Allison Brennan - The Hunt

She glanced at him, saw frustration cross his expression. She turned and ran back to her cabin, feeling like a coward but not knowing what else to do.

Quinn stared after Miranda’s retreating frame, his chest tight. He turned to the sink and noticed the running water. Had it been on the entire time? He slapped off the faucet.

What had just happened?

He thought at least she was opening up to him. She had softened her feelings toward him. That there was hope-

And that kiss. Time or distance made her taste even sweeter. He wanted more.

What was he thinking? That they could pick up where they’d left off? That he could tell her he still loved her and they could start talking marriage?

Quinn had never stopped loving Miranda. She irritated him, annoyed him, angered him, but he’d loved her almost from the beginning. He was proud of her, admired her intelligence, her strength, her perseverance. She was so beautiful. Seeing her sitting across from him eating pecan pie reminded him of ten years ago when he’d spent a two-week vacation here, at the Lodge. In her cabin. When they snuck into the kitchen to eat pecan pie and barely made it back to her cabin to make love.

He didn’t have time for long-term relationships; he’d been involved with a few women over the years, but only briefly. None of them could compare to Miranda. Some were prettier, some were smarter, but none were Miranda . Her spark. Her strength. Her .

What had she been thinking? Why couldn’t she just answer his question? He’d half expected her to jump down his throat, to yell at him about his decision at Quantico. He hadn’t expected to see so much raw, needy emotion in her fathomless eyes.

Damn, damn, damn! He wanted to follow her, to explain his reasons again about why he’d pulled her from the Academy. She’d focused on the psychiatrist’s opinion about her obsession with the Butcher, but that was only part of his reasoning. If it was only the shrink, Quinn would never have agreed to remove her from the program.

What Miranda had never understood, and he’d obviously failed to make her understand, was that her reasons for wanting to become an agent were all wrong. Working for the FBI wouldn’t give her what she thought it would, and he feared she would have been miserable.

Maybe he should have let her be miserable. But he loved her too much, and she was too loyal a person to quit when she realized she’d romanticized the role of an FBI agent.

Plain and simple, she’d wanted to be an FBI agent so she would have the authority to track down the Butcher. She’d never have been satisfied working in, say, Florida or Maine or California-unless the Butcher started hunting in one of those states. And she very well might have been assigned to the cyber squad, robberies, or political corruption-none of which would bring her any closer to facing down her demons.

He’d hoped that after a year off she’d come to realize that either she didn’t want to be an agent at all or that she could put the Butcher far enough behind her to work on whatever the Bureau assigned to her.

He’d wanted her to return. She would have been a top agent if only she could truly put the past behind her. But Miranda’s deep involvement with the Butcher investigation, from the moment she returned from Quantico, told him she’d made her decision long ago.

He closed his eyes, uncertain how to work through Miranda’s pain and anger toward him. For a few minutes, they’d almost reached that comfort level where he could have said anything, and she would have opened up. But they hadn’t gotten there, and he didn’t know if they ever would. As soon as he stepped too close, she put up an invisible barrier.

Sometimes, Quinn wanted to shake Miranda until she listened to what he said, to stop her from continually questioning his motives. But tonight he’d just wanted to take her to bed and hold her close.

Until she opened up and talked to him, as well as listened to what he had to say, there was no hope of mending his broken relationship with the only woman he’d ever loved.

In the way it is with some dreams, he kept pressing the mental rewind button to watch Theron soar through the sky, flying two hundred miles an hour, his wings beating deep and sure as he homed in on the swift and knocked the prey out of the sky with his sharp talons.

Over and over, he repeated this dream, at will. In the back of his semiconscious mind he worried about where he was, whom he was expecting, but for now he wanted to replay his raptor hunting.

He didn’t wake up until the cold metal handcuff snapped across his wrist.

She was back.

He struggled in the sweat-soaked sheets and she laughed. The low rumble he knew all too well.

“What?” he asked, his voice thick from sleep. Theron disappeared, and he remembered where he was.

Back in Montana.

“I want you.”

“No. I’m tired.”

Silence. He came fully awake.

Never say no to me.

The waxing moon, three-quarters full, shone bright through the large windows, casting gray shadows across his loft. Highlighting his bed, his solitary dresser, his hunting rifle.

And her .

She wore black, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight braid. Her delicate jaw and pale skin lied-there was nothing soft about this woman.

She frowned at his automatic refusal. “I come out here in the middle of the night to give you pleasure and you say no?”

Pleasure? Maybe for her . Always for her . He hated that he reacted. He tried and tried to keep his body from betraying him. But she knew what to do.

Why had he returned? Because the urge was so great, he couldn’t resist. The punishment for giving in to the urge to hunt was having to see The Bitch.

She stripped off his sheet and her frown deepened. “You’re dressed.”

She rolled him onto his stomach and pulled down his boxers. She slapped his buttocks hard. Whack !

Whack! Whack!

“I’m sorry,” she said in a voice that sounded sincere. “You know I hate doing that.” She kissed the hot spot, where she’d hit him.

She loves it . He grimaced as she reached between his legs and grasped his dick. He was already semi-hard. Damn his body. Damn it to hell. Why did it react to her? Always. He should cut it off to spite her. Mail it to her in a pretty package. She liked it so much? She could have it.

Growing in her capable hands, he moaned, trying to bury the sound in his pillow. But she heard, and he felt her cold smile on his back.

“There, there, sweetheart,” she murmured, releasing him and crawling up his back. She turned his body slightly so she could kiss him. “It’s been a long time.”

Not long enough.

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you miss me?”

Hell no.

“Of course I did.”

“I thought so. It’s just been hard for me to get away.”

Yeah, I bet.

For years, her husband suspected she was having an affair. But the stupid fool never imagined it was with him .

“I have a special treat for you.”

No. No.

He turned his head and watched her retrieve a long dildo from her jacket pocket. One end was fat, the other slender. He hadn’t seen it in a long time.

No.

She rolled him over onto his back, then stripped. She had a disciplined body. Though forty was closing in, her figure was trim, firm, and graceful. The body of a dancer, the face of an angel, the soul of a demon.

She straddled him. Not his penis. His face. She ground her damn cunt into him. “Make me come, sweetheart.”

He couldn’t refuse. He remembered what happened when he protested. So he ate her the way she liked. Maybe if she was satisfied she wouldn’t use that damn thing on him.