Page 52 of Kane

A beat of silence. “I did it to save you.”

He stopped breathing.

To save him? Of all the possible explanations he’d considered over the years, that had never been one of them.

“Someone threatened to have you arrested for killing those people in the fire. It was a dirty cop; he blackmailed my father, knowing about the connection between you and me.”

He heard the words she was saying, but they didn’t make sense. “I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t even know about the fire until after you left me.”

Releasing her death grip on her arms, she sagged against the back of the loveseat. “I never thought you did it. But seeing you there was a win-win for the cop. Either he got the glory of making a major arrest, or he could take early retirement with my father’s money.”

“What reason could I have for setting a fire? It takes more than one cop’s word to put someone away.” He pushed off the seat and started pacing the floor. None of this made sense.

Her gaze tracked him as he walked from one side of the room to the other. “My father said it benefited your family. Something about the drug trade. I didn’t know it then, but later, I figured out it was the night Sucre de la Cruz came into power. What I don’t understand is what it had to do with the Skulls.”

He put one foot in front of the other. Moving helped him think. “It never made sense to me either.” Why they’d helped Sucre take over. He’d asked his brother—even his father once—but they’d only say he was better off leaving it alone. It was need-to-know information, and he didn’t need to know it. Who cares if it ruined his fucking life? Of course, now it was as plain as the nose on his face.

Money.

There was no level they wouldn’t sink to for money. For fuck’s sake, look at what they were doing right now.

Whether the fire was intentional or not, he’d probably never know.

“I never thought you were a part of any of it,” she said quietly. “Doubting you never came into the equation.” She climbed to her feet and moved toward him, blocking his path. Her fingertips ghosted over his cheek, touching him, but not. “I couldn’t take the risk your life would be over.”

He clutched her hand, holding it firmly against his face. “But that’s exactly what happened. My life—was over.”

Her eyes searched his, and he let her see the truth in his words.

“I would have wanted to deal with bogus charges a hundred times over before facing a future without you.” He released her hand. “You didn’t give me the choice.”

“Because I knew.” Her voice cracked. “I knew if I told you, you would have said to ignore it. You would have put yourself in front of a moving train to keep us together. I loved you too much to let you do it. No matter what it cost me.” She whispered, “They could have locked you up for the rest of your life.”

He tried to make sense of the distant look in her eyes. There was grief there, the kind he knew all too intimately. It may have dulled over time, but it never truly went away.

Good God.

She’d never wanted to leave him.

His heart stuttered. His chest literally hurt. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but his mouth couldn’t form the words. Hell, his brain couldn’t even line them up into coherent thoughts.

There was onlywant. Need. Mine.

Who needed words? It was just time wasted when he could be kissing her.

Maybe something gave away his intention in his eyes because she moved at the same time he did. They met in a clash of teeth and tongue. The softness of their kiss on the sofa was gone, replaced with desperate greed impossible to satisfy.

He wanted to consume her or burn her alive with the same kind of fire scorching his soul. Growling, he tangled his hand in her hair, holding her to him.

But Mandy made no move to get away. Instead, she gripped his shirt so fiercely her knuckles dug into his back.

His body was as tight as a bowstring ready to pop. With two steps, he had her crowded against the wall. He released her hair to lift her up, and she wrapped her legs around him, pushing her core against the almost painful ridge of his erection.

Only some denim and probably a tiny scrap of lace separated him from her pussy. He groaned, now obsessed with the idea of seeing what kind of panties she wore. Would it be a thong? Black? Pink? Would it be soaked with her want?

Did she need this as much as he did?

He pulled back. The answer would be in her eyes.