Thrill of the Hunt

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Thrill of the Hunt ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Thrill of the Hunt Copyright © 2009 Nathalie Gray Edited by Mary Moran. Cover art by Syneca Electronic book Publication April 2009 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

THRILL OF THE HUNT

Nathalie Gray

Nathalie Gray

Chapter One

Interrogation room 2-D Reykjavik, Iceland “My name is Kane and I am here to break you.” The male voice, a rich countertenor, at once ominous and sensual, enveloped her as his physical presence raised the fine hairs on her arms. Like verbal velvet. “Who sent you?” she demanded. “Hammond?” “He hired me, yes. I have one night before he deals with you himself. He has none of my patience or skill, and quite the temper. You wouldn’t like him.” Clara snorted derisively. “If you think I’ll make it easy for you,” she snarled in the darkness. “You have another think coming.” “I expected nothing less from a soldier.” “We’re called agents, ‘Kane’. If you’re going to get in my face, refer to me by my proper rank.” “Different uniform, same tyranny.” Yeah. Her supervisors must have been busy spinning the failed extraction mission the best they could. Not that the press would buy any of it. The government had tried to get their hands on the resistance leader for years—Hammond, that slimy bastard, was hard to catch. Today had been their best chance with a rally planned for high noon in the center of Reykjavik. Broad daylight, the cocky shit. Everything had gone smoothly. Her team had landed their shuttle and set up the perimeter without drawing any undue attention, had geared up, moved out, acquired the target. All was good. After she’d pierced the rioters’ first few lines, she’d grabbed Hammond and snarled in her subvoicer to reel her back. Something had pulled at her extraction harness all right, except it hadn’t been the shuttle winch. Her bosses had forgotten to mention the enemy

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had recently acquired missile launchers. Her team’s hovercraft had crashed. If she hadn’t cut the line, she would’ve been pulled right into the inferno. But her stunt had left her stranded behind enemy lines. Alive. “Can we start with the torture? I get bored easily.” Bravado. Like a good old sweater, one she should’ve stopped wearing years ago, but it fit so damn well. Plus, she had nothing else. Already her team called her “Mom”. At thirty-nine! The enemy had taken her gear, extraction harness, her pants, boots and shirt but left the tank top and panties then clipped her hands behind her. She’d stood there alone in the dark for hours, until a subtle presence had manifested itself. The entire time she thought herself alone, he had been there. Watching. Waiting. Like a hunter. Clara felt him approach, felt his breath on her naked shoulder. She shivered. “Torture? Who said I was going to hurt you?” he murmured directly in her ear. Clara gasped when something clicked around her neck. Her subvoicer? What the hell was he doing? All she had to do was say her codename. The voice recognition tech would activate the link. Her side would get a ping on their screen. They’d know where to come get her. Well, contrary to what the press said, Hammond and his resistance movement weren’t too smart. “Before you say anything,” he whispered, “think about this—if you call for help, two things will happen.” His breath moved from her left shoulder to her right. A whiff of aftershave reached her. Sadly, men didn’t wear that anymore. “One, your men will come get you, walk right into a trap and get killed—if they’re lucky. And two…” His lips touched her ear. She shivered again. Harder. “It means I will have broken you.” A spasm tightened her belly, a stitch of thrill her nipples. What the hell was that about? “What if I don’t care either way?” “If you didn’t care about casualties, you wouldn’t have kept your team on the other side while you tried to do the extraction alone.”

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“You think you have me figured out, don’t you?” “Yes.” There was something to that voice, a tantalizing, predatory, undeniable edge. A tiger in repose, a sleeping dragon. Strength and vigor lying in wait, dormant. This guy could do some real damage but hadn’t. Yet. Hot and gentle, a single finger landed on her upper arm, leisurely traced serpentine shapes. If the guy was as skilled in bed, he must not have had complaints so far. She should’ve shaken his hand off. She should’ve kicked out, hurt him, made him sweat for the privilege of torturing Agent Clara Steele. She did neither. “Well, you don’t have me figured out.” That sounded more frustrated than angry. Not what she was going for. “You don’t, asshole.” Much better. “Prove it. Don’t activate the link.” “I don’t have anything to prove to you.” “Good. Then you won’t mind if we start right away.” Her breath caught in her throat. “Start what?” He chuckled. “I like you. In another life, another time, I would like you and I would trust you. You’re strong, stubborn, beautiful. Traits I value in a woman. Unfortunately, you want to kill me, so trusting you is out of the question.” “The government wouldn’t kill you right away. You’d get a trial first.” She turned her head toward the heat of him, his breath that smelled of lemon, ginger and something spicy she couldn’t recognize. Something intoxicating. “Then you’d get a bullet.” “For refusing to bend over and let them do to me what they’re doing to the press, to the people?” “You’re a shit stirrer.” “There was a time when stirring shit wasn’t punishable by death. But then again, I’m a contractor, not part of the resistance, even if I share some of their views.”

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“Yeah, well, there was a time when folks thought the Earth was flat. Now we know better.” “Do we?” He did that thing with his finger, but instead of her upper arm, he traced her shoulder, went across her throat then caressed her other arm, up and down, slowly, lightly. She only realized then that he was writing on her skin with his finger. What was it? she wondered. What would a guy like him write on a woman’s skin? She shuddered in spite of herself. Damn. What did he look like? Tall, judging by the angle of his hand and the voice coming at her from the darkness. “What are you doing?” she demanded, taking a step back. Her shoulder blades hit something. A wall. Metal. A ship? “I said I wouldn’t hurt you, not that I wouldn’t touch you.” “Oh, I get it.” She snapped a vicious kick hard and low, caught nothing. She cursed. “Tough guy, huh? Take a woman in the dark, her hands tied behind her?” “By the time I’m done with you,” he murmured from her right, “you’ll be begging for it.” “Like hell I will,” she growled, leaning against the wall. At least she knew he wouldn’t be coming from behind. That left one hundred and eighty degrees to cover. In pitch dark. “You will. I know you, how you think. You don’t believe me, but we have a lot in common. We both work for people we think often do a lousy job. Neither of us is afraid to give everything for what we believe in. And we believe in this.” He placed a hand over her breast. Not in a proprietary way, or even a sexual way. The heat of his palm seeped through her tank top. Her nostrils flared. She meant some snarled insult but could only grind her teeth. “Passion, loyalty.” Clara stopped breathing. Fever-like heat spread through her chest.

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“And we both believe in this.” From her breast, his hand moved to her belly. “Guts. Instincts. Determination.” She had to force the words out. His hand triggered something she didn’t want to deal. Something dangerous. “I’m nothing like you.” “Maybe not,” came the whispered reply. “But I’m a good judge of character, and I doubt I’ve misjudged this.” Was he going to…? Slowly, he withdrew his hand, let his fingers brush against her belly where the tank top didn’t quite reach the panties’ waistband, left a trail of shivers in his wake. Cold replaced heat. As much as it burned her ass to admit it, the guy was good with his hands. Very, very good. Damn him. “You think I’m some dumb bimbo you can wrap around your little finger?” “If you truly wanted to stop me, you would.” Intense heat heralded his mouth near her ear. “You wouldn’t put up with it, with any of it, if I didn’t turn you on. Even a little.” Clara gasped when his mouth landed moth-light on her neck, right below her ear. Out of sheer stubbornness, she turned her head away, pulled against whatever held her wrists behind her back. A pearl of sweat tickled down her spine, seeped into the fabric of her panties. She grew wet between the legs, as if she’d melted there, and it wasn’t sweat. He put his hand against the wall by her head. A cage made of man and denial. Tougher than steel. She wouldn’t break out of that one. Because she wasn’t sure she even wanted to. A tiny flame burned deep down beneath the carapace she’d built over the years, in the place where the core of her femininity resided, that spot she liked to call weak so she wouldn’t have to look at it too much. Her contemporaries would think her a dumb, weak little sissy. But still the little flame burned on. Pernicious, valiant thing. That dangerous little flame. He must have known where it was, decided to fan it.

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Bastard. Blaming him was so much easier than taking a good hard look at herself. Because when he pulled his hand away from her belly, when his heat left her, the first place she thought—feared, hoped, prayed—he’d go was her pussy. Instead of hating him for it, instead of fighting him off, Clara knew she’d do neither. But he didn’t touch her. She felt more bereft than ever before. Was that what he meant by breaking her? Make her yearn for his touch? Make her beg? He’d said by the time he was done with her, she’d beg for it. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Clara Steele didn’t beg. Kane’s fingers worked the elastic from her hair. Expert fingers. He made his mouth a satin butterfly as he grazed her neck, shoulder, her twitching biceps. Kick his ass. Kick him. Bite his tongue off. When something suddenly touched her on the wrist, she gasped. The bonds fell off. She was free! Instincts kicked in. She snapped her elbow up, missed his face but caught something else. A shoulder? Man, the guy was built. A series of blind hand-chops and low kicks aimed as his vulnerable joints followed. Met air. Fuck. She froze, crouched in a fighting position, forced her breathing down so she could hear him, feel him move. Because he was moving. There to her right…that scent she’d come to associate with him. Aftershave. She made a hammer of her fist and sent it in a downward arc that would’ve rearranged his portrait. If it had hit its mark. Instead of a face, she felt a large, hot hand close around hers. Kane yanked on her arm, sent her spinning half a rotation that had the potential of making jelly of several articulations. With a yelp, she tried to follow the angle. Her shoulder burned. The wall hitting her in the chest made her humph loudly. Panting hard, she ground her teeth when Kane pressed himself against her, forced a knee between her thighs—the guy was good and must have known she’d have emasculated him with her heel. His physical strength far surpassed her own as he

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forced her hands together in one of his, planted them on the wall high above her head and rested his chin on her shoulder. At least she’d winded him. “You’ve got some training behind you,” she spat the words through the hair in her mouth. “You’re what? Rogue agent? Wannabe merc?” “Guess again.” “I don’t play games.” “You’re playing one now,” he whispered. He lipped her earlobe, released it. “Try Silencer.” Clara gasped much louder than her pride would’ve allowed. But shit! One didn’t often meet a member from the elite brotherhood of intersystem assassins. And live to raise a beer to it. A Silencer? She was so toast. A hot hand landed on her hip, right on the portion of exposed skin. Primeval instincts forced her to buck against him. He only pushed harder, drove his pelvis in her lower back, positively pinned her facing the wall. Heat spread from back to legs to arms. He didn’t wear a shirt. A firm and fit body, with lean, compact muscles. “I thought your kind didn’t get involved unless you were paid.” She’d thrown the word “kind” like an insult. “True. They paid me to catch one alive.” “So an assassin and a rapist for hire. Wow.” Kane’s breathing faltered in her ear. But the pressure on her wrists never lightened, the knee between her thighs, the hand on her hip stayed where he’d put them. “Crossing iron with you is an honor, one I’d do for free.” His thumb slipped under her tank top. By no more than an inch. But the effect was instantaneous. Goose bumps covered her. His hand rose, pulled the fabric up with it. Heat followed. She panted hard enough to see stars bursting around the edge of her vision, fizzing like tiny golden suns. His mouth against her ear. “You can stop it if you want.”

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“Fuck you.” “That’s the idea.” Higher still. The tips of his fingers reached her bra, grazed over the cotton cup, curled into it. “You can stop it.” Juices coated her panties. Deep down, the little flame grew. She had at least four openings. A heel to the balls—he was tall, but she could probably reach. Snap her head back against his face—painful but effective. Push her butt back, create an opportunity there. Bite his arrogant mouth—now that’d be a treat. That wicked, knowing mouth. Clara stood frozen still when his fingers forced the cup of her bra under her breast, brushed the pads of his fingers so lightly against her nipple she wasn’t sure if it was her tank top or what. Couldn’t be sure of anything. Except the need. In her flesh, her hands, her mouth. Winds from forced physical contact stoked the little flame in her gut, which grew brighter and hotter, embers flying to ignite other parts of her long dormant, cinders on the breeze. Tremors rocked her. She shook all over. What did he taste like? How would it be to hold him between her thighs, vigorous, quiet, brutal? What did he like best, eating his women? Fucking them hard? Lights on or off? Her nails dug into her palms when she balled shaking fists. Still the inferno raged. “What are you thinking about now, Clara? Ways to escape? Trying to find a chink in my armor?” “Yes.” “Liar.” His kiss on her shoulder made her groan. Then his tongue. His teeth. She quivered like a just-fired arrow. From tender, his hand on her breast turned more demanding, proprietary. She bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning when he rolled her nipple expertly, whispered words she couldn’t hear clearly for the liquid war drums in her

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ears. Heartbeat, pulsations, spasms. A mutiny of the senses. And when Kane abandoned her breast so he could slip a hand down into her panties, adept fingers readily curving to the natural contour of her pussy, a long whimper left her. He slid inside. “Ahh.” She hadn’t meant to let that one slip. Like a volcano erupting, everything went red and white and hot. Nothing else mattered but his fingers in her. Clara pushed back hard. He welcomed her fury with his own. Hands hopelessly pinned above her head, Clara could only receive whatever he wished to grant. So when his finger became two, she squeezed around him then whimpered as he pulled out so he could circle her clitoris ‘round and ‘round. When his mouth ravaged her neck and shoulder, she voiced her carnal abandon. And when he pushed her feet wider with his own, she arched her butt back, waiting, hoping. Ready. Movement behind her. The sound of a zipper. Fabric rustling. The titillation of the wait. The expectation, the thrill of the hunt. She’d never been anyone’s prey. What had he made of her? Heat heralded him. Followed by a cock seemingly made of silk. In a potent thrust, he introduced his searing flesh to hers. Her long cry should’ve mortified her. It didn’t. She was past caring what Kane’s handling unleashed. She’d deal with that beast later…if she felt like it. For now all she wanted was him inside her, pushing, taking, claiming. Fucking, fucking. Their noisy, disorderly coupling drowned the war drums in her ears, the liquid beat of her heart. Kane spreading her cheeks wide with his thumbs so he could pound his cock harder, which made her realize he’d abandoned her wrists. She reached back. Scratching his eyes out would’ve been easy. Snapping him a good one in the throat even easier. Instead she fisted his hair. Kane’s thumbs dug into her lower back, forced her spine into a sharp C. She yelped when he wrapped a hand in her hair, made a fist while his other slipped down low, found her hard little pearl, which he rubbed. To keep from having her face mashed into 12

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the wall, she bent her arms, used her elbows as anchors, curled her butt, spread her legs. Everything burned. Everything felt consumed. Yet there was more. Take it. Take it all. Fever-like heat spread. Pulsing inferno. In her ears. In her heart. Like thunder. Like a raging sea. Implacable. Unyielding. Like Kane. On a long, ragged cry, she released, melted around his cock. The storm passed. Kane slowed, reached around her waist to hold her close. He panted hard against her back. Without a word, he pulled out, placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder before retreating from her, taking his heat with him as he did. She heard him pulling his pants up. Despite the juices coating her, Clara knew he hadn’t come and wondered why. The honey dribbling down her thighs was all hers. The wall provided a bit of cool relief when she leaned against it. Her labored breathing drowned everything else. A faint click then a cool breeze instantly forced her into a fighting crouch. Adrenaline still coursed through her shivering body. She swallowed hard. “Here,” he murmured. “I’ll make sure you get a good shot.” “Shot at what?” A hard bundle was pushed into her chest. Her gear, her guns. “At going back home.” Why was her first reaction to ask questions? For fuck’s sake, Steele, just take the offer. Doubt froze her. “What? You’re going to shoot me in the back while I ‘escape’?” “I could and have done that. But not to you.” “Why?” “Just put your stuff back on and go.” For the first time since she’d heard him speak, a point of temperament flared. So he wasn’t a killing machine after all but a man with feelings. “It’s a trap.” 13

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“No,” he snarled, grabbing her by an arm and pushing her forward. She stumbled a few steps, clutching her treasured gear. “Hurry before he gets here. If he spots you, there won’t be a thing I can do to help.” She wrestled her stuff back on, clipped the harness into place then pulled her gun from its holster at her thigh. Easy access to her gun. Practiced for years. She was fast. Could she…? “Why?” she asked. As if she needed to know. Cool air brushed against her face. She felt his hand on her wrist, pulling her along, guiding her until a faint rectangle of bluish light from ahead made her quicken her pace. By her side, Kane walked silently. She didn’t hear a single step land. When they reached the doorway, she turned to look at him but couldn’t see his face, only that he wore dark clothes and was even taller than she anticipated. Six and a half feet, maybe more. And slimmer too. Built like a runner. “There,” he whispered, pointing some ways down an abandoned alley. “Four blocks, past the arch. There’s a checkpoint. If you subvoice from there, your men should be able to come get you quickly and safely.” Clara took a step. “Tell me. Why?” “Don’t you get it?” She shook her head. “I was sent to break you, Clara. I failed. My ‘kind’ never fails. I’ll have to deal with Hammond now, and whoever else knows about the contract. It’ll be a mess.” Why did that trigger so many red flags in her? What did she care if he’d be hunted down? A turncoat Silencer couldn’t be allowed to live. The brotherhood would go after him. His head would be worth a fortune. Clara scratched her throat where the subvoicer was strapped. “I’m…er, what happened?”

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Kane’s chuckle raised the fine hairs on her nape. “I was supposed to break you. But instead, you broke me.” She chewed on that for a second or two. Had she? How? She hadn’t even tried. Did that mean…? Just throw yourself in, woman. “Will I meet you again?” she asked. “Yes.” “I don’t even know what you look like. How will I know it’s you?” “You’ll know my voice when you hear it. Just like I’d know yours among a thousand. You’ll recognize my scent, your instincts will warn you because we’re alike. Hunters.” Kane drew near, cupped her nape with a long hand. Moonlight coming in slanted through decrepit buildings illuminated part of his face. Not sufficient for proper ID but enough to grace his aquiline nose and luscious mouth. Was that blue eyes she saw? Couldn’t be sure. “What if I come after you instead, huh?” She felt a whole lot braver with her gear. Clara framed his well-defined chin in both her hands. His kiss tasted of man, mystery and that intoxicating mix of spice and ginger she’d smelled on his breath. He broke the kiss first, left her dangling. “I’ll be waiting.” Before she could say a word, he pushed her away, melted back into the shadows.

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Chapter Two It took her three and a half months but she did it. She found Kane in one of the many slums in what used to be Zagreb, in the Balkans, but was now a wasteland thanks to years of war and turmoil. Three months of wondering, of torturing her brain for every detail, each memory. The sound of his voice, the feel of his hands. She’d fallen for him. Hard. She’d realized the extent of his gift as news started to come in after her unit’s failed extraction mission. The bad guys had been trussed up—those left alive. Among those was Hammond himself. A gift to her perhaps? Kane must have known how badly the government wanted the man. But that he’d let her escape in the first place was the real gift. He easily could’ve changed his mind, let the thug catch up to her while he escaped unnoticed. Instead, he’d kept his word, he’d stayed behind so she had a chance to reach her side. A Silencer doing something for someone. For free. The brotherhood must want him dead something fierce. And there he stood now, with his back to her, the longish dark hair fretting over the collar of his long, black leather coat. There must have been some Asian blood in his ancestry at one time. He had gorgeous, almond-shaped eyes and an aquiline nose that gave him a dramatic air. He’d been right, she recognized him right away. Despite the crowded alley—more like a twenty-second-century bazaar—Clara could spot him easily enough. Not many stood that tall anyway. When he turned, she pretended to check a row of bead necklaces. His eyes scanned the crowd but didn’t settle on anything or anyone. That’d been close. When he started walking again, cutting through the crowd like a shark fin, Clara followed. In civilian clothes, she didn’t stand out at all. Averagelooking woman in a sea of average-looking people. Just going on about their business. Chasing their future. As she did.

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Clara walked around a stall of scrap metals, avoided eye-contact with the pushy vendor and was reaching Kane’s last known location when she realized she’d lost him. Damn. Her heart beat madly. She looked around. He couldn’t be very far. She should be able to spot his head over the rest. Nothing. He was gone. “Shit.” Had she been anywhere else she would’ve run. As it was, she squeezed between shoulders and carts, amidst thick clusters of people, turning on herself, not finding him. On the corner of a narrow alley, she spotted a garbage dumpster, climbed on it for a vantage point. “Jesus.” There he was. Down the street, almost to the corner. He was fast. Thinking to circumvent the crowd, Clara ran into the alley, from one to the other, managed to run parallel to Kane until she stood on the same corner. Pulling at the tight collar of her shirt, she was about to curse her bad luck—again—when something yanked on the back of her belt. She was reeled backward into the shadows as if by a giant winch. Concrete against her shoulder blades made her humph. A streetlight, faraway and sputtering, hit him at an angle. Bright blue eyes. Longish black hair. So she’d found him. Or he’d found her. The faint smell of aftershave tickled her nostrils. Without meaning to, she took a long breath. For the sheer pleasure of taking him in. At least this way. A mocking curl to his lips made her want to plaster herself to him and let him do whatever he wanted. She’d burned for him for weeks, months. Had fallen asleep with her fingers in herself, thinking it was him, hoping it’d someday be him. “You haven’t changed,” he murmured, gave her an intense once-over. “Neither have you.” “Come.” “Where are we going?”

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He took her hand in his. So hot. “You think I’ve waited all this time to share you with them?” With his chin, he pointed at the crowded street. “You’ve waited…?” As she had. Silent, confused, hopeful, she let him guide her through the maze of alleys and tunnels, decrepit habitats and beneath the base of giant spaceports looming overhead. Up several staircases—the view of Zagreb here was amazing, old-world grace mixed with hard, modern misery—Kane stopped in front of a rust-pitted and dented metal door. He pressed his hand against the access panel, waited two seconds. Her heart beat madly when he pushed the door, slipped into the gloomy entrance and closed the door behind her. Trapped. A willing quarry. He let her hand go, stood with his back to her. She couldn’t see well inside. Didn’t want to. Nothing mattered but him. The two of them together. She’d rehearsed the moment in her head yet couldn’t find a thing to say. Shaking from head to boots, she leaned back against the door, closed her eyes. Kane caught her by surprise when he pressed himself against her, caught her hands and planted them high above her head. As he’d done the day she’d abandoned herself to him. “Do you know how many hours of sleep you owe me?” he growled. He raked his bottom teeth up her throat, nipped her jaw. Clara couldn’t speak. Angling her head away, she hoped he’d get the message, the silent supplication. He did. That wicked tongue of his curled under her jaw, grazed up to her earlobe. He lipped the shell of her ear, murmured things she didn’t understand. “I couldn’t shake the taste of you, the sound of your pleasure, how you felt.” Her labored breathing stirred strands of his hair, which tickled her forehead. Buckles and straps covered his chest. Keeping her hands in one of his, he began to undo his long, black leather coat, let it fall to the floor, slid it aside with a foot. No shirt. Just that smooth, corded chest she remembered so vividly. His scent, a hint of sweat, made her salivate.

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Urgency took her. They couldn’t waste a single precious minute. What if the brotherhood found him as she had? What if he was taken from her? She’d worked too hard, sacrificed too much. Clara forced her hands out of his and dropped to her knees. Frantically, fingers shaking, she undid his pants. Black leather. They creaked when she opened them wide on his lower belly, yanked them down on his lean and muscled thighs. God, he was glorious. A network of sinewy muscles. Black boxer briefs that looked painted-on struggled to contain his cock. She freed it by pulling down with both hands. She heard Kane’s sharp intake of air. Into her mouth she took him. So smooth. Salty and sweet. Like honey and saltwater. Her saliva and his essence created a silky sheen that helped the thick cock slide in and out, in and out. He pulled out of her. Her snarl of protest turned into a long whimper when he plastered her facing the wall, forced her feet aside with little nudges against the inside of her soles. Kane stretched her arms up, planted her palms against the door. “Stay there,” he murmured in her ear. She would. With sharp tugs and demanding hands, he removed her clothes. Fingers curled in, he raked his hand up the back of her thigh, over her cheek, trailing tingly fire in his wake. Clara swallowed hard. “Spread your legs.” She did. Kane licked her shoulder, bit it. “Wider.” Again, she did as he instructed. Giving herself over to him. Letting him control, call the shots. So unlike her. The orderly life that was slowly choking her because she allowed it to, because she’d always been too afraid to consider that maybe, just maybe, she liked having a man do this to her. Take what he wanted. Give peace and pleasure in return.

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Hot and wet fingers landed on her cleft, stroked back and forth. She let her head loll back. Tantalizing pressure accompanied his fist around her hair. She felt so vulnerable yet powerful. She could do this to him, make him lose his cool. A Silencer. A man who killed for a living. The best in the business. She’d learned quite a lot in her months of searching. “You’ve been thinking about me?” he breathed in her ear. She nodded. Difficult given the way he pulled her head back with a fist in her hair. “Tell me. I want to hear it. I need to hear it. You’ve been thinking about me?” “I have. I’ve been thinking about you.” Kane slipped a finger inside. She gasped loudly, curled her butt back up high. “Thinking about you,” she panted. “I couldn’t forget… I kept wanting.” “Wanting?” he asked. One finger became two. With a snarl, he thrust in to the last knuckles. A sharp yelp left her. “Wanting what? This?” “You. I’ve wanted you. I couldn’t think, couldn’t function.” He accentuated his taking. It wouldn’t be long now. Fire tingled in her distended opening. Just as she was about to hit the point of no return, Kane squeezed between her legs, pulled back on a hip while he slipped his fingers out. His heat left. She wanted to cry. “Kane! Please!” She felt thumbs digging deep in her cheeks. Parting her. Readying her. She stretched her arms high enough to hurt her articulations. The sweet tingle and pressure. Incredibly hot and smooth, his cock pressed against her sex. But he didn’t push in. Damn him! “We can’t go back from what we’ve had, Clara. You know that, don’t you?” She nodded. “I don’t want to.” Kane’s thumbs dug deeper. The wait was killing her. The flame was about to go out. She needed him now. Right now.

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Thrill of the Hunt

“What do you want?” he asked. A point of worry poked in his tone. “You. I want you—want you…just you, nothing else. No one else.” Kane took her. Hard. Fast. Without pity. Without fear of hurting her because he knew. He knew she could take him on, head-to-head, thrust for thrust. Because he knew she wanted it this way, up against his door. Not quite in, but not out either. He’d let her in his life and she’d let him in hers. Solace in each other. The door rattled with Kane’s potent shoves. Her heels left the floor. Her breasts were crushed against the cool panel, her arms burned from keeping them up. But she changed nothing. He took her again and again. Until she thought she’d explode in a million shards of light, a thousand different slivers of herself strewn in space to twirl into blackness for all eternity. On a long moan, she came. From rhythmic, Kane’s hip work turned animalistic and irregular. Panting her name, he pushed up high enough to take her off the floor. Thighs and belly slick with sweat, he drove up against her back and butt. Wet skin clacking. Kane’s voice. Liquid fire in jets inside her. Tiny suns burst behind her eyelids. He slowed, quieted, gently took her arms down and massaged the aching wrists. With his long arms around her, he pulled out, nestled his cock, slick with pleasure, between their sweaty bodies. A long sigh pressed his chest against her back. “I was serious, Clara.” He swallowed, took a deep breath. “When I said we couldn’t turn back…” Cleared his throat. “From what we’ve known. I can’t.” She agreed with a nod. Kissed his forearm resting across her chest. “I don’t want to turn back. I’m where I want to be. With you.” Kane turned her around, cupped her face in his long hands. Warmth made his blue eyes gleam like sapphires. Black hair fell in a jagged fringe around his face. “I’m not the perfect man, Clara. I’m not even a good man. But with you, I’ll be better.” “Because you think I’m perfect, huh?” She grinned when he kissed the bridge of her nose.

21

Nathalie Gray

“You are. To me.” “I can work with that.” She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. Perfect fit. Nice and warm. “What about our work? Mine is to catch those like you.” “I’m not a Silencer anymore.” She pulled away to look up into his face. He wasn’t lying. “What? I thought you couldn’t…couldn’t quit the brotherhood. I thought you had to die to get out.” Kane’s eyes hardened. “I couldn’t touch you with these hands. Not when I killed for a living. And you’re right. You have to die. And I did. Outside of them, no one knows me. I don’t officially exist.” He’d “died”? Faked his own death? To be with her? The things left unsaid warmed her heart. No man she’d ever known would’ve given up everything just to be with her. “A new beginning, huh?” she ventured, searching his face. The words felt strange, like a brand-new thing. Full of potential and possibilities. Full of hope. He nodded, kissed her knuckles. “A new beginning. With you.”

22

About the Author I am a mother, spouse, older sister, writer, ex-soldier, high school drop-out, dog owner (or dog owned), half couch potato/half intermittent jogger, wannabe renovator and avid reader who watches too much television, sinks too much money in clothes, likes animals more than humans, recycles, wore braces, never downloads copyrighted stuff, was a nerd without the grades, has a belly laugh that turns heads in theaters, can’t stand bullying, is mother hawk more than mother hen, votes even if candidates aren’t that great and thinks formal education is highly overrated (probably because she has none).

Nathalie welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and e-mail address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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Also by Nathalie Gray Bain’s Wolf DamNATION Demo Derby Femme Metal 1: Femme Metal Femme Metal 2: Hot Target Femme Metal 3: Cold Fusion Gladius Immortalis Intergalactic Nick Lycan Warriors 1: Feral Lycan Warriors 2: Primal Lycan Warriors 3: Carnal Mechanical Rose Shades of Silver Sinful Tease The Hussies: Cassiopeia Timely Defense Torrid Tarot: Book of Masks Whispering Wolfsbane

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