Jaci Burton - Taken by Sin

He continued to gaze up at her for a while, then nodded. “All right. You’ll work directly with me.”

Oh, great. This was some kind of punishment. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You’re like a ticking time bomb and I can’t afford to have you explode somewhere. We’re headed south, first thing in the morning. Be ready at dawn.”

“Yes, master.” She pivoted and left the room before she could wrap her fingers around his throat and strangle that smug smile off his chiseled face.

The one thing she thought an assignment would gain her was space from Michael. He irritated her, got under her skin. And she wasn’t sure all the reasons for that irritation were bad. The fact of the matter was, she kind of liked the bantering between them. It fed her blood and she looked forward to matching wits with him. He was smart, and not bad looking at all with his dark good looks and that brooding quality that made her toes curl.

Which made distance between them imperative. Mandy wasn’t all that experienced with the male species. Linc was her best friend, but she’d known him since she was a kid. He was like her older brother. Someone like Michael-he was an unknown factor.

Not that he liked her or anything. He definitely didn’t like her. Though sometimes, the way he studied her …

Oh, hell. What did she know? She couldn’t tell the difference between a guy who liked her and one who hated her.

And he’d just become her partner.

Things had gone from bad to worse.

Isabelle woke with a start and shot straight up in bed, the nightmare fresh in her mind. She dragged both hands through her hair, searching through the darkened room for a clock. No clock. What the hell time was it? She’d only meant to lie down for a few minutes. It was dark outside now. How long had she slept?

Too long. Long enough for the nightmares-the demons-to come.

She blinked, swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed into the bathroom. After a quick shower she felt a lot better, the nightmare just hanging on the fringes of her memory now, like always. Only bits and pieces remained, never enough for her to examine, to put all the parts of the puzzle together. After putting on shorts and a tank top, she opened the bedroom door and went in search of Dalton.

He wasn’t in any of the rooms, including his bedroom. Had he gone up to the main house to talk with Georgie? She started toward the front door, but a flame and a plume of dark smoke out the back window caught her eye. She turned and went in that direction instead, opened the back door and stepped outside. The smell of something cooking greeted her. For the first time in a long time, her stomach rumbled. She was hungry.

Dalton stood over a brick grill. He looked up and smiled. “Have a good nap?”

She slid into a chair and pulled her feet up. “I never sleep well. What are you cooking?”

“Fish and some vegetables.”

“Anything you need me to help with?”

“No. I’ve got it covered. They’re almost done. You can pour us each a glass of wine. It’s uncorked and on the table.”

He motioned with his head to the picnic table next to her, where he’d spread out their plates and glasses. She grabbed the bottle from the cooler and poured wine into the two glasses. Instead of taking a seat back on the chair, she stayed where she was at the table in the darkened corner. She could watch Dalton this way and he couldn’t see her.

He kept his attention on the food, flipping, staring, not once turning to see what she was doing. He was definitely focused. She liked the way he wore his hair-a little long, the kind of hair a woman could sink her fingers into and hold on.

Her stomach tightened, her thoughts drifting to the bedroom, to sliding along cool sheets with a hot man-with this man. Naked, sweaty, Dalton moving inside her. She loved his mouth. His bottom lip was full, and when he’d kissed her that one time his kiss had been filled with deliberate, focused passion and determination. Dalton was a fierce lover. She wanted that again.

Right now.

She rose and moved toward him, her breathing stilted, sweat beading between her breasts. Her nipples grew tight, her sex moistening as animal heat consumed her. She lifted her arm, reached for him.

“I know, you’re probably starving. I’m just scooping it off the fire now. You ready?”

She blinked, realized she was only inches from Dalton, but had no idea how she’d gotten there. Dumb founded, she lowered her arm and nodded. “Yes.”

He lifted his lips in a smile. “Great. Let’s sit down.”

Swallowing past the dry desert in her throat, she followed him to the table and sat, grabbed the glass of wine, and took a long drink. Then another.

She remembered watching Dalton. Then … nothing. No, that’s not right. There had been something. What was it?

“You’re not eating.”

She looked up at Dalton, then down at the plate, not even aware it had been set in front of her. “Oh. I’m sorry. Of course.” She picked up her fork and moved it around the plate.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. This looks wonderful.” She made an attempt to eat. She’d been really hungry earlier. She remembered that much. The fish had smelled so good. What happened to her? Where had she gone in those brief moments that she’d lost time? She lifted the fork to her lips and took a few bites, not even tasting what she ate.

“Isabelle.”

She glanced up again. Dalton was staring at her. “What?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

She didn’t want to. What would she say? But she had to confide in someone, and right now Dalton was all she had. “I lost time just now.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“When you asked me to pour the wine, I did, then I sat here at the table. I was watching you cook, and next thing I remember I was standing behind you over at the barbecue.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the grill, then back at the wine bottle, then at her. “You don’t remember anything?”

She shook her head.

“That was about ten minutes’ worth of time.”

Damn.

“Is that the first time this has happened?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the first I’m aware of.” She reached for her wineglass and emptied it in one long swallow. Dalton refilled it.

“You need to eat.”

She nodded, scooped up the tender fish with her fork and forced herself to eat at least half of what was on her plate. Dalton was right. She needed to rebuild her strength. Think. Remember.

They finished eating, cleared the plates, and did the dishes, all in silence, then returned outside to sit on the back porch. It was still balmy, but at least a breeze had started to kick up. She lifted her hair, letting the air blow over the back of her neck.

“You want more wine?” Dalton asked.

She shook her head. She was fuzzy enough without too much alcohol muddling her brain. Why couldn’t she remember? She leaned back in the chair and stared out into the night, into the swamp. “I hate not being in control.”

Dalton lifted his lips. “That’s a shocker.”

She glared at him. “What does that mean? You think I’m a control freak?”

“Yeah. But who isn’t? Who doesn’t want to be in charge of their life, their own destiny?”

“Sorry,” she said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t mean to be so defensive.”

“You have a lot of things to be angry at me about, Isabelle. Don’t be sorry.”

“You mean because of my mother’s diary?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged. “Somehow I think everything would have happened the way it did regardless of you finding the diary or not. In fact, you might have saved my life because you found it.”