Kick A** Heroines Box Set: The UltimatumFatal AffairAfter the DarkBulletproof SEAL (The Guardian)

by Karen Robards

  When they played, they wanted protection.

  The FBI was utilizing that need for safety.

  The shower door opened. Her hand fell to her side.

  “How long are you going to stay in there?” Blake asked her, his voice chiding.

  Until I wash away the scent of death. No, until she washed the memories out of her head. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t vanish easily.

  “I just wanted to check on you,” he said. He was in his jeans, in a T-shirt. Stubble lined his powerful jaw, and emotions that she was afraid to read glinted in his eyes.

  Blake turned away.

  He seemed to always be checking on her. Always looking out for her. Always making sure she was okay.

  She reached out and caught his hand in hers. “But I don’t remember telling you to leave.”

  He looked back at her. He swallowed. “Samantha…”

  Had she ever told him how much she enjoyed the way he said her name? He made it sound sensual. As if her name were a caress.

  As if she mattered.

  “It was really one hell of a day.” She had so many new images to add to her nightmares now.

  “Yes, it was.” He’d gone stone still.

  She didn’t want that. She wanted him. She tugged on his wrist. “Come into the shower with me.”

  His gaze slowly swept over her. Heated. “You sure about that?”

  “When it comes to you—” he needed to know this “—I am always sure.” She would trust him with her secrets, with her life.

  With her heart.

  He turned toward her and then…then he stepped into the shower, coming right in while still wearing his jeans and his T-shirt.

  “Blake!” His name was a surprised cry that broke from her. “Your clothes—”

  “They’ll dry.” He pressed her body against the cold, tiled wall of the shower, caging her there. The hard wall behind her, the hot warmth of his body in front of her. The water thundered down on her. His mouth took hers, and he kissed her, a deep sensual kiss that had her moaning and had her hands digging into the now wet material of his shirt.

  Her nipples were tight and hard, stabbing forward against his chest. Her hips arched against him. She wanted him in her, no long foreplay, just the fast, frantic rush of passion. Zero to pleasure because that was the way it was with them. Consuming. Overwhelming.

  He kissed a path down her neck, licking her skin, sucking her, nipping her with his teeth. Her head tipped back against the wall. Her nails dug into his shirt. She could hear the wild pant of her breath, and her racing heartbeat seemed to shake her chest.

  His hand pushed between her thighs. Two fingers thrust into her. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she shot up onto her toes, gasping. Then she pushed her sex harder against his hand, grinding down.

  “I don’t like…thinking about you with him…” His words were a rough growl.

  Her eyes flew open. For an instant, her heartbeat stopped.

  “I don’t like knowing he touched you…like this…” His fingers withdrew, then thrust deep, sliding over her clit and sending a surge of pleasure soaring through her. Helplessly, she moaned.

  “I don’t like knowing he heard that sound…that he heard your pleasure…” His eyes burned. “That he felt your pleasure…”

  The water still poured down on them. The need was still bright and hot between them, but a new tension was there, coming from Blake. A dark fury, but…

  Not directed at me.

  “I want to destroy him. I will, Samantha. Know that. I will never let him get near you again.”

  Neither will I.

  “When I saw that picture…” Again, his fingers pulled out of her, thrust back in. He was staring down at her sex, watching her, watching them. “I think I went a little crazy for a moment. I wanted to attack. I wanted to hurt.”

  “Blake?”

  He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Not you. I would never want to hurt you.” He looked at her. “You know that, don’t you?”

  She did. “Make love to me,” she said. She needed that distinction. When she was with Blake, it wasn’t just fucking. It wasn’t just sex for pleasure’s sake. More happened with them. More had always been there.

  It was time to prove that to them both.

  He was in a dark place, she could see it. Could feel the tension all around them. Rage was still there. Jealousy. Possessiveness.

  Emotions that could drive a man to kill.

  Emotions that could break a man.

  But Blake was stronger than that. She knew it. She’d always known that he was.

  His fingers withdrew from her, dragging over her clit once more. Samantha bit her lip to keep from crying out because the sensation was so overwhelming. But then his hands were on her hips. He lifted her up, holding her so effortlessly with the strength that she sometimes forgot. She forgot how big and powerful he was. She forgot that hard ripple of his muscles, the powerful flex of his shoulders.

  He held her pinned with one arm while the other yanked open his jeans. His cock sprang toward her, thick and long.

  But then he was clenching his teeth. “Condom…”

  Her hand pressed to the stubble that lined his jaw. “I’m protected and I’m clean.” She’d never gone without using a condom with a lover before.

  His eyes changed. The desire that had been there before turned ever darker. “I’m clean…”

  “Then take me this way,” she whispered. “I need to be this way, with you.” She wanted nothing between them. No barriers.

  And she didn’t just mean the condom.

  No past. No secrets. Just them. She wanted to open up her soul to him.

  Making love. For the first time, that was what she truly wanted to do.

  His cock pushed into her, sinking deep, stretching her. She was wet, and he slipped inside so easily, so deeply, until he’d thrust into her, hilt deep. She didn’t move at first. Just savored the feel of him inside of her. His gaze was on hers, seeing so completely into her.

  Her legs curled around his hips, holding on tight. Her hands shoved up his wet T-shirt so she could touch his hot skin. The heat between them, oh, it was definitely hot enough to burn.

  His mouth took hers. Another deep, drugging kiss. He withdrew from her, then thrust deep. Powerful drives of his hips that she matched with a wild force of her own. Deep and sensual, hard and consuming. He took her that way, just as she took him.

  And Samantha let herself go.

  In and out, he plunged into her. His head lifted, his gaze held hers. Every slow drive of his hips had his cock pushing over her clit. The tension within her built, she couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t—

  She cried out his name as she came.

  His hands clamped tighter around her hips. “That’s what I hate most of all…that the bastard had you this way.”

  He withdrew, thrust—

  “He didn’t,” she whispered. “He never had me this way.” She smiled at him, needing Blake to understand the most important thing of all. “Because what I felt with him…it is nothing like what I feel with you.”

  His eyes changed again. The rage, the fury, the possessiveness—all of the darkness that had been trying to swallow him whole—it seemed to vanish.

  His control broke. The careful control he’d still maintained gave way with her confession. He pulled her away from the wall, held her in a grip of steel, surged his hips against her, and she felt the hot release from him deep within her body. He kissed her. Wildly, frantically. She kissed him back the same way, her delicate inner muscles greedily clamping down around him.

  The water kept surging from the shower, the steam lifted all around them and Samantha knew that she never wanted to let go of Blake.

  There were some peop
le in this world who mattered so much that you just never, ever wanted to let them go.

  * * *

  THERE WERE SEVERAL universities in the area. After all, according to the local news, the Gulf Coast of Alabama was a sprawling spot, poised for growth, poised for economic expansion, poised for—

  Like I fucking care.

  Cameron waited near the psychology building at the University of South Alabama. He’d picked that campus because it was the biggest in Mobile and the most accessible. No guards to check him when he entered. Just an easy walk right to campus. And, because he truly had incredible luck, night classes were in session.

  He could have taken his time. Could have studied the students, picked his prey with care. After all, that was the way he used to work. He’d pick a student, separate her from the others, make sure that the individual wouldn’t be missed, at least, not right away.

  And then his experiments would begin. Those experiments had lasted a very long time. He’d learned a great deal about his victims during his experiments. Just as he’d learned some hard truths about himself.

  He waited in the parking lot—a dark lot, security should really be improved—until the last class dismissed. Most students came out in little groups. So very smart of them to utilize the buddy system. Walking alone at night was just never a good idea.

  All sorts of people could be waiting in the dark.

  He stayed in his vehicle, watching as most of the group drove away. Some of the students didn’t drive, though. They turned in the direction of the dorms and began walking. Again—in a group. Such a smart move.

  And he kept waiting. Because there was always a few…who didn’t stay with a group.

  Two more students came out. One was a woman who went straight to her car. She didn’t glance to the left or the right. Situational awareness, my dear. You have absolutely none. It would have been easy to take her. To just run right up behind her. Slam her head into the door of her car. Knock her out and—

  She’s not the one.

  She got in her vehicle and drove away. She’d escaped that night, but he suspected she’d probably be someone else’s victim another day.

  He was still waiting. Waiting on the one student who would…

  Ah, there we go.

  The one student who would be walking alone. The others had gone ahead, moving around the curve in the road so they were no longer in sight of the psychology building. But this woman…the woman who was juggling too many books in her hands as she hurried down the large, stone steps in front of the building…she fit the bill.

  He slid out of his car, then just waited. After all, he had to be sure no one else was going to interrupt his plans.

  The woman hurried under one of the lights near the building, and it shone down on her blond hair. He frowned. He’d never been a particular fan of blondes, but…maybe the blond came out of a bottle. Janice had actually been a natural brunette, a lovely surprise that he’d discovered.

  He liked the brunettes best.

  His prey didn’t head toward the parking lot. Instead, she picked up her pace and hurried toward the trail that led to the dorms. And in her haste, a book slipped from the stack in her hands. She didn’t even seem to notice it fall.

  He picked it up. He followed her.

  It took her a while to hear the tread of his footsteps. He wasn’t even being particularly quiet. But she finally looked over her shoulder, and when she saw him, she gave a quick jerk of surprise.

  “Miss!” he called, trying to keep his voice gentle, nonthreatening. “You dropped a book when you left the building.” He held up the book in his hand. “I tried to get your attention, but I don’t think you heard me.”

  She looked down at the books in her hands, then back at him. And she stopped.

  Another mistake.

  She turned to face him. Even hurried close. “Thank you!” Her voice was breathless. “My stupid backpack broke right before class, the strap just tore loose, and I have to carry all these books because it was project night.” Her breath expelled. “I probably wouldn’t have even noticed I’d left that book until I was in the dorm. Then I would have needed to come all the way back here.”

  My, someone is chatty. Obviously, she’d missed the whole never-talk-to-strangers bit when she’d been a child. “Glad I could help.” He glanced at the title of the book, and he had to smile. “The Psychology of Violence?” How utterly perfect.

  “It’s for my graduate thesis. Understanding why certain individuals crave violence.” She tucked her other books under one arm and reached for the text he held. “Thanks, again—”

  He swung the book at her, hard, fast and brutal. It slammed right into her head. He heard the crunch as her nose broke, and she slipped, falling backward. She hit the cement path hard, slamming her head into the stone.

  Cameron crouched over her. “It is your lucky night.” Because he had learned something from Burke. The student had taught the teacher. If you want to make the FBI do your bidding, then you have to possess something they want—a victim.

  She opened her mouth, probably to scream. Should have done that sooner. He clamped his hand over her lips. “You are about to get a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A truly firsthand glimpse at the psychology of violence.”

  Her eyes were wide, terror-stricken.

  “You’re welcome,” he told her.

  * * *

  HE HAD SAMANTHA exactly where he wanted her.

  Blake curled his hand around her stomach and pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade. They were in bed, sated, the horrible clawing in his chest finally subsiding. She was with him, and she was safe.

  He knew they wouldn’t have long together. A few moments of rest, then they’d be back at work again. Back to the police station. Talking to the ME. Analyzing the crime scene reports.

  But for that moment, he had her, and that was all that Blake needed. “I should apologize.”

  “For what?” Her voice was husky, sleepy.

  “For nearly losing it at the crime scene. Latham played me.”

  “No, he didn’t.” She turned in his arms, rolling to face him. “I told you, Cameron misjudged you. He thought you’d pull away from me, that you’d—” she swallowed “—that you’d give in to rage and jealousy. Dark emotions. Because that’s all Cameron knows. The darkness. He doesn’t get—”

  His laughter sounded bitter to his own ears. “Trust me, I felt plenty of rage and jealousy.” Truth be told, he still did. He didn’t want any part of Samantha to be claimed by Latham. He didn’t want that freak near her, not even dragging down her thoughts.

  “You feel them.” She stared into his eyes. “But they don’t control you.”

  For a moment, they almost had. When he’d been there, seeing that image, the dead man next to him… “We can’t let him get away.”

  “I don’t think he’s running. I think he’s going to come right at us.” She licked her lips. “He’s coming at you.”

  “Why does he have this hard-on for me?” Blake demanded. “Why is he so bent on taking me out?”

  “Because he blames you for taking me away from him.” Her voice was low, even. “When I met you, Cameron and I… The intimate side of our relationship ended. I didn’t even realize why I’d pulled away from him, but he knew.”

  Blake waited.

  “He knew that something was happening between us. He hated that because I think I was the only person Cameron could connect with. What we had together, it certainly wasn’t love. But I think it may have been the closest he could come to that emotion.” Her sigh blew lightly against him. “Do you know what psychopaths can do really well?”

  He waited.

  “Imitate. They see the way others act, they see the way others feel, and, in order to get by in society, they imitate those behaviors. The im
itation never goes beyond the surface, but usually the pretense is so good that they can fool everyone around them.”

  “Cameron was a genius at that.”

  “Yes.” Sadness came and went on her face. “He was.”

  He pressed a kiss to her lips, needing to touch her, almost needing to…mark her in some way. “So Cameron is going to come at me because he thinks I’m in his way. That I’m stopping him from having you?” You won’t ever have her, bastard. Not ever.

  “No, it’s not about having me. It’s about him blaming you.” She sat up in bed, pulling the covers with her. “He’s changed.”

  A rough laugh escaped Blake. “Yes, I noticed that. Two dead cops, a poor SOB with no eyelids—”

  Samantha flinched. “He likes killing. He can do it easily now, with no hesitation, no remorse. I don’t think he cares who his victims are. He doesn’t have a specific type. He’s defying traditional serial behavior.”

  Wonderful. So the guy was a psychopath with an appetite for blood and pain, and he killed anyone he wanted.

  “We can’t look at his victims to profile him. He may go back to attacking coeds or he may decide to attack someone else linked to the FBI or to the case. The thing I know for certain now is that he is clearly gunning for you.”

  “Then I’m the next victim.”

  “No.”

  He rose up next to her. “Look, why the hell not? I can be bait. Shit, you were more than willing to put yourself out there before. I want this bastard to come at me. I want him to take a run.” He welcomed it. Because when that battle ended, Cameron would be the one in a pool of blood.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Samantha murmured.

  His eyes narrowed on her.

  “He won’t come at you directly, at least, not at first. He’s profiled you, and while he may have been off about you and your reaction to the crime scene at my house, there are still certain things that he does know.”

  The guy knew jackshit about him.

  “He’ll use someone else to get to you. That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid he’s out there, right now, and he’s already picking someone else that he can use to manipulate you.” She climbed from the bed and dressed quickly. “There is so much ground to cover. He could be anywhere, and I think he’s hunting. He’s not sleeping. Not waiting. It’s dark out, and he likes the dark, so I think he’s taking someone else. Or he’s about to take someone, and he’s going to use that person…” She spun toward Blake. “Against you.”