Sharpshooter

“I don’t see a ghost, I just see you.” His eyes were on her mouth. “You’re driving me crazy, taking over every moment of my life.”

She couldn’t breathe. Because what he was saying—that was the way she felt. As if he’d taken over her life.

“I tried to walk away. I tried to be strong.” His head lowered. “But I don’t want you to be with anyone else.”

Sydney didn’t want to be with any other man. “Gunner…”

“There are some lines that if you cross them, you can’t ever go back.”

“I don’t want to go back.” There was nothing in her past to go back to. Only death.

Gunner was life.

“I won’t be able to let you go.”

She wouldn’t let him go. Before Gunner could say anything else, Sydney wrapped her hands around his neck and she pulled his head down toward her.

The kiss wasn’t easy or gentle. Wasn’t the tentative kiss of soon-to-be lovers.

It was hard and deep—consuming. The touch of his lips sent need spiraling through her. Then she was crushed against him. Holding on as tight as she could as he tasted her, and she tasted him, and all of the longing that she’d held inside so tightly broke from her control.

This was Gunner. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.

And there was no going back.

HE SHOULD LET her go. Gunner knew he shouldn’t have followed her to Baton Rouge, but he’d been afraid.

I don’t want to lose her.

Sydney Sloan. The woman he’d wanted since the moment he first met her. Even when she’d been planning to marry his brother, Gunner had wanted her.

They were back at her house. He’d followed her from the bar, feeling the hunger for her burn just beneath his skin.

She stood on the porch now. The swamp waited behind her, and the sound of crickets filled the air.

He was closing in on her. There was still time to pull back, still time to do the right thing.

But he wasn’t sure what was right anymore. Slade was gone, buried in a jungle in South America. Sydney was alive. There, just a few feet away, and wonder of wonders, the woman actually wanted him.

She knew about his darkness. About the sins that marked his soul, but she still wanted him.

He would die for her.

So he followed her up the steps to the home that she’d once loved so much, before her family had passed away and left her alone. She opened the door for him. Light spilled out onto the porch.

Onto her.

There would be no going back.

The wooden porch creaked beneath his feet. Her hand was up, reaching for him, and Gunner was pretty sure he’d had this same dream before. Only then, he’d wakened alone, sweating and tangled in his sheets, with her name on his lips.

Make this good for her. Give her pleasure.

Because he only wanted Sydney to know pleasure. She’d known too much pain in her life.

He crossed the threshold with her. Pushed the door shut behind them.

Her breath came a little too fast, and she shifted from her right foot to her left. He’d been in this house before. It carried her sweet scent, light vanilla, and he knew just where her bedroom waited.

Down the hallway, second door on the right.

Could he make it that far?

“Gunner…”

He loved the way she said his name. Breathless. Eager.

Can’t make it that far. He’d done well to make it out of the street and into her house.

Gunner pulled Sydney against him, breathed in that vanilla scent and locked his hands around her waist. Those jeans had been driving him crazy. “I—I can’t go slow.”

“Good.”

She surprised him. Always.

Then his mouth was on hers. He thrust his tongue past her lips, and she was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

Before, he’d told himself to stay hands-off, but in Mexico, when she’d walked away and hadn’t looked back, he’d realized that she was too important to lose.

Now his hands were most definitely on her.

Her breasts were pressed against his chest. Her hips arched against him. He wanted her naked. He wanted to kiss every inch of her.

And he would. The second time.

The first time—the time that should have been perfect—need was controlling him. Raw lust.

So he stripped her. He couldn’t take his mouth from hers. His hands learned her body and slid over her silken flesh even as he shoved down her jeans.

He heard her kick off the sandals that had made him ache. He would have liked for her to keep them on—another time.

Then they were falling together onto her sofa. He was kissing her neck now, inhaling more of that wonderful scent, even as his hands went between her thighs. He meant to pull away her panties, but his fingers were too rough and the silk tore.

Sydney just laughed.

He loved her laugh.

After Peru, it had taken too long for her laugh to come back.