Bartending at Atlanta’s hottest nightclub—side by side with what may be the world’s hottest man—fuels Bailey’s already overactive sex drive. So she’s beyond frustrated at her inability to reach orgasm by any means....

Bar owner and incubus Griff knows all about Bailey’s intense lust—because he feels it, too. So he’s taken it upon himself to ease her through the cataclysmic Change from mortal to immortal succubus. He tells himself it’s about saving her life, nothing more.

But somewhere along the line, the purely physical passion they feel for one another has become something much more complicated....

Immortal Desire

Denise Tompkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Please accept my thanks for picking up Immortal Desire, the first novella in my Desire trilogy. These books are very special to me, and I’m honored to share them with you.

Griff and Bailey are the first couple in this series to find their way to each other. If ever two people deserved a happy ending, it’s these two—the self-loathing hero and the independent heroine longing for love. They’ve watched each other from afar for far too long. It’s about time we put them together and let the cards fall where they may.

The world and these characters have lived in my imagination for quite some time, and I hope you are as lost to it as I am.

Happy reading,

Denise

Dedication

To my most amazing agent, Deidre Knight, for the conversations, the conviction and the certainty that I would end up here. You are a force of nature!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

Bailey slammed the bathroom stall door behind her. Sweat dotted her brow. Her limbs ached. A low-grade fever burned beneath her skin. The familiar, flu-like symptoms were worse than normal, but they were secondary to the sexual hunger that rode her like an ever-present addiction. Desperate, she ripped at the button on her jeans and tunneled one hand beneath her underwear. A gasp escaped her as she rubbed the hard little bundle of nerves. Her hips bucked involuntarily. She ground her mound against her hand as the orgasm built. Need curled through her pelvis, and she worked herself harder, faster, not bothering to stifle her soft moan.

Then she crashed into that bitterly familiar invisible wall. The orgasm she craved hung right there, so close but unequivocally out of reach. Primal hunger scorched her veins. She couldn’t breathe. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she worked herself over, she couldn’t get any closer to that elusive pinnacle.

“No. No, no, no.” Body rigid and unfulfilled for what had to be the thousandth time, Bailey thumped her head against the stall wall. Hard. Frustration made her movements jerky as she yanked her hand free and zipped her pants. What was wrong with her? She was twenty-three, a normal woman with an abnormally high sex drive that couldn’t do more than redline.

An angry tear tipped over her bottom lashes. She always ended up here, denied release and pissed as hell. Every night she worked was punishment, watching strangers connect on the dance floor. They’d mingle, flirt, touch, and then, paired up, they’d go home together. She’d tried to follow that path, tried to take lovers both short and long term. It was so difficult to watch men walk away from her after hours, days or weeks. They left her feeling damaged, thinking themselves inadequate and blaming her for her inability to respond. They said all the right words—“It’s not you, it’s me”—but the looks on their faces said it all. It was her. She inevitably ended up equally as frustrated and even more alone.

Then there were the books, movies, toys—a veritable cornucopia of sexual paraphernalia that had passed through her possession before she tossed it all out, down to the last battery, as defunct. Nothing ever helped. Excluding attempted self-satisfaction when the need grew too strong to deny, she’d given up finding release. It wouldn’t have been so bad except for two things. First, she really, really needed to get off. And second? That was the kicker. She wanted it to happen with a partner, to share that intimate moment of connection with someone who mattered, to have someone look at her without disappointment or disgust.

Core aching, sex slippery, Bailey stormed out of the stall to the sink.

The other women in the bathroom openly stared. One smirked. Clearly they’d heard what she’d been up to in there.

Screw them. A bark of laughter escaped her. Maybe not the best term to use.

Bass from the club’s music pounded through her when she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hall. The thump-thump-thump caressed every nerve ending, driving her need back to fever pitch. The urge to rub her thighs together made her walk strangely. Whatever.

She slipped behind the bar, nodding to her boss. Griff was generally laid-back and definitely easy on the eyes. Over six and a half feet tall with ice-blue eyes, dark brown hair that brushed his collar and a hard body made for sex, he starred in every explicit fantasy she came up with. Lately she had him taking her against the wall, hard and fast. That full mouth would prove unyielding. His blue eyes would dilate. His breath would burn her skin, brand her. Capable hands would—

“Bailey?”

She looked up, unaware he’d moved in so close. “Sorry. What?” Her reply was short enough to sound irritable.

His nostrils flared. “I asked if you were okay.”

What was she supposed to say? Well, Griff, I just had another round of solo sex that didn’t work out. Want to take me to your office and bend me over the desk, see if you can maybe work out the kinks in my kink? Not likely. She wanted him beyond reason, but at what cost? Her employment? His respect? Their friendship? Every cost she came up with was far too high, the sacrifice too great, for a casual one-night stand, and that was all Griff ever offered anyone he bedded. Instead of answering, she closed her eyes and nodded. “I’m fine.”

One hand, hot and heavy, rested on her shoulder. “You’re sweating.”

“Yeah. It’s just hot in here.” Really, really hot. She stiffened as a wave of sensual hunger roared through her. Dizzy, she gripped the bar edge.

Griff’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “You’re sure.”

“Yeah.” The single word sounded thready and definitely unsure.

“Sling a few drinks and we’ll talk.”

“Talk?” she squeaked.

“Yeah.” He ran a hand over his chest, his silk shirt shifting sensually over his pecs and revealing the tips of his hardened nipples.

Bailey licked her lips, her thoughts dark as her eyes roamed down, straight to his... Whoa. Griff’s leathers were stretched tight, the head of his cock clearly defined.

“Talk.” The word was harsh.

“Okay.” She turned back to the bar, hoping her mind would get back to task and stop tormenting her with images of her boss naked and writhing beneath her as she rode him. He’d pound into her slick heat, his thick shaft spearing her with every thrust. “Yeah, that’s not going to work.”

“What’s that?” the guy across the counter asked.

“Nothing. What can I get you?”

“One rum and Coke. One margarita on the rocks, shot of tequila on the side.”

He became the first of many customers, another nameless face she would never remember as she pulled orders together by rote, slinging bottles with a finesse she definitely didn’t feel.

* * *

Griff slipped through the unobtrusive door marked Private and headed for his office. Every step rubbed the underside of his cock against the leathers he wore.

Bailey was so close to the Change. Putting himself in her immediate proximity had been criminally stupid. Her scent—citrusy with a sharp undertone of mint—coiled around him like an emotional noose. The morbid comparison didn’t stop his cock from reacting, though. Self-loathing soured his stomach. He absolutely hated being an incubus, hated this part of his nature, this part that marked him a predator. “Get over yourself,” he muttered.

He slowed his steps, relishing the burn of need that settled at the base of his spine. Pleasure and pain began an intimate, familiar dance. Hunger manifested as cold sweat at his nape. A single drop rolled down his neck like a specter’s caress.

“You up for a little conversation?”

Griff turned, every movement controlled and deliberate. “If it’s not critical, it needs to wait.”

Seth, the club’s general manager and one of Griff’s only friends, looked him over. “Need me to send one of the JABs to your office?” he asked, referring to the women who regularly hung out at the club with the singular goal of adding any of the preternaturally gorgeous men to their list of conquests. They’d been dubbed JABs—Just Another Body.

“Not in the mood.”

The other man arched a single brow. “Sure.”

“Now’s not the time, Seth.” Griff slipped into his office, shutting the door with a soft click. Hands shook as he ripped his pants open and shoved them halfway down his thighs. His erection sprang free. The silk of his shirt slid around the root and feathered across his balls. He hissed. Bending forward and bracing himself against the edge of the desk with one fist, he gripped his thick length with the other. The first hard stroke—tip to base—drew a grunt from him. He twisted on the upstroke, spreading the single bead of moisture around the heated skin. He pumped faster, eyes unfocused, mind pulling up only one woman’s face. Bailey.

From their first meeting, Griff had wondered what she’d be like in bed, what she’d look like naked and writhing beneath him, over him, kneeling in front of him. Her carefree nature and uninhibited wild side would undoubtedly make her unforgettable. Guilt tugged at what was left of his conscience. She had no idea what she was about to go through, and he hadn’t taken the opportunity to forewarn her. Maybe he should get one of the JABs...

“Screw that.” He shoved aside the worthless emotion and let his imagination go. The bastard went straight for the kill shot and had the imaginary Bailey on her knees, her mouth closing around his raging cock. He’d grip her head and pump as her tongue did decidedly wicked things. The images grew and layered as he gripped the desk and fucked his fist harder. Increasingly graphic images joined the caress of phantom fingers and sent him over the edge. With a shout, he let go.

The burn of pleasure shot up his pulsing shaft. No time to go for tissues. Griff blindly groped for something, anything. He knocked a ton of shit over before grasping a pen cup. Pens scattered all over the office. His hips surged forward, and he barely caught the first stream of hot seed. The orgasm raged unchecked, even when he tried to shut it down. Every pulse up his shaft forced his body to seek out pheromones from which to feed.

Griff shook through the initial wave of sexual hunger. When it finally crested and turned on itself, it was too much. His knees buckled and dropped him to the floor, the impact echoing through his head. Pain wracked his body. Lust’s invisible talons ripped at every fiber of his being. His lungs protested every forced breath. Dark spots marred his vision and made him think lying down might be a good idea. He eased to his side, curling in on himself.

This was the closest he’d come to the pain of the Shift since the actual event over two hundred years ago. It hadn’t taken a brilliant mind to figure out this sucked. That it was as bad as he remembered made him shiver as dark, unwelcome memories surfaced.

Hands had groped him, fondling him indiscriminately. Hot breath swept over his skin in the form of moans and gasps he gave and took. Confusion had colored everything, but underneath it? Underneath it had been shame. He’d never been given the opportunity to choose a lover or lovers the night his Shift occurred. His pheromones had done their worst, pulling lovers to him regardless of gender, regardless of preference, regardless of will. He’d taken what hadn’t been his to take, and what had been his to give freely was taken against his will.

He wrapped one arm around his stomach and propped the other under his head. He should have taken Seth up on his offer to grab one of the JABs. There was only one reason he hadn’t.

Bailey.

Chapter Two

Bailey wiped sweat from her brow. The last two hours had been a blur of bar patrons, strobe lights and that ever-present thump of bass. Every song seemed designed to heighten her arousal. The smell of sex permeated the air, hanging there, mixing with the thin haze of smoke so that every breath teased and tortured.

Cut the crap. You can’t smell sex. But she could. It was dark and sensual, slightly spicy and full of promise. She wanted to roll around in it, coat herself in those unspoken promises and find a way to unlock the Orgasm Express. The idea of riding that train brought back thoughts of Griff, naked, face buried between her thighs. Yeah, he’d definitely drive that train. “Choo-choo,” she whispered. A small smile crooked one corner of her mouth, and she absently traced her upper lip with her tongue.

“You okay, lady?” The guy across the bar eyed her speculatively. “Looks like you could use some company. I’ll volunteer.”

“Keith, take over.” Griff’s voice cut through the din. “My office, Bailey. Now.” He turned and stalked away, shoving through the swinging door that led to the back.

“Shit.” Bailey ripped off her apron and tossed it in the bin beneath the counter.

Keith glanced her way as he pulled a beer. “Sounds like you’re in for it.”

“Sounds like that’s the case.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” She moved toward the door to the back and, with every step, fought the urge to run. But would she run toward Griff or away from him? The answer drove her through the doorway and down the hall. Her breath came in hard draws and harsh exhales. The silk of her bra rubbed her nipples, tightening them until they hurt. Every sway of her hips rubbed the seam of her jeans against her clit until she struggled not to detour to the supply closet and try, one more time, to make herself come.

“Inside,” Griff called out, his deep voice reeling her in.

The smell of sex, thick and decadent, assaulted her the instant she slipped through the door.

“Close it.”

No request, just the command. She kicked the heavy door shut with her heel. Despite her wariness, something about Griff’s tone encouraged her to purr and rub against his body. The images that followed were definitely not anywhere within the sphere of employer-employee relations.

“Lock it.”

Her chin jerked up. “What?”

He moved around his desk and towered over her. “I said, ‘Lock it.’”

She turned and laid a hand on the lock, stunned when he stepped in close and settled his hands on her hips.

He leaned down and rested his lips against her ear. “Now, Bailey.”

“I—”

“Now.” The deep growl in his voice said there would be no arguing, only submission.

Involuntarily arching her back, she ground against his cock. Shock froze her mid-grind.

“That’s what I thought was going on.” His hands tightened and pulled her closer.

Bailey groaned at the sensation, at the heat pouring off his body. And that smell. Sex. Pure sex. Stronger now than ever. Her mind raced through every raw fantasy that involved her boss. She wanted him, craved his nearness, coveted his touch. “Griff, please.”

“Please what, baby?” His deep voice rumbled through her back.

“I need...” She shuddered, unwilling to place her well-being in his hands. Trust was hard, mistrust easy. Life had proven that she shouldn’t, couldn’t, count on anyone but herself.

Strong hands distracted her. Fingers feathered over her hips and up, under her shirt, across her belly. Flat palms pressed her against him. His erection pressed into the seam of her ass.

Familiar distrust crowded her desire and whispered, “Why now and never before?”

Before she could ask, he bent over her, sealing his chest to her back and placing his lips behind her ear. “You can’t get off, can you?” he whispered.

The question burned through the haze of lust. “I... What?”

“I didn’t stutter, Bailey.”

Absolute confusion dragged the truth out before she could edit her response. “How did you know?”

“Let’s just say we have a few things in common.”

Those clearly capable hands roamed over her body, clouding her mind again. “Like what?”

“Later.” His breath washed over her, hot and suggestive. “What would you say if I told you I could cure your little problem?”

Tilting her head, she gave him better access to her neck. “I wouldn’t call it little.”

“You’d be right.” He nipped her ear.

Distrust tagged doubt, sending it into the arena and forcing her to ask, “Why are you interested in me now?”

“Why not now?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he placed a kiss against her neck. “You interested?”

She wanted this. Wanted him. Badly. He was worth the cost, whatever it was. Shaken, she managed a stilted nod.

“Let’s get those pants off.”

With one hand, she fumbled with the button on her jeans. Large hands settled over hers and Griff took over. The slow rip of the zipper mingled with their heavy breathing to create an erotic chorus. The sinfully delicious smell of sex wafted around them, intimate and suggestive.

Griff knelt behind her, fingertips skating over bare skin as he inched her jeans down. “A thong. I approve.” He punctuated his comment by nipping her bared ass cheek.

Bailey gripped the door handle so hard her knuckles were white. “What’s going on, Griff?”

“So many questions.” Another nip. “I’m going to show you what you’re capable of, beautiful.”

“Something’s wrong with me.” Even to her own ears, her whispered admission sounded ashamed.

“There’s nothing wrong with you that a night with me won’t fix.”

She tensed. “Arrogant much?”

“It’s not arrogance if I can deliver.” He traced an incredibly tactile tongue up the back of her thigh and licked the line between upper thigh and butt cheek. “And I can.”

What the hell. Worst case scenario, I end up with fodder for my fantasies. Best case? He lives up to his own hype. She shelved her misgivings for the moment and toed her sneakers off at the urging of his hands, making way for him to pull her jeans free. The silk thong slipped away from her vulva with silent promise. Air moved over bared skin. Pleas hung in the back of her throat.

“Patience.” Leather creaked. Something heavy hit the floor. A metallic clink followed.

Bailey couldn’t take the suspense. She looked over her shoulder and her mouth fell open. Griff had stripped. Completely. And holy shit. The man was more beautiful naked than she’d imagined. Thick thighs were corded with muscle. His abs tightened in a wicked eight-pack as he moved. That chest with its heavy pecs sported hard nipples. Her gaze dragged down his hairless body to his belly button where the thick head of his erection rested. He’d been impressive behind pants. Now? He was large enough to intimidate.

Turning slowly, she forced herself to meet his penetrating stare.

“Bend over the desk.”

She moved so fast she stumbled.

He grabbed her by the arm and steadied her. “Easy, Bailey.”

“I need...” Nausea made her bend forward and clutch her stomach.

“I know what you need, baby.”

She hoped so. Because if this got much worse, she was going to think she was dying.

* * *

Griff struggled not to throw Bailey down and drive into her. She clearly had no idea what was going on, but he’d known from the very second they met. Succubus. She hadn’t matured, though, so he’d waited. Impatiently at times, true, but he’d worked the bar far more than ever before so he could be around her. Somewhere along the way, he’d decided to see her through this. His maturation and shift from mortal to immortal was something he’d never forget and for all the worst reasons. If he could spare her that...

That’s all it is. Just doing what I’m programmed to and giving her what she needs. Yeah. Right. He’d craved her from day one. It had started as purely physical before evolving to something complicated. Not safe. Do this and get gone.

Bailey clutched her stomach. Sweat sheened her skin, a testament to both her pain and need. He caught her as her knees gave out and shifted her so she lay facedown on the desk. Kicking her feet wide, he moved in closer. Her scent drove him mad. The instinct to power into her without apology made his balls draw up tight as his cock wept crystalline tears. He’d help her achieve orgasm. Then he’d feed until the abysmal memories her Change had dredged up were buried again. Shaking his head, he cursed and stepped back.

Bailey moaned, the sound one of pure agony wrapped in crazed lust. Then she arched her back and presented herself.

He was lost.

Griff moved in behind her. Slipping the head of his cock into her cleft, he dragged it up and down her wet heat. “Sweet hell,” he muttered. “You’re so wet.”

A hard shiver was her only response.

He leaned forward and pulled her hair aside, laying his lips on her neck. “Only two rules. First, no kissing. Second, no strings attached.”

Her only response was to roll her hips in a way that wordlessly translated to desperation and stole his breath.

Gripping her hips, he pressed forward. His cock slid in a fraction at a time. She was so damn tight he was afraid he was going to tear her in half. It took every ounce of restraint to keep things slow and controlled when the dregs of his sexual hunger roared to the surface. He resisted the commands screaming through him to push her hard, to feed, to sate the emptiness that threatened to drag him under. The only currency his nature dealt in when denied was personal pain, so he kept working his way into her. The aches started up again. Heat burned through him like a wind-driven wildfire. Finally, seated as deeply as possible, he adjusted his grip and began slow, rolling thrusts.

Bailey gripped the edge of the desk and hauled herself back on him hard enough that the head of his cock hit her cervix. “Again,” she grunted.

“You’re not warmed up enough for that.”

“Again!” She rocked back on him with such power he stumbled back.

Griff wrapped one arm around her waist, lifting her hips up at the same time he propped a fist on the desk next to her head. “You want it rough?”

She shook in his embrace. “I need it.”

“Let go. I’ll take care of...this.” He’d started to say you, but that would have been a lie. “C’mon, Bailey. Let go.” When she went limp in his arms, he settled back, knelt just enough that her thighs rested on his and powered into her. Long, hard thrusts slapped his balls against her clit. He had to hold onto her, one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder, to keep her from sliding across the desk with every drive of his hips.

Her sheath was so tight, so wet, he thought he’d lose his damn mind. Every quiver of her body translated to pure craving, a need so raw it raked against the most sensitive parts of him. All he wanted in that moment was to experience the power of her release.

But not like this.

He pulled free of Bailey’s body.

She dropped her forehead to the desk. “I knew it.”

Griff’s mouth kicked up at the corners. “We’re not done, baby.” The empty affection rolled off his tongue with practiced ease. He gently rolled her over. “Hips to the edge.”

Propping her feet over his shoulders, he leaned in and settled his hands on her waist. She presented a vulnerable, trusting picture, spread out like an offering. The small, insidious voice in his head reminded him that he didn’t deserve her trust. Self-loathing’s abyss loomed. His near-dormant conscience pushed him closer to the ledge and encouraged him to leap.

“Not yet.” His whisper was harsh and emphatic.

Bailey gripped his arm, misunderstanding. “Finish this.”

He drove into her with a single thrust. Reveled in her shout. The hard-pounding rhythm of skin on skin drowned out the club’s muted cacophony.

Her nails scored his arms, drawing blood.

The violence in her matched his own. He was too far gone, too lost in Bailey’s response to shut down his own. His cock swelled. Fuck.

Reaching between them with unfamiliar urgency, he found her clit. The swollen bundle of nerves was slick with her arousal. He thrummed it faster and faster until her wild undulations forced him to hold her in place. Her cries drowned out everything else until she was all he could hear, all he could see, all he wanted.

Hot seed shot up his cock. Sweet hell. He was going to lose himself right here. Right now. He pinched her clit between his thumb and middle finger, flicking it hard. “Now, Bailey!”

She screamed, and that was it. Game over.

Griff’s orgasm rocked him, nearly taking him to his knees. He came so hard his eyes rolled back in his head as he buried his cock deep. Then he felt it.

Her sheath tightened around him.

But instead of the anticipated rush of energy typical with feeding, he only got a trickle. He drew in every last lungful of the drug his body needed to survive. The semi-high would tide him over. For now.

Leaning forward, he took her nipple into his mouth. Her skin was salty. The musk of their sex mingled in the air. Yeah, life was fucking good.

It took him a minute to realize his lover was taught under his hands. She trembled, her need a beacon to the incubus within him. “Bailey?”

“I don’t feel so good,” she whispered.

Then she passed out.

Chapter Three

Griff shoved everything off his desk with a single swipe. Sliding Bailey further up the slick wood surface, he traced a finger down her breastbone. She was breathing in erratic pants, but her color still seemed good. She needed to wake up, though. This was far from over. He might be an incubus, but even he had basic standards. Namely, the woman had to be alert and willing.

“Bailey? C’mon, sweetheart. Wake up.” He tapped her face gently.

Her tongue traced her lips on a sigh.

“We don’t have time for this, baby. Wake up.” Grasping her chin, he leaned forward and forced her to focus on him. “Don’t go thinking we’re done here.” The growl in his voice was a surprise, and he was temporarily relieved she didn’t hear the passion that resonated through every word.

He grabbed the box of tissues off the filing cabinet and cleaned her up before sliding her jeans on and wrapping her in his shirt. With a quick yank, his leathers were on. Shoes weren’t a matter of general decency so he left them.

“Up you go.” He grasped her wrist and hauled her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Murphy’s Law said the hall wouldn’t be empty. The Law held. Seth’s door hissed closed as Griff stepped out of his office. The ifrit, a rare type of elemental djinn, or genie, turned to him, smiling, until he recognized the shoulder cargo. “Bailey?”

“She’s fine.” Griff started down the hall toward the elevator.

Seth fell into step beside him. Naturally. “What happened?”

“She, ah...”

“You finally fuck her senseless?”

“What?” Normally a master of the poker face, Griff couldn’t hide his surprise.

“Oh, c’mon. You two have wanted each other from the start. I couldn’t stand the chemistry between you without getting a hard-on. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

Had it been that obvious? Could everyone see what had started between them? He hoped not. It would make what he had to do that much worse. “Whatever. I need you to cover the bar. I’m going to make sure Bailey’s...taken care of.” He scanned his thumbprint then punched the up button beside the private elevator door.

“Be careful.” Seth’s words might have been soft, but they were heavy.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Make sure she does.” The large man pivoted and stalked away, clearly worried about the woman in Griff’s arms.

The urge to call after him, to explain what was happening, burned in Griff’s throat. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation.” He thumped his forehead against the wall, frustrated and unsure of himself. He’d chosen to see her through this, to ensure she didn’t become a victim of her nature as he had. Justifying his actions didn’t change the truth of the situation. He didn’t want Bailey to live with a lifetime of haunted memories and regrets. If he could save her that...

The elevator doors opened and Griff stepped inside. Bailey’s hands brushed his ass and he jerked. “Strung tight as a damn guitar.” He hit the door close button and widened his stance as the car started up.

Bailey groaned. “Griff?”

“Hang on, baby.”

She pushed up, scaling his body.

With her weight shifting, he had no choice but to let her down. How he did it, though, was up to him. He gripped her loosely and let her slide down the front of his body, settling her cleft against his thigh. The scent of arousal swept around him, winding through his lungs and reminding him of sunshine and summer and sultry sin. His hips jerked in response. Desire flooded through him, quickly cresting well above record flood levels.

What is it about her? She’d been everything he’d dreamed of—passionate, responsive, wild. His heart lurched, and he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, the affectionate gesture one that had never come naturally to him yet fit the moment perfectly. He traced her jaw with his fingertips, considering her. “What?”

“I appreciate you trying, Griff.” She shook her head and looked down. “I mean, I was closer than ever, but it’s just not in the cards for me.”

His face went slack. “Excuse me?”

“It’s okay. It’s me, not you.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Don’t make me a charity case.”

“I... Pity... Don’t... What the hell are you talking about?” The way she shook her head and looked away made his chest tighten. Swiftly, without thinking, he slapped the emergency stop button on the panel.

The elevator stopped abruptly enough that they swayed into each other. Baily grabbed his biceps for support.

It was random, the way his body moved. He watched with detached amusement as one hand wound around her neck and fisted in the back of her hair. His free hand cupped her ass and drew her up his thigh. Breaths came hard and fast. Muscles twitched. His nostrils flared.

Color stole into her cheeks to create a pretty flush. Lips parted, she stared up at him.

The emptiness that ate at him with every faceless coupling pushed in. She deserved more than this, deserved more than he could ever offer her. “Won’t do this to you, too.”

“Do what to me?” Her hands rested against his chest, light but hot.

He closed his eyes and struggled to regain control of his traitorous emotions, particularly the one demanding he protect what was his. Bailey.

“Griff?”

Teeth grinding, he slowly opened his eyes and, with an intentionally sensuous smile, shrugged one shoulder. “Shame you’re only good for a preliminary attempt.”

She crossed her arms and glared up at him. “Wait a second. Are you insinuating that I’m a—”

“Lightweight, Bailey. And I’m not insinuating anything. I’m saying.” He arched a brow.

“Screw you, Griff.”

“That’s what I thought we were doing. Guess I was wrong.”

Her lips thinned. “I’m not a lightweight, and for what it’s worth? Your reverse psychology bullshit doesn’t fly.”

He dragged the hand cupping her ass up, under her waistband and back down to cradle bare skin. “Whatever you need to believe, but trust me when I tell you I’m still the best person to solve your little problem.”

“So you said, but here I am in almost the same shape as when this, this—” she flapped one hand between them “—thing started.” She dropped her gaze and thumped her forehead against his chest once before resting it there. “Honestly? I’d hoped you were right.”

Griff pulled her into a tight embrace without thinking.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist in return.

They stood quietly, their heartbeats falling into a lethargic beat, counterbeat.

She buried her face in his bare chest and nuzzled.

Such a simple gesture of affection yet it catapulted him into near panic. Unable to stand the strange emotional onslaught, he pulled her head back and bent to nuzzle her neck.

* * *

Bailey couldn’t breathe. One minute she’d been sure the little interlude with Griff had ended, and the next second he was everywhere, all seeking hands and hungry mouth and hard body. He managed to peel the shirt—how did she end up in his shirt?—off before she hit the elevator wall.

A little huff of air escaped her.

She had spent so long wanting him on so many levels. Now she needed him to obliterate the tightness in her chest that accompanied the wanting. The urge to give in, to let him do what he would, pulled at her. Trust me, he’d said. She would. He had promised to fix this, to fix her. If anyone could, she wanted to believe it was him, that he wouldn’t ever give her that look, the one that said she was little more than a broken doll destined for the recycle bin. Glancing up, she licked her lips, her belly fluttering when blazing blue eyes zeroed in on the movement. He made her feel sensual and sexual, desired in a way no other man had. She rested a hand feather-light on his chest. “Griff.”

He caged her in with his arms. His mouth homed in on first one nipple and then the other as if they emitted sonar only he could hear.

She pressed deeper into his mouth, reveling in the wickedly talented tongue that flicked and laved, lips that suckled, teeth that scraped. The urge to give herself into his keeping grew painful but stronger, a new emotional muscle being stretched and pulled.

He shoved at her jeans. “Off,” he growled.

She wiggled free. “You do the same.”

“In a sec.” He ran his hands down her thighs and pressed her legs apart, kneeling before her. “Leg over my shoulder.” He punctuated the command by hooking an arm behind her knee and working it over his shoulder.

Her protest had barely formed when his mouth found her core. He latched onto her clit and flicked it with the tip of his tongue.

A half hungry, half crazed groan escaped her. She wound her hands through his hair, nails scraping his scalp.

Griff hummed his approval.

One part of her wanted to pull him closer. The other wanted to ride his face like a cowgirl on a mechanical bull. He made up her mind for her when he twisted around and positioned his free shoulder under her grounded leg. Shoving up, with his face buried between her legs, all she could do was hold on.

Skillful lips nibbled and teased, his tongue occasionally flicking the little nerve bundle. A stream of cool air whispered over the hypersensitive flesh, and she twitched like she’d been hooked up to a car battery. Pleasures stacked one atop another until they ran together like watercolors. His hedonistic assault drove her wild. Every calculated touch and measured stroke fed the burn beneath her skin like a well-aimed bellow.

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