He wanted to sink inside her with a hunger that had tightened his muscles to the point that they ached. His c**k was iron hard, throbbing brutally with that need.
What had possessed him to refuse to go to her? He had known if he didn’t, Chase would, and at that time, that seemed the better solution. It had been seven long years since he had touched the woman that tormented damned near every dream he’d had since she left the small Oklahoma town they lived in.
The first punch of clawing need that had struck him the second he’d seen her tonight had almost stolen his breath. He had stood there, staring at her, the way that dress draped down, baring her back, swishing sexily above her rounded ass.
It was enough to make a grown man go to his knees and worship that rounded flesh and everything above and below it.
Instead of going to her, he had left Chase to go after her instead, because he didn’t trust his control. He didn’t trust his ability not to demand things he knew she couldn’t give.
But letting her go, risking his brother, even the brother he shared his women with, touching her, was fraying his control.
No one had ever tempted his control as Jaci did. Even seven years ago, a tender twenty-one-year-old virgin with stars in her eyes, she had tempted it. She made him want to forget the rules that had defined his life. Made him wish he was someone or something other than who he was.
“Hey, Cam, where’s that brother of yours?” The false joviality in Congressman Roberts’s voice had Cam tensing, his head lifting as he stared back at the smaller man with barely restrained violence in his heart.
Where he stood was shadowed, darker than the area around it, hiding the anger he had promised himself and Ian he would keep carefully restrained.
But it wasn’t easy. Roberts was a maggot, and he was the maggot that had tormented Jaci for five years.
The investigative report they had pulled together on her over the past months had enraged him and Chase. Chase was more subtle; Roberts’s financials would be an open book to them eventually—to them, as well as to the Feds. Cam wasn’t much into subtlety, though. He wanted to ram his fist into the bastard’s face.
“Congressman,” he drawled softly, “I’m sure Chase is around somewhere.”
Dark brown hair was layered to frame the congressman’s face and lend it an “honest” appearance. The false sincerity in his brown gaze had always sickened Cam, but now it made him almost violent.
“I saw him with Ms. Wright earlier.” Those eyes flickered with concern. “I was hoping to catch him before he left with her.”
“Did he leave with her?” Cam drawled, his hand tightening on his drink glass as he thought of all the reasons why it was a very bad idea to rearrange this man’s face.
“I hope not.” Roberts sighed. “Ms. Wright is a perfectly acceptable interior designer, but a man in Chase’s position should be careful of his reputation.”
“And she can harm that how?” If he killed Roberts, he could hide the body really well. The Special Forces had taught him how. But he’d never be able to hide the fact that he’d done it from Chase. And Chase would just give him hell over it.
“Certain women always manage to do so,” the congressman sighed. “Ah well, I’m certain he’s well aware of her past. Being an investigator comes in handy,” he joked, his laughter as false as the concern had been.
“It does indeed.”
Roberts cleared his throat. “It’s regrettable that Ms. Wright sometimes allows herself to forget her place. Some women”—he shrugged philosophically, with no idea how close to death he was stepping,—“some women aren’t always willing to work properly for what they want.”
Cam felt his hand curl into a fist.
“How did she work for what she wanted, then?”
If the bastard said the words, he was dead. As cold and dead as any enemy Cam had taken out in the military. All he had to do was say the words, and Cam promised himself, the bastard’s death would be brutal. Bloody.
Roberts shook his head and sighed almost pityingly. Almost.
“I’m not a man to tell tales,” he finally said. “Just tell Chase to be careful. I’d hate to see a friend hurt.”
Richard Roberts turned on his heel and shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and moved away, his head down, as though he felt sorry for Chase.
The lying, corrupt son of a bitch. That bastard and his wife had made Jaci’s life a living hell for five years, and not even once, not once, had she asked anyone for help. Not once had she complained or attempted to defend herself. She had held her silence and tried to deflect their viciousness as much as possible.
Alone.
He pushed the fingers of one hand through his hair and blew out a hard, control-fortifying breath. He was not going to follow Congressman Roberts and beat his brains into a bloody pulp. Cam would not tell that viperous woman Roberts had married what a lousy excuse for a human she was.
And he would not, by God, destroy the hard work Jaci had put into keeping her reputation intact. But she would belong to him. To him, as well as to Chase. She had run for seven years, and now, by God, the running was over.
He had no idea what had actually happened between the congressman, his wife, and Jaci. Even Courtney Sinclair, Jaci’s friend, had no clue what had caused the Robertses to target her. Jaci simply hadn’t talked. The Robertses had, though.
He remembered that about her. Jaci wasn’t into gossip or telling tales. Tell her something, it stayed with her. And she never had been the sort of female to run to others for protection. Whatever the Robertses had done to her, it had caused her to retreat inside herself, to restrain the fiery nature that he had always been drawn to.
He glanced toward the doorway Roberts had used to reenter the house. It was one of the side doors. The congressman was known for retreating to Ian’s private study and his better booze, rather than joining the Sinclair parties for long.
Ian allowed it, though Cam knew he didn’t particularly like it.
Cam thought of all the ways he could hurt the other man without leaving a mark. How easily he could warn him that Jaci was off-limits. That her name would never pass his lips again.
He took a step toward the doorway, when Ian Sinclair stepped out on the patio. The other man watched him suspiciously, his dark green eyes glowed with knowledge as he slid a cigar from inside his jacket and smiled back at Cam.