“Talking is the last thing I want to do.” She’d never spoken truer words to him. Her hand flattened over his chest. His heart drummed beneath her fingertips, racing just as fast as her own.
His jaw worked, and she could see the lust on his face, but he held back. Dammit, he held back. “You can’t keep hiding forever.”
Her breath caught. He knows. “The dreams don’t matter.” She wouldn’t let them. “Tonight, I want you.”
Her right hand swept out. Hit the lights. When she had him, she didn’t need the light.
Her lips took his. A wet, open-mouthed kiss.
The fire hit her. Hard and fast. The need that shot through her blood and moistened her sex and made her want. Made her want—
Luke. The rough slide of his body against hers. The feel of him in her, and his voice, whispering to her.
She moaned into his mouth even as her nails bit into his skin.
He came down on her, the strong, hard length of his body pushing against her. His lips were tight on hers, and she knew he was as hungry as she was. Six years.
But it seemed just like yesterday.
His mouth ripped from hers, and his lips took her throat. Kissing. Sucking. Licking. Her sex creamed as she arched her h*ps toward him. The man knew all of her weak spots.
After all this time, he should have forgotten, he should have—
“Luke…” Her turn to lick. A swipe of her tongue near his ear. Because she still remembered what he liked. “Ditch the jeans.” There’d be no pulling back tonight. She needed him too much.
Silence the victims. Make the cries stop. Make me forget.
Her fingers eased their hold, then skated over his chest. Over the slight ridge, the new scar he’d added to his collection. A killer’s mark.
A chill skated down her spine but she pushed her hands between their bodies. He had on jeans. Easy enough to get rid of those, but, ah, damn, he’d have to move his hand—
“Easy.” His rough whisper in the darkness, rolling with his smooth drawl. That drawl always grew thicker when he was pissed or when he was aroused.
Easy?
“Not what I want,” she whispered right back. He should know better. She wasn’t the kind for cuddling and soft kisses. Not her.
Her fingers drifted away from the scar. Stroked over those abs. She found the snap of his jeans.
He slipped back. She pushed forward. A hiss, and his zipper eased down. No boxers. He must have dressed fast when he came to her.
She wrapped her fingers around the straining length of his cock. “You know what I want,” she told him as her fingers tightened. “And I know just what you want.” Her left hand pushed against his shoulder, trying to ease him back.
He caught her wrist, curled his fingers tightly around her. “Not. This. Time.” Gritted.
But what—
He stood up, fast. Luke fumbled in his back pocket, then ditched the jeans. “It’s been too f**king long,” he muttered.
Yes, it had been. But she’d been afraid…
And then her past had come calling.
Can’t run. Won’t run.
She shoved her panties down and kicked them away.
He caught her legs. Spread her wide and, even in the darkness, she felt the heat of his stare. “Too f**king long,” he said again and then his fingers were on her. Sliding between the damp folds of her sex and finding her cl*t and rubbing, just the way she needed. Her head tipped back. A moan built in her throat. Her ni**les were tight, aching, the soft fabric of the shirt rubbing against them as—
He shoved her shirt up to her neck, exposing her br**sts. His mouth closed over her nipple. His tongue swirled over the hungry peak, his teeth scored her flesh.
And he drove two fingers into her.
She clenched around him and stiffened.
Not enough.
The fingers retreated. Plunged deep.
“Luke!” The bastard knew better than to tease. He knew.
His head jerked up. His eyes glittered down at her. “Ready?”
Not like she could get more ready. He had to feel the cream coating his fingers, the tremble of her sex around him.
“Hope to hell you are,” he growled, then pushed up on his arms. A packet was in his hands. Condom.
He’d had that in his back pocket? The man was a freaking Boy Scout.
She loved that.
He ripped the packet open with his teeth. Sheathed his cock, that long, thick length that she’d really wanted to taste again, because Monica knew she could drive him to the edge and beyond with her mouth and she wanted—
He shoved her thighs apart wider and pushed between her legs.
“Missed you.” He thrust deep. So deep she nearly bucked off the bed. So deep his name broke from her lips. So deep the bed sounded like it might break apart as the old boards groaned beneath them.
Just what she’d wanted.
He plunged into her, again and again, hard drives that she met with blind pleasure. Her legs wrapped around him, squeezed tight.
And the fury built.
Faster.
Faster.
His eyes were the only thing she could see in the darkness, glinting at her.
His arms were locked on either side of her head as he thrust, driving them both to that wild release.
Closer. Closer.
His c*ck slid over her clit, pushed into her core and—
She broke. A muffled scream slipped from her lips as her sex spasmed around his thick length. Pleasure and madness. A cl**ax so strong she squeezed her eyes shut and held onto him as hard as she could.
Still he thrust. Deep, deeper, every hard movement of his body making the pleasure last and last.
Luke.
His name broke from her lips. She pushed up, wrapping her arms around his neck as she lifted against him.
Face to face. Sex to sex.
She kissed him. And rose. His c*ck slid over her sensitive flesh.
Monica pushed down. Rode him.
She rode him fast and deep. She took him, even as the heat of release whipped through her again.
Took him—took everything.
His c*ck swelled. Lodged tight within her.
He came.
So did she—a long, hot wave of release. Pleasure.
He’d always been able to give her exactly what she needed. Always.
He was so screwed.
Luke knew this for a fact. An absolute-damn-certainty. He woke up, alone in the bed. The scent of sex and Monica hovered in the air all around him. His c*ck was already up and twitching, and he knew he was in trouble.
Sex with her hadn’t been as good as before.
It had been better. They’d barely touched, and he’d been about to explode in his jeans.
Then when he’d gotten inside her, and the tight creamy clasp of her sex gripped his cock—
Screwed.
The bathroom door opened with a soft groan. Monica stepped out. Her hair was perfect. Not a strand out of place. She’d applied her makeup, a light touch at the eyes and a sexy slicking at the lips. She wore khakis and a white blouse.
Perfect.
Then she saw him. Her eyes met his and for the briefest of moments, she paused.
She looked… uncertain. Then that chin rose. “You’re up.”
He glanced down at his cock. “Glad you noticed.”
That sound could have been a choked laugh. But then her eyes fell to his flesh and she took a deep breath. “Luke…”
He could still feel the press of her fingers on him. “What time do we talk to the first witness?” He could play this game. Business.
She turned toward her suitcase. “Eight-thirty.”
Ah, right. He glanced at his watch. “Gives us forty minutes.” Time to hop his butt in the shower and get his game face on.
Time for pleasure too, but with those stay-away vibes Monica was tossing out…
The pleasure would have to wait.
Business, first.
That was okay. He’d had his taste. Just as addictive as before.
So much for being able to walk away after one more screw. They were just too combustible.
He yanked on his jeans and rose. Because he was watching her—what else was new?—he caught the swift glance she tossed him and he saw the way her gaze dropped to his chest. Luke couldn’t help it. He had to flex, just a little.
A man had his pride.
“You… you came pretty close to death on that last one.”
He blinked and stopped the flex. Not what he’d expected.
Then a thought hit him, an unbelievable one, and Luke paused. “Worried about me?” Because with her, he never knew where he stood.
The tight nod she gave had his eyes widening.
She turned away from him. “I heard about the stabbing. Right after—”
She’d heard, and she hadn’t come rushing to his bedside. No big shocker. Not like it was his first injury. “Just another scar to join the others.” He lifted his hand, rubbing his right cheek.
Monica’s mark. Stupid, the way he’d gotten that. For her.
She glanced back at him. Her gaze darted to his hand. The mark. Then right back to his eyes. “You should’ve had backup.”
Ah. Not gonna talk about her mark, not yet. “I was interviewing witnesses. Didn’t need—”
“In the SSD, you do.” She set her shoulders. “That’s why we’re going together. The perps we hunt here—you can’t take chances with them.”
So he’d learned with Carl Malone, aka the Sorority Stalker. An ex-psych professor who’d crossed the line into straight-up crazy. No longer content to just watch the pretty young girls, he’d had to touch them. Then kill them.
I stopped the bastard.
Luke set his shoulders. “Give me five minutes in the shower, and I’ll be ready to go.”
Stamping down hard on the lust—because yeah, it was there, was always there when she was near—he headed across the room. One bathroom. Great. The room would smell of her.
But then, he smelled of her too and…
“Thank you, Luke.”
He stopped right beside her.
Her hand lifted, rising over his cheek. Her fingers trailed past the early morning stubble and up to the scar.
Was she thanking him for that long ago night, when they’d been in the alley and that bastard had come out of the bar swinging that knife?
He’d been kissing her then. Tasting her and feeling the weight of her br**sts crush against his chest. They’d snuck outside, away from the others who were celebrating the end of a brutal training session.
Monica hadn’t normally gone with them on the celebrations. But she’d gone that night, for him. He’d had to get her alone.
Luke just hadn’t counted on the drunk idiot with the knife. The fool looking for money who hadn’t realized he’d walked straight into trouble.
But then that idiot had made the mistake of turning his focus onto Monica. With her shirt slightly undone and the top of her br**sts just peeking out—
Luke had taken the bastard down. So what if he’d gotten a little scratch? No one was hurting Monica on his watch.
“Last night…” Oh, hell but that voice of hers was like a stroke right to his groin. “I needed you.”
His jaw dropped.
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “When you’re dressed, we’ll go get the evidence file and see what we can turn up.”
He caught her hand. Brought it to his lips. “There’s no going back.”
Her eyes met his. Held. “I’ve never wanted to go back.”
No, Monica had always struck him as a living-for-the-moment kind of woman. No past. And no future.
“If Hyde finds out…” She exhaled. “He’ll bust our asses.”
Probably. But some things were worth the risk.
“You folks here about the Swain murder?”
Monica looked up at the deep voice. Her nails were flat on the counter of the sheriff’s office. Luke stood beside her—
And a shiver worked through her body.
Her focus narrowed on the man strolling toward them. Tall, thin, with a mop of red-blond hair. His brown sheriff’s uniform was perfectly straight, and his gold star glinted.
She pulled out her badge. Her fingers were rocky steady. “Yes, I’m Monica Davenport with the FBI.” A flash of her ID, just to show him she wasn’t bullshitting.
His golden eyes dipped to the badge, then met hers. The briefest curl lifted his thin lips. “The FBI, huh? Don’t get many Bureau folks down here.”
Not surprising. Gatlin was a small speck on the map, lodged between the swamp and the woods. Not exactly a prime hotspot for crime.
Well, unless you were talking body dumping. Because the swamp would sure be great for that.
“I believe you were contacted by my supervising officer, Keith Hyde. We need to see the crime records for Saundra Swain’s—uh, is everything all right?”
The guy’s eyes had narrowed, and he crept forward, that intent gaze on his face. “I… know you.”
She felt the ripple of movement beside her as Luke suddenly came to attention. Monica made herself blink. Once. Twice. Then she shook her head slowly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure, Sheriff—”
“Martin. Jake Martin.”
The name meant nothing to her now. Just as it had meant nothing when Hyde told her she’d be meeting up with the fellow.
“Huh. I don’t usually forget faces.…”
“Neither do I,” she told him quietly.
That stare lingered a little longer, then Martin’s gaze drifted to Luke. “You her partner?”
She caught his shark’s smile. “Luke Dante.”
A grim nod. “Got those files for you. Sherri will be bringing them along and—” His gaze came back to her. “I know you.”
Monica forced a shrug, but sweat began to dampen the skin between her shoulder blades. Because of the insane southern Louisiana humidity, of course. One of the many reasons she preferred to spend her summers up north.
His jaw worked, and she could see the lust on his face, but he held back. Dammit, he held back. “You can’t keep hiding forever.”
Her breath caught. He knows. “The dreams don’t matter.” She wouldn’t let them. “Tonight, I want you.”
Her right hand swept out. Hit the lights. When she had him, she didn’t need the light.
Her lips took his. A wet, open-mouthed kiss.
The fire hit her. Hard and fast. The need that shot through her blood and moistened her sex and made her want. Made her want—
Luke. The rough slide of his body against hers. The feel of him in her, and his voice, whispering to her.
She moaned into his mouth even as her nails bit into his skin.
He came down on her, the strong, hard length of his body pushing against her. His lips were tight on hers, and she knew he was as hungry as she was. Six years.
But it seemed just like yesterday.
His mouth ripped from hers, and his lips took her throat. Kissing. Sucking. Licking. Her sex creamed as she arched her h*ps toward him. The man knew all of her weak spots.
After all this time, he should have forgotten, he should have—
“Luke…” Her turn to lick. A swipe of her tongue near his ear. Because she still remembered what he liked. “Ditch the jeans.” There’d be no pulling back tonight. She needed him too much.
Silence the victims. Make the cries stop. Make me forget.
Her fingers eased their hold, then skated over his chest. Over the slight ridge, the new scar he’d added to his collection. A killer’s mark.
A chill skated down her spine but she pushed her hands between their bodies. He had on jeans. Easy enough to get rid of those, but, ah, damn, he’d have to move his hand—
“Easy.” His rough whisper in the darkness, rolling with his smooth drawl. That drawl always grew thicker when he was pissed or when he was aroused.
Easy?
“Not what I want,” she whispered right back. He should know better. She wasn’t the kind for cuddling and soft kisses. Not her.
Her fingers drifted away from the scar. Stroked over those abs. She found the snap of his jeans.
He slipped back. She pushed forward. A hiss, and his zipper eased down. No boxers. He must have dressed fast when he came to her.
She wrapped her fingers around the straining length of his cock. “You know what I want,” she told him as her fingers tightened. “And I know just what you want.” Her left hand pushed against his shoulder, trying to ease him back.
He caught her wrist, curled his fingers tightly around her. “Not. This. Time.” Gritted.
But what—
He stood up, fast. Luke fumbled in his back pocket, then ditched the jeans. “It’s been too f**king long,” he muttered.
Yes, it had been. But she’d been afraid…
And then her past had come calling.
Can’t run. Won’t run.
She shoved her panties down and kicked them away.
He caught her legs. Spread her wide and, even in the darkness, she felt the heat of his stare. “Too f**king long,” he said again and then his fingers were on her. Sliding between the damp folds of her sex and finding her cl*t and rubbing, just the way she needed. Her head tipped back. A moan built in her throat. Her ni**les were tight, aching, the soft fabric of the shirt rubbing against them as—
He shoved her shirt up to her neck, exposing her br**sts. His mouth closed over her nipple. His tongue swirled over the hungry peak, his teeth scored her flesh.
And he drove two fingers into her.
She clenched around him and stiffened.
Not enough.
The fingers retreated. Plunged deep.
“Luke!” The bastard knew better than to tease. He knew.
His head jerked up. His eyes glittered down at her. “Ready?”
Not like she could get more ready. He had to feel the cream coating his fingers, the tremble of her sex around him.
“Hope to hell you are,” he growled, then pushed up on his arms. A packet was in his hands. Condom.
He’d had that in his back pocket? The man was a freaking Boy Scout.
She loved that.
He ripped the packet open with his teeth. Sheathed his cock, that long, thick length that she’d really wanted to taste again, because Monica knew she could drive him to the edge and beyond with her mouth and she wanted—
He shoved her thighs apart wider and pushed between her legs.
“Missed you.” He thrust deep. So deep she nearly bucked off the bed. So deep his name broke from her lips. So deep the bed sounded like it might break apart as the old boards groaned beneath them.
Just what she’d wanted.
He plunged into her, again and again, hard drives that she met with blind pleasure. Her legs wrapped around him, squeezed tight.
And the fury built.
Faster.
Faster.
His eyes were the only thing she could see in the darkness, glinting at her.
His arms were locked on either side of her head as he thrust, driving them both to that wild release.
Closer. Closer.
His c*ck slid over her clit, pushed into her core and—
She broke. A muffled scream slipped from her lips as her sex spasmed around his thick length. Pleasure and madness. A cl**ax so strong she squeezed her eyes shut and held onto him as hard as she could.
Still he thrust. Deep, deeper, every hard movement of his body making the pleasure last and last.
Luke.
His name broke from her lips. She pushed up, wrapping her arms around his neck as she lifted against him.
Face to face. Sex to sex.
She kissed him. And rose. His c*ck slid over her sensitive flesh.
Monica pushed down. Rode him.
She rode him fast and deep. She took him, even as the heat of release whipped through her again.
Took him—took everything.
His c*ck swelled. Lodged tight within her.
He came.
So did she—a long, hot wave of release. Pleasure.
He’d always been able to give her exactly what she needed. Always.
He was so screwed.
Luke knew this for a fact. An absolute-damn-certainty. He woke up, alone in the bed. The scent of sex and Monica hovered in the air all around him. His c*ck was already up and twitching, and he knew he was in trouble.
Sex with her hadn’t been as good as before.
It had been better. They’d barely touched, and he’d been about to explode in his jeans.
Then when he’d gotten inside her, and the tight creamy clasp of her sex gripped his cock—
Screwed.
The bathroom door opened with a soft groan. Monica stepped out. Her hair was perfect. Not a strand out of place. She’d applied her makeup, a light touch at the eyes and a sexy slicking at the lips. She wore khakis and a white blouse.
Perfect.
Then she saw him. Her eyes met his and for the briefest of moments, she paused.
She looked… uncertain. Then that chin rose. “You’re up.”
He glanced down at his cock. “Glad you noticed.”
That sound could have been a choked laugh. But then her eyes fell to his flesh and she took a deep breath. “Luke…”
He could still feel the press of her fingers on him. “What time do we talk to the first witness?” He could play this game. Business.
She turned toward her suitcase. “Eight-thirty.”
Ah, right. He glanced at his watch. “Gives us forty minutes.” Time to hop his butt in the shower and get his game face on.
Time for pleasure too, but with those stay-away vibes Monica was tossing out…
The pleasure would have to wait.
Business, first.
That was okay. He’d had his taste. Just as addictive as before.
So much for being able to walk away after one more screw. They were just too combustible.
He yanked on his jeans and rose. Because he was watching her—what else was new?—he caught the swift glance she tossed him and he saw the way her gaze dropped to his chest. Luke couldn’t help it. He had to flex, just a little.
A man had his pride.
“You… you came pretty close to death on that last one.”
He blinked and stopped the flex. Not what he’d expected.
Then a thought hit him, an unbelievable one, and Luke paused. “Worried about me?” Because with her, he never knew where he stood.
The tight nod she gave had his eyes widening.
She turned away from him. “I heard about the stabbing. Right after—”
She’d heard, and she hadn’t come rushing to his bedside. No big shocker. Not like it was his first injury. “Just another scar to join the others.” He lifted his hand, rubbing his right cheek.
Monica’s mark. Stupid, the way he’d gotten that. For her.
She glanced back at him. Her gaze darted to his hand. The mark. Then right back to his eyes. “You should’ve had backup.”
Ah. Not gonna talk about her mark, not yet. “I was interviewing witnesses. Didn’t need—”
“In the SSD, you do.” She set her shoulders. “That’s why we’re going together. The perps we hunt here—you can’t take chances with them.”
So he’d learned with Carl Malone, aka the Sorority Stalker. An ex-psych professor who’d crossed the line into straight-up crazy. No longer content to just watch the pretty young girls, he’d had to touch them. Then kill them.
I stopped the bastard.
Luke set his shoulders. “Give me five minutes in the shower, and I’ll be ready to go.”
Stamping down hard on the lust—because yeah, it was there, was always there when she was near—he headed across the room. One bathroom. Great. The room would smell of her.
But then, he smelled of her too and…
“Thank you, Luke.”
He stopped right beside her.
Her hand lifted, rising over his cheek. Her fingers trailed past the early morning stubble and up to the scar.
Was she thanking him for that long ago night, when they’d been in the alley and that bastard had come out of the bar swinging that knife?
He’d been kissing her then. Tasting her and feeling the weight of her br**sts crush against his chest. They’d snuck outside, away from the others who were celebrating the end of a brutal training session.
Monica hadn’t normally gone with them on the celebrations. But she’d gone that night, for him. He’d had to get her alone.
Luke just hadn’t counted on the drunk idiot with the knife. The fool looking for money who hadn’t realized he’d walked straight into trouble.
But then that idiot had made the mistake of turning his focus onto Monica. With her shirt slightly undone and the top of her br**sts just peeking out—
Luke had taken the bastard down. So what if he’d gotten a little scratch? No one was hurting Monica on his watch.
“Last night…” Oh, hell but that voice of hers was like a stroke right to his groin. “I needed you.”
His jaw dropped.
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “When you’re dressed, we’ll go get the evidence file and see what we can turn up.”
He caught her hand. Brought it to his lips. “There’s no going back.”
Her eyes met his. Held. “I’ve never wanted to go back.”
No, Monica had always struck him as a living-for-the-moment kind of woman. No past. And no future.
“If Hyde finds out…” She exhaled. “He’ll bust our asses.”
Probably. But some things were worth the risk.
“You folks here about the Swain murder?”
Monica looked up at the deep voice. Her nails were flat on the counter of the sheriff’s office. Luke stood beside her—
And a shiver worked through her body.
Her focus narrowed on the man strolling toward them. Tall, thin, with a mop of red-blond hair. His brown sheriff’s uniform was perfectly straight, and his gold star glinted.
She pulled out her badge. Her fingers were rocky steady. “Yes, I’m Monica Davenport with the FBI.” A flash of her ID, just to show him she wasn’t bullshitting.
His golden eyes dipped to the badge, then met hers. The briefest curl lifted his thin lips. “The FBI, huh? Don’t get many Bureau folks down here.”
Not surprising. Gatlin was a small speck on the map, lodged between the swamp and the woods. Not exactly a prime hotspot for crime.
Well, unless you were talking body dumping. Because the swamp would sure be great for that.
“I believe you were contacted by my supervising officer, Keith Hyde. We need to see the crime records for Saundra Swain’s—uh, is everything all right?”
The guy’s eyes had narrowed, and he crept forward, that intent gaze on his face. “I… know you.”
She felt the ripple of movement beside her as Luke suddenly came to attention. Monica made herself blink. Once. Twice. Then she shook her head slowly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure, Sheriff—”
“Martin. Jake Martin.”
The name meant nothing to her now. Just as it had meant nothing when Hyde told her she’d be meeting up with the fellow.
“Huh. I don’t usually forget faces.…”
“Neither do I,” she told him quietly.
That stare lingered a little longer, then Martin’s gaze drifted to Luke. “You her partner?”
She caught his shark’s smile. “Luke Dante.”
A grim nod. “Got those files for you. Sherri will be bringing them along and—” His gaze came back to her. “I know you.”
Monica forced a shrug, but sweat began to dampen the skin between her shoulder blades. Because of the insane southern Louisiana humidity, of course. One of the many reasons she preferred to spend her summers up north.
