Prince of Honor (House of Terriot Book 1) Read online

“Take me inside you.”

  Shuddering, delirious with fevered need, Sylvia slid down until met with the huge, hot tip of him. Accepting him, working against him, swallowing him whole, sheathing him in a way she hadn’t thought possible until he expanded her whole world by slowly lifting and lowering her. Sensation, raw and ripe, too much and not enough, had her arching, panting, shaking on the edge of something she didn’t understand. But wanted. Desperately wanted.

  “Be one with me.”

  “Yes.” Oh, yes! Anything to continue this hot, sensual magic rolling through blood and every unfulfilled breath.

  He was up and over her in a commanding move, pressing her to the thin mattress with his increased size and rhythmic thrusts, with the urgent kisses, scorching, licking, lightly biting at her breasts, her throat, her eager lips. His scent overwhelmed her, dark, feral, like the primitive heat of his body above and inside her. His taste, smoky, rich and delicious, made her ravenous for more as she cut her mouth on those sharp, sharp teeth in her frenzy.

  That thrill of first blood drew a low, rumbling sound from down deep in his chest, like a powerful earthquake threatening to rend her stable foundation apart. She didn’t resist. She clutched at his flanks, encouraging him with eager lifts of her own.

  His bite came as sharp and hard as she did, injecting her system with a razor-sharp pleasure. And more. So much more, she struggled to contain it. Sensations shot through her, feelings so intense she cried out in amazement, shaken to her very foundation. Propelling her toward something so bright and hot and beautiful she forgot the pain to embrace the wild, explosive pleasure. To embrace him as her forever mate.

  As she lay drained and dazed, his kisses, so soft, so achingly sweet soothed her savaged flesh before he rolled onto his back beside her.

  Sylvia couldn’t move, didn’t know how to react to the volcanic release and enveloping warmth that remained like a blanket of bliss around her.

  They’d bonded. She’d given. He taken. They’d shared. Everything. Joined more intimately than she could ever have imagined in body, in blood, in spirit. A connection so strong she felt as if he’d captured and become her dreams, her desires, her everything.

  Cautiously, Sylvia placed her hand upon Turow’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her palm. Feeling that exact same tempo answering within her breast. As if they were one.

  How that knowledge thrilled.

  Mine.

  Even as that certainty purred through her, a deeper panic quickened.

  His.

  Now, she was truly his prisoner. There could be no escape.

  No wonder her mother warned her away from the ecstasy of shared souls.

  “I have no more power,” she whispered in a hoarse little voice.

  Anguished tears burned as her new mate slumbered beside her, exhausted, unaware of her revelation.

  Turow lingered on the edge of wakefulness, luxuriating in a strange contentment. He didn’t know what it was, this feeling of humbling satisfaction. His limbs felt heavy, his heart full, his mind quiet.

  Home. It was the feeling he’d get as a child, waking up surrounded by the familiar, by safety and love.

  Something had changed.

  When Turow rolled onto his belly, he knew what it was.

  He breathed in the scent of female and sex saturating the sheets, feeling it tingle through him like a mild electric shock. Immediately and tremendously aroused, he reached out in search of an accompanying heat. Finding none.

  Bolting upright, Turow nursed the ache in his side as he scanned the dim, unfamiliar space. Where the hell was he? It looked like the backstage of a strip club had thrown up all around him. That question faded as a more intense need arose.

  Sylvia!

  Finally, over the frantic beat of his heart, he heard the shower running. Crippling relief dropped him onto his back, his eyes closing. A smile slowly curved his lips. She was here. And she was his.

  The need to join her, to rekindle that wild, fierce madness ruling them in the night growled through him with cramping urgency. He’d desired her forever but this, this possessive near-madness shocked him into immobility. Carefully, he tested the foreign emotions, startled by their ferocity, by a ravenous intensity almost out of his control.

  The bathroom door opened, releasing her scent like a hard punch from the shoulder. He reeled, tangled up in raw lust, tripping over the compulsion to grab on and hold tight.

  Seeing or maybe just sensing the rage of his desire brought Sylvia to a tense standstill inside the doorway. Damp hair a riot of amber curls, lips still swollen from his kisses, she met him not with fear or longing but with a more devastating distance. Her caution braced him like a hard push away. Confusing, unsettling . . . infuriating the strange, hungry beast prowling inside him. Struggling with that inner demon that demanded he conquer her resistance, Turow adapted a neutral pose.

  “What is this place?”

  His question freed her from her tentative stance. She came toward him, movements easy, filled with her natural seductive grace. The animal inside him stirred restlessly.

  “Sanctuary. For the moment. We can’t stay. You don’t remember?” The question resonated on several very different levels.

  “Not everything.” He hadn’t meant for that to rumble so suggestively. She ignored the gruff undertones as he sat up, still wearing the blood-speckled shirt but nothing else, sheet tenting over his obvious intentions as she came closer to reach for him. Her hand settled disappointingly on his side where only the faintest bruising remained.

  “How do you feel?”

  Like I’ll explode if you don’t jump on my lap and ride me hard and fast.

  “Better,” he answered with a false smile. What a liar. He was dying to get inside her again.

  Her fingertips caressed his taut midsection until he trembled. As if startled by her own overture, she jerked her hand away.

  “If you’re good to travel, we have to get out of here.” The tightness returned to her voice, her anxiety provoking a primitive response to protect and comfort her. His reply was quick and forceful.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Sylvia took a wary step back, gauging him not with doubt but with caution. “What are you going to do?”

  “Find us a ride.”

  “You’d better find some pants first.”

  The small quirk of her smile undid him. She stiffened when he rolled suddenly to his feet, standing so close their body heat collided like two exploding suns. She drew a breath but didn’t retreat from the light skim of his hand along her jaw.

  “Syl.”

  The soft stroke of his voice had her taking an abrupt step back from what suddenly flamed between them. “A ride. We need to get the hell out of Dodge before James finds us without any resources and finishes off the both of us.”

  Thrust back into provider mode, Turow again assured, “I’ll take care of it.”

  She stood surrounded by feathers and fake hair and gaudy baubles challenging him to make good on his promise to protect her. Just the hard shove he needed to escape the sensual thrall of their new bond.

  He bent over, and was pulling on his jeans when her palms stroked up the curve of his back. He straightened slowly, not turning, letting her step in to him.

  Her arms banded his middle, her cheek pressing warm and soft against his shoulder as she sighed, “Thank you, Row.”

  He didn’t ask what for. Instead, he covered her hands with his own, clutching them gently, bringing them up to his lips for a brief kiss before striding to the door. Not daring to look back, because if he saw her standing there so beautifully vulnerable, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

  “Lock up behind me,” he said gruffly and went out to make good on his vow.

  She paced, hungry, fretful . . . but mostly hungry.

  The small studio apartment held nothing in the way of sustenance, both tiny refrigerator and bed empty. It didn’t help that the room was thick with the scent of her and
Turow together, like cream cheese melting into a toasty bagel. Need rumbled through her. Telling herself it was the pull of the bond and not true emotions didn’t lessen the intensity. At least it distracted her from what awaited them at Lake Tahoe. Only now, because of his actions, Turow could well share her grim fate.

  She hadn’t asked him to sacrifice his future! He had only himself and his compulsive need to do the right and heroic thing to blame. She wasn’t responsible for what he’d chosen to do.

  So why the horrible roil of guilt?

  Fearing their potential end kept her from considering what really frightened her . . . What would happen if they both survived. How would their future unfold now that it was shared?

  She didn’t like sharing on any level. What was hers was hers. What she wanted she took, and when she was done with it, she’d destroy it rather than passing it to another. Her choice. Because forming attachments never ended well, especially when faced with their loss every damned day as someone else enjoyed what she'd cast away.

  Her mother speaking through her. Some small part of Sylvia recognized her voice but was too anxious to not listen.

  Whatever strange, magnetic bond lay between her and Turow, he belonged first and foremost to Cale. That much she did know. The idea of being runner-up was worse than never being in the race.

  She could only be hurt if she allowed herself to believe in the dream she’d claimed to desire in that girl-to-girl moment with Shalimar. She’d given Turow Terriot far too much already. Her trust, her admiration, her body. But not her soul. And never her heart.

  Never.

  A brisk knock startled her from that fierce vow. Awareness of him crashed over her like a wave, cutting her feet out from under her despite her vow to stand fast and hold ground. Pulling her across the room with an irresistible rip and ebb of emotional need. To see him, to be near him, to hear his voice, feel his heat, taste his . . .

  Jerking away from the direction her mind was careening, Sylvia opened the door to find everything she desired.

  Hot food and new clothes.

  Turow strode in, barely sparing her a glance as he tossed his purchases on the unmade sofa bed and balanced their breakfast on the makeup table.

  “It won’t take James’s people long to track me from the pawn shop.”

  “What did you—”

  She broke off, stunned when he turned toward her.

  His Terriot diamonds were gone.

  “Turow!”

  He refused to acknowledge her dismay. “We don’t have a lot of time. Get dressed and let’s go. I’ve got a car out front. We need to be in it and out of here like now.”

  Without further comment, she decided between food and fashion, heading for the discount store bag with anticipation rather than distaste.

  “It was the only place open,” he justified.

  All she saw was new underwear, jeans, socks, tennis shoes and a soft blue sweater. The same color as his eyes.

  “I had to guess at sizes.”

  “They’re fine.” They weren’t covered in blood and his scent.

  She stripped to bare skin without hesitation, aware of the heated spike of his interest, rather enjoying it as she tugged on the fresh-smelling garments. The pants were a bit long, the sweater a bit snug, but that didn’t matter when she turned and saw his gaze sweep over her. Devouring her from head to toe.

  He’d already changed into new cargo pants, a black tee shirt and denim jacket. A far cry from his usual Terriot finery, but it all looked mighty fine on him in her eyes.

  “Let’s go,” he urged, peeling off several bills from the impressive wad he pulled from his pocket. He placed the money on their tangled sheets. “We can eat in the car.”

  “Did you get coffee?”

  “Black and strong.”

  Their gazes touched and briefly held. His mouth twitched into a slight curve before he turned toward the door. She grabbed the bag and followed him. She would have followed him anywhere at that moment. Even into hell. Or to the feet of Cale Terriot.

  Pretty much one in the same.

  The men standing outside the suite’s door were smart enough not to express any curiosity when a hair-raising roar was quickly followed by the smash of something against the interior wall.

  “That bitch! I’m going to kill her! I should have killed them both!”

  James Terriot stalked through the elegant apartment, tearing the sumptuous upholstery to ribbons after shredding most of the designer clothes he’d bought for his vain lover. He stood panting in the center of the room. After defacing the art originals and splintering the furniture, he’d run out of things to ruin. The way he’d be ruined if he didn’t get hold of his rage over what the cowardly Bart relayed to him via text message. Short and sweet and nearly fatal.

  Misha dead. They’re gone. You don’t pay me enough for this shit.

  A heartbeat from flinging his cell phone through the window, he'd caught himself just in time.

  He wasn’t finished. He had another ace to play.

  The answer to his call was hardly pleasant.

  “I told you not to call me directly!”

  “It’s an emergency, and I can’t trust any of the morons I’m surrounded with. Where did you find them? Idiots are Us?”

  “What do you want, Jamie?”

  Scowling at his brother’s curtness, James growled, “Sylvia helped Turow escape.”

  “I told you not to trust her. You know she’s always had a soft spot for Row. Why is this my problem?”

  “You wanted in, prove it. I need her back.”

  “For fuck’s sake, James. Find another female.”

  “She’s the only one who can get the product back in production. I need her! We need her if we’re going to take control from Cale.”

  “What about Row? He could be an asset.”

  “He could be the death of us all. He’d never turn on Cale.”

  “You’re right.” A heavy sigh. “I’ll have him taken care of.”

  “Make sure Sylvia isn’t harmed. I need what she knows.”

  “And when you find out what that is?”

  “I’ll leave her to you.”

  The eight-hour drive from Las Vegas to Tahoe was both endless and far too short. Sylvia kept her attention trained out the side window because the alternative scenery had her squirming in her seat like a horny teenager. After gulping down the take-out breakfast, the other thing she wanted to sink her teeth into sat beside her, eyes on the road.

  They didn’t speak. Unlike the earlier silence as they left Louisiana, this steeped with unspoken energy. Sexual energy.

  Sylvia spent the first few hours wondering if he’d be able to drive with her face in his lap.

  He was too close and not close enough. Even the sound of his breathing excited her own. It was just Turow Terriot! She’d known him since they were wildly opposite kids. Telling herself that made no difference. It was the bond. And it was driving her crazy. Shivery, needy, drooling, bat shit crazy.

  He felt it, too. She could tell by the way he focused on the road ahead with such fierce intensity. Or maybe he was regretting the new complications he was bringing home with him.

  That provided something to distract her for the next several hours, imagining their greeting as a couple.

  For all its lack of amenities, the used Jeep Turow had purchased made good time, especially when it came to that final climb up into the mountains. There was snow, lots of it, heaps of wintery white weighting down the pines and piled high on either side of the blacktop. Sylvia had always loved their pristine elevation, but as they approached the family compound high above Lake Tahoe, apprehension knotted when she considered the unknowns awaiting them.

  She jumped as Turow’s hand fit warm and tight over hers.

  “You’re not alone.”

  That quiet assurance failed to calm her. Whatever lay ahead waited for both of them.

  The Terriot estate wasn’t visible from the road. Dense tree cover conce
aled high walls and heavy security. The entrance was hardly noticeable, just a two-track off into the woods that led down a narrow, winding path to all business iron gates and 24/7 guards.

  Turow rolled down his window, showing his somber face to both camera and the distant cousin who approached. A respectful wave invited them in.

  Looking more like a high end retreat than a fortress, rustic Alpine-style buildings studded the forested acres and rimmed the bluff overlooking the lake far below. The road widened as they approached the heart of their compound—the separate dorms for their single males and females and huge lodge that served as the hub of their family business, that of making money and retaining power.

  Something was going on at the lodge. The half-circle drive was filled with the Terriot princes’ expensive vehicles. Sylvia’s heart plummeted as Turow pulled in like a shabby relative behind them.

  Right into the lion’s den.

  “Row.”

  Whatever she’d meant to say was overruled by a calm, “Let’s go say howdy.”

  He came around for her. If not for his firm grip on her elbow, Sylvia might have slumped to the ground in sheer panic.

  Because Cale’s big motorcycle angled in front of the walk.

  Bull, once Bram Terriot’s huge protector, now Cale’s, opened the main door for them. His beefy features betrayed no questions or surprise as he murmured, “Welcome home, my prince.”

  “Thank you. Where’s our king?”

  “Downstairs.”

  Turow headed for the curving staircase that led to the family recreation room below. Heavy bass boomed up in forceful waves as some indistinguishable Metallica guitar solo rose to greet them. Finally, the stairwell opened to a sight that spoke volumes about Cale’s new rule.

  No stuffy, designer-suited all business meeting was going on. It was a rowdy gathering of brothers with their families included, dancing, playing pool, and drinking in noisy fellowship. Something never seen under their father’s quashing heel. The welcoming smiles as Turow wound through the group faded when the female beside him was recognized. Sylvia tipped her chin to an arrogant, uncaring angle and fought not to tremble as Turow took her straight to their king.