Allison Brennan - The Prey

They sat in silence, John thinking about the choices he’d had to make. Were they the right ones? He didn’t know. But at the time, it was the best he could do.

Much like Rowan’s choices.

Rowan wondered about the recent decision John had made.

“John? Are you okay? I mean, about not being there to apprehend Bobby?”

He looked at her and his eyes flashed anger and something else, something personal, that warmed her. “You don’t even have to ask, Rowan. I wouldn’t be anyplace else except here with you. Can’t you see that I care about you?”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He kissed her hard on the lips, a groan escaping his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and in his urgency to get close, they toppled to the ground. His hard weight pinned her down, but she relished the closeness, the desire radiating from him.

Suddenly, he jumped up, pulling her with him.

“We can’t do this here,” he said, his voice rusty and his eyes dark as he set a vigorous pace back to the cabin.

John was certain about two things. One, that Rowan believed he would walk away when this was over. And two, that he wouldn’t allow her to leave him. Somehow, some way, she had to remain in his life.

He didn’t quite know how it would work. The next time there was a shot at Pomera, he’d take it. He’d be in South America for as long as it took to get that murderous bastard. It could be months, or years. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Rowan to wait for him.

But he wanted her. Now and forever. He couldn’t imagine making love to another woman. She’d become a part of him. Through the pain of losing Michael, the betrayal of her guardian, the confrontation with her father, he saw her foundation and it was solid. She was rebuilding her life. He saw it in everything she did. She thought she’d been weak when she quit the FBI, but if anything, it was self-preservation.

Even he had burned out once.

But he’d come back from that defeat to fight again. So would Rowan. Because that was what she did. He wouldn’t be surprised if she went back to the FBI when this was all over. Her sense of justice was too important to lock herself away in seclusion, writing. But even if she didn’t return, even if she continued her writing career, it wouldn’t be from fear. It would be because she wanted to.

And that made all the difference in the world.

So he’d kissed her. But one taste wasn’t enough. One taste reminded him of making love to her, of touching her, of holding her lithe body in his arms after sex, both of them satiated.

Not for long. He always wanted more of her.

He couldn’t get back to the cabin fast enough, but he had protocol to follow, though that had certainly slipped his mind for the moment he almost made love to her there on the cliff.

“Wait here,” he told her as he did a security check around the perimeter.

Surprisingly, when he finished his check he found her waiting right where he’d left her. He almost smiled, but as soon as her eyes narrowed with desire and she took a step toward him, he couldn’t wait any longer. He dived in.

Her lips responded to his with passion, spurring him on. Parting for him so he could go deeper. He pulled in her tongue, playing with it, trying to possess her. To bring her closer. To make her truly his. She kept the pace, her arms wrapped around his neck pulling him closer. Her nails squeezed his neck and he shuddered.

He could take her right there, right then. But he didn’t. He wanted to do it right. Show her feelings he wasn’t ready to express out loud. Show her the depth of his desire, that this wasn’t the last time, but the first of many.

That the end was nowhere near.

She reached down and pulled up his shirt, still damp from their run in the cold. He moaned when her fingers kneaded his back and roamed up to his shoulders, never stopping, pulling him in to her.

He whipped off his shirt and tossed it aside. Her hands splayed across his chest, her thumbs making circles over his nipples, sending jolts of energy to his loins. He was already hard and wanted to speed things up, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t going to rush this. He took a deep breath and pushed himself off her.

Her skin was flushed and her nipples poked through her damp T-shirt, hard and pointed. He swallowed, bent down, and picked her up. She really didn’t weigh much, but she was solid muscle from running. Muscles tense with anticipation as he carried her into his room and laid her on the bed.

She looked at him with eyes so clear and serene, his voice caught in his throat. She trusted him. It was written all over her face, in her expressive eyes, that she’d put her life, her body, in his hands.

That meant more to him than anything she could say because he knew how difficult it was for Rowan to have faith in anyone but herself.

He slid out of his pants and stood naked before her. She watched him, a half-smile on her face. Her perusal was almost as much a turn-on as her touch, and his penis jerked toward her. He reached over, pulling off her T-shirt at the same time she unhooked her bra.

She wasn’t large, but her breasts were perfect handfuls, her nipples hard. He took one into his mouth and tasted.

Rowan was in heaven. She’d never imagined that making love could mean so much more than physical release. She had an emotional attachment that heightened every touch, every sensation, every murmur of affection.

She moaned as John sucked her breast, his tongue flicking her nipple already aching with need. She rubbed his shoulders, his head, his arms. She couldn’t get enough of him. Last night she had almost gone to his room, but she wasn’t sure how he would respond. He was trapped up here as much as she was, though it was by choice.

She’d wanted this, his touch, his kiss, a physical connection that told her she was alive and healthy and whole. But his assault on her senses was more than physical. She felt something else, something possessive and loving.

She didn’t dwell on it, because she knew it couldn’t last. But for now she could bask in his affection, his touch, his desire.

He switched to her other breast while kneading the first. Hot liquid pooled between her legs. A mere touch would set her off. Something about John’s caress, his kiss, his firm and seductive confidence.

She couldn’t define the feeling, but deep down she sensed she could give her body to no other man but John. He had claimed her soul when he saved it; it belonged to no other. She didn’t realize she was crying until tears pooled in her ears.

John must have sensed something, because he looked at her face. “Rowan? Honey, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. Nothing she could put into words. “Kiss me,” she murmured, her voice husky.

But he didn’t. He looked down at her with dark green eyes full of desire, of concern, of love.

No. Not love. Everyone she loved died.

“Rowan, I-”

She cut him off by pulling his lips to hers and kissing him hard. She reached down between them and took him in her hand. He felt his pulse throbbing between her fingers. She took her thumb and rubbed his head. He moaned and ground into her as he returned her kiss.

It wasn’t just a kiss. Their lips joined in a passionate mating game, mimicking the act of making love they both urgently craved, a ravenous need that would never be completely satiated.

His hands roamed down her bare chest, under the waistband of her sweats, and touched her wetness. She arched her back, wanting him. He broke the kiss and pulled off her sweats. When he kissed her toes she sighed, stifling a moan. When had her feet become so sensual? His hot breath between her toes sent chills down her spine and heightened her desire.

When she didn’t think she could stand it anymore, his mouth left her toes and kissed her calves, then under her knees, trailing wet kisses all the way to her clit.