Hurt the One You Love Read online

  Elliott knew his, too. He drained the glass and walked it to the sink, where he rinsed it and put it in the drainer on the counter. When he turned, she was still watching him.

  "I'm going to go," he said. "It's late."

  "Why'd you dance with me?"

  This stopped him.

  She put her cup down. Moved toward him on silent feet. She was so tiny he could almost span her waist with his hands. He could certainly circle her throat with one of them.

  Elliott backed up a step.

  Simone paused, pointing her toes like a ballet dancer. "Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

  "I took lessons when I was in college."

  "Did you dance competitively?"

  He thought of Molly, the hours they'd spent practicing. There'd been trophies, yes. Ribbons. Awards. But that had never been why Elliott did it. Nor, he thought, had it been Molly's reason. She'd loved to dance. That was all. And she'd wanted to do it for as long as she could.

  "You did, didn't you?" She nodded as though he'd answered her. "You don't do anything you can't win at, huh?"

  The whiskey had burned his throat on the way down, and the smoky taste of it lingered. Elliott swallowed hard. The only way to get rid of that taste was if he took her mouth, instead.

  "You act like you know a lot about me."

  "Maybe just men like you," Simone said quietly and moved a step closer. She put her cup on the counter. "Elliott. Why'd you come dance with me?"

  "Because I wanted to . . . because you were . . ." He stopped himself, unsure of what it was about her that loosened his tongue. "You were dancing with another man."

  "Ah." She tilted her head to study him.

  She was close enough now that he could reach out and grab her, if he wanted to. She'd put herself there on purpose. He saw it on her face. In her stance. Heard it in her voice. But Elliott didn't move.

  "You weren't jealous," Simone said carefully. "We're not in a relationship. Let's face it, you don't even like me that much. So . . . what was it, really?"

  "You were being rude," Elliott said suddenly, the truth surging out of him on the flavor of liquor and the remembered taste of her mouth. "You'd brought me to that place, and you left me there to dance with someone else."

  She laughed lightly, but had the grace to look embarrassed. Only a little, but it was enough. "You said you didn't want to dance."

  "It was rude," Elliott repeated, and then he took her by the wrist to pull her up against him. "And besides, I could do it better."

  Chapter 11

  This was where she'd wanted to be all night long. On the dance floor he'd pressed her against him, but that had been different. Here with no music, no crowd, nothing but the two of them, Simone felt every single inch of Elliott's body on hers, and she wanted more. Not more dancing, though that had been amazing. She wanted more of him. His hands. His mouth.

  "Any other man," she said, "would've kissed me by now."

  Elliott's grip tightened on her wrist. "What makes you think I want to kiss you?"

  It was possible she'd misjudged him. He was so damned hard to read, so hard to pin down. He was a fucking mess, Simone thought. She wasn't entirely immune to second-guessing herself, either. But confidence bred confidence, that's what her dad had always told her back in the days when she'd been a skinny, flat-chested nerd girl with a boy-intimidating vocabulary and no hope of being asked to the prom.

  Confidence.

  "You want to kiss me because you know it would be amazing," Simone said.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked her over. Assessing her. He didn't pull away. Didn't let her go. If anything, his fingers gripped tighter, at last to the point of pain.

  When she winced, he let out a breath. Heat flickered in his gaze. But he didn't let her go.

  "You have no trouble asking for what you want, do you?" Elliott said.

  Simone blinked. Her nipples had gone tight from the look on his face. Heat ignited low in her belly. Between her legs, the slow and steady throb of arousal that had begun in the club was getting more intense.

  She focused on him. "Not usually. No."

  His grip twisted slightly as he studied her. "You . . . like this."

  Simone smiled at that and ran her tongue along her bottom lip. "Yes, Elliott. I like it."

  His thumb passed gently back and forth over her pulse beating in her wrist. The sensation sent a shiver of pleasure through her. "Why?"

  "Why does anyone like what they like?"

  With a sharp jerk, he yanked her closer. Bent to her neck, running his mouth along it, then her jaw. Lower, where he pressed his teeth. When Simone let out a small, hitching gasp, he replaced the promise of a bite with one of a kiss. His other hand pressed the small of her back, keeping her close.

  They stayed that way for the span of several heartbeats. Simone closed her eyes. Waiting.

  "You smell so good," she said after she'd counted to five and he still said nothing.

  Elliott chuffed what sounded like laughter, but with her eyes closed she couldn't see if he were smiling. He loosened his grasp on her wrist, which ached. He put both hands on her ass, pushing her against his hard cock.

  "You are . . . I don't know what you are, Simone."

  She turned her head to whisper in his ear. The soft brush of his dark hair tickled her face. "Well, tonight, I'm yours. If you want me."

  She'd been with men who'd gasped or sighed or moaned. A few who'd muttered. One or two who'd shouted, and one memorable one who'd wept.

  She'd never been with a man who'd growled, but that was, very distinctly, the noise that came out of Elliott's throat. She'd been half doubtful before that, uncertain if he were going to stay or leave her there again the way he had the first night. At the sound of that noise, though, Simone had no more doubts.

  She put her hands on him.

  Then her mouth. Cupping his hard cock, stroking it through the fabric of his trousers, Simone put her other hand to the back of Elliott's neck and drew him closer to her. She opened her mouth, breathing an invitation.

  "Kiss me," she said when he didn't take it, and when he didn't move, she didn't wait.

  She kissed him. Long and hard and fierce, until both of them were gasping and she could feel the throb of his heart in every place she was touching. Her own, too.

  With another of those low, greedy growls, Elliott scooped her up. "Bedroom?"

  "End of the hall--" Her breath left her when he kissed her harder.

  He carried her without effort down the hall, past the guest room she used as an office and the bathroom and the small, odd-shaped room that would never be a bedroom, only a walk-in closet. Her bedroom door was half-closed because of the drafts, and he kicked it open.

  Kicked. It. Open.

  "Oh, fuck," Simone breathed, every nerve in her body humming with arousal.

  Elliott put her down next to the bed and kissed her again. His hands roamed, one between her legs. The other the back of her neck. He held her still with just that touch, though she wanted to writhe.

  His fingers hooked into the lacy waistband of her panties. With a short, sharp tug, Elliott tore them away from her. The motion jerked her forward, clashing their teeth together. His clipped her tongue.

  Instant, bright pain. Stars flashed in her vision. She cried out, then again when his hand moved between her legs again. A finger slid inside her. Then another. His thumb pressed her clit.

  Somehow they were on the bed, Elliott kneeling over her. Her skirt had hitched up to her waist. Her blouse buttons gaped. He undressed her swiftly and with a competence that shouldn't have surprised her but did. When she was naked, he pushed her back roughly against the pillows.

  "I want to see you, Simone. Open your legs."

  He'd done no more than loosen his tie. He'd made no move even to undo his belt. For a moment, she hesitated, but he hadn't demanded, he'd asked. There was a difference.

  Was there anything more vulnerable than being naked with someone who wasn't? It was a