She shakes her head, her brown hair tumbling over her shoulders in long waves. The years have been both cruel and kind to her. Her face has matured, but she hasn’t aged, as if she’s been carved from marble. Unchanged and enigmatic. But her eyes tell the story of what she’s suffered. They always have, and it’s in them that I see old pain buried beneath fresh torment.
Hunger and frenzy beat a dangerous rhythm as I mold her to chest. Feel her heat seep into me when I lower my head and kiss away her misery. God, she’s so tiny. So damn delicate. I want to be gentle. Prove to myself I’m stillme. Not the monster born in the arena room and nurtured in the torture room. But when she doesn’t push away, doesn’t stop me, my control slips the instant my lips touch hers.
Jamie’s my anchor in a violent sea. I force open her mouth and sweep my tongue past the barrier of her teeth. I swallow her moan and answer with a growl. She tastes of sunshine and freedom, and I drink her in even though I’m everything dirty and disgusting.
The kiss is beyond feral. Beyond savage, and when I move my hand to her breast, the nipple hardens under my rough palm. I smile against her mouth, at how she leans into my touch. At the arch of her spine and the fingers kneading my back.
My shorts are suddenly too snug, and my skin’s on fire. Muscles strain, and veins pulsate under feverish skin. Her palms graze down my sides to settle on my hips. I grind my erection against the juncture of her thighs to ease the pressure, but it only amplifies my need to plunge into her warmth.
She snakes her arms around my waist and pulls me closer. Melts into me, raw and open, and the starving man I am, I take what she offers. I’m a breath away from hiking up her dress and ripping off her panties. To take what she’s offering and ease my ache, but reality invades the edges of my mind, reminding me we’re on camera. The guards can’t hear us, but they sure as shit can see us, and I’m not too far gone that I’ll fuck Jamie with those bastards watching.
I shove her away and jerk my chin at the camera. “We have an audience.”
“No, we don’t. I had them turn off the cameras.”
“Come down here often?” I remark with a smirk.
“Don’t be an ass,” she snaps. “How am I supposed to plan an escape if I can’t move freely?”
Christ, this woman is for real. “You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Wraith, I’m fucking serious.”
For the first time since they flung me in this cell, I have hope. Genuine hope. The kind that dulls the dread gnawing its way through my intestines. “You get me out of Gomorrah, and I’ll get you to Mayhem.” I cradle my injured hand to my chest. “Then I’m coming back to kill your husband.”
She licks her lips. “Fair enough.”
I can’t watch when she hits the red button. Or when Lyle rushes in to return her to her world. But after she’s gone and the dungeon quiets for the night, I lay on the wet mattress, smiling up at the ceiling, left alone with the lingering scent of honeysuckle and the satisfaction of knowing I’m going to make Jamie Ellis a widow.
4
Jamie
“Jamie, are you with us today?”
Only in body. Never in spirit.
And I swear to God, if Barbara Hale snaps those pudgy fingers in my face one more time, I’m going to tell her where she can shove her whole hand.
The aging blonde, with her gravity-defying bouffant, turns to address her two minions. “I don’t believe she’s heard a word we’ve said all morning.”
No, I haven’t. That would mean I’ve been paying attention, and I try to do that as little as possible whenever I participate in what David calls “wifely activities.” Sunday brunch with the harpies has always topped the list of one of my least favorites of them.
Surrounded by extravagance feels dirty as I nurse a cappuccino and struggle to maintain a serene expression to mask the anger and disgust simmering beneath my composed exterior.Six months. For six months, David has been hiding Wraith beneath my nose under the guise of Atticus.
My God, how could I have been so blind?
So willfully ignorant?
Eleanor Raleigh gives a dramatic shiver. “I’ve heard Atticus is a beast. I’m surprised Jamie can walk.” She leans forward in the chair, her white pantsuit baggy on her frail frame. Her husband’s mistress is waif thin, so now this woman rarely eats, hoping to win her heartless husband’s affection. “Tell us, Jamie, how was it? Is he as spectacular as they say?”
Wow. It took less than twenty-four hours for my trip to the dungeon to make the rounds. News spreads fast among Marion County’s elite, but I think this sets a new record. Not that I’m surprised. Gomorrah’s champion and its queen engaging in an illicit tryst is prime fodder for the gossip mill. Communication satellites must have fallen out of the sky, burnt out from overuse due to all the cell phone activity once the guards “leaked” the word that I’d visited Wraith.
Julia Anderson sets the Wedgwood teacup on the glass-top table, her expression pinched with jealousy. “Jamie keeps her secrets close to her heart. Don’t you, dear?”
You have no idea.
Of all the women—these frenemies—Julia scares me most. She’s in love with my husband. She also happens to be married to the county’s chief financial officer. Not that David would do anything to jeopardize his relationship with Peter Anderson.
