Another Side Of Midnight

I almost moaned aloud at the images replaying in my head. He’s got the kind of voice that lends itself to seduction, a blend of smoky resonance and rich brogue. It’s one of the reasons I’d fallen for him in the first place, one excuse for what happened…

“It will only be better this time, Stella.”

He lowered his head and I finally got that kiss. I’d braced myself for—hell, I’d counted on—a hot, urgent plundering that would fan the burning need inside of me and have us going at it on the foyer tiles. Instead, Cameron took me off guard, brushing his mouth slowly, oh-my slowly, over my lips.

The sweet thrill of his touch, combined with the spicy taste of him, seduced me. I could feel long unused parts gearing up for action but he resisted when I tried to take the lead. Although it’s so not my personality, I sat back to enjoy the ride.

Slanting his mouth over mine, he enjoyed my lips as though they were something precious, cradling the back of my head with unexpected and unwarranted tenderness. Which thoroughly confused me. I raised my palm to his chest and pulled back, then realized that placing my hand over his heart was a mistake. The strong, steady beat was a false promise of durability and commitment.

Stone didn’t relinquish his hold on me. “Let me have you, Stella. Let me make you my own.”

That did it. I broke free, staring at the floor while I tried to collect myself, and instantly missed the feel of him. If I were honest, I might admit that I’ve missed him all along. But I’d eat the engine out of my Harley before I told him so. The last man who’d attempted to possess me, make me his, hadn’t lived to regret it.

“I did that once, but didn’t care for it.” I’m a pretty good mimic, so I got the accent down cold, but my voice wasn’t bass enough for a perfect imitation. Stone recognized his own words anyhow.

“Is it over, then?” His tone was colored with as much defiance as disbelief.

Stone’s personality was magnetic, hypnotic, overwhelming. I didn’t want to be his, not at the risk of getting lost in his shadow. My gaze settled on his left arm. The short sleeve of his T-shirt revealed the tattoo on his triceps. The winged dagger with Who Dares Wins etched below it said a lot—and reminded me how little I really knew about him.

“Let’s be honest, Stone. It never really began.”

Finally I looked up at his face. I’ve seen photographs of glaciers in Alaska, formed by weight and weather and time until the core turns a bright, frozen blue. Stone’s eyes are that color. I wanted to look away but wouldn’t allow myself the cowardice. “We’re strangers who shared an incredible night once, who now have to work together temporarily, and that’s all.”

His gaze narrowed, hitting me like twin blue laser beams, cutting through the surface bullshit to the core I’m so damned careful to protect. His expression challenged me, dared me, invited me to open up and make something real of whatever game we were playing.

Suddenly I was almost overcome with the need to lean on him, to curl myself against his big body and take comfort from his warmth and strength. But I killed the thought as soon as it emerged. I’ve worked hard to shut myself off, to not need anyone and to take the hits alone so that no one ever paid for my mistakes again.

I looked away, reaching for the front door and yanking it wide to usher him out. He hesitated for a second then moved resolutely forward, brushing against me as he passed. Suddenly, he whipped around. His arm shot out and before I knew it he’d plastered me to his side. There was no tenderness in this kiss, just the silent insistence that it was a beginning, not the end.

He let go just as abruptly then turned away. He swaggered down the driveway without once looking back. I stood watching him go, dazed, until I realized my fingertips were tracing my mouth. Annoyed with both of us, I slammed the door and headed for the kitchen.

As I chose a shot glass from the cabinet and pulled the vodka out of the freezer, I wondered what the hell I was doing. I’d made a mistake with Stone. But which one had it been? Letting him get close, letting him matter or pushing him away?

Probably all of the above.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Damned Small World

WHO THE HELL was this guy?

From the new vantage point he’d found on the Paradise Park Community Center roof, he adjusted the focus of his binoculars. He had to get a better look at the son of a bitch kissing her. Civilian now, maybe, but hard-core military at some point, by the looks of him. Like some of those head cases back in the joint. Like he’d once been.

Oo-rah.

What was he doing at her house? Jealousy churned like acid in his gut and prickled along his skin.

He wanted to be the one kissing her…rubbing that fine ass, filling his hands with those pretty tits and squeezing… Not hard enough to hurt, though. That was part of the discipline, part of the control.