And yet in Evan’s arms they’d stayed away, as if he’d stood sentry against the dragons, slaying them as a proper knight would.
Slowly, I rolled over, careful not to wake Evan who still had his arm over me. His face was calm, at peace, and yet I could still see the dark hints of the man who had protected me in the alley. The sharp contours of his face. The shadow of beard stubble. That scar that stood out as a reminder of what he was capable of. I’d seen it, hadn’t I? If those men had taken it further—if they’d tried to hurt me—Evan would have killed them with no thought and no regret. He was, I thought, an avenging angel. My avenging angel.
And all I wanted right then was to finish what he’d started. To give him the same pleasure that he’d given me.
Gently, I shifted on the bed, hooking my leg over until I was straddling him, my knees pressed into the mattress on either side of him. The covers slid down my body and the cool air brushed over my back and my bare breasts. I was naked now, my panties having been flung aside last night like an afterthought.
I stayed like that for a moment, my eyes on his face. My breasts felt heavy, my nipples tight. My breathing was ragged and wild, and I slid my hand down my belly, then closed my eyes as my fingers found my sex, hot and slick. I drew in a shattered breath as the remnants of a dream returned. He’d banished the nightmares, yes. And the dreams that had replaced them had been sweetly, desperately arousing.
I pulled my hand away. My body might be on the edge, but I had no interest in being the one who pushed me over. I wanted Evan and only Evan. I bent forward at the waist and lowered my hips until I was brushing against his crotch. Just that one point of connection, and yet every atom in my body was reacting, swirling and bouncing and dancing in glorious anticipation.
My hands were on the bed, palms flat, on either side of his head. I was low enough now that my breasts brushed the cotton of his T-shirt, my nipples so tight and hard that the friction was almost painful. My breath was ragged, my body nothing more than need.
I brushed a soft kiss over his lips and watched as his eyes fluttered. I held my breath, exhaling only when his eyes fluttered open to reveal the smoky depths of those enigmatic gray eyes.
“Angie,” he murmured, and that was enough for me. I rocketed forward, capturing him in a hard, fast, demanding kiss. His mouth was open to me, and I tasted him, drawing him in, savoring him. He broke the kiss suddenly, gasping, and I arched back to look at his face. His eyes met mine, and I saw myself. My need and my desire. I saw years of pent-up passion, and in that moment I felt wholly vindicated—at least until the moment the shadow passed between us.
“Oh, Jesus, Angie,” he said as he looked away. And in that instant the world around me shattered like glass.
“Evan,” I said, but what I meant was “Please.”
It didn’t matter. He’d been with me—right there—but now he was pulling back. Frantic, I reached out, grabbing his collar and holding him in place. “I want this,” I said. “I want to finish what we started last night. What you said. Don’t you see? I’m still not running.”
Once again, his eyes met mine, and this time there was no passion. Only regret and bald determination. “I know you’re not.” He closed his hand gently over mine, then loosened my grip. “But you should.”
He drew in a heavy breath, then shifted on the bed so that he was no longer over me. I lay there, numb, as he sat up on the side of the bed. His back was straight as a board. His shoulders were squared. I had the impression I was looking at a soldier about to go into battle. Reluctant, but determined.
I understood what he was doing—what I didn’t get was why.
“Evan.” My voice was barely a whisper, as if volume might push him out the door. “We both want it. I do, and I know you do, too.”
He stood up, then turned to look at me. I dragged the covers up to my neck, needing to keep at least part of me hidden. I’d already exposed too much of myself to him.
“Don’t you?” I pleaded when he said nothing. My voice was laced with a note of insecurity, and I hated myself for it. I watched the expressions shift across his face like clouds upon the wind, and fear slashed through me. “You’re not seriously going to stand there and tell me I’m wrong? I felt it, Evan. I felt you.”
His expression was flat, but his eyes were like a storm when they met mine. “I have done and will do a lot of things that you would probably find reprehensible. But I will never, never, lie to you.”
I shook my head, confused and wary.
“Last night—what happened in the alley.” He shook his head. “It was a mistake,” he said, and with that single word, I understood everything. Whatever he’d seen in me—whatever he’d wanted—I’d managed to destroy it. He might have lost control last night, but in the end, I was dragonbait—some weak female who needed rescuing. But it wasn’t a princess that Evan Black wanted. It never had been.
“A mistake,” I repeated dully. I thought of the way I’d felt in his arms. The way he’d kept the nightmares at bay.
Yeah, maybe that was a mistake. Because he’d given me peace—and I damn sure didn’t deserve it.
“You’re a fucking idiot. You know that, right?”
I gaped at Flynn over the coffee I was sipping to nurse my raging headache. “What the hell?”
I’d called Kat first for cupcakes and sympathy, but she’d had to go into the coffee shop to cover someone else’s shift. I’d ended up at Flynn’s, figuring that if anyone could cheer me up it would be him. So far, I was less than impressed with his technique. “When you said I should come over, I thought it was so you could make me feel better.”
“That was before I knew the full story. And that you plan to just let the guy walk. Like I said. Fucking. Idiot.”
“Let him walk? He practically sprinted.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “He doesn’t want me. And I sure as hell shouldn’t want him.”
He added some Tabasco to the Bloody Mary he was mixing, then slid it onto the counter in front of me.
I raised my steaming coffee mug. “Headache.”
“Trust me. This’ll knock it out a hell of a lot better than coffee.”
I rolled my eyes. Flynn held a firm belief in the healing powers of vodka. But despite my doubts, I sipped the drink—and had to acknowledge that it was pretty damn good.
I was sitting at the breakfast bar that was attached to the kitchen island. For the eight months we’d lived together, that had been my usual weekend perch. I’m not exactly competent in the kitchen, but Flynn can make anything taste good. At that moment, he was scrambling eggs, making hash browns, and frying up sausage patties, and the kitchen smelled like heaven.
He moved between the island and the stove with casual efficiency dressed in gray sweatpants and a John Barleycorn saloon T-shirt. He was damn good-looking, with deep-set eyes and a swoop of hair that fell over his brow, though he constantly pushed it out of the way. His obsession with jogging and biking kept him in shape, giving him a tight ass and the kind of biceps that made even the tallest woman feel petite. He could cook—which in my book was a plus—and I happened to know that he was a lot of fun in bed.
He flipped two sausage patties, then turned to me, his eyes narrowed. “What?”
Slowly, I rolled over, careful not to wake Evan who still had his arm over me. His face was calm, at peace, and yet I could still see the dark hints of the man who had protected me in the alley. The sharp contours of his face. The shadow of beard stubble. That scar that stood out as a reminder of what he was capable of. I’d seen it, hadn’t I? If those men had taken it further—if they’d tried to hurt me—Evan would have killed them with no thought and no regret. He was, I thought, an avenging angel. My avenging angel.
And all I wanted right then was to finish what he’d started. To give him the same pleasure that he’d given me.
Gently, I shifted on the bed, hooking my leg over until I was straddling him, my knees pressed into the mattress on either side of him. The covers slid down my body and the cool air brushed over my back and my bare breasts. I was naked now, my panties having been flung aside last night like an afterthought.
I stayed like that for a moment, my eyes on his face. My breasts felt heavy, my nipples tight. My breathing was ragged and wild, and I slid my hand down my belly, then closed my eyes as my fingers found my sex, hot and slick. I drew in a shattered breath as the remnants of a dream returned. He’d banished the nightmares, yes. And the dreams that had replaced them had been sweetly, desperately arousing.
I pulled my hand away. My body might be on the edge, but I had no interest in being the one who pushed me over. I wanted Evan and only Evan. I bent forward at the waist and lowered my hips until I was brushing against his crotch. Just that one point of connection, and yet every atom in my body was reacting, swirling and bouncing and dancing in glorious anticipation.
My hands were on the bed, palms flat, on either side of his head. I was low enough now that my breasts brushed the cotton of his T-shirt, my nipples so tight and hard that the friction was almost painful. My breath was ragged, my body nothing more than need.
I brushed a soft kiss over his lips and watched as his eyes fluttered. I held my breath, exhaling only when his eyes fluttered open to reveal the smoky depths of those enigmatic gray eyes.
“Angie,” he murmured, and that was enough for me. I rocketed forward, capturing him in a hard, fast, demanding kiss. His mouth was open to me, and I tasted him, drawing him in, savoring him. He broke the kiss suddenly, gasping, and I arched back to look at his face. His eyes met mine, and I saw myself. My need and my desire. I saw years of pent-up passion, and in that moment I felt wholly vindicated—at least until the moment the shadow passed between us.
“Oh, Jesus, Angie,” he said as he looked away. And in that instant the world around me shattered like glass.
“Evan,” I said, but what I meant was “Please.”
It didn’t matter. He’d been with me—right there—but now he was pulling back. Frantic, I reached out, grabbing his collar and holding him in place. “I want this,” I said. “I want to finish what we started last night. What you said. Don’t you see? I’m still not running.”
Once again, his eyes met mine, and this time there was no passion. Only regret and bald determination. “I know you’re not.” He closed his hand gently over mine, then loosened my grip. “But you should.”
He drew in a heavy breath, then shifted on the bed so that he was no longer over me. I lay there, numb, as he sat up on the side of the bed. His back was straight as a board. His shoulders were squared. I had the impression I was looking at a soldier about to go into battle. Reluctant, but determined.
I understood what he was doing—what I didn’t get was why.
“Evan.” My voice was barely a whisper, as if volume might push him out the door. “We both want it. I do, and I know you do, too.”
He stood up, then turned to look at me. I dragged the covers up to my neck, needing to keep at least part of me hidden. I’d already exposed too much of myself to him.
“Don’t you?” I pleaded when he said nothing. My voice was laced with a note of insecurity, and I hated myself for it. I watched the expressions shift across his face like clouds upon the wind, and fear slashed through me. “You’re not seriously going to stand there and tell me I’m wrong? I felt it, Evan. I felt you.”
His expression was flat, but his eyes were like a storm when they met mine. “I have done and will do a lot of things that you would probably find reprehensible. But I will never, never, lie to you.”
I shook my head, confused and wary.
“Last night—what happened in the alley.” He shook his head. “It was a mistake,” he said, and with that single word, I understood everything. Whatever he’d seen in me—whatever he’d wanted—I’d managed to destroy it. He might have lost control last night, but in the end, I was dragonbait—some weak female who needed rescuing. But it wasn’t a princess that Evan Black wanted. It never had been.
“A mistake,” I repeated dully. I thought of the way I’d felt in his arms. The way he’d kept the nightmares at bay.
Yeah, maybe that was a mistake. Because he’d given me peace—and I damn sure didn’t deserve it.
“You’re a fucking idiot. You know that, right?”
I gaped at Flynn over the coffee I was sipping to nurse my raging headache. “What the hell?”
I’d called Kat first for cupcakes and sympathy, but she’d had to go into the coffee shop to cover someone else’s shift. I’d ended up at Flynn’s, figuring that if anyone could cheer me up it would be him. So far, I was less than impressed with his technique. “When you said I should come over, I thought it was so you could make me feel better.”
“That was before I knew the full story. And that you plan to just let the guy walk. Like I said. Fucking. Idiot.”
“Let him walk? He practically sprinted.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “He doesn’t want me. And I sure as hell shouldn’t want him.”
He added some Tabasco to the Bloody Mary he was mixing, then slid it onto the counter in front of me.
I raised my steaming coffee mug. “Headache.”
“Trust me. This’ll knock it out a hell of a lot better than coffee.”
I rolled my eyes. Flynn held a firm belief in the healing powers of vodka. But despite my doubts, I sipped the drink—and had to acknowledge that it was pretty damn good.
I was sitting at the breakfast bar that was attached to the kitchen island. For the eight months we’d lived together, that had been my usual weekend perch. I’m not exactly competent in the kitchen, but Flynn can make anything taste good. At that moment, he was scrambling eggs, making hash browns, and frying up sausage patties, and the kitchen smelled like heaven.
He moved between the island and the stove with casual efficiency dressed in gray sweatpants and a John Barleycorn saloon T-shirt. He was damn good-looking, with deep-set eyes and a swoop of hair that fell over his brow, though he constantly pushed it out of the way. His obsession with jogging and biking kept him in shape, giving him a tight ass and the kind of biceps that made even the tallest woman feel petite. He could cook—which in my book was a plus—and I happened to know that he was a lot of fun in bed.
He flipped two sausage patties, then turned to me, his eyes narrowed. “What?”
