Allison Brennan - The Prey

Did the assistant director know more than he was letting on? John’s instincts hummed. Rowan had been searching for answers and went to Collins for confirmation. He’d assured her that whatever concerns she had about her past were unfounded. She believed him because she trusted him.

John had a feeling her trust in her father-figure was about to be shattered.

He worked a hand up to her neck and she moaned a small pleasure as he kneaded her tight muscles. Feeling the dampness of her tears on his hand, he looked down at her face.

She was so beautiful. Her eyes were closed, but she leaned closer into him to allow his hand more access to her neck. Even with her pale skin splotchy from tears and emotion, her high cheekbones, elegant nose, and full red lips all beckoned to him.

He resisted the urge to kiss her and closed his eyes. He was getting dangerously close to falling for her. Just what he’d warned Michael about.

Had he fallen already?

He felt her kiss his neck, a feather of a kiss, but it reverberated below his belt. “John?” she whispered in his ear.

“What?” His voice sounded gruff and he cleared his throat, his hand pausing on her slender neck.

“Don’t leave.”

He tightened his grip on her and swallowed. She kissed his earlobe. He should leave. She was upset, needy, emotionally drained. He felt like he was taking advantage of her.

She trailed kisses from his ear to his shoulder. Her hand wrapped around his neck, her long, elegant fingers combing his hair, her touch sending heat down his spine.

There was no way in hell he was leaving. He put aside his feelings of hypocrisy and realized for the first time what Michael had felt for Jessica.

He should never have been so quick to judge his brother. He vowed to tell him that tomorrow.

He rubbed Rowan’s back, removed her Glock pressing against his gut. She stiffened at being disarmed, but took her gun from his hand and slid it under her pillow. He took off his own firearm and put it on the nightstand, not taking his eyes from hers.

“Rowan, are you sure-?”

She put her fingers to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t talk.”

He wanted to talk, but didn’t want to lose this connection with her. He’d felt the intense attraction from the minute he saw her, and everything that had happened since only brought them closer. There’d be time for talk later.

He held her wrist, kissed her fingers, and drew them into his mouth. The pain and tension in her face faded away. They shouldn’t be doing this, but dammit, it felt right. He pulled her fingers from his mouth, tilted his head and touched his lips to hers.

There was no way one kiss could satisfy him. He pushed deeper, wanting to give her the warmth and physical contact she needed, knowing there was no going back. This wasn’t going to be an easy one-night stand where he could kiss her goodbye and walk out of her life.

She was already etched in his soul.

He gently pushed her onto the bed and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, returning his deep assault on her lush mouth. Her mouth parted and a moan escaped. He licked her lips, her neck, behind her ear. She tasted salty from her tears. His heart twisted. No one should ever go through what Rowan had. No one. It was amazing she had come so far. She was an amazing woman.

He trailed kisses back to her lips, and plunged in with his tongue. She met him kiss for kiss, entwining her tongue with his, massaging and scratching his back.

Impatiently, she pulled his T-shirt up and he broke the kiss momentarily to whip the shirt over his head and toss it aside. She still wore her little black dress and he reached behind and unzipped it down her back. She slipped out of it and he saw her exquisite body.

She had scars. He kissed an obvious gunshot wound that had grazed her lower right rib. It looked like a knife wound had damaged her upper arm, an old one. He kissed it. Unclasping her bra, he held her breasts in his hands and caressed them. He looked down at her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. The tears had stopped.

He never wanted to see her cry again.

He kissed one breast, pulled in the nipple to suckle, and she moaned. He repeated the attention on the other breast, enjoying the way she responded to his touch. She’d been like an icicle before; now she was melting, on fire. She pulled at his jeans, and he impatiently slid out of them. He put his full weight on top of her and kissed her again.

He’d never get enough and knew he had fallen for her.

Rowan roamed her hands over John’s tight, muscular body. Every hard muscle rippled beneath his uniformly tan skin. Only a line below his waist proved he didn’t sunbathe in the nude.

She hadn’t intended for this to happen, but as he’d held her earlier, her heart had raced and she’d felt safe. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt safe. He shared her pain and her past now seemed bearable. How that was possible after John had forced her to bare her soul, she didn’t know, but getting the secrets off her chest was a relief. She hadn’t spoken of any of it for twenty-three years.

A small veil had been lifted from her heart. Her burden felt lighter, as if John were carrying it with her. She was freer than she’d ever been before. Because of John.

So she had kissed his neck and asked him to stay. She wasn’t sure he would. If he left, she’d find a way to live without him. She was a survivor, a loner.

But she was glad he stayed. Begging wasn’t her strong suit, but right now she wasn’t above it to keep John with her.

Maybe, for the first time in the two weeks since Doreen Rodriguez was murdered, the nightmares would stay away.

But more than the feeling of security, she felt a companionship and understanding with John that she’d never had before in her life. The way he looked at her, his deep eyes darkening, beckoning, promising that he was trustworthy. That he wouldn’t get himself killed. That he was strong enough to take on her and the world.

He turned her on like no man had before. It was more than his dark good looks and tight, fit body. It was the way he focused on the task at hand, whether it was dragging the past out of her, pursuing justice, or right here and now making her feel whole again. Making love to her.

She had so many questions, wanted to know everything about him. And when she did, she would care about him even more. Care about him too much.

She already did.

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she reached down and felt his firm buttocks. She dug in her fingers and he thrust forward. He was rigid against her and she wanted him. She kissed him, and he took her mouth deep in his, his hands never stopping, touching her all over, keeping her warm, making her hot. “Make love to me,” she whispered in his ear, then licked the sensitive spot behind the lobe. He shuddered in her arms.

“Not yet.” His voice was low and husky, and he pulled her panties off with his teeth. She grew cold without his body pressed firmly against hers, but then his tongue parted her vagina and she gasped as liquid heat pooled between her legs.

She grabbed the comforter in her fists as his tongue worked magic. She moaned, the pleasure mixed with just a little pain as her orgasm built and his mouth suckled. She arched her back, her hips rose off the bed, and he lightly bit her nub, bringing on a shuddering orgasm that left her panting and hoarse.

Then he climbed on top of her and kissed her hard. She held on to him, bringing him as close as possible. He spread her legs to enter her.

Then she flipped him.

John almost didn’t know what hit him. One second he was about to sheath himself deep in Rowan’s hot body, needing her, wanting her, craving her. Then he was on his back and Rowan’s long blonde hair hung in his face. He spit out a strand and began to say, “What?” when she kissed him hard, then sat up.