by Nora Roberts
If he was hungry, it wasn’t for a woman, or for Rowan Tripp in particular. If he was tired, it was because if he wasn’t knocked-out exhausted, he spent too much time thinking about her in the middle of the night. So he’d stop. He’d just stop thinking about her.
When she turned into her room, he went in right behind her.
“What do—”
He shut the door—and her mouth—by pushing her back against it. The kiss burned with temper, smoldered with the frustration he’d managed to ignore for the past weeks. Now he let them both go. The hell with it.
He jerked back an inch, his gaze snapping to hers. “I’m tired. I’m pissed off. I don’t know exactly why, but I don’t give a damn.”
“Then why don’t you—”
“Shut up. I have something to say.” He crushed his mouth to hers again, cuffing her wrists in his hands. “This has gotten stupid. I’m stupid, or maybe you’re stupid. I don’t care.”
“What the hell do you care about?” she demanded.
“Apparently you. Maybe it’s because you’re goddamn beautiful, and built, and manage to be smart and fearless at the same time. Maybe it’s just because I’m horny. That could be it. But something’s clicked here; we both know it.”
Since she hadn’t told him to go to hell, or kneed him in the groin—yet—he calculated he had a short window to make his case.
“So it’s time to stop playing around, Rowan. It’s time to toss that asinine rule of yours out the window. Whatever we’ve got going here, we need to hit it head-on. If it’s just a flash, fine, we’ll take it down and move on. No harm, no foul. But I’m damned if I’m going to keep slapping away at the spot fires. You’re in or you’re out. Now how do you want to play it?”
She hadn’t expected temper and force from him, which, considering she’d seen him take on three men with a ferocity she’d admired, made that her mistake. She hadn’t expected anything could stir up her juices after a thirty-six-hour jump, but here he was, looking at her as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss her or strangle her, and those juices were not only stirring, but pumping strong.
“How do I want to play it?”
“That’s right.”
“Let’s drown it.” She fisted her hands in his hair, yanked his mouth back to hers. Then she reversed their positions, shoved him back against the door. “In the shower, rookie.” She made quick work unbuttoning his shirt.
“Funny, that was first on my list before I got pissed off.” He pulled her shirt off as he backed her toward the bathroom. “Then all I could think about was getting my hands on you.” He unhooked her pants.
“Boots,” she managed as they groped each other. She dropped down on the toilet, fingers flying on laces. He dropped to the floor to do the same.
“This shouldn’t be sexy. Maybe I am just horny.”
“Just hurry up!” Laughing, she yanked off her pants, then stood to peel off the tank, the bra beneath.
“Sing hallelujah,” Gull murmured.
“Get naked!” she ordered, then, wiggling out of her panties, flicked on the water in the shower.
Crazy, she thought. A crazy thing to do, but she felt crazy. Another type of dragon fever, she decided, and turned to pull him in with her under the spray.
“We’re very dirty,” she said, linking her arms around his neck, pressing her body to his.
“And about to get dirtier. Let’s turn up the heat.” Reaching behind her, he clicked the hot water up a notch, then gave himself the pleasure of those waiting, willing lips.
Good, so good, she thought, the water on her skin, his hands spreading the wet and hot over her. Why deny what she’d known the first time they’d locked eyes? They’d always been heading here, to this. She ran her hands down his back, over hard planes, tough muscle, instinctively working her fingers over the knots tied tight by hours of brutal effort.
He moaned as she worked her way to his shoulders.
He fixed his teeth at the side of her neck, pressed his own fingers in a line down her spine, then up again until he found points of pain and pleasure at the base of her neck.
“Let me take care of this.” She poured shampoo in her palm, rubbed her hands together lightly as she watched him, then slid her fingers through his hair. While she rubbed, massaged, he filled his hands with her shower gel. The shower filled with the scent of ripe peaches as he glided circles, slow circles, over her breasts, her belly.
Lather foamed and dripped, frothing fragrantly between their bodies as he trailed a hand down, his fingers teasing, just teasing when he cupped her.
Her head fell back, and a low sound of pleasure hummed in her throat. Watching her absorb sensation, he gave her a little more, a little more until her hips, her breath picked up the rhythm.
Not yet, he thought, not yet, and made her groan when he turned her to face the wet wall.
“Gull, Jesus—”
“I need to wash your back. Love your back.” At the small of it, a tattoo of a red dragon breathed gold flame. He ran his lathered hands over her, followed them with his lips. “Your skin’s like milk.”
He indulged himself with the subtle curve of the back of her neck, exposed and vulnerable to his teeth and tongue, and when her arm hooked back to press him closer, he glided his hands around, filled them with her breasts.
So firm, so full.
He spun her around, replaced his hands with his mouth.
Not what she’d expected or prepared for. Never what she expected, she thought as her body quivered. The angry man who’d shoved her against the door should have stormed her. Instead he seduced. She didn’t know if she could bear it.
With steam billowing like smoke, he trailed that mouth down her body, until every muscle trembled, until anticipation and sensation squeezed to a pulsing ache inside her.
Then he used his mouth on her until the hot flood of release swamped her.
When she was weak, in that shivering instant where body and mind surrendered, he plunged inside her.
No seduction now, no slow hands or teasing mouth. He gripped her hips and let himself take, and take, and take. Need raged through him, incited by the harsh sound of wet flesh slapping wet flesh, the pounding beat of the water, the wild thrust of her hips as she gave herself over to what they fueled in each other.
The chains of control shattered; madness broke free.
Through the haze of steam and passion he watched her eyes go blind. Still he drove her, himself, greedy for more until pleasure ripped through him and emptied him out.
She let her head drop on his shoulder until she could get her breath back. Might be a while, she realized, as she was currently panting like an old woman.
“Need a minute.”
She made some sound of agreement to the statement.
“If we try to move now, we’re both going to end up going down and drowning—after we fracture our skulls.”
“We’re lucky we didn’t do that already.”
“Probably. But we’d die clean and satisfied. I’m going to turn off the water. It’s going cold.”
She’d have to take his word for it. Her body still pumped enough heat to melt an ice floe. She managed her first full breath when he brushed his lips over her hair. She simply didn’t know how to react to sweetness—after.
“Got your legs under you?” he asked her.
“Steady as a rock.” Hopefully.
He let her go to reach out and grab towels. “It’s a sacrifice to give you anything to cover up that body with.” Before she could take it, he wrapped it around her, laid a warm, lingering kiss on her lips.
“Problem?” he asked her.
“No. Why?”
He trailed a fingertip between her eyebrows. “You’re frowning.”
“My face is reflecting the mood of my stomach, which is wondering why it’s still empty.” Which was true enough. “I’m starving.” She relaxed again, smiled again. “Between the jump and the shower bonus, I’m out.”
“Rig
ht there with you. Let’s go eat.”
She started to move past him to the bedroom, turned. “I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. You’ve got skills.”
“I also work well horizontally.”
Her laugh rolled out as she pulled out a T-shirt and jeans. “I think you’re going to have to prove it.”
“Now or after food?”
She shook her head as she pulled on clothes. “After, definitely. I’m in the mood for . . . Aren’t you getting dressed?”
“I’m not putting that stinking mess back on. I need to borrow your towel.”
She thought of the state of the clothes they’d both dragged off. “Just hang on a minute. I’ll get you some clothes.”
“Really?”
“I know where your quarters are.” She breezed out, strolled into his room.
He kept it tidy, she thought as she pulled open a drawer. Inside spaces, too. She grabbed what she figured he needed, took another quick look around. When she noticed the photograph, she stepped over for a closer study.
Gull, she noted, with what had to be his aunt and uncle, his cousins, all arm in arm in front of big, bright red doors.
Great-looking group, she thought, and the body language spoke of affection and happy. In front of the arcade, which, she realized by what she could see of it, was a lot bigger than she’d envisioned.
She took the clothes back, pushed them into his hands. “Hurry up and get dressed before I start gnawing on my own hand.”
“Hurry up and get undressed, hurry up and get dressed. Orders, orders.” He sent her an exaggerated smoldering look. “Dominant females make me hot.”
“I’ll see if I can find my whip and chain later.”
“Ah, a brand-new fantasy to explore.”
“Don’t forget to call me ‘Mistress.’ ”
“If you promise to be gentle. By the way, I like the tat.”
“Good-luck charm,” she told him. “If I wear the dragon, the dragon doesn’t wear me. How about yours?” She walked around to tap the letters scrolled over his left shoulder blade. “Teine,” she said.
“It’s pronounced ‘teen,’ not ‘The-ine.’ Old Irish for fire. I guess if I wear the fire, it doesn’t wear me.”
“It just gets to try us both on from time to time. How’d you get that one?” she asked, gesturing to the scar along his left ribs.
“Bar fight in New Orleans.”
“No, seriously.”
“Well, it was, technically, outside the bar. I went down for Mardi Gras one year. Have you ever been?”
“No.”
“Not to be missed.” His hair, still damp from the shower, curled at the collar of the shirt he pulled on. “I was in college, went down with some friends. After the revelry, we hit a bar. This asshole went after this girl. Sort of like the asshole who hassled you, but this one was drunker and meaner, and she didn’t have your style.”
“Few do,” she said with a grin.
“No argument. So, when I suggested he cease and desist, he objected. One thing led to another. Apparently he didn’t like the fact I was kicking his ass in front of witnesses, so he pulled a knife.”
The grin changed to openmouthed shock. “Well, sweet baby Jesus, he stabbed you?”
“Not exactly. The knife sort of skimmed along my ribs.” Gull motioned a careless finger over the spot. “He didn’t get much of me, and I had the pleasure of breaking his jaw. The girl was really grateful, so a night well spent.”
He tied his sneakers. “I have a spotted and unruly past.”
“You’re a puzzler.”
“Okay.” He held out a hand. “How about I buy you dinner and a couple of cold beers?”
“I say since meals come with the job, that makes you a cheapskate, but what the hell.”
LATER, AFTER GULL PROVED he did indeed work well horizontally, Rowan gave him a sleepy nudge. “Go home.”
“Nope.” He simply tucked her in against his side.
“Gull, neither of us is what you’d call petite, and this bed isn’t exactly built for two.” Besides, sleeping with a guy was different from sex.
“It worked pretty well so far. We’ll manage. Besides, you saw the jump list. We’re first and second man, first stick. If we get a call, all we have to do is put on the clothes currently strewn all over the floor, and hit it. It’s efficient.”
“So you always sleep with your jump partner for the sake of efficiency.”
“I’m trying it out with you first. Who knows, if it saves enough time, it might become regulation. If we’re clear, do you want to take a run in the morning?”
His hand, trailing lightly up and down her back, felt good—soothing. It was late anyway, she thought, she could make an exception on the sleeping rule this one time. Except she’d already made an exception on the sex, and now . . .
“Are we going to keep doing this?” she wondered.
“Okay, but you’re going to have to give me about twenty minutes.”
“Not tonight. I think we’ve rung the bell on that.”
“Oh, you mean as a continuing series.” He gave her ass a light, friendly pat. “Definitely.”
“If we continue the series, there’s a rule.”
“Of course there is.”
“If I sleep with a guy, I don’t sleep with other guys, or sleep with that guy if he’s banging anyone else. If either of us decide someone else looks good, that’s fine. Series over. That one’s firm. No exceptions.”
“That’s fair. One question. Why would I want anybody else when I get to take showers with you?”
“Because people tend to want what they don’t have.”
“I like what I’ve got.” He gave her an easy squeeze. “Ergo, I’m happy to abide by your rule on this matter.”
“Ergo.” She chuckled, closed her eyes. “You’re something else, Gulliver.”
Right then, tucked up with Rowan in bed, an owl hooting dourly in the night and the moon shafting through the window, Gull figured he was exactly who, and where, he wanted to be.
IT TOOK LESS TIME to burn a body than a forest. An uglier business, but quicker. Still, collateral damage couldn’t be avoided, and probably served as an advantage. She didn’t weigh much, considering, so carrying her up the trail, through the lodgepole pines, wasn’t as hard as it might have been.
The shimmer of moonlight helped light the way—like a sign—and the music of night creatures soothed.
The trail forked, steepened, but the climb wasn’t altogether unpleasant in the cool, pine-scented air.
Better not to think of the unpleasant, of the horror. Better to think of moonlight and cool air and night birds.
In the distance, a coyote called out, high and bright. A wild sound, a hungry sound. Burning her would be humane. Better than leaving her for the animals.
They’d probably come far enough.
The task didn’t take much effort or require too many tools. Just hacking away some dried brush and twigs, soaking them, her clothes. Her.
Don’t think.
Soaking it all with gas from the spare can.
Try not to look at her face, try not to think of what she’d said and done. What had happened. Stick to what had to be done now.
Light the fire. Feel the heat. See the color and shape. Hear
