Megan Hart - Bound By The Night - Dark Heat / Dark Dreams / Dark Fantasy

What the hell kind of woman seduced a man and then proceeded to ignore him as if they’d never been naked and sweating and...

“Thanks,” Monica said.

Jordan shrugged, stone-faced. “It’s my job.”

“Not everything you did was part of your job,” she said. When he didn’t answer her, she gave him another enigmatic smile and got out of the golf cart. “See you later.”

He watched her go, waiting to see if she’d turn back. She didn’t. But he was suddenly so damned hard it hurt to move. It made his hands shake, so he clenched them into fists on his thighs, but the hunger didn’t abate. It rose within him, something fierce and unyielding, until all he could think about, all he could do, was get out of the golf cart and force himself to put on a pair of running shorts and go for a run.

Run. And run. And run.

By the time he got back, night had fallen. Golden light welcomed him from the windows of her bungalow, while his were cold and dark. Breathing hard, the coiled snake of hunger still hissing in his belly but low and quieter, Jordan paused to bend over and spit into the grass.

Her door opened. Her silhouette made him groan. She took a step onto the patio and was followed by the waft of something warm and delicious. His stomach growled.

Not human, he thought.

“I made dinner,” Monica said. “Come inside.”

Chapter 7

She’d begged supplies from the main house, despite the cook’s assurances she didn’t need to make her own dinner. But Monica liked to cook. It helped her think. While chopping and slicing and sautéing, she could let her mind wander over all the possibilities.

Too bad most of the possibilities had involved going another round with the taciturn and delicious Jordan Leone instead of figuring out what exactly was attacking the menagerie.

There was a science to what she did, though you couldn’t get most people to believe it. Tracking prints in the dirt or analyzing blood samples or simply calculating what sort of musculature would be needed for something to be able to jump over a wall. What sort of claws could dig through brick, what kind of hide was thick enough to fend off the bite of barbed wire. The Crew kept files. Made reports. She and her peers compared notes. But still, so much of what they did had to be based on speculation. When you couldn’t prove something, that was all you could go on.

Vadim had sent her down here thinking she might be looking for a chupacabra. Never mind it wasn’t killing goats and it was out of the normal territory associated with that beast—there weren’t many things that could do whatever this thing was doing. Yet after looking over the pictures of the slaughter and having Jordan take her around the estate, Monica wasn’t convinced. She’d been on a couple cases hunting chupacabras before, and while they could certainly cause a lot of damage, there’d never been one she’d seen or heard of that could drag away a full-grown tiger or even a half-sized mountain lion, for that matter.

Which meant this was probably something different. Something they didn’t know about, hadn’t ever seen. The tingle of anticipation had been with her all day long, and being so close to Jordan all afternoon hadn’t helped much.

So, she cooked.

She’d never had jambalaya and wouldn’t have dared to try it here in the land where it was considered comfort food, so she’d settled on something she knew without a doubt she could pull off. Nothing fancy, just pasta with a fresh tomato sauce and lots of onions, peppers and garlic. Fresh-grated parmesan. The cook had given her a loaf of sourdough bread, which she’d cut into splits and baked with some more parmesan and olive oil. Adding a salad of mixed greens and lots of extra veggies, she had a complete meal. Enough for two, as a matter of fact, which had been her plan all along.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Jordan said from her doorway.

“I wanted to.” She waved him into the small dining area. A table set for two. The plates were white ceramic, heavy and serviceable and far from romantic...but romance wasn’t what she really wanted. Was it?

For a half a minute, she was sure he was going to refuse her, but then he shook his head and moved toward the table. He took a seat. Then he looked at her.

“I should... I was running.”

“I saw you.” She’d watched him head off and return hours later. Sweating. Panting.

“I should shower first.”

“Sure,” she said. “If you want to.”

He didn’t move. Monica smiled and set the bowl of pasta in front of him. Jordan fell on it like a starving beast, scooping a huge portion and digging in without so much as a second look. She served herself, eyeing him casually, though in reality she was taking in his every move.

“Good,” he grunted around a mouthful of bread.

“You were hungry, huh?”

Jordan paused. Chewed. Swallowed. He reached for the glass of red wine she’d set out and drained half the glass before answering her. “Yes.”

“Good,” Monica echoed him and set to eating her own portion. She hadn’t been exercising as he had, but she managed to put away a decent amount of pasta before she sat back in her chair to rub her belly.

Jordan had cleared his plate, plus the salad and most of the bread, and was looking hopefully toward the kitchen. “Is there more?”

“Yes. Plenty. Help yourself.” Monica watched him get up. The view from the back was as nice as the one from the front.

He caught her looking when he came back. She didn’t pretend to be embarrassed. He frowned, settling into his chair.

“I’m not on the menu,” he said. “In case you were hoping for dessert.”

Monica burst into laughter. “Oh. Was I that obvious?”

“No, actually, you’re not obvious at all.” He sat back in his chair and gave her a look so stern it made her sit back, too.

“Erm,” she said finally when it was clear that was all he was going to say. “Sorry?”

Jordan swiped at his mouth with a paper napkin and flung it down, then got up to pace a little bit. “I mean, what the hell was last night?”

Before she could answer, not that she had any clue what to say, he’d turned on his heel and stalked over to her. He should’ve been intimidating—and he was, or he would be if she hadn’t faced actual monsters, not just some guy with his boxers in a twist. When he leaned to get in her face, though, she did pull back a little.

“I thought you were in trouble,” he snapped.

“So you figured you’d save me?” Monica snapped back. “Well, that’s noble and all, but I promise you, I can take care of myself.”

“I’ve seen what that thing can do. You haven’t, not firsthand.”

She put a hand on his bare chest, no longer sweaty. He’d taste like salt, she thought. And fuck, that made her want to lick him.

“I’ve seen other things, Jordan. I’m not a shrinking flower—”

His hands gripped her upper arms, tight. She was up and out of the chair before she knew it. She thought he meant to kiss her, and she was already opening her mouth for it, but instead, he shook his head. His dark hair had fallen over his eyes.

“The next thing I know, you’ve got me fucking you,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. “And that’s it. Nothing after that. Not a damned word about it, all day long.”

“I made you dinner,” Monica whispered, torn between being flattered he was so upset and apologetic for so unexpectedly hurting his feelings.

Jordan let her go and stepped back. He was still breathing hard. Light flashed in his eyes. He turned away from her, shoulders hunched. Fists clenched.

“Why are you even here?” he muttered. “It’s ridiculous. DiNero has too much fucking money.”

That stung. Monica rubbed at her arms where his fingers had left marks. “Look, I know what I do must seem crazy. But really, there are things out there that people refuse to see.”