Virna DePaul: Turned

His surveillance had also alleviated any lingering concerns he’d had about her refusing to do what they wanted. Because as hard as she tried to keep herself apart from others, she clearly longed for the type of connections she didn’t allow herself.

He’d seen how she’d stared longingly at the couple playing footsie in the corner of her coffee shop. How she’d stared at two women at the grocery store, arm in arm, obviously loving sisters. And how she’d helped a frail young man with MS across the street; she had watched him walk down the block until he turned the corner and disappeared from view.

Over the past few weeks, his protective instincts had kicked in. So many times, he’d wanted to go to her. Wrap his arms around her. Comfort her. But of course he hadn’t. Because she would have fought him, yes, but also because his hunger had grown almost unbearable.

When she’d confronted and challenged him, he’d managed to hang on to his control, but just barely. He’d known she was waiting for him in the alley and he’d been prepared for her to touch him, even if it was simply to disarm him. Although he’d allowed himself to touch her back, he’d done so with ruthless restraint. He’d led Ana to believe he was just a strong human rather than a hungry vampire lusting after her blood and her body. His sheathed fangs ached the way his dick did, longing to penetrate and take everything from her: her sweet blood and her complete surrender.

Once again he reminded himself it wasn’t going to happen. No matter how he admired her, and no matter how she made him feel, she was a job and that was all she could ever be.

He took out his cell and punched in Carly’s number.

“You found her?” Carly’s voice was husky. Feminine. It was flat-out sexy—deliberately so—and he couldn’t help compare it to the gravelly, clipped speech that Ana had used, her occasional melodic slip into Spanish aside. Despite the sentiment behind her words, the flow of them combined with the touch of her body had made him hard, harder than the brick wall he’d been pressed against. The intensity of his desire as well as his decision not to push her too far—yet—had been the only reasons he’d remained against that wall. Despite carrying an illegal gun, Ana had turned her life around. He didn’t want to take that away from her. And she had no reason to hurt him unless he gave her one. Besides, it wasn’t as if one of her bullets could kill him anyway.

As far as he knew, nothing could.

“She’s not going to be as easy as the others,” he said in response to Carly’s question.

“I wouldn’t say the others have been easy.”

“She’s good. Even managed to get my gun.”

“Right,” Carly answered, her tone laced with the knowledge that if Ana had gotten Ty’s gun, it was because he’d let her do it. Just like he’d let her spot him watching her in the first place. “Did she shoot you?”

“No, she did not shoot me. She cursed me, though. In Spanish. Something that seemed to bother her.” It had certainly bothered him, but only because he’d liked it. Too much.

He closed his eyes and replayed her words, enjoying the way it made him think of heat and skin and sweaty, slippery silk sheets. With her golden skin, cinnamon eyes, and dark hair, he could easily picture her spread beneath him, begging him for release as he crooned back to her in her native tongue:

Todavía no . Not yet.

Un poco más largo . A little longer.

Dé a mí . Give to me.

He bit back a groan.

Give to me .

Even now his dick twitched, ready to get busy, ready to immerse itself in Ana’s warmth.

He couldn’t have her. Not sexually. Not in ways that might involve her heart as well as her body. And that made him angry.

It fucking made him want to kill someone.

Thankfully, Carly seemed oblivious to his internal struggle. “Excellent,” she said. “You’re right about that, she hates it when she speaks Spanish. She’s trying to deny who she is—who she was—but even after all these years she can’t. She’s still the tough little girl from the Bronx.”

“Yes. The little girl packs quite a punch, too.” Raising a hand, Ty rubbed at his mouth, grinning when he saw the blood. She might not be able to kill him, but she sure as shit could make him bleed.

“Was that before or after she got your gun? Pity. I know how fond you are of it.”

His silence just seemed to amuse her. True to form, she pounced on it.

“Oh my. Are you saying you can’t handle this one?” she purred.

God, he hated Carly sometimes. Hated her bitch-on-steroids act. Hated the necessity to partner with her at all. But she hadn’t always been like this. Years ago, as a fellow newbie agent with the FBI, she’d been good at her job but she’d had a gentle side, too. That part of her had long been quashed. And now? Sure, she’d helped Ty and Peter when they’d needed her most, but her assistance had been more about using them than saving them. Carly was doing what she needed to adjust to her new life, part of a team but very much alone. Just like him.

Ty glanced in the direction Ana had disappeared. “No,” he said, this time letting a trace of humor leak into his voice. “I can handle her. I’ll just have to be a little more direct, that’s all.”

“You don’t have authority to reveal what you are, Ty,” Carly snapped. “Not yet. We have one month until the leaders of Salvation’s Crossing attend the Hispanic Community Alliance fund-raiser, and we need Ana fully invested before we show our hand.”

“I have no plans to tell her I’m a vampire right now. But she still has my gun, and I have no intention of letting her think she can take anything from me and just walk away.”

Inside the coffee shop she’d built with blood, sweat, andtears, Ana leaned against the closed door, keenly aware of the tension that zipped through her body like an electrical charge. The man had done a number on her, both physically and mentally. She tipped her head back against the door, forced herself to take a deep breath, and focused on the small but well-appointed space with its gleaming wood, plush sofas and chairs, and brightly colored walls, trying to get her mind off the encounter in the alleyway.

Not much luck. The man’s heady scent hung about her, as if he was still near. The sensation of his muscular body on hers—his pelvis pressed to hers—still echoed in her bones.

She forced herself to listen to the familiar strains of one of her favorite songs, playing softly in the background. Calming, but not enough to wipe clean her distress.

Handling the gun, holding it to his head, trying to come off tough—it had all shaken her up more than she wanted to admit. Her insides still quivered, both from challenging him and from the way he’d made her feel.

Alive.

And empty at the same time. He’d brought out a rush of feelings inside her, but the moment he’d mentioned Gloria, he’d blasted it all away again, leaving her numb but longing for those few blessed moments of sensation. Longing for things that could never be hers.

She should be used to it by now, but she wasn’t. It hurt. It made her want to cry out, Why? Why me? Why now? Why can’t people just leave me alone to live my life in peace?

Swiftly, she sent Paul home. With no customers in the coffee shop to see her do it, she took both her gun and his and stuck them into a cabinet behind the counter. Then she picked up her cell phone and dialed Téa’s number. Cursing softly when it went to voicemail, she left a message asking Téa to call her back right away. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed she only had another half hour before closing time. She shut off the music then waited, steeling herself for what was coming.