He had her pinned to the door. He thrust into her. Again and again. And his fingers strummed over her clit. He knew Claire’s body better than she did. He’d made a point to learn all of her weak spots. To learn how she liked to be touched. To learn just how to make Claire-
Her sex clamped around him. She choked out his name.
Explode.
He drove into her even harder. The base of his spine tightened, and he came, climaxing inside of her on a long, powerful, mind-numbing release that left his legs feeling weak.
He didn’t let her go. He couldn’t, not yet. He waited until his breathing evened, then he kissed her again.
This time, the kiss was soft. Slow.
He started to get hard inside of her again.
With Claire, he was always ready to go again.
His head lifted. Red stained her cheeks. Her eyes shined, and her lips were swollen from his mouth.
“Everyone is going to know what we did,” Claire said.
Good. He wanted them to know.
Claire’s mine. I’m not letting her go.
Even if he had to kill in order to keep her with him.
***
Noah had f**ked Claire. Drake could tell. Sure, their clothes were perfectly in place again, but there was a flush on Claire’s skin. A sensual gleam in her eyes.
And there was the obvious stamp of satisfaction and possession on Noah’s face when he looked at her.
Oh, yeah, Noah had staked his claim all right. It would be apparent to every male in the room.
“He’s got it bad,” Trace murmured as he slid up to the bar beside Drake.
The band was playing now. Some low, romantic tune that got on Drake’s nerves. “Guess you’d know,” Drake said, glancing over at him. “Since Skye’s made you crazy for years.”
Trace’s gaze was actually on Skye as she talked with Claire. “She’s worth every minute of insanity.”
Bullshit. Drake had been burned—damn near lethally—by a woman before. He didn’t plan on ever getting onto the insanity-boat again. As far as he was concerned, no woman was worth that nightmare. “I think your men need to focus more on Austin Harrison.”
Trace’s brows climbed. “The brother?”
“Yes, the brother.” Drake was done with champagne. He drained the whiskey he’d just been given. He motioned to Noah, and his friend started crossing the room toward him.
A few seconds later, Noah leveled his gaze on Drake. “You took care of him?”
“Sure did.” He saluted him with his empty whiskey glass. “And I’m guessing you recently fired an employee?”
Noah nodded. “Five minutes ago. And I’ve doubled the security at the hotel.”
“Good idea,” Trace told him as his fingers tapped against the bar. “Seeing as how you’re working so hard to get a killer to come after you.”
Drake put his glass back down. No one was close enough to overhear them, but he still dropped his voice as he said, “I think the brother did it. I think he set up the bomb to kill Ethan Harrison.”
The faint lines near Noah’s eyes deepened. “His own brother?”
“Austin knew Ethan would be at that funeral. He knew which car his brother would arrive and leave in.” Austin had all but admitted his guilt outside of the Towers. “He said that Ethan would never stop going after Claire.”
“He wouldn’t have.” Noah’s face had hardened. “He was counting down the days until he we was free. He was as hung up on her as he always was.” Noah glanced over his shoulder, obviously looking for Claire.
He’s not the only one hung up on her.
But Drake was going to let his buddy dig his own grave on that one. His fingers curled around the empty whiskey glass. “Austin said he didn’t stop him before, but I think he made sure he stopped Ethan this time.”
Trace was already pulling out his phone. Drake heard the guy giving orders for a deeper investigation on Austin Harrison. “I want to know every move he’s made for the last three months,” Trace said into the phone.
When Trace gave an order, Drake knew his agents scrambled to obey.
“I don’t like the way he is with Claire,” Drake added.
Noah glanced back at him.
“He looks at her the same way you do.” And that fact worried Drake. “It can’t be good.” Drake just didn’t get it. Claire was a pretty woman, sure, definitely. Great eyes. Hot body. And she was smart—that was always sexy.
But…
Ethan Harrison had gone crazy for her.
Noah—hell, Drake didn’t even know what Noah was doing.
“She has to be f**king phenomenal in bed,” Drake muttered, and he realized his mistake two seconds too late.
Because in those two seconds, Noah drove his fist into Drake’s jaw. Noah had always possessed a killer punch, and that hit sent Drake flying off the barstool. He slammed into the floor, and the barstool fell beside him.
Shocked gasps filled the air.
The band stopped playing.
Drake looked up and saw Noah coming in for another hit. He braced himself, but Trace pulled Noah back.
“Noah?”
And then Claire was there. She ran toward Noah and put her hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
The reporters would be splashing this news all over the place. Especially the gossip reporter, Jennifer Swan. She lived for drama like this.
Noah glared at Drake. “I was just having a little talk with my friend.”
Drake smiled. “I fell. Must’ve had too much to drink.” He stood up and rubbed his jaw.
Skye hurried over and straightened his suit. “Falling is easy when you get a punch to the face,” she murmured, her voice only carrying to him.
Yes, it was.
Claire’s gaze darted between Noah and Drake. “This isn’t the place. Not for…whatever is happening between you two.”
Noah shook free of Trace. “Of course.” He motioned to the band. “Play something slow. I want to dance with my fiancée.” He pulled Claire into his arms. Started to walk past Drake. Then Noah slowed. He leaned in close to Drake and rasped, “Fucking phenomenal. You’d better believe it.”
Then he took Claire onto the dance floor.
Drake shook his head. No one woman—and no sex—was worth the kind of hell Noah was courting.
***
The ringing of a phone woke Claire that night. She blinked as her hand stretched out, seeking Noah in the darkness.
He wasn’t there.
The phone—her phone—rang again, vibrating from its position on the nightstand.