasure surged, her gaze collided with his.

  His dick filled her. Her inner muscles trembled around him. And he tumbled her back. He rose onto the bed and sent her falling onto the mattress. He caught her legs, slid them over his shoulders, and Gray drove into her relentlessly. Over and over. Wild, deep thrusts that just made the pleasure she felt seem to last and echo through her body.

  And for every single thrust, his eyes were on her. Hers were on him.

  She saw the climax take him. The brutal satisfaction that flashed across his face as he drove into her one final time and let go.

  Pleasure. Lust. So much need.

  It was actually one heck of a pretend wedding night.

  “Tell me about the night your father died.”

  Emerson had just been about to drift off to sleep. They’d showered together, which had been a whole new, fun, and amazing experience of its own, and she’d been curled in the big bed with Gray. Sleep pulled at her because it was edging close to two a.m.

  Emerson rolled to face Gray. They’d been spooning. She’d been enjoying that immensely, feeling oddly safe in his arms. Though maybe there wasn’t anything odd about it. Maybe Gray made her feel safe.

  Except…

  She frowned at him. “You don’t have the best after-sex talk.”

  “Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “Character flaw.” He shifted closer. “I’m curious.”

  A yawn came and went. One she tried valiantly to cover. “You’re curious…now. About my dad.”

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered near her cheek. “When it comes to you, I want to know every detail.”

  Her head turned. Her lips brushed his palm. Were his words really so odd? Didn’t she want to know everything about him? “I don’t remember much.”

  “Tell me what you do remember.”

  Only one light remained on in the bedroom. A soft lamplight on the nightstand. Gray’s side of the bed. He’d wanted to sleep on that side, probably so he’d be closer to the gun she’d seen him place in the drawer after their shower. “I remember thunder. A lot of thunder. It was raining that night.”

  “Your father was out walking in a storm?”

  “Obviously, he wasn’t thinking clearly.” How many times had she heard her mother say words exactly like those? Emerson pressed her lips together. Then, “He just walked straight over the edge.”

  “How do you know? Did you see him?”

  She blinked. “No, no, I was scared.” This part, she remembered. “Storms scared me when I was a kid. Especially the lightning. The thunder. My dad—he would usually come into my room. Sing to me.” The memory made her ache. “But that had been before things started to happen.” Things. “He saw things that weren’t there. Got so paranoid. Thought someone was after him.”

  “Do you remember that happening? The paranoia? Him seeing things that others didn’t? Or were you told those things happened?”

  She stiffened. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  His hand stroked over her cheek. “Nothing.” Soft. “I’m just asking.”

  No, he was not just asking. “Spit it out. Whatever you’re thinking or suspecting, just say it.” She tensed in the bed. Her heart drummed. Say it.

  “Your mother is having an affair with Owen.”

  She nodded, moving her head against the pillow. “Yes.”

  “How long has it been going on?”

  “As long as I can remember.” Her mother and Owen had always been close. As a kid, she’d thought they were friends. When she’d grown older, she’d realized their relationship was a whole lot more complicated than just friendship.

  “They’ve never gone public with the romance, though.”

  “No. My mother used to say it played better to be a grieving widow.”

  Silence.

  “I know that sounds terrible. But she told me that she won her first election because everyone felt so sorry for her. She took my grandfather’s senate seat when he retired. He had Parkinson’s, my father had just died, and she used that opportunity to seize the goals she wanted. When she was elected, she swore that she would fulfill my grandfather’s legacy. Only my mother has surpassed him over the years. Accomplished so much more. Gotten so much more power than he ever imagined.”