Authors: Lora Leigh
Dawn stared back at him silently, painfully.
“Did you hear me, Dawn?” His voice was dangerously soft. “Return to your room, and do so now. I don’t have time to deal with this mess, or the hell you’re trying to throw me into, so let’s just call it quits now and get it the hell over with.”
He didn’t wait for her to answer but stalked through the bedroom into the large master bath and slammed the door behind him.
“Cold showers don’t work,” she said sadly as Dash moved past her.
“Something worked the first time,” he reminded her, his amber gaze warning. “Be careful if you’re of a mind to hold on to him, Dawn. It might work a second time.”
CHAPTER 7
Seth lowered his head and braced it against the shower wall as the stinging spray attacked him from front and back. He was breathing harshly, almost shuddering from the exquisite pleasure of the water’s caress against his flesh.
He hadn’t forgotten what this felt like, but it was worse this time. He could taste Dawn in his mouth now as he never had before. On his tongue as he licked his lips, in his senses as he tried to take a breath without feeling her on his skin.
It was the worst agony, a bittersweet pleasure enfolded in an ache that bit straight to the bone and filled him with a furious arousal.
His dick was as stiff as a poker, heavy and engorged with blood as it stood out from his body. He lowered his hand and palmed the stiff sac of his balls, grimacing as he braced his hand tighter against the shower wall at the pleasure that sang through his sensitive flesh.
Even in the most hellish nights of those first few years after making the commitment to stay away from Dawn, the arousal hadn’t been this intense. Nor had the discomfort in simply touching another woman. Something so simple as Caroline’s hand against his arm, his against hers, sent shards of blistering pain through his flesh.
He forced his hand from between his thighs, forced back the need to grip the iron-hard erection and pump it to release. Because there was no relief in it; that was another lesson he had learned so long ago. He could jack off 24 / 7 and it wouldn’t him do a damned bit of good.
He bit back a curse and straightened, shoving his hands through his wet hair and grabbing a waiting cloth from the rack beside him.
He soaped and washed, feeling every thread of the washcloth as he moved it over his body. And it made him think of Dawn. Of her hands, strong and sure as they gripped his shoulders, her sharp little nails as they raked across them.
He could feel the sting of the spray against the slight scratches. He hadn’t even cared when she made them. All that had mattered was the taste of that kiss, like a drug, like power flowing into him, a tidal wave of arousal and strength as he devoured her lips and tongue.
And when he moved lower—he shuddered at the memory of kneeling before her, staring at the swollen bud of her clit as it peeked through the lush, glistening lips of her silken, hairless pussy.
He ground his teeth to hold back a moan at the remembered smell of that intimate flesh. Like sunrise. Like standing on his balcony at dawn and tasting the ocean. Fresh, clean, tempting.
His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her, at the anticipation that had rolled through him as he almost, just fucking almost, tasted the most lush flesh that God had ever created.
And he couldn’t have it. He was a fool to kiss her. Demented if he thought he could have her now any more than he could have had her ten years ago.
What the hell was he supposed to do when he had her beneath him and the past rose in her mind and he saw the fear in her eyes? That was his nightmare. One that had chased him through ten years of fitful sleep. Dawn’s eyes widened in fear, tears filling them as she begged him to stop, and he was so aroused, so desperate to fuck her that he paused at the gates of paradise and cursed her.
As he closed his eyes, he could still see the images from the disc Jonas had played years before tearing through his mind. Dawn, no more than a baby, mindless in agony and fear, begging God as those bastards told her God didn’t exist for her. And they raped her anyway. They raped her as the most inhuman sounds he had ever heard came from a child too small for the monsters that took her.
If there were tears left inside him to shed, he wondered if he would shed them now.
The woman he had held in the study downstairs hadn’t been a child though, and there had been no fear. She had been a temptress, wild, seductive, hungry. She had been wet and desperate for his touch, whispering his name and begging for more as he tore at her clothes.
As he bit her. He hissed in a breath. He had bit her neck, sucked at it, marked it. That mark was still there for the world to see, and they would see it.
Caroline had seen it and been enraged. And he refused to feel guilty over it.
He had been considering more than the occasional fuck with Caroline, but he hadn’t made her any promises. To the contrary, he had warned her a year ago that he had no promises to give her and she had refused to listen.
Tomorrow, the Lawrence heli-jet would take Dawn off the island and return her home. That was the best place for her, not here, not where Dawn could stare at him again with betrayal and agony filling her eyes because Caroline had thrown herself into his arms.
He couldn’t get that look out of his head any more than he could get the taste of her out of his mouth.
Getting over her this time would be worse than hell. Worse because he knew her kiss, knew the unique flavor of her hunger, the silken feel of her flesh, the sight of her need glistening between her thighs.
But he would get over it. He had beaten it the first time; he would beat it again.
But sweet merciful heaven it hadn’t been this bad the last time. Even during the worst nights, the most aroused agony he had gone through, it hadn’t been this bad. His skin hadn’t itched with the need for her hands alone. His cock had never been so engorged, so violently aroused that even the wash of the water over it was an untold pleasure. But it was nothing compared to her lips against his chest. Her nails raking his shoulders.
Before he could stop himself, he struck out, slamming his fist into the ceramic of the shower wall as an enraged snarl tore from his lips.
Damn her. Fucking damn her, he hadn’t asked for this. He’d stayed away from her, and by God that was what she had wanted from him or she would have sought him out.
Tomorrow. Dash better get her on that fucking heli-jet tomorrow or he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. Ten years was long enough for a man to torture himself over a woman. He wouldn’t be tortured any more than he had been already. If she wasn’t on that heli-jet, then she was going to be on her back with his dick buried so deep inside her she wouldn’t know where he ended and she began. And God help them both if it wasn’t what she wanted.
Dawn didn’t sleep that night. She tossed and turned in the bed, listened to Seth pace the floors, and she stared at the ceiling, a frown furrowing her brow at the scent of arousal and fury that wafted from his bedroom.
She wanted to feel regret. It was obvious he didn’t want her there, even more obvious that he truly had been ready to begin a life, of some sort, with that corrupt little witch he had had at his side.
She couldn’t feel that regret though, and she couldn’t make sense of what she was feeling. As though a veil had fallen between the old Dawn and the one that had emerged at the knowledge that Seth had a lover, Dawn no longer knew herself.
As morning peeked over the horizon and she rose, showered, despite the extreme sensitivity of her flesh, and dressed in the more socially acceptable formal uniform that the Breeds wore when working social functions, she was still frowning.
She wore a silk undershirt beneath the baby-soft cotton of the short-sleeved black dress shirt. She tucked that into snug black slacks and strapped on her utility belt before securing her weapon holster to her thigh.
A Cougar emblem with the initials B.B.A., Bureau of Breed Affairs, was stitched to the right sleeve. Under it were four small silver stars, announcing her status as commander.
On her feet she laced dress boots that went to her ankle rather than hiking boots, and tucked a dagger into the sheath at the side of the right one. Then she moved to the mirror that sat on the chest of drawers across the room.
She saw a woman she didn’t know.
She hadn’t had her hair cut in a while. The short strands were whispering around her face, a few inches longer than normal, almost falling to her shoulders. The tawny gold color was mixed with hints of red and darker brown, shades of sunlight and earth. Like the cougar. Like the animal she could feel rising inside her.
She was still short. Nothing could change that, barely five four, but she made her stature work. What she couldn’t accomplish with the advantage of height, she had been taught to make up for in calculated treachery. She could take down a Breed twice her size without getting a bruise, because she could move around him, below him, she could hit him where it mattered and use his height against him.
But she was still a woman. Her breasts were about the right size for Seth’s hands. He had filled his fingers with them the night before and groaned at the fit. Her stomach was flat, her legs well toned. She wasn’t a beautiful woman, nothing compared to the cool, dark beauty of Caroline Carrington.
But Seth belonged to her.
She felt her breath hitch at the thought of losing him. She had suffered; she had fought to strengthen herself, fought to get past the dark nightmares enough to gather her courage and maybe, one day, arrange to be where he was, to see if there was a chance.
She had tried to find a way to be a woman rather than the frightened child Dayan had used so easily, but maybe it had taken too long. Love could turn to hate, she had heard. Had the heat that tormented her tormented him until that had happened?
She wiped her hands over her face before staring at her image again. She had almost feline features. The high cheekbones, the narrow face and stubborn chin. Her nose was narrow and a little short. And it turned up at the end like a perky teenager’s. She had always hated that. And she had never cared about her looks, so why was she standing here now as the first rays of the sun slid across the sheltered balcony outside?
Shaking her head, she pulled the communications link from her utility belt, unfolded it and attached it to her ear before activating.
“Report,” she spoke into the slender wand of the mic quietly.
“Someone needs to pull your mate in off the balcony,” Moira said with her faint Irish brogue. “He looks better than that coffee he’s drinking.”
Dawn’s lips tilted sadly and she thought longingly of a cup of coffee. She knew the hazards of it. She would probably end up ignoring the hazards, but she knew them.
“Down, Moira,” Dawn murmured when she wanted to growl in possessive anger.
“Morning recon of the island is complete,” Lawe reported in. “Merc and I have just made our way back. There’s no sign of unauthorized landings or wandering guests.”
“We’re moving from the house to begin morning security protocol.” Noble Chavin’s rough growl filled the link.
“And wit’out me mornin’ cho’olate,” Styx said mournfully. “Lass, ye need to be talkin’ to him about this.”
The Scots Wolf Breed was a true anomaly within the species. Not so much in his love of chocolate, but in his overall attitude. Styx didn’t get temperamental; he could be savage, he could kill, but he did it with a smile. He had fun, no matter what he was doing, and he drove the rest of the team crazy in the process.
But he had an instinctive sense of danger that no other Breed could touch, and a sense of smell when it came to tracking that couldn’t be beat.
“Did you beat Styx out of his chocolate, Noble?” She chided him mockingly.
Noble snorted. “Some blond-haired vixen fed him chocolate most of the night in his room, Dawn. I’m amazed he can still walk today.”
Styx chuckled. “He be jealous.”
“And we’ve reached radio silence,” Noble announced, indicating the boundary of the main grounds around the estate they would patrol that day. “Contact in two.”
Two hours, unless extreme circumstances occurred. Dawn braced her hands on her hips and paced over to the duffel bag that she hadn’t unpacked the night before. From within it she pulled free the sat laptop. The satellite-linked personal PC would give her a clearer view of the main grounds from the Lawrence satellites. Pulling her PDA free from the utility belt, she powered it on and checked her inbox for the files she had ordered on Caroline Carrington.
She had received part of them the day before, but the Breed contacts in New York had promised her more sometime today. There were no files listed, but there were two messages from Callan and one from Merinus. They weren’t marked priority, which meant they were personal.
She didn’t open them.
She knew her brother and his wife. If there was an order in one of his messages that he was afraid she would ignore, then Merinus would know about it, and Merinus would add her own gentle pressure that Dawn see his side.
Merinus had softened Callan within the first years of their marriage. The savage killer, the Council-trained assassin that Callan had been, had bent beneath the gentle weight of Merinus’s love. And it was a good thing, Dawn reflected. But when it had happened, Callan had suddenly begun directing his attention to Dawn. To seeing things she didn’t want him to see. To trying to make up for things that had never been his fault.
“Your mate has finally left his balcony,” Moira sighed in regret and relief. “He should really wear a shirt this early in the morning, Dawn.”
Dawn sent her a muttered growl. “Don’t look at his chest.”
Moira chuckled.
“We have a heli-jet incoming,” Noble reported. “Lawrence Industries. Were we expecting more guests today?”
Dawn quickly pulled the information up on her laptop.
“All guests present and accounted for,” she informed him before hitting the security button and pushing the PDA back into its protective pocket. “Moira, you’re with me. Noble, Styx, converge on the jet and get me visual. Dash, are you available?”