eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 Waitin’ on a Hero Copyright © 2008 by Sydney Somers ISBN: 1-59998-947-6 Edited by Lindsey McGurk Cover by Angela Waters All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: May 2008 www.samhainpublishing.com
Waitin’ on a Hero Sydney Somers
Sydney Somers
Chapter One Finley needed a personal masseuse. That was the only way she would ever unlock the cramped muscles in her back and shoulders. Six hours of getting up and down, bending over and moving boxes around in the stock room did that to a girl. Procrastinating for weeks hadn’t helped, but at least she could move around without getting lost in the maze of boxes that had steadily piled up since her mother’s death. Tonight the pang of loss that squeezed her heart didn’t erase the satisfaction she felt as she surveyed the neatly stacked shelves. Relieved to finally be done, Finley grabbed the garbage and headed out back to toss it in the dumpster behind the building. Already after midnight and the temperature had only dropped a few degrees from that afternoon. If it wasn’t an inconvenience to her and her customers, she’d consider bringing the shop’s AC unit home to replace the one that died. She might have to spring for another machine if the hot weather continued for much longer. Either that or melt to death. Her cell phone rang, and she grinned at the familiar number. “So I’m not the only one still working, huh?” Her best friend Avery groaned. “Don’t get me started. I should have been home by now.” A movement to the right caught Finley’s attention. She scanned the dark lot that served as a loading zone for the five businesses on her block. A shiver crawled up her spine, and she instinctively stepped back into the pool of light cast by the open door of her shop. The only movement came from the clammy breeze that swayed the weeds growing between cracks in the pavement. She stepped inside and locked the door behind her. “Covering any good stories?” “No, but the city’s favorite vigilante pulled another Good Samaritan last night.”
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Finley sighed, still not getting the public’s fascination with a man working outside the legal system. People like him got themselves killed. “Are they still obsessed with him?” “Yeah. And they should be. With this being the hottest summer on record, crime rates are up to boot. It’s a damn good thing he’s around.” Finley rolled her eyes. She for one thought all the hoopla about the city’s vigilante was overrated. “They’re calling him The Night Watcher.” “Sounds like a pervert who likes to play peeping tom.” She slid her bag over her shoulder and shut off the lights. Plunged into darkness, the surrounding displays and shelves morphed into grotesque shadows that, tonight, left her a little unnerved. “You are such a downer.” “You’re the reporter. Aren’t you supposed to be the objective one?” “I am objective. The guy, whoever he is, is out there risking his ass and helping people.” Finley did a quick mental tally to be sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. “He’s done his thing what, a dozen times now? And still no one has gotten a good look at this guy?” “A dozen incidents have been reported. Who knows how many people he’s helped who just haven’t come forward. You know how people are. And the cops seldom get to any of these locations before he’s already vanished.” After listening to customers talk about the guy all week, she wasn’t in the mood to start her weekend talking about him too. Not when she could be thinking about what color she was going to repaint her living room. At least that was productive. Hell, preplanning which steamy fantasies she could cast herself in this weekend was more productive, and a whole lot more interesting. “Did I tell you Sahara saw him?” Finley paused at the door to straighten the last of the crocheted scarves her mother had made before she got sick. Once the weather turned cold, they would sell like crazy again.
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“She was leaving some small theatre downtown,” Avery continued, “and saw him save this woman from being mugged in front of an ATM. She said he was hot.” “Sahara thinks Jerry Springer is hot.” “In her defense,” Avery began in her no-nonsense reporter voice, “Mr. Springer does have a certain amount of charisma.” Finley snorted. “Okay, so Sahara thinks everyone is hot, but that’s not the point.” “Doesn’t the guy wear a mask or something?” Or was she just confusing him with Spider-Man? She laughed at the image of tight-titty-top Sahara doing the upside down kiss. “He wears this long coat with a hood. Sunglasses too, they say.” “Trench coat? Leather I suppose.” She checked her bag for her keys. “It’s not like the guy is Batman. He’s just some guy getting his rocks off on pretending to be a superhero until he winds up shot for his trouble.” Avery laughed. “Does it hurt?” “What?” “To be that cynical.” “I’m not cynical. I’m just a realist. There’s a justice system in place, and when one guy starts taking matters into his own hands then so will everyone else.” She pulled the door open, and immediately shut it when a rush of warm air smothered her. A smart woman would have brought a sleeping bag along and crashed here. That had to be better than walking home in the ninety-degree heat to sleep in an apartment where the AC was on the fritz. “So he’s a threat to a system that is clearly flawed?” Avery challenged. “Maybe he should be part of the solution, work to make the laws the way they should be.” “Maybe in his way that’s what he thinks he’s doing.” Finley laughed. “Now you’re starting to sound like Trace.” Sexy, playful, stufffantasies-were-made-of Trace. Off-limits Trace, she reminded herself.
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“Since you brought him up, I still think you’re crazy to say no to that hot neighbor of yours just because he’s a flirt.” Wishing she hadn’t mentioned Trace Fairbanks, a man who was getting increasingly hard to ignore, Finley sighed. “Dinner to guys like him doesn’t mean, ‘let’s get to know each other’. It means ‘how much do we have to eat before I can get you naked’.” Avery didn’t sound convinced. “Every time I see him, he’s watching you like a man dying to devour his favorite dessert.” “This is why they make you cut all the purple prose out of your articles, isn’t it?” “I’m telling you, the heat from his eyes when he looks at you—” Finley groaned, cutting Avery off. She’d been stupid enough to read too much into those kind of looks before and learned her lesson the hard way. Dating his type had been one of the few things she and her mother argued about, and she promised herself not to waste any more time on men just looking for a good time. She set the alarm and braced herself, pulling the door open and stepping outside before the heat could make her retreat a second time. “Aside from the fact that those looks are all I get, enough women have come and gone from his place in the past four months alone to stock the playboy mansion a couple times over.” “I don’t think that has stopped you from fantasizing about the man.” “Fantasies don’t count.” Fantasies didn’t get bored with you or try to change you. They didn’t care that you worked eighty-hour weeks. More importantly, fantasies didn’t break your heart. Which made Trace perfect fantasy material. She could indulge in those long, hungry looks, imagine him any way she wanted and never have to worry that she’d wind up burned by another consummate playboy. “I’m headed home. Want to meet for lunch tomorrow?” “Sure. I’ll pick you up at twelve. Night, Fin.” Finley said goodbye and hung up, tucking her phone in her back pocket. The humid air still felt like breathing through a wet sheet as she turned and headed for home. With
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her reorganization and inventory done for the month, she could spend her weekend relaxing. And if she crossed paths with Trace long enough to generate some quality, pantywetting fantasy material, she wouldn’t complain. The odds of anything topping her current favorite were slim, but inspiration struck at the most unexpected times. Running into him after he’d come home from a Saturday afternoon football game with his friends had spawned one hell of a locker-room fantasy. In the last incarnation, she’d stormed into an empty men’s locker room—empty but for Trace, who turned when he heard her come around the corner. Fresh from a shower, his chest glistened with drops of water, his short dark hair still damp. He paused in the process of pitching aside the towel draped around his hips. He raked his gaze over her, his jaw tight. His lips parted, but the order for her to leave never left his lips. Not this time. This time, the moment he reached her, he cornered her against the locker, his strong arms caging her in. His green eyes burned into hers, heavy and hot. “You shouldn’t be here,” he growled. She wet her lips. “If you want me to leave, make me.” The dangerous glint in his eye should have sent her running. The lazy curve of his mouth, a promise of decadent payback for breaking the rules, locked her feet to the floor. He curled a strand of her hair around his finger and tugged until she tipped her face up. Trace leaned in, dragged his mouth across her cheek. She closed her eyes. “We lost the game today,” he warned softly against her ear. “I’m not in the mood to be easy or patient.” Finley nodded, a ribbon of heat curling around her middle. His wolfish grin made her heart pound, and then he slanted his mouth across hers. He conquered her from the start, pushing his tongue past her lips to stroke and rub against hers. There was no opportunity to wrap her arms around him, cling to him. Each time she tried, he pinned her hands to her sides or above her head.
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His unrelenting grip churned the lust pooling slow and hot in her belly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He ripped her shirt open. Buttons bounced off the floor. Her soft cry of surprise was lost to the hungry depths of his punishing mouth. Instead of removing her bra, he shoved it up, his thumb circling the hard tip of her breast. She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, moaning when his fingers closed over her nipple and tugged. “Did you lose by a lot?” she forced herself to ask. He tensed at the reminder, his hand tightening over her wrists. He said nothing, swooping down to snare her nipple between his lips. The long, deep pull made her whimper and writhe between him and the locker at her back. A satisfied groan rumbled in his chest, and he released her with a soft slide of his lips. He stood back, letting his towel drop to the floor. He led her towards the showers. “Time to get wet.” She opened her mouth to point out he’d already showered only to be silenced by the feral expression on his face. “You had your chance to leave.” He turned on the closest showerhead with one hand, used the other to drag her shirt off. Her bra joined it on the wet tile floor. He eyed the micro miniskirt she wore. “You can keep that on for now.” His gaze scrolled down to her heels. A dark smile caught the corner of his mouth. “Those too.” Then he spun her into the spray, letting the warm water run down her front. She edged back on instinct, came up against his hard chest. “Going somewhere?” he challenged, boldly cupping her breasts. He circled the hard peaks, the graze of his thumbs across her nipples as insistent as the bump of his arousal against her ass. Her breath caught when he hiked her skirt up. He paused long enough to dispense some soap in his palm, then smoothed his hand across her stomach. His fingers glided across her skin, trailing the soap up to her breasts, then down over the bunched fabric at her waist.
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“Don’t stop now,” she begged when his hand lingered on the inside of her thigh, rubbing slowly back and forth in the lather. Wicked laughter echoed in her ears. “Still trying to call the shots?” He ran his finger down her cleft. She arched against him. “I thought you weren’t in the mood to be easy or patient?” He whipped her around. Frustration and desire flashed in his eyes. “Have it your way,” he growled, and plunged his fingers into her slick sex. Finley sighed. Her body tingled and throbbed just thinking about finishing the fantasy at home. She blamed her thoughts running wild on her conversation with Avery. The pleasant distraction managed to make her forget her earlier nervousness—until the shuffle of feet on the sidewalk caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder. A man moved out of a doorway and trailed after her. His leering gaze knocked her heart against her ribs. His dark clothes and the thick growth of beard on his face only added to his menacing expression. She kept walking, but picked up the pace. Her shop had always been in a relatively safe part of town, but once a developer had started buying up the few businesses along this stretch, it had grown quieter. A blur of movement darted across her peripheral vision and she automatically dodged to the side as another man stepped out in front of her. “Hello there.” A thick knot of fear jammed in her throat, and she ducked her head to give the guy a wide berth. He grabbed her arm and whirled her around, yanking her towards his towering body. The red basketball jersey he wore was damp with sweat, and Finley cringed, repulsed. The shorter man stepped up next to Finley. Their chilling expressions launched a rush of adrenaline through her veins. She jerked her arm free of the taller one’s hold. “Back off.” They were probably just drunk and looking for some entertainment, someone to intimidate. The rationalization did nothing to calm her.
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Finley backed up a few steps, and they collectively lunged for her. She screamed once, but a sweaty palm that reeked of marijuana cut it off. With only a handful of businesses on the block, and none open at this time of night, the slim odds of anyone hearing her scream was terrifying. She kicked and fought as she was dragged into the sheltered alcove of another business. She managed to drive her heel down on an instep and jam an elbow into someone’s stomach before being slammed up against the wall. Pain exploded down the side of her face and skull, graying her vision. Fighting the panic that fisted her heart, she got her knee up and nailed one between his legs, but missed a direct hit to the groin. The one with the beard backhanded her. “We’re just gonna have a little fun so don’t be a bitch about it.” “Fuck you,” she snarled. This wasn’t happening. She wouldn’t let it happen. Wouldn’t sit back and make it easy for them to rape her no matter how scared she was. One of them brutally palmed her breast. The taller of the two paused, his head turning in the direction of the street. “Did you see that?” The bastard with his hand on her sneered. “Yeah, she likes it.” Finley turned her face to the side to avoid the putrid smell of his breath, but he caught her chin and yanked it back. “Not the bitch, man, something on the street.” “What are you talking about?” The short guy nodded to his friend. “Hold her still.” The sight of him reaching for the fly of his jeans shoved her heart into her throat, and she wrenched at the arms pressing her back into the wall. The one in the jersey gripped her upper arms. A heartbeat later he stiffened and stumbled to the side. His eyes wide, he lifted a hand to his neck. He plucked out a small feather-tipped dart and weaved in place. “Shit, man.” He stumbled again, hitting the wall. “Night Watcher,” he slurred, his eyes closed even before he hit the ground.
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The second guy grabbed her and jerked her around, using her body as a shield to protect his own. Coward. Finley didn’t know whether to be relieved that she was no longer cornered by the two of them, or even more freaked out now that she was positioned between the asshole at her back and some potential nut job armed with a tranquilizer gun. Considering how said nut job had probably just saved her from being raped, she was willing to be a little more open-minded from this point on. She would have glanced skyward as she made the promise, but didn’t dare take her eyes off the street in front of her. A shadow stretched across the ground near her feet, and she lifted her gaze at the same moment the grip on her arms tightened, fingers biting into her skin. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” “Let her go.” The raspy voice came from the hooded silhouette that filled the space between the sidewalk and the front of the shop. Talking about the Night Watcher and thinking the guy had to be a few comic books shy of a full collection didn’t stop her from appreciating the intimidating sight he made standing calmly, less than five feet away. The hooded trench coat, sunglasses and shadows prevented her from seeing little more of his face than his mouth. “Let. Her. Go.” Though the warning was no more than a heated whisper, his raised arm, tranq gun clasped in an unwavering fist, made the threat clear. The man at her back shoved her forward and she stumbled into the Night Watcher. He caught her waist, keeping her upright as her attacker knocked them sideways and bolted past them. The Night Watcher’s warm and steady hold slowed the icy panic that whipped through her veins. She raised her head to look him in the eyes, but he was already stepping away to pursue her attacker.
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He lifted his arm and took aim. A second later the fleeing man stumbled, bounced off a light pole, fumbled another step, then collapsed on the sidewalk. Her savior turned back around. The last few minutes caught up with Finley, blurring across her vision. She reached a hand out, leaning against the empty store’s stone wall until the trembling in her knees passed. She glanced at the first of the two men, still out cold no more than four feet away. Another minute and they might have… She closed her eyes, drew in a sharp breath as blood seemed to rush to her head. She turned and pressed her forehead against the wall, nausea swirling in her stomach. “Are you okay?” Okay in that she’d escaped far worse. Not okay that it had happened to begin with. She’d walked home from here hundreds of times, more than a few of those late at night, and had never had a problem before. The light touch to her shoulder made her tense. “Are you okay?” he repeated in a whisper that wouldn’t be heard if more than two people were talking at once. A faint accent clung to the question. Finley nodded, sucked in another deep breath and straightened. “Don’t turn around, chérie,” he gently ordered. French accent? She frowned, and then his reason for the command dawned on her. “If you don’t want people to get a good look at your face, maybe you should wear a mask.” “Too hot.” She heard a smile in his voice. “Why hide who you are?” “So the police could arrest me when the criminals try to press charges on me for assaulting them?” “It’s self defense.” He laughed, the sound low and rough. “Pas toujours. Not always,” he added almost as an afterthought. “And there are plenty of lawyers who would be interested in making a case like that stick.”
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“So you hide,” she said, understanding this was one of the ways the justice system was flawed, when criminals sometimes maintained rights that should have been lost to them the second they hurt another person. “Maybe I’m disfigured,” the voice came from farther behind her. She turned and found him just far enough away to guarantee it would be impossible to ever pick him out in a crowd. “Are you?” He laughed again and motioned to her ass. Finley arched a brow. “Cell phone?” he asked, the smile evident this time. Appealing in a dark and sinister kind of way. She pulled it free of her pocket. “Call the police and tell them to get here before those two wake up.” He turned away. “Wait!” He paused. Even with the sunglasses in place, she could feel the unwavering weight of his eyes on her. “Thank you. I feel like an idiot actually. She curled her fingers around her phone, the encounter feeling more surreal than ever. “I…I haven’t been your biggest fan. I’m glad you came along when you did.” He nodded at the phone. “Call them. Then get your head checked out. You’ve got a nasty scratch by your temple.” At the mention of the injury, she became aware of the throbbing in her head and the sting from where her elbow had scraped the wall. “Thank you,” she said one more time, feeling stupid for what she had said earlier to Avery. She might not ultimately agree with his methods, but if he hadn’t shown up when he had… She swallowed through the tightness in her throat. “Call them, chérie,” he ordered again, his voice a little louder this time. Then he ducked into the next alley.
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Finley flipped open her phone and crossed the street, out of immediate sight should either of the two stir before the police arrived. No point in making herself an easy target a second time. As she waited for the police to arrive she scanned the rooftops, half expecting to see the Night Watcher keeping an eye on her, but saw nothing more than the filtered moonlight streaming through the clouds.
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Chapter Two Trace stood at the edge of the alley across from the police precinct, hidden by the shadows. A few minutes ago, Finley’s friend Avery had rushed up the steps and disappeared inside. He’d been sidetracked getting here by a drunk screaming at his wife. Thankfully, the second the drunk spotted him, he stopped yelling and took off. The woman had lingered long enough for Trace to notice her bruises, then she nodded and fled into the building behind her. At first, Trace feared he’d missed Finley altogether. He hated keeping his distance when all he had wanted to do was drag her into his arms and keep her there. He wanted that almost as much as he’d wanted to rip apart the two men who cornered her. Though his heart no longer drummed to a violent rhythm of fear and fury, his muscles remained rigid and hard. One minute he’d been home in bed, limbs tangled around his sheet, a full-blown dream of Finley unfolding in his mind—her sweet, naked body trapped beneath him, his aching cock buried deep inside her—and the next he’d been ripped from sleep by a mindsplitting vision. Like always, the images were too blurry to make sense of at first. The nausea twisting his gut making it impossible to do anything but grit his teeth and wait for the pulsing agony in his head to recede. Seated on the floor next to the bed, his body slick from sweat, muscles trembling, he cursed the visions, never knowing when he closed his eyes if one would be waiting for him. Then the thick fog over his mind gradually faded and the images had come into focus. Downtown. He’d closed his eyes, trying to concentrate and pinpoint a landmark to go by. A shop? He could smell wax and fresh cut flowers, then realized he knew the place. He’d scrambled to his feet, racing through his apartment, not caring that it was nearly midnight when he barreled across the hall and banged on Finley’s door. When she
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hadn’t answered, he’d remembered hearing her tell Gary she was doing inventory at her shop. So many times the visions offered few clues, leaving him frustrated and helpless to stop the events from happening. What if tonight had been like that? There was never a sense of how much time he had when a vision struck, only that it would happen soon. If he had to be cursed with the damn things, why the hell couldn’t they be more accurate? If he’d arrived any later… A fresh wave of anger lashed through him at what they might have done to her. They deserved a whole lot worse than a tranquilizer dart. At the very least, he should have shot them in the balls. No, not even that would have satisfied him. Staying with her until the police arrived hadn’t been an option, not when the longer he lingered the more he risked her somehow recognizing him. Although Gary hadn’t recognized him the first time he’d been disguised, he couldn’t take the risk. Not when Finley had made no secret of her distrust for the vigilante’s methods, and certainly not when her best friend was a journalist. Stepping in like he had, Trace doubted she would’ve outed him, but for his family’s sake, he couldn’t take that chance. Fearing she might recognize his voice, he’d slipped the accent in at the last moment, easy enough to pull together after spending so many summers in Montreal. He had his mother’s French Canadian heritage to thank for that. As far as he could tell, Finley had no reason to even hazard a guess he and the vigilante were one and the same. Across the street, Finley emerged from the precinct with Avery. It was quiet enough that their voices carried, and he heard Avery insisting Finley spend the night with her. The tension in his spine eased when she nodded in agreement. Although relieved that he wouldn’t have to invent a reason to stop by her apartment if she went home, he couldn’t shake the disappointment wedged between his ribs. If she wasn’t going home, he couldn’t check up on her, couldn’t be near her without a disguise hiding who he was. Not that it would have mattered since all his attempts to get to know his next-door neighbor better had gotten him nowhere. At least if he knew why Finley was so against having dinner with him, he’d have something to work with. He knew the attraction was
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mutual by the long looks she’d sneak when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. With anyone else he would have moved on by now, but he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her, using every chance encounter in the hallway to change her mind. To crawl under her skin the way she had his. When Avery’s car pulled away from the curb, he headed for home. Trace spotted the note stuck to his fridge when he walked into his kitchen. Recognizing Gary’s handwriting, he followed the directions to the Chinese food in the fridge. Gary and Todd had probably grabbed a drink at the bar the three of them frequented, and dropped by on their way home. This wasn’t the first time he’d missed out. Good thing Gary had a key to his place or he’d be missing out on a late snack on top of the company. “Rough night?” Distracted, Trace hadn’t heard Gary come down the hall behind him. Gary snagged each of them a beer. “I decided to wait around for a little bit, make sure you got home in one piece.” He took a drink of his beer, frowned thoughtfully. “No blood or obvious injuries.” Trace pushed the food aside and prowled restlessly around the kitchen, hunting for a distraction. Something to make him stop questioning if he’d feel so compelled to keep his ability a secret if not for protecting his family. Something that would take his mind off having to pretend he was clueless about Finley’s injury. Deciding he needed a drink—a real one—he replaced the unopened beer and went for the hard stuff. Gary winced. “Must have been some night. I thought you only kept the good stuff on hand for Todd.” “I do. Finley was attacked tonight.” “Christ. Is she okay?” He nodded, pouring the scotch into a tumbler. Trace brought the glass to his lips, closed his eyes against the memory of the fear reflected in Finley’s eyes earlier. The liquor burned down his throat.
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“You got there in time. You did good.” Trace shrugged. If he did good, then where was the addictive high that came when he stopped another scumbag from preying on some innocent person? “They’re calling you the Night Watcher, you know, which is rather cool,” Gary conceded. “Maybe next you’ll get your own comic book.” “I don’t think I need to mention whose idea it was to do the vigilante thing.” He put the scotch away before he was tempted to pour himself another drink. He knew nothing would take away the hollow feeling gnawing at his stomach. “Hey, you’re the guy getting glimpses of the future. I just suggested a way to do something about it so you weren’t beating yourself up when the cops wouldn’t listen. I never said to be all secretive.” “And give my mother a heart attack? She’s got enough on her plate with her charity work and dad’s recent appointment to the Supreme Court. They don’t need the rest of the world finding out I’m crazy.” “You’re not crazy,” Gary pointed out. “I think they call it ‘rationally challenged’.” Trace snorted. “And if your mother wasn’t the sweetest woman on earth, I’d say to hell with the disguise crap. Sooner or later people would have to realize you know what you’re talking about.” “Before or after someone reserved me a padded room?” Gary shrugged. They’d had this conversation a hundred times since the accident. There hadn’t been any light at the end of the tunnel for Trace when he nearly drowned after his car plunged into the river. And when they had resuscitated him, he’d come back with something a little extra. “Maybe tonight was a sign that you’re supposed to hook up with Finley.” Trace scoffed. “Where are your balls, dude? You have no problem playing hero with only your nifty tranq darts to save your ass from getting kicked, and you can’t even step up to the plate
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for the girl you have the hots for? Some Night Watcher you are.” “I do have black belts in Karate and Judo. I just like the gun.” “Don’t change the subject.” He reached for the beer he’d abandoned. “For one thing, her friend is a journalist. And two—she doesn’t like me.” “You wouldn’t be dating her friend, and maybe you just have to give Finley a reason to like you.” Trace thought he had, and more than once. “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” “Fine.” Gary stuck his nose in the air. “Forget I said anything.” “Good.” Maybe it was better she kept her distance. The dating scene had become increasingly non-existent since his accident. It would be hard to explain to a woman why he lay motionless on the floor, paralyzed by the pain in his head when a vision struck. That was part of the reason he hadn’t pursued Finley too hard. Considering the number of times he still questioned his own sanity, he couldn’t expect someone else to share that kind of burden—assuming anyone believed him to begin with. Maybe he needed to think of tonight as a reminder that leading a double life came with a price, and letting those two lives intersect was just begging for trouble. “Fine. But when you’re sitting home on another Saturday night, waiting for your brain to explode with some vague clue on a crime in the making, don’t bitch and moan to me about not having a life.” “Shouldn’t you be home with Todd?” Gary’s smile dimmed. “We’re fighting.” “What did you do?” Looking betrayed, Gary shook his head. “Sure, take his side. I’m going home.” “Should I call ahead and warn Todd?” Trace wasn’t surprised at the lethal glare he got for his offer. He grinned after his friend, walking Gary to the door. “Up for a beer and a game tomorrow?” “If you end up with nothing to do—” meaning no visions, “—then you know where
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to find me.” “At home groveling for forgiveness?” Gary flipped him off. He started down the hall, paused. “Think telling Finley it was really you tonight would score you any points?” Trace sighed. “About as likely as you donning a cape and tights and playing my sidekick.”
The next morning Trace poked his head into Finley’s open doorway just as she stumbled back, her heel catching the back of the rug, her arms loaded with books. He launched forward and caught her against his chest. The warmth of her burned right through his shirt. “Need a hand?” She tipped her face back, her deep brown gaze sliding up to his mouth, then higher to his eyes. One second ticked by…two…three. Damn, she was beautiful. Even sweaty and with her long blonde hair falling out of her braid, Finley was the best thing he’d seen all day. Hell, all year. He tightened his hands on her hips, willing her not to move. He could easily get used to her right where she was, or better yet, turned around and trapped between him and the wall. He itched to draw her shirt up over her head and sample every luscious inch. Ached to watch her face as he drove her to an explosive release with his hands, his mouth, his— He stared at the dark scrape near her temple, the only outward sign anything had happened to her. Unprepared for the wave of fury that ripped through his gut, he let his arms fall back to his sides. It was either that or risk her throwing him out for holding onto her too tight. Finley awkwardly straightened and moved out of reach, giving him a minute to get his anger under control and bury it in the back of his mind. She shuffled her grip to keep a hold of the books in her arms. “I guess I should be thankful you were passing by just then.” “I’ve been known to be useful a time or two.”
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She bit her lip, drawing his attention instantly to her mouth, the one he’d been thinking about for weeks. If he ever listened to a word Gary said, he would knock aside the books she carried and savor her mouth until he was satisfied that he knew the feel of her, the taste of her, by heart. Finley nodded to the armoire that housed her TV and DVD player. “I could use a hand with those actually.” “No problem.” She nodded but didn’t move, continuing to study him closely. He took a few steps farther into the room, eliminating the comfortable distance she’d been quick to put between them. But instead of facing her and sliding his hand along her exposed abdomen to see how soft her skin was, he eyed the rest of the apartment. She looked to be in the process of moving the entire room around. “This place is…” he grinned, “…a mess.” The desired response from the comment—a shy smile that broke slowly across her lips and lit up her face—made his body clench. “It’s a work in progress,” she said and bent to put the books on the floor. Trace shamelessly dragged in an eyeful of her tempting ass, then immediately swiveled around to hide the heavy press of his erection against the seam of his pants. He needed to stick with thinking about her mouth and that hundred-watt smile, and not fixate on what kind of panties she was wearing under her jean cutoffs. But damn if he could stop from imagining himself working those cutoffs over her hips to find out. “Do you often play extreme makeover on the hottest days of the year?” He cocked his head, listening. “And with no AC running to boot?” “If it’s too hot for you…” “I’m used to it.” At least where Finley was concerned. “Here we go then.” He began the tiring work of helping her get the place straightened around to her liking. He never expected it to last an hour and a half—the most time he’d spent with her since she moved in. If Gary hadn’t left after mentioning what Finley was up to, Trace might have kissed his friend for insisting he see if she needed help. That would really
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have given Todd a reason to be pissed off. Trace stood back after helping her move the bookcase. “So is Avery working on any of this vigilante stuff?” “Probably. Everyone else is.” “You don’t sound impressed.” Finley shrugged. “I just don’t get it. Him, I mean. He puts himself at risk but runs and hides when the cops show up.” “So you think he has some kind of agenda when he puts his neck on the line for other people?” She dropped back on the couch, her fingers gently probing at her temple. “I don’t know what to think.” “What happened?” The lie was pathetic, but every hesitant brush of her fingers over the abrasion made his chest tighten. She closed her eyes, and he instantly regretted bringing it up. “A couple guys cornered me on my way from the shop.” The slight catch in her voice caused his fists to clench. He wished like hell there had been an opportunity to get physical with the bastards. “Is that how you got that scratch?” With a weary nod she added, “But everyone’s favorite vigilante came to the rescue.” She tucked her feet under her, the same vulnerability he’d glimpsed last night surfacing in her eyes. “I was an idiot.” “No you weren’t.” He sat next to her, his need to reassure her almost as desperate as his need to be close to her. She looked far from convinced. “The police have the guys responsible?” Trace forced himself to ask though he already knew the answer. She leaned her head back. “Yeah. The precinct they took me to was a complete madhouse. I heard a few officers talking about how many of them are pulling double shifts to keep more men on the streets at night. They’re having a hard time keeping up with the rash of crimes leaping up all over the place.”
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Trace leaned in, brushing her hair back to get a closer look at her head. “Did you get checked out?” She parted her lips, her softly drawn breath reminding them both of how close they were. “It’s just a scrape, but if the Night Watcher had been even two minutes later…” She dragged in a deep breath. “You never know. You might have found your inner Wonder Woman and kicked their ass all on your own.” Finley’s soft laugh reassured him she was going to be fine. “That might have surprised them more than the first dart that came out of nowhere.” “Not a bad trick, huh?” He caught her gaze, the deep brown depths stirring his insides. The tightening in his gut twisted deeper. He let his hand drop back to his side, calling himself a selfish prick for wanting to press her back into the couch and give them both something else to think about. Like how good it would feel to satisfy the needy hum that crackled between them. To sink into a slow, hungry kiss and not come up for air until his lungs burned as fiercely as the rest of him. When Finley finally glanced away—saving him from actually acting like a selfish prick and hauling her into his lap—Trace asked, “Did you know the two guys?” She shook her head. “Did they say anything?” “Just that they were going to have fun.” She leaned back against the cushion and closed her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about what they could have done…” Trace searched for something to say that would take away the fear that still lingered in her voice. After a long moment, she cocked her head. “Aren’t you going to say I told you so?” “Why would I?” Their brief—and occasionally frustrating—disagreements about his alter ego gave them something to talk about, especially when he’d only succeeded in polite “how are you, I’m fine” responses before then. “Because if the Night Watcher hadn’t been out there doing his thing, I’d be in far
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worse shape than I am right now.” Or dead. He heard the unspoken possibility in her tone. “But he did show up,” she added before he could, “though how I don’t know. Must have been close by and heard the small scream I got out.” “I’m glad he knew where to find you,” Trace said quietly. “Me too.” “I wanted—want,” he quickly corrected, “to hurt them for what they almost did to you.” She smiled appreciatively. “Unless you’ve got some superpowers or at the very least a cool dart gun I don’t know about, I think you should leave the vigilante stuff to the crazy guys.” If she only knew. She straightened, running her hands through her hair. “Sorry. I thought I was doing a better job of not dwelling on any of this.” “Anytime you want to talk, I’m just across the hall.” “Right,” she said softly, her gaze drifting to his mouth. All the warmth in his body tunneled straight to his cock. “Whatever you need.” He brushed at the hair that fell across her cheek. “Anything.” Her lips parted. “Trace?” He cupped her jaw, rubbing his thumb lazily across her chin. “Just give me a second, and then you can go back to not liking me.” “I never said—” Trace cut her off with his mouth, indulging in what he only planned to be a soft kiss to satisfy his curiosity, to make them both forget about last night. One teasing sweep of her tongue and he groaned deep in his chest, hauling her closer. Her lips parted under his, the silky tease of her mouth coaxing him deeper. He locked one hand at her nape, the other splayed across her lower back. Her soft sigh of approval drove him to hook his thumb beneath the edge of her shirt. She shuddered and arched into his touch.
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Silencing the voice in his head that warned him to slow down, he broke from her mouth to explore the curve of her neck, the soft hollow of her throat. Finley leaned into him, her breasts plumped up between them, the tempting swell of her cleavage pushing at the scooped neckline of her shirt. His hard-on nudged her hip, and she tensed in his arms. She drew back, panic surfacing in her eyes before she shut them. A silent war waged on her face before she whispered, “Sorry.” He knew without a doubt she was thinking about last night. Furious with himself, with what the bastards almost did to her, he worked past the anger closing around his throat. “I would never hurt you, Finley.” He eased his hold, but didn’t retreat all the way, scared that if he did he would lose the tenuous connection she’d allowed between them. One he’d royally fucked up by pushing for too much. It didn’t matter that the need for this woman was clawing him up inside. He’d known that giving in, even for a second, would be too much of a temptation. The ring of his cell phone ripped through the apartment, and he cursed under his breath. He should have set the damn thing on vibrate earlier. Finley pulled away from him. “You should answer that.” She didn’t meet his gaze as he closed his hand over his phone but didn’t answer it. He knew the second he did, she’d have an excuse to put more space between them. She tugged self-consciously at her shirt and started to get up. He caught her wrist. “Wait.” The smile on her lips felt forced. “It could be important.” “Don’t move,” he pleaded, then pulled his phone from his pocket. He frowned at the unfamiliar number. It wouldn’t be the first time his mother called on one of her friend’s phones. “This is Trace.” Finley shifted next to him, and he almost didn’t hear the voice on the other end of the line. “You’re where?” The weight of Finley’s stare followed him to the door. He gave her a quick look, then pulled it open and stepped into the hall. “There you are.” Tiffany, one of his newest clients, stood in front of his door. She
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closed her cell phone when she spotted him, and grinned. “I know I didn’t call first, but I didn’t think you’d mind me dropping by since I was in the neighborhood. I’ve just been too excited to be patient since the last time I saw you.” “No problem at all.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket. He turned around to find Finley directly behind him. She offered Tiffany a polite smile. “I just need a couple of minutes,” he began. Finley shook her head. “I’ve got to run out and take care of some stuff anyway. But thanks for the help.” She delivered the last part with only a quick glance in his direction. “How about grabbing something to eat later?” She hesitated, suddenly preoccupied with rearranging the pillows on her couch. “I can’t tonight. Avery and I have plans,” she added quickly. Too quickly. “Thanks again for the help though.” She shut the door before he could object. “Bad time?” Tiffany asked. “Don’t worry about it.” Promising himself he’d fix things between him and Finley, he motioned for Tiffany to follow him inside his apartment. She waited just inside the door while he went to retrieve the portraits he’d finished at the first of the week. “They’re better than I expected,” she squealed when she flipped through the portfolio. “My boyfriend is going to love them. Thanks, Trace.” He walked her out, turning back towards Finley’s apartment. She didn’t answer when he knocked. He couldn’t decide if she was purposely avoiding him, or had already gone out. He stood in the hallway trying to figure out how quickly they’d gone from her dislike of the Night Watcher to being grateful he’d saved her, to letting Trace into her apartment—hell, into her arms—and then shutting him down minutes later. He sighed. It would figure he’d wind up attracted to the one woman who didn’t trust his necessary alter ego, and trusted Trace even less. Fate was obviously trying to tell him something. If only he could make himself listen.
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Chapter Three “The room looks good this way.” Finley nodded in agreement. “Trace helped.” “Across-the-hall, so-sexy-my-ankles-ache Trace?” “Are there any others I should know about?” Finley grinned, thinking again of the way he’d gone out of his way to brush against her at every opportunity, his fingers innocently grazing some part of her until her whole body burned in anticipation of the next touch. No sooner had that crossed her mind that she was reminded of what happened next. One minute she couldn’t get enough of him. In the next, the recent past crept into the present, and she’d balked at the feel of his erection pressed against her. The flicker of panic had been brief. One look at the regret on Trace’s face and she realized there was no comparison between being cornered by two violent men and the slow-burning hunger she saw whenever she met Trace’s gaze. It took a few seconds for that to sink in. A few more to realize what it meant. He must have thought she was crazy for pulling away like that, and the second an opportunity to get him out of there presented itself, she’d jumped at it. If only to give herself time to figure out what freaked her out the most—how much Trace wanted her or how quickly she’d responded to him. “I still say that guy deserves some serious one-on-one attention.” With a shrug, Finley avoided adding anything to the conversation by taking a long drink of water. “You know, if I had been cornered like that,” her friend added, “I wouldn’t have been up for spending the morning rearranging furniture.” “I needed a change.” Finley surveyed the room, not bothering to add that reorganizing her living room gave her something else to think about besides last night. www.samhainpublishing.com
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“Next time you need a change, go shoe shopping.” Finley pulled at the back of the T-shirt that clung to her damp skin and dropped down on the couch next to Avery. “Do you still have that sleazy realtor’s number?” Avery asked. “After last night, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to reconsider his last offer to sell the shop.” Finley dragged the back of her wrist across her forehead. “People don’t give up driving just because they have a little fender bender.” Avery scowled. “Last night does not compare to a fender bender. I’m just saying it might not hurt to just give him a call, feel him out. There are only a few businesses left on your end of the block.” “Because they’ve been sold to make room for a new parking garage.” Selling would mean losing the only part of her mother she had left, making it out of the question. She’d worked too hard to hold onto the struggling business to walk away from it now. And even if she were willing to part with the place, she wouldn’t deal with Dan Patterson. The realtor’s calls had long ago crossed the line from polite inquiry to stubborn harassment. “She’d understand,” her friend said quietly. “Maybe, but it doesn’t change anything.” Her mother might not have been happy about Finley’s dropping out of graduate school to run the shop, but she liked to think her mother would have respected her decision. She grimaced, un-sticking herself from the leather couch as she pushed to her feet. If she relaxed too long, she wouldn’t be able to trust herself to get up. “I need water. And food. Pizza would be good.” “I need to get laid,” Avery grumbled absently. “Maybe the pizza delivery guy is available.” Avery snapped up a pillow and fired it at Finley’s head. She easily dodged the plush missile, cringing when it narrowly missed the antique vase in the middle of the kitchen table. Looking at it made her think of her mother and how much she still missed her.
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Finley propped a shoulder in the doorway. “What’s it been anyway? Three whole weeks without sex for you?” She tossed Avery a bottle of water she snagged from the fridge. Catching the bottle, Avery smirked. “Some of us still enjoy the perks of the feminist movement which allows us to lift our skirts any time we feel like it instead of letting our nether regions collect dust.” This time Finley sent the pillow flying. “It’s been six months. I wouldn’t say anything is collecting dust.” She started removing stacks of books from the shelf that still needed to be moved. She wasn’t the least bit interested in getting into one of Avery’s sex talks. Their last discussion prompted an expensive shopping spree at a lingerie store. The majority of her purchases had yet to see any action beyond the inside of her underwear drawer. So she was more choosey now about who she got involved with. Eventually a girl had to realize that fantasies, especially the dark and naughty kind, were best savored alone than shared with men who were only in it for as long as the newness lasted. Seeming to sense the tension that had sprung between them, Avery changed the subject. “I still can’t believe you saw him last night. What did he look like?” “The Night Watcher?” Desperate to catch a cross breeze from the hallway window, she crossed the room and opened her apartment door. “No, the Easter bunny.” Avery rolled her eyes. Finley pressed her water bottle to the back of her neck, brushing her braid aside. If the heat wave kept up, her long hair was definitely getting chopped. She shrugged innocently. “I don’t know. Tall. Dangerous looking when he stood there so still. Like he was just itching for a reason to hurt someone. It was next to impossible to tell what he actually looked like with the dark masking what the hood and sunglasses didn’t.” “Disfigured?” Finley laughed. “He says no. I think.”
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“You actually had a conversation with the guy?” The unspoken reprimand for not divulging that particular detail last night was quickly overshadowed by Avery’s spillyour-guts tone. “Not much of one, but he did have the sexiest voice. And an accent. French.” If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the low raspy commands, the almost playful chérie. “Accent? I don’t think I’ve heard that part mentioned before. It must have been some accent. You’re grinning like a freshman co-ed who’s got a date with the star quarterback.” “I am not.” Damned if her face wasn’t warming just a little bit. The more she recalled her encounter last night, the more curious she’d become about her hero. Not that she was admitting that to Avery. “Are too.” “Want to pop in a movie?” Anything to get her friend off the subject. Avery wasn’t swayed. “You’re one lucky little bitch.” Finley arched a brow. “Well not about the two guys obviously, but I’d give my left tit to see this guy up close.” Avery followed the declaration with a dreamy sigh. Finley laughed. Though she would be lying to herself if she denied the brief encounter hadn’t left her far more intrigued than she should have been. So intrigued she’d surpassed being grateful that he’d saved her life to actually fantasize about him. If she’d hit her head any harder last night, she could have at least blamed her sudden preoccupation with the Night Watcher on that. She repositioned the fan closer to catch the minimal breeze coming in through the open window at the end of the outside hall. “So you were alone with the guy, what, a couple minutes? Did he check you out?” Finley rolled her eyes. “You caught the part where I said I couldn’t see much of his face, right?” “You have to admit the idea of doing Batman is pretty damn hot.” “He’s not Batman.”
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Avery waved a hand in dismissal. “Same thing. Hiding his identity, being all kickass. There is quality fantasy material in there.” Finley refrained from commenting. She couldn’t get the whole chérie thing out of her head. There was probably some psychological term for victims who kept thinking about the people who saved them. “Admit it,” Avery challenged. “What?” “That if you were positive the Night Watcher was only slightly unhinged—and let’s face it, a lot of men are—you would get turned on if you crossed paths with him again.” Finley got up to look over her collection of DVDs. “I won’t be seeing him again.” “Answer the question,” Avery insisted, suddenly a little too interested in the answer. “I really don’t see the point—” “Um, that’s why they call it fantasy, because it doesn’t need to have a point.” She threw her hands up, knowing her friend wouldn’t leave her alone until she admitted it out loud. “Fine, in my little fantasy world, I would love to be accosted in the dark somewhere by the man and his sexy voice. Satisfied?” “Accosted?” Avery mulled it over. “Certainly makes it strangely dangerous sounding, but damn erotic.” Finley spotted the stack of romance books still sitting on the floor. She tossed Avery the one from the top of the pile. “Here. If you find the word accosted so titillating, expand your horizons.” “Did you ask him why he wears the hood?” her friend asked, half joking. “Maybe he couldn’t get a cape from the costume shop,” a rich, masculine voice said from the hallway. Finley looked up and spotted Trace lounging in her open doorway. He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb, one hand hooked on the lip over the door, the other shoved in the pocket of cargo pants that perfectly encased his long legs. Since helping her that morning, he’d exchanged his customary T-shirt for a sleeveless one that showed off his powerful chest and biceps to perfection. His mussed
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brown hair, intense green eyes and slow, lazy smile kicked her heart rate up a notch as she drank in the sight of him. His full lips curved knowingly. It was a full five seconds before Finley finally jerked her gaze away. Remembering her promise to steer clear of men like Trace, she struggled to calm the surge of pure, hot lust that curled down her backbone. Being caught staring at him really didn’t help her maintain the whole not interested angle. Then again, neither did fantasizing about the man. Not that it mattered, or so she told herself. Had she met him before running the shop had turned into fifteen-hour work days, before she learned first-hand how much it hurt to fall for the wrong guy, maybe things could have been different. Between keeping the shop in the black, dealing with customers and fielding calls from an aggressive real estate agent, she didn’t have time to get involved with anyone. Certainly not with a guy who had a string of women who routinely came and went from the building. Sometimes more than one a week. The man was gorgeous and had more charm in his pinky than most of the men Finley knew. But nothing on God’s green earth was going to let her fall for him. He crossed his arms, leaning fully into the doorframe. “Sorry to interrupt the conversation. Couldn’t help but overhear as I was walking by.” Avery winked at Finley then fixed those perceptive brown eyes completely on Trace. Unfortunately, the look on her best friend’s face had matchmaker written all over it. Finley rolled her eyes, not liking where this was headed. With the memory of her and Trace’s brief kiss still sizzling in the back of her mind, she needed Avery’s encouragement as much as she needed the man to finish what he’d started earlier. Avery rearranged herself, as if prepping to interview him as a potential candidate. “You don’t think the Night Watcher is a kook, do you?” “Night Watcher, huh? Is that what they’re calling him?” Trace surveyed Finley’s living room. One smooth, dark brow arched as he brought his attention back to her. “How’s the redecorating coming?” “You know Finley and her craving for change.” Avery smirked unabashedly.
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He didn’t take his eyes off Finley, a flicker of regret flashing in his eyes. “I didn’t know that actually. I don’t think she likes me very much.” Finley barely got her mouth open and Avery was already answering for her. “That’s not true.” The playful hurt look on Trace’s face said otherwise. “And how many times have you passed on invites to dinner?” Avery’s jaw hit the floor. “What?” Finley ignored the exaggerated look of shock on her friend’s face. “Maybe you’re just not my type.” He straightened, taking a step into her apartment. “What is your type?” Challenge glittered in his eyes, daring her to deny the chemistry that crackled between them when he’d kissed her. “She doesn’t have a type,” Avery argued, looking miffed neither one of them were paying attention to her. Finley clawed her brain for some witty, clever retort and came up empty. Later she’d blame it on the heat, and not how she grew more aware of Trace with every purposeful step that carried him deeper into the room. The corner of his mouth hitched up, showing off that damn dimple. His seductive gaze passed over her face, lingering longer than usual. A handful of butterflies slipped out of the cage and fluttered wildly in her stomach before she remembered the lanky redhead dropping by because she was too impatient about seeing him again. His gaze seemed to zero in on the scrape at her temple. In less time than it took to cool her rapidly overheating insides, his expression turned to stone. What she thought was anger flared in his eyes, then retreated so quickly she might have imagined it. He nodded at the disarray. “If you need any more help, I’m home for the rest of the afternoon.” Avery grinned wickedly. “We may take you up on that if you promise not to wear a shirt.” Finley gaped. “Avery!”
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Her friend didn’t look remotely apologetic. He backtracked, pausing in the doorway once more. His sexy smile made her stomach backflip. “That’ll be up to Finley,” he said, then vanished down the hall. Finley waited until she heard his door shut before snapping up a cushion to throw at Avery. “What the hell was that?” She shrugged, a suggestive grin hugging her lips. “That man likes you. And you can’t tell me he wouldn’t be great in bed.” Because there wasn’t one iota of argument to be made against that theory, Finley settled on, “You’re right. You obviously do need to get laid.” Avery sighed, a sound Finley knew well. She dug out her cell phone and glanced at the display. “Work,” she explained. Finley began the tedious process of replacing her books on the shelves. “Don’t hate me,” Avery said a few minutes later. “Gotta go?” “Yeah, new article due and another deadline moved up. I just love spending my weekends working. Are you sure you don’t want to crash at my place again? We can rent a couple movies and make margaritas.” “I’ll be fine,” Finley reassured her. Last night she’d been shaken by what happened, but she refused to let it make her afraid to be alone in her own apartment. “Call me tomorrow,” she hollered out as Avery snatched up her bag and left. Alone, Finley went back to her books, not looking forward to finishing up in the heat. But as hot as she was, she couldn’t leave the room in this state. Her everything-hasa-place upbringing forbade it. With a groan and a swig of water, she turned up her music as loud as she could get away with and went back to work. And if she happened to let herself fantasize about Trace without his shirt while she worked, then no one needed to know but her.
Finley kicked at the sheet tangled around her ankles, one she’d thrown off herself
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hours earlier. Even sleeping naked, Finley couldn’t escape the lingering humidity long enough to sink into sleep for any more than a half hour at a time. Deciding she needed air, she peeled herself out of bed. She yanked on the faded blue tank top and shorts she’d discarded earlier, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Pressing it to her forehead for a small measure of relief, she let herself out of her apartment and headed for the back stairs that led to the roof. It wasn’t surprising to find the topside courtyard deserted at nearly two in the morning. The slight breeze—as warm as it was—felt good. She sat on the edge of the picnic table the super had built and stared out at the city’s lights, wondering if the Night Watcher had come to someone else’s rescue tonight. Her thoughts had drifted to him more than once in the last week, her fleeting memory of their brief encounter even infiltrating her sleep. Her only complaint had been waking from the utterly delicious dream tonight, aching for a release she wouldn’t find in reality. In the light of day it seemed ridiculous to dream about someone she didn’t know, a man whose face she hadn’t seen. But when she had finally fallen asleep, her mind had taken her to a place that would no doubt rank right up there as one of her hottest dreams ever. She’d dreamed of taking a late-night swim in a rooftop pool that overlooked the city. Dripping wet, she’d emerged to find him standing there, waiting for her. That she couldn’t see his face had only increased the wave of arousal that started in her chest, snaking lower until she had to press her thighs together to soothe the feverish ache deep in her sex. Certain he wouldn’t come any closer until she turned around, Finley faced the pool. He stepped up behind her, and her pulse skated to a stop. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers sliding beneath the tied strings of her bikini bottom. Excitement surged through her bloodstream, killing the half-hearted protest that rose to her lips when he tugged the bottoms down as though he had every right. “Don’t,” he warned when she started to turn around. His mouth grazed her ear. “It’s better this way.”
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“For who?” He didn’t answer, instead dropping to his knees. The rasp of his unshaven jaw across her behind made her squirm. She knew he did it to prevent her from looking over her shoulder and seeing his face, knowing what he looked like. Why? Why did he hide from her now? A burst of panic iced the blood running through her veins, and she tried to pull away. He locked an arm around her waist, keeping her in place. “You’re safe with me.” Naked from the waist down made her feel anything but safe. Exposed, vulnerable, defenseless. Just as she’d felt when the two men had— “Don’t think about it,” he ordered, reading her mind. “Think about this.” He trailed hot, open-mouth kisses across the small of her back, the curve of her hip, her bottom, shoving everything from her mind but the carnal image of the dangerous man on his knees. “And this…” He ran his fingers along the seam between her ass cheeks, slipping between the folds beneath to find her already wet. Already aching for him to thrust inside her. “Do you want me to stop?” It was more of a challenge than a question. She shuddered. “No.” He slowly rubbed back and forth, circling her slick opening. She shut her eyes, as he pumped one finger, then two, inside her. Harder. Deeper. She cried out, rocking back on her heels. Any second he could vanish, and knowing that spiked the urgency flooding her body. “Please,” she murmured. He stood, and averting his face, dragged her to the edge of the roof. He paused behind her, the cool brush of his leather jacket against her skin making her shiver. Rich, carnal need throbbed between her legs and she guided his hand back to her sex. “Touch me.” He grinned against her shoulder and found the slick knot, but didn’t let her pull her hand away. Her nerve endings knotted together with the promise of release, only to be
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denied moments later when he grabbed her hands and locked them around the railing that topped the concrete ledge. “Hold on.” She resisted, both alarmed and aroused at the sound of his zipper jerked down. A heartbeat later the head of his thick shaft pressed against her ass. They both moaned as he drew his cock along the slick flesh between her parted thighs before finally ramming deep inside her. She whimpered, clenching tight to the rail as he withdrew and plunged into her again. And again. Each time she strained against him, overwhelmed by the way he pressed her harder against the wall. Release thundered through her bloodstream. With one hand on her hip, he used the other to yank her bikini top down, exposing her breasts. The second his fingers found her nipple, tugging on the stiff peak until she thought she would explode, he started to fuck her harder. On the brink of release, she’d foolishly looked over her shoulder, needing to see the face of the man who drove her body to such a feverish pitch. Instead of a face hidden by the shadows of a hood and eyes locked behind the reflective armor of sunglasses, she recognized the piercing green gaze that met hers. Trace. Seconds before she would have come, Finley had woken up—alone. She pushed out a long breath and stood. Overhead, the thickening clouds promised an impending shower that would hopefully cool things off. She glanced over at the adjoining rooftop and stopped in her tracks at the unexpected sight of him. The Night Watcher.
Trace told himself to back away before she saw him. Wanting a quiet place to think before he went back inside, he hadn’t expected to find anyone up here, least of all Finley. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened between them. Couldn’t stop thinking about how damn good she felt in his arms.
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His heart thumped in his chest as she turned her head and spotted him. Walk away. Trace didn’t move. After what happened the last time they’d been alone, it would be stupid to— Very, very stupid. Not only that, it would be wrong to use his knowledge of the conversation he’d overheard days ago to get close to her again. But at the same time, how many men were ever in a position to make a woman’s fantasy come true? He took a step back. Then she said the one thing to make him ignore the commonsense that echoed in his head. “Don’t go.”
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Chapter Four Finley didn’t move, her gaze riveted on the man who’d saved her, the man who haunted her thoughts since that night. He stopped his retreat and watched her carefully. What she wouldn’t give to be able to see the face hidden by the shadows, to see the eyes of the man who’d come to her rescue. “What are you doing here?” He glanced over his shoulder. Was he still contemplating leaving? Thunder rumbled in the distance and a few stray drops of rain sprinkled her bare skin. She shivered, but not from the cool splashes of rain as much as her unsettling awareness of him. One that stemmed from an inexplicable need to understand him. To get beneath the untouchable layer that clung to him like the shadows he used to hide himself. Driven by her curiosity, Finley took another step towards him. “Did you save someone else tonight?” He nodded slowly, and she was suddenly desperate to hear his voice, half wondering if the sexy rasp had been exaggerated in her head. For all she knew, the man was crosseyed and had a forked tongue, but that hadn’t stopped her from dreaming about him again earlier tonight. He backed away from the knee-high wall that separated the adjoining rooftops. “Stay out of trouble.” He turned away. “Wait!” She couldn’t let him leave yet. Somehow, she knew if she did, she wouldn’t see him again. He paused but didn’t look back at her. Finley’s heart thumped in her chest, her last breath trapped in her lungs. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—that would make him turn around, make him stay just a little longer. When he rounded the rooftop access of the adjacent building and disappeared, her shoulders slumped. She should be relieved a man so dangerously unpredictable didn’t www.samhainpublishing.com
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hang around long. Instead, she felt frustrated and alone. Like she’d let something important slip through her fingers. Above her the clouds opened up in a torrential downpour. By the time she gave up on waiting for him to reappear and reached the rooftop door, she was drenched. Her right foot hit the landing that separated the two flights of stairs at the same time the door above opened. She froze as his shadow fell across the stairs, the dim lighting still making it impossible to see his face. He reached out and flicked the light switch, plunging the stairwell into darkness. An unexpected burst of nervousness jolted her system as the door behind him closed. His heavy footfalls reverberated off the surrounding brick walls. She wasn’t afraid of him. Intimidated, yes, but not afraid. A man who risked his neck doing what he did wouldn’t hurt her. Or so she told herself as his footsteps drew closer. He wasn’t in any hurry, and even with her eyes adjusting, she could see no more than the barest outline of his tall frame. Finley gripped the railing of the staircase leading up, tightening her fingers as he stopped on the stair above hers. “You know, if you wore a mask, the dark thing wouldn’t be necessary.” He laughed, the low rasping sound somehow suiting him. “I like the dark.” “The dark is fine for sleeping.” He stepped down on the landing next to her, and she instinctively retreated until her back came up against the wall. “Nervous?” “Should I be?” If not for teasing undercurrent she heard in his voice, she might have been. He leaned against the wall next to her. The slivers of light from the hall downstairs made it possible to see him cross his arms. “No.” No matter how hard she strained to really see him, the shadows swallowed him up. “I won’t tell anyone who you are.” “I am making you nervous.”
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“No.” Okay, maybe a little and only because her commonsense demanded to know what sane woman would linger in the dark with a man she knew nothing about—one with violent tendencies, if the stories circulating in the media from the criminals he’d taken down were to be believed. “But you’d be more comfortable talking to me with the light on.” “I don’t know you. I don’t even know why you’re here.” Didn’t know why she wanted him to be there except that he made her feel safe. Not since her mother died had it felt like there was anyone else watching out for her. “Neither do I,” he confessed. “Don’t worry, I’m not stalking you.” “Just happened to be in the area?” “Something like that.” It seemed a bit coincidental that he just happened to be in the neighborhood. Then again, had anyone predicted she would be saved from assault by the Night Watcher, she would have laughed and walked the other way. He’d likely come across her name and address somehow and was checking up on her. Actually, that seemed just as unlikely since she couldn’t imagine why he would bother. “Make house calls often?” she guessed, a part of her foolishly wishing he was as curious about her as she was about him. “Not a habit of mine.” His answer startled her, but more startling was the way she found herself leaning towards him. “Is this how you always talk?” He inched closer in response. “Does my voice bother you too?” “No. I just wonder why you’re trying so hard to hide who you are.” “Am I?” She arched her brow, then, remembering the gesture was lost in the dark, scoffed in disbelief. “Do you trust me?” “We just met,” she answered matter-of-factly, telling herself that reason alone should have her backing up, not yearning to feel the press of his hard body against hers.
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He made a sound that was almost disagreement. “It would be foolish of me to trust anyone I don’t know with my secrets then, wouldn’t it?” “Not unless you’re worried I’d recognize you.” His silence kicked her brain into overdrive. “Would I?” She straightened, her hand relaxing on the railing. She didn’t let go completely, not when the dark made it impossible to predict his next move. A fact that made her both cautious and breathless with anticipation. She wet her lips, the silence stretching between them until she couldn’t think beyond the pounding of her own heart in her head. His thigh brushed hers, and the simple touch unleashed a rush of excitement and desire that pooled low in her belly. “I expected you to be more wary of me.” “Pleased or disappointed?” Finley felt the need to stay on her toes with him, otherwise she really would be wary of a man who used the dark to cloak his intentions as much as his identity. He angled his body towards hers, his quiet laugh whispering across her cheek. “Do I seem the type that gets off on making other people nervous?” “You wear a trench coat when it’s one-hundred-and-fifteen degrees outside. You carry some kind of tranquilizer gun that would make a zookeeper envious. Clearly the hero complex does something for you.” “Maybe,” he conceded. His fingers caught the ends of her hair and she sensed his mouth close to her face. The slow hum of anticipation burrowed through her bloodstream. Instead of feeling panicked by his proximity, she ached to get closer. And she blamed it entirely on her conversation with Avery. His fingertips threaded the long strands and her stomach flipped backwards. She bit down on her bottom lip to trap the sigh that threatened to break past. What was it about him that made her forget how dangerous he could be? Was it because he’d saved her? Or was it something else? Something beyond the mystery surrounding him?
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She fiddled with the empty water bottle she still carried. “Why do you do it?” “Because I can help people.” “Have you ever gotten hurt?” “A couple times.” The admission made her insides draw up tight. “Who looks after you when you are?” “Is that your way of asking if I have a girlfriend?” She heard the smile in his voice. “No.” She couldn’t get the denial out fast enough, feeling foolish for bringing it up. “You risk yourself to help others, and I was just wondering if, when you needed it, there was someone to help you.” “Now I am disappointed.” “Why?” He moved so only a breath separated their mouths. “I was hoping you were curious about the girlfriend thing.” “You don’t seem to care about whether or not I have anyone in my life.” His hand closed over hers, drawing it towards his mouth. “Would you be standing here in the dark with me if you did?” “Are you always this arrogant, or is it just part and parcel with the hero complex?” “Arrogance is my fatal flaw.” “I suppose you have an arch enemy too?” It was getting damn difficult to pull together a coherent thought, let alone be remotely witty when he held her hand, his thumb trailing seductively down the center of her palm. “None to speak of yet, but I’ll keep you posted.” He leaned in, bringing his chest in full contact with hers. She sucked in a surprised breath as drops of water from his jacket dripped down between her breasts. “You’re wet.” He peeled her shirt up, exposing her midsection. “I think you are too.” The wicked tone suggested he was talking about more than her clothing. She slammed her eyes shut, her senses at war over which part of her ached the most for his touch. With no bra, her breasts felt hot and heavy, weighed down by the drenched
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tank top. Every breath she took seemed to rub the wet fabric against her nipples, made the throbbing between her legs squeeze and clench. “What were you doing on the roof?” As much as her body hungered for something from this man, she couldn’t drown out the voice that warned her not to confuse her fantasies with reality. The rough brick wall against her back was real. The hard, damp body pressed intimately against her belonged to a flesh-and-blood man who courted danger on a nightly basis. A man as threatening as he was sinfully provocative. “Watching you.” His jaw scraped against hers. “For how long?” “Just a few minutes.” “And what are you doing now?” She swallowed as he tucked her hand between their bodies, over his heart. “Trying very hard not to kiss you.” The whispered confession raced down her spine, driving her mad. She searched through the dark, knowing his face was close, but unable to see the eyes she craved to see, to understand. The back of his hand brushed her cheek, and she almost whimpered at the surprisingly tender touch. His thumb drifted along her jawline, his palm cupping the side of her face. With whisper-soft motions he drew the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip. Her stomach tugged as he moved in, his mouth near her temple. He inhaled, and the fingers that played earlier with the ends of her hair moved to the nape of her neck. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he murmured, the accent barely noticeable. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He moved to the other side of her face, and she could feel his warm breath skate across her skin, but his lips made no contact. Contact she desperately craved. “You don’t know me.” She closed her eyes at the slow trail of his thumb down the side of her throat. He tipped her chin up, his grip both firm and gentle. “I know you better than you
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think.” Her thoughts on that confession were lost as his mouth grazed the corner of hers. She turned her face, seeking him, only to moan as he discovered the sensitive slope where her neck met her shoulder. His lips were hot on her damp skin, his teeth nipping, his tongue smoothing the abraded flesh in the next heartbeat. Every soft pull of his greedy mouth wrapped her body in liquid heat. She leaned into him, seeking the pressure of his lips on her skin, the exquisite chafe of his stubbled jaw. As he devoured every millimeter of neck with scorching, open-mouth kisses, Finley dropped the empty bottle and lifted her hands, splaying both across his powerfully built chest. His muscles tightened as she slipped under the trench coat to grip his shoulders. His satisfied groan rumbled against her throat, and he pressed her harder into the wall. The thick ridge of his erection nudged her belly impatiently. There wasn’t enough air to drag in a satisfying breath, but she didn’t care. Didn’t want him to stop touching her. She didn’t know anything about him except that he took chances that could get him killed. Chances that saved people like her from bad situations. Maybe he wanted to be a hero, maybe it was just something that came naturally. Right now all she wanted was more of this, more of him. His thigh slid between hers, and she rubbed against the solid muscle nestled against her sex. “Kiss me,” she demanded, desperate to feel his mouth on hers, claiming her the same way his hands were—inch by tantalizing inch. “Here?” he rasped, his mouth at her breast. She thrust her chest higher, wishing the cotton fabric wasn’t between his mouth and the stiff peaks. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He closed his mouth over her nipple. The heat from his lips seeped straight through her wet shirt and sent electric shivers up her spine. “Or is this better?” He jerked her shirt up and flicked his tongue across each plump tip.
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“That’s…” Finley squeezed her eyes shut, “…much better,” she whispered, a cry breaking past her lips as he sucked one taut bud into his mouth. The brutal suction cranked her internal temperature, and Finley locked her hands around his neck and held on, fast approaching the point of no return. Or so she thought until he slid a hand down between their bodies and palmed her sex. “I can still do better,” he promised darkly, sliding lower to hook a finger under the hem of her shorts. “What would be better, would be you kissing me while you do that.” Every attempt to capture his mouth ended with a teasing rasp of his jaw against hers, and if he didn’t kiss her soon she would scream. His laugh was as seductive as the soft path his fingers traced up the inside of her thigh. He inhaled sharply, and she wondered if he’d expected her to have panties on. His thumb brushed across her exposed opening. “Problem?” she asked, half-delirious from the flames licking through her middle. “No,” he growled. His tongue followed an invisible map down her throat, his fingers matching the same mindless rhythm as they moved down her cleft. He parted the slick flesh and sank a finger inside her. “No problem at all.” She dug her nails at his back, finding little purchase against the wet trench coat. The stairwell’s infinite shadows both played to her fantasies and left her completely at his mercy. Holding on to him was the only chance she had of anticipating what would come next. He added a second finger, the thickness of both stretching her. She moaned in wicked response. “Easy, chérie,” he whispered against her ear. “You can’t come just yet.” Finley caged his jaw in her palm, lost in the riot of sensations as he pumped his fingers slowly in and out of her. His lips caught the edge of her thumb, the nip of his teeth sinful as she tried to coax him closer to her mouth. “I want to taste you,” she demanded. “Not before I’m done tasting you.” He caught her wrist, and with one hand snared
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her other hand and pinned them above her head. With her hands caged, her breasts bared for his ruthless mouth and tongue, and his fingers lazily circling her clit, Finley couldn’t bring herself to argue. As much as she wanted to lose herself in kissing him, her body hovered on the edge of a thunderous orgasm she was almost afraid to embrace. He latched onto her nipple, sucking hard until she whimpered. Her shorts were yanked all the way off, leaving the rough brick wall at her back and wet, warm male plastered to her front. He released her wrists and moved away. Finley froze. He damn well couldn’t stop now, not when… He dropped to his knees and kissed the inside of her thigh. Finley let her head fall back, anchoring her hands at her sides, afraid that if she reached for him again he would put an end to her waking fantasy as he had threatened in her dream. He pushed her legs wider, the urgency behind the move like something straight out of her most wicked imaginings. Feather-light, he followed her damp slit up and down, the pad of his finger swirling leisurely over her clit. The muscles deep in her sex contracted and she rolled her hips forward to meet his mouth. His rumble of appreciation heightened her arousal. He gently parted her folds, his breath triggering the first snap of release that skated along her nerve endings. The flat of his tongue found her slick knot. “Yes,” she hissed, her knees trembling under the lashing strokes of his tongue. “Harder.” He answered her desperate pleas by locking his mouth over her clit and sucking fiercely. She bucked her hips against his mouth, desperate to come. He thrust two fingers into her sex, driving the intensity up again. “Almost there.” He groaned against her skin as though he could read her mind. With her jaw locked, her hips rocking in time with his mouth, her fingers raking the wall, she gave herself up to release. Another hot stroke of his tongue, thick fingers thrusting deeper, and Finley exploded
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in a bone-melting rush. Her panted breaths echoed in the dark stairwell, and she couldn’t stop from tucking her face against his throat as he straightened and once more crushed her between him and the wall. Her heart slowed, but her body didn’t seem satisfied, hungering for more. “I don’t even know your real name,” she managed as his lips grazed her jaw. He drew back abruptly, and she instantly regretted breaking the erotic spell that had been cast over them. “I have to go, chérie.” “Wait.” He started up the steps, leaving her body hotter now than when she’d gone to the roof seeking relief from the humidity. He paused at the top of the stairs, and she felt his heavy gaze on her as easily as if the lights had been on. “You’re not going to come back are you?” She couldn’t explain how she knew the way he turned from her meant something significant. “No.” The door opened and she watched him leave, pausing to snap the light back on before vanishing.
Trace leaned against the closed door. He dragged the cool, damp air into his overheated lungs. The pouring rain ran down his face and he closed his eyes, fisting his hands at his sides. He could still hear her moans of pleasure, could taste her on his lips, could feel her arms wrapped around him. He pivoted and faced the door, his hand gripping the handle. He couldn’t walk away. Couldn’t go back inside. Fuck. He pressed his forehead against the door, wishing she would come after him, praying she’d already returned to her apartment. He’d followed her inside with the intention of making sure she was really okay after what happened between them, only to let control
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slip right through his fingers the second he got within five feet of her. Next to his visions, the only other constant he could seem to count on was making the wrong choices where Finley was concerned. Once the door had shut, plunging them into darkness, all he could think about was seducing her. Entertaining the idea of ushering her fantasy into reality hadn’t prepared him for how easily she’d respond to a man who hid who he was, who used the dark to prevent her from learning the truth. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t pushed him away this time or that he’d focused entirely on her pleasure instead of taking her against the wall. Seducing her like that had been a dangerous game he had no right to play, not when he couldn’t be honest with her. She deserved more than to have him take advantage of her, yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not when she had come alive in his arms, surrendering to him in all the ways that kept him awake at night, tortured by images of what he convinced himself he couldn’t have. Made all the worse now by the knowledge he couldn’t let anything like that happen again, not while playing the part of the Night Watcher. Maybe not at all. Finley’s best friend wrote for one of the newspapers eager to write about him any way they could. And even if Trace could win her over the way his alter ego apparently had, what did he truly have to offer anyone right now? Frustrated with himself, with the visions that forced him to make hard choices, with the need to hide who he was to protect his family, he shoved away from the door and stalked across the small courtyard.
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Chapter Five Exhausted from the long hours she’d been putting in since her attack two weeks ago, Finley stifled a yawn as she trudged up the steps to her apartment. She had refused to let that night make her afraid of going to work. With tourist season in full swing, she was thankfully too busy to think about being afraid to walk home alone after dark. Her restless nights, however, gave her too much time to think. Inevitably, her thoughts circled from the one reckless encounter she shared with a stranger, to his complete opposite across the hall. Knowing she wouldn’t again cross paths with the Night Watcher made it easier to dismiss that night as incredibly foolish, no matter that she’d come away with one hell of a fantasy brought to life. While she couldn’t deny the appeal of dark, dangerous and protective, no man lived that way without carrying around some serious baggage. Fighting her increasing attraction to Trace, a man bent on undermining her plans to keep her distance, was enough to deal with. The worst of it was, Trace didn’t hide who he was or that he wanted her. The more time she spent with him, the more often she caught herself giving in when he invited her to catch a movie or grab something to eat. While he continued to find every opportunity to steal a touch whenever their paths crossed, not once had those grazing fingers or long heated looks materialized into anything more. Almost as frustrating as constantly finding him standing too close, was feeling her earlier determination to avoid him slipping away. She tried not to think about how far gone she’d be if not for the long days spent at work and even longer nights wishing away his dating track record. The sound of a door closing echoed from below, and she peeked over the rail and spotted Trace trailing up after her. She slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up. “Hey.” “Hi.” The impossibly sexy smile on Trace’s face brought her own bursting across her 52
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lips. “Have you eaten yet?” “No.” “Dinner then?” Before she could even begin to look as though she might pass, he caught her hand. “Don’t make me beg. It’s not a pretty sight, I promise you.” After the last couple of weeks, she was beginning to think there wasn’t anything wrong with the image of Trace on his knees. Especially if he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. She couldn’t bring herself to voice that particular opinion, however. “What do you feel like? Burgers? Pizza? Italian? Greek?” Finley grinned and shoved her key in the lock. “You’re relentless.” “That happens when I see something I want.” And what happened when he no longer wanted it? Damned if it wasn’t difficult to hold onto that last thought with him offering up such a devilish smile. She opened the door and glanced over her shoulder at him. Something from the corner of her eye caught her attention and she jerked her gaze back to her apartment. Her heart throttled into high gear as she stared at her trashed living room. The expression on her face must have alarmed him, and Trace stepped up beside her. Finley inched into the room, her throat knotting with a bitter mix of shock, anger and fear. Who could have done this? Her foot crunched broken glass and she stooped to pick up the shards of her mother’s vase. Tears burned behind her eyes. They’d ruined everything. Ripped open her furniture, smashed the mirrors and framed photographs, shredded her books. She could see broken dishes and food dumped on the floor in the kitchen. Pain sliced across her palm. “Damn it.” She closed her fist around the cut from the smashed vase. “Let’s go to my place and we’ll call the police.” She started to walk past the mess. He caught her wrist, shook his head. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but remained silent as he quickly checked her
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apartment. “Just us,” he said a few moments later. She followed him into her bedroom. Everywhere she looked, her things had been destroyed. The sick bastards had even ripped apart her underwear. “The two men who attacked you?” She shook her head, taking two tries to speak to make certain her voice didn’t wobble. “I don’t know. I don’t know if they were released. The officer I spoke with told me he’d call if they would be.” Trace grabbed a towel from the floor of the ransacked bathroom and took her hand. She winced as he pressed it over the cut. “I’ll find who did this.” His hand closed over hers protectively. “I promise.”
Trace waited while Finley called the police from his place. He used the distraction to guide her into the bathroom, hoping she would be too distracted by talking to them to pay full attention to her hand. “How does a girl get so lucky,” she muttered when she ended the call sooner than he expected. Trace gently pulled back the cloth. She forced out a breath, her gaze touching everywhere but the small slice in her palm that had already started to clot. “They’re not sure when they’ll be able to send someone by. Could be a couple hours they said.” “Then you can stay here until they come. It’s almost eight, so you might as well stay the night since your place is a mess.” He lifted his gaze from her hand. “I have a guest room.” “I’m sure Avery wouldn’t mind me staying with her.” He wondered if the half-hearted suggestion was for his benefit or hers. “Why go all the way across town when you’re going to want to be close to clean up after the police see the scene?”
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“You really don’t have to offer, Trace.” “I want to.” She smiled, and it took everything in him not to haul her into his arms. After their encounter in the stairwell, knowing how close he’d been to wanting—needing—to wrap her legs around his waist and fuck her against the damn wall, he’d ordered himself to get a grip. He liked Finley too much to scare her off. Not when she was finally starting to look at him the way he looked at her. Like she couldn’t fight it anymore. The cut thankfully didn’t require stitches and Trace smoothed on a bandage before leading her back to the kitchen. She stopped, her eyes wide as she finally paid attention to her surroundings. “Okay, why is your apartment twice the size of mine?” She ventured farther into his open concept design that did indeed have at least twice the square footage hers did. “Shouldn’t there be a wall here?” He shrugged. “I own the building next door and knocked the wall out.” “And the people who own our building just let you?” He shrugged, not bothering to add that he technically owned both of them. Gesturing to a chair at the table, he grabbed a bottle of wine. She started to shake her head, but he put the full glass in front of her anyway. “Take a few drinks. You need it.” Her laugh wasn’t nearly as confident as usual, but she picked up her wine and took a sip. Then another. He grabbed the seat next to her, swiveling it around before straddling it. “I think we should definitely order in.” “Do I look too upset to leave the apartment?” Trace cocked his head thoughtfully. “Aside from the police swinging by eventually, do you even want to go out?” “Not really.” He grinned. “Good. Besides, I have an ulterior motive for staying in.”
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“What’s that?” A glimmer of a smile caught the corner of her mouth and he ached to lean forward and press his lips to the exact spot. “I get to keep you all to myself.” Her gaze drifted to his mouth, and his arousal intensified, his erection pushing hard against his jeans. He was almost used to it after the last two weeks, made all the more intense after their meeting in the stairwell. If she’d come across Trace on the roof and not the Night Watcher, he wouldn’t have stopped where he had, wouldn’t have felt like he’d been taking advantage of her when she commented about not knowing his name. Had she known that night who he really was, he wouldn’t have stopped until he had ridden them both to an explosive release. Then he would have lured her back to his apartment and started all over again. In his bed. Finley stood, breaking the electrified moment by glancing at her hand. “So what do you feel like to eat?” “I don’t think any place will have what I really want on the menu.” She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, her soft laugh intoxicating. “You’re good at that.” “You make it easy.” She shook her head. “I don’t mean the charming sexy thing, though that is really nice. I mean at making me forget that my place was trashed from one end to the other.” “Obviously not a good enough job if you’re thinking about it now.” He tracked her movements as she picked up her wine and walked the perimeter of the table. Trying to be careful not to get too close to him? Finley shrugged and took another sip of her wine. Letting her keep distance between them—for now—Trace stood. “Let’s get a little food into you and then maybe I can do a better job.” Two hours later and the police still hadn’t stopped by. He and Finley had since polished off way too much pizza and a few glasses of wine. Finley was stretched out on her stomach on his couch, her bare feet hanging over the end, her chin propped in her hand. She looked good there. He could easily imagine coming home to find her stretched
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out like that—like she belonged—every day. “If it was those same two bastards as before, I’m going to hurt them,” she vowed before reaching for the last of her wine. His body clenched watching her sweep her tongue across her bottom lip to catch a stray drop. “I’ll kick their ass harder next time.” She frowned at him. Trace picked up his own glass to cover the mistake. “Harder than how I imagined it when you told me what happened.” Skeptical, Finley arched a brow. He leaned forward. “Don’t think I could take them?” She gave him a once over, her eyes bright with amusement. “Be gentle,” he warned. “My ego won’t survive the hit.” “Must have some fragile ego there.” “Crushed under one-too-many boot heels.” Finley snorted. “Like you haven’t broken a few dozen hearts.” “Can’t say that I have.” “Sure.” The word rolled off her tongue with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Trace paused, his glass of wine halfway to his mouth. Oh, it couldn’t be that easy. “You think I’m a player?” He laughed at the thought, more specifically at how many more women his mother would have been turning in his direction if she had reason to think so too. Finley didn’t share his humor. He drew in a steadying breath, laughed again then settled down. “Is that why you always turned me down before? Because you thought I dated too many women?” She circled her finger around the stem of her empty glass. “You’d have to be blind not to see the string of women leaving this place on a regular basis.” He set aside his wine and climbed to his feet. “Come with me.” He helped her up, tucking her hand in his. “Now I’m curious.”
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Trace brushed away the strand of hair caught at the corner of her mouth. Her lids lowered to hide her eyes, then lifted a heartbeat later to reveal the same desire he felt battering his chest. He wanted to kiss her—hell he wanted to get her naked—but had to show her something first. Holding on tight, he tugged her after him. He flipped on another light and led her down the hall that had been part of his renovations and continued down to his studio. Finley walked into the room ahead of him, glancing curiously at some of the framed photos and prints he had up on the walls. She stopped in front of the last background he’d used on a shoot that morning, and looked over the cameras and lighting equipment, a sheepish expression on her face. “You only take their pictures?” He nodded. She winced. “That’s twice in a very short time that I’ve felt like a complete dumbass.” “Twice?” “Once for knocking the man who probably saved my life, and again for thinking that you were either some gigolo or a man who couldn’t hold interest in any one woman long enough to get through the second date.” She stopped. “I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you.” “Well…” He slowly closed the distance separating them. “I just happen to know of a way you can make it up to me.” “Dinner out somewhere?” He shook his head. She frowned, chewing again on her lip. “A movie?” Trace gave her a wolfish grin and picked up his camera, watching for the moment his intentions became clear. “No way,” she laughed. “I’m not photogenic.” “I think you should leave that for an expert to decide.” He held the camera up and snapped the first frame.
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She covered her face with her hands, watching him through her fingers. “You’re crazy. Sure I can’t tempt you with a gift certificate instead?” He took another shot, followed by another. “No offense, but I don’t think that will cut it.” He tugged her hands down. “Smile for me.” She rolled her eyes, then complied with a sultry curving of her lips that churned his insides. “There. You took my picture. Satisfied?” “Not even close.” He moved around her, changing the angles, working with the light to capture an image that would do justice to the engaging and incredibly sexy woman forever on his mind. “You do realize I’m clueless as to what you’re looking for here, right?” Trace zoomed in for a close up that caught her tempting mouth turned up into a pout. “Guess you’re going to have to trust my instincts, huh?” She crossed her arms. “If you’re serious about this, then I think you’re going to have to come right out and tell me what you want.” “Better yet,” he whispered, sliding a hand along her jaw. “I could show you.” “Is it going to hurt?” “Only when you make me stop,” he breathed. Then he drew her forward to meet his mouth. Her lips were smooth and hot as they met his, bending, molding. A groan wedged in the back of his throat, and he roped an arm around her, dragging her against him. One hand tangled in her hair, the other locking across the small of her back. He took his time, savoring the feel of her lips, the taste of wine on her tongue. When they’d been in the stairwell, his need for this had fought him every step of the way. He’d foolishly wanted her to know she was kissing him, not the man he sometimes needed to be. He wanted her to know him, taste him, when their mouths met and everything else ceased to matter. And he wanted to take it slow. Finley tipped her head back, parting her lips. He took the invitation and gladly deepened the kiss. She fisted his shirt in her hands, her fingers gently digging at his chest. Trace couldn’t stop his hands from moving down her back, learning the feel of her all
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over again. She nipped his bottom lip, sucking it between hers before another silky glide of her tongue stroked the same spot. “Keep your eyes closed,” he murmured against her lips a few moments later, then drew back to take another picture. Suspicious, she cracked one eye open. “You’re not going to get kinky on me, are you?” Grinning, he set his camera aside. He gripped her hips and lifted her onto the barstool he’d used as a prop during his last set. “Nervous?” “Not yet.” “Don’t worry.” He clicked off another half-dozen frames. “I’ll give you twenty percent of whatever I make selling them online,” he teased. Finley snorted. She tracked his movements around the room, looking undecided about something. She fiddled with the top button of her shirt. “Are they worth more if they’re…sexier?” His throat turned to dust. Before he could ask what she meant by that, she undid the first few buttons, exposing the tops of her breasts and a hint of a lacy sea green bra. His finger froze on the trigger. “How sexy?” She boldly met his gaze. “How about you tell me when to stop?” When all the buttons were undone, she pushed it off one shoulder. He forced himself to take her picture, but concentrating became difficult when she hiked up her skirt and laid her hand on the inside of her thigh, her fingertips lost in the shadow between her parted legs. “Better?” she inquired innocently. He shook his head. She tipped her head, her wicked smile making his cock swell against his pants. He wanted her. Badly. Wanted her skirt bunched at her waist or pooled at her feet. Now. “Naughtier then?” She wet her lips and ran her finger down between her breasts. “Something less PG and more X-rated?” Her thumb caught the edge of her bra, and tugging the lacey fabric down, she bared her breasts, her nipples dark pink and bunched
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to hard points. The camera rested, unused, at his side. “I told you I wasn’t good at this,” she offered, turning to give him the perfect shot of her profile, her breasts pouring out over her bra, her skirt barely covering her hips. She frowned playfully. “I thought you wanted to take my picture?” “Later,” he growled, and closed the distance between them. He hauled her to her feet and slanted his mouth across hers. He tried hard not to think about the hot pressure of her breasts and how damn much he wanted to trace each from outline to pebbled tip, first with his finger, then with his tongue. “Trace,” she murmured against his mouth. She kissed him softly, and drew back. A sinful smile spread across her lips. “I’d say that we’re even now.” He shook his head. “Not even close.” “So how much making up are we talking here?” “You know, I’m really not that good with math.” She grinned and skirted the bar stool, continuing backwards, as though she dared not take her eyes off him in case he pounced. “You’re not giving me much to work with here.” He laughed. “Maybe I could if you’d stop backing away.” “Maybe you are making me nervous.” “You have to be way more convincing than that.” Finley reached forward and took the camera from him. “Hiding behind that isn’t going to save you.” “From what?” “Me.” She took his picture. “You talk a good game, I’ll give you that—” He snaked a hand out and caught her wrist, hauling her close. Her next sentence— protest or plea—was lost under his mouth. Time fell away as he lost himself in kissing her, in the way she played her tongue over his, stroking deep and sighing whenever he trapped her bottom lip between his teeth.
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He explored her back, bottom and thighs, growing bolder with every passing moment, venturing closer to the places he yearned to touch the most. Staggered by his need for this woman, an intensity that felt so foreign and so very right, Trace pushed her shirt open. Finley trembled beneath him, arching upwards. She might as well have reached down and closed her hand around his cock. The effect was the same. Lust pounded through his bloodstream. He plucked at the stiff nipples that jutted upwards. A throaty plea echoed from Finley’s chest, and he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and tugged. His mouth was back on hers to catch her next breathy moan as he treated her other breast to the same painstaking teasing that eroded the last of his control. By the time he bent to capture one plump tip with his mouth, he was starved for the taste of it. Starved for her. “Please,” she whispered. Trace clamped his mouth over her nipple, giving her what she wanted. She arched up to meet his mouth as he dragged his tongue around the tip, and when he sucked her deeper between his lips, she writhed against him. Breathless, she planted a hand against his chest and pushed him back. “Take my picture, Trace.” She held out the camera. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.” He couldn’t decide if it was the fleeting hesitation in her eyes or the dare in her voice that compelled him to go along with her. That, and he’d be a fool to stop her from playing a game straight out of his most carnal dreams. He’d learned from their encounter in the stairwell she had an adventurous side, but even he hadn’t anticipated this. “Sure this isn’t just the alcohol talking?” A teasing smile curved her lips. “Not entirely.” “Then we do it my way.” Undeterred by his commanding tone, she nodded. Trace jerked his head at the backdrop against the wall behind her. He didn’t trust himself to lead her there, not when he was far too close to dragging her to the floor with him. Every second she stood within reach, her shirt falling off her shoulders, her breasts
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flushed, her nipples hard and still wet from his mouth, frayed the edges of his restraint. She stopped in front of the dark backdrop, a textured mosaic of brown shades that reminded him of the brick wall in the stairwell. She studied the floor, finally lifting her face, her eyes meeting his. “So what’s my setup?” Painfully aroused, he took a few close-ups of her face. Her lips were darker now, swollen from his mouth. “Setup?” She nodded to the framed portraits. “Some of them are models, right?” He followed the self-conscious sweep of her fingers back and forth across her abdomen and thought about dropping to his knees and kissing the smooth expanse right below her navel, then working his way lower. She continued, her voice a seductive murmur. “When you’re looking to capture the right mood, what do you get them to think about?” He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and closed the distance between them. “You mean if I was after something—” he tugged her sleeves down until her arms were trapped at her sides, “—wild and uninhibited?” She bit her lip, nodded. He set the camera aside long enough to strip off her skirt. “Something…dark and erotic?” He palmed her sex. Finley dropped her head back, moaning in pleasure. Finding her without panties the night in the stairwell had triggered a punch of hot lust that struck him right in the gut. Even now, the memory made his hands yearn to rediscover her soft folds and snug opening. Trace cupped her possessively through her panties, teasing a finger under the edge only to pull back and stroke a finger down the center through the fabric. She was already damp, and the fabric glided effortlessly, a silky barrier allowing him to feel almost everything. He groaned against her throat. “Keep your eyes closed,” he whispered against her ear. Finley shook her head, leaning forward to close her hand around the base of his shaft. She pumped up once, then ran fingers down his hard length before she cupped his
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heavy sac. She slid him a coy smile, then released him. He tipped her chin higher, turning it just to the left. “Hold right there.” He couldn’t back away without first pressing his mouth to the tender flesh above her collarbone. He wanted nothing more than to free himself from his pants and relieve the throbbing pressure. Wanted to feel her hand wrapped around him again, hell even his own hand would do—he ached that fiercely for her. He picked up his camera, stopped. Without asking himself what he was doing, he dug through the drawer. A strip of fabric in his hand, he returned to her. She didn’t ask any questions as he tied the strip around her eyes. “Dark, erotic and kinky,” she said, her voice almost shaking. He took only a few shots before his hands trembled so badly he couldn’t hold the camera any longer. He set it aside, advancing on her. He planted his arms on either side of her, though there was no need to cage her in. With her arms trapped at her sides, her eyes covered, she was again at his mercy. Only this time he didn’t plan on stopping. He slanted his mouth across hers. Finley whimpered against his mouth, and he slid his hands down to knead her ass. He pulled her up on her toes, bringing her in full contact with his cock as he worked his tongue over hers. Faster now. He couldn’t get enough. He knew he was failing to keep things slow. Fighting the desire clawing to the surface was a losing battle, and he knew it. Hooking his thumbs on either side of her panties, Trace worked them off her. She shivered, but he knew it wasn’t from the cold. Trace brushed his fingers through the silky curls, parting the slick folds. Her thighs pressed closer then relaxed as he followed the path down her damp cleft and pushed a finger inside her. A moment later, he circled her engorged knot, his thumb gliding back and forth. Finley inhaled sharply. He pumped another finger into her wet sex. His jaw locked at the way she clenched around him, hot muscles rippling. Fuck, he wanted to be free of his pants. He jerked down his zipper and grabbed her hand, closing her fingers around him. Unable to wait, he
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worked both their hands up and down his aching cock. “Trace?” He lowered his head and opened his mouth over her nipple, sucking hard. She continued to clutch and squeeze around his fingers, all slick, aroused flesh. “Please.” A demand this time, a desperate plea. She released her hold on him, and he gritted his teeth at the loss of contact. She wrenched at her shirt, trying to get free but he only pushed her harder against the backdrop, worked his fingers deeper in her sex. “Trace!” He ripped the blindfold off, and her eyes shot open. This time she knew who he was, knew which man kissed her, touched her. Consequences be damned. Nothing else mattered but finally having her. Making her his and not the Night Watcher’s. He didn’t want any more games or fantasies right now. He needed Finley to want him as he was. Not as his alter ego or a man playing a seductive game with a camera. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her, to look into her eyes and know she saw him, felt him and was just as shaken by the connection between them as he was. The blindfold seemed to burn in his hand, and Trace glanced down to where his fingers were clenched around it. He closed his eyes and dragged in a harsh breath. From down the hall he heard someone knock on the door. Someone with very bad timing.
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Chapter Six Finley stared at Trace, who stood motionless just out of reach. He closed his fist around the blindfold, his knuckles white. “Trace?” He cursed under his breath. “That’s probably the police.” Avoiding her gaze, he turned and tugged her shirt up back over her shoulders and then strode out of the studio. She didn’t move for a long moment, achingly aware of the unsatisfied throbbing deep in her sex. Her lips felt swollen from his mouth, her breath short and choppy, her face warm with a telling flush, no doubt. Hearing the murmur of voices, she hastily finished straightening her clothes and gave herself only a minute to worry if she looked as though she’d been getting felt up. But the moment she joined Trace and the two officers, her cheeks heated and she averted her face, trying in vain to cool the embers still smoldering under the surface. She glanced at Trace, but he didn’t meet her eyes. There was no time to wonder why he’d jerked the blindfold off with the police waiting to be filled in on finding her place in ruins. After talking for a couple of minutes in the doorway, she led them across the hall to the mess that was her apartment. Even knowing what to expect, she still wasn’t prepared for a second look at the destruction, the violation she felt at what had been done to her things—her home. Though his expression remained carefully guarded, Trace laced his fingers through hers. The strength in his grip eased the anger and fear that pressed in on her. What would have happened if she’d walked in on the guys who’d done this, or if she’d been home when they’d broken in? Finley didn’t let go of Trace, sticking close to the door, letting the police take note of the damage and any potential signs of evidence left by the people responsible. “Anyone have any kind of beef with you, maybe holding a grudge of some kind?” 66
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She started to shake her head, then stopped. It seemed almost crazy to consider, but the damage done was too angry and personal to be some random break and enter. “There’s a realtor who’s been hounding me about selling my business. Some developer wants to build a parking garage and only a couple of property owners have refused to sell. His last few calls have been increasingly hostile.” One of the officers asked for the realtor’s name. “Dan Patterson.” She watched the cop jot it down on a small note pad. Trace studied her intently, but it wasn’t until the police left to speak to some of the neighbors that she understood. “How come you didn’t mention someone has been trying to buy you out?” “Until tonight I didn’t realize how serious he might be to make me sell.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I wish you’d said something.” He waited while she checked her room to see if anything was salvageable. Not even a pair of shorts or tank top had survived. The culprit must have hung around a while to cause such extensive damage to her belongings. Finley shook her head at the shredded blankets and ripped-open mattress before turning away, her stomach thick with oily knots. “I have to try to reach Avery again. I’ll need to borrow a few things so I can get out tomorrow and replace some of this.” “I’m sure I can find something you can wear tonight.” She managed a grateful smile, but at the moment not even the thought of sleeping over at Trace’s in nothing but one of his shirts could erase the twisting in her gut. When the police finished with what they needed to do inside, Finley automatically started to tidy. Trace caught her hand, coaxing her towards the door. “You’re sucked out. Let’s wait until tomorrow morning and we can do it together.” She glanced around her place once more, then grudgingly nodded. Thankfully, the bastards had spared her tooth and hairbrushes and a few other amenities she grabbed on the way out. “I’ll show you the guest room.”
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Both relieved and disappointed, Finley followed him. Exhaustion pulled at her limbs, and as much as she still longed to be consumed by his hands and his amazingly hot mouth, she wanted it to be when she was alert and not thinking about the jerks who trashed her place. Liar. Okay, so maybe it was easier to call it a night than to wonder if Trace had been about to pull away before they’d been interrupted by the police. Trace pushed open the guestroom door and flicked on the light. “I’ll be right back.” Finley stepped into the room, surprised again by the size. Twice as big as her second bedroom, used more as an oversized closet than anything else. She dumped the small bag she’d brought along on the floor and sank onto the edge of the bed. It wasn’t far off the mark to admit she’d wondered if Trace would live up to her fantasies, but nothing prepared her for setting aside those steamy daydreams for the real thing. Part of her had feared her one erotic encounter with the Night Watcher would overshadow the increasing feelings Trace aroused within her. What happened between her and Trace was real, not some fantasy come to life for a stolen moment in time. Or it had been until she’d taken the game too far. Hadn’t she? She’d pushed him to keep taking her picture, to play along with her. Hadn’t she learned by now what happened when she tried to live the fantasy? That it never ended the way she wanted it to. A moment later, she felt Trace in the doorway and slowly lifted her gaze. She bit back a sigh at the image he made leaning in the doorframe, an extra T-shirt clutched in one hand, the other shoved lazily in his pocket. Only the muscle that ticked at his jaw indicated he wasn’t as relaxed as he was going for. A flicker of discomfort—pain?— tightened his expression. “Something wrong?” “Just a headache.” The sexy grin that curved his full mouth was genuine, but couldn’t mask the tension in his voice. He crossed the room, and sitting next to her, offered a faded red T-shirt. “I’m not sure if you’ll even need this to sleep in.”
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A soft smile tugged at her lips. “Are you fishing to find out if I sleep naked?” Trace shifted in place, his thigh brushing hers. “I’d come right out and ask if I thought the answer wouldn’t be torture either way.” “And what about you?” He gave her an innocent look. “Sleep in the buff?” His wicked grin made it far too easy to forget the distance he’d been quick to put between them earlier. He leaned in, his mouth near her ear. “I think I’d rather you find that out for yourself.” He cradled her chin in his palm, dipping down to capture her lips in another melting kiss. Surprised by the achingly tender sweep of his mouth, Finley parted her lips, inviting him deeper. The needs she’d thought were settled—for tonight anyway—were roused and prowled restlessly inside her. What had she been missing for the last few months, foolishly thinking Trace was anything like the selfish jerks she’d dated in the past? How many times over could a person be so wrong in such a short time? She’d been wrong to be so quick to judge the Night Watcher. Wrong to so easily assume the women who came and went from Trace’s were his playthings. Wrong to think that she could have continued to ignore the way one long look from Trace made the deepest parts of her hunger for even the promise of a touch. Even now she wanted to talk herself out of how much she ached for him, afraid to believe the bone-deep longing meant something more than she planned on. Something more than she could handle. Something that would hurt like hell if it didn’t work out. But none of her logical arguments could be heard above the thundering physical sensations towing her under. Finley slid her hand up his chest, craving the warmth that seeped through his shirt. She groaned at the heady taste of him, the hot stroke of his tongue as he claimed far more than she ever expected to give. Her body trembled, her nerve endings moving from awareness to a slow burn as the kiss found a rhythm that fell somewhere between slow and sensual, and hungry and possessive.
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He seemed to be at war with himself and couldn’t decide whether to seek her permission with his kiss or demand complete submission. Damned if both didn’t excite her equally, but like before, Trace pulled back abruptly. He stood before she could begin to decipher the mixed signals. “If you need anything I’m across the hall. Bathroom is next door.” He squeezed her hand, his grip tightening as though he had to force himself to let go, confusing her even further. “Thanks for letting me stay here.” At the door, he nodded. “Night, Finley.” “Night.” Finley stared at the closed door, wondering why Trace had put the brakes on, not once but two times, and if she could bring herself to do something about it.
Finley came awake slowly, frowning into the darkness. She lay still, trying to determine what had pulled her from the beginnings of what promised to be a very hot dream. One that cast both Trace and the Night Watcher as the two halves of a very sexy sandwich. Who in their right mind wanted to wake up and leave the haunting touch of man who refused to show his face—even in her dreams—or abandon the reverent explorations of another man whose smile was as lethal as his charm. If there was a chance she could burrow back under the covers and recapture the feel of the Night Watcher tight against her back, his arm locked around her waist, his full arousal nudging her bottom impatiently… Better still—the lingering sensation of Trace’s warm mouth trailing from her throat down to her breasts, his fingers parting her cleft to fill her over and over… A pang of regret wedged its way under her heart, and Finley rolled to her back. As much as she knew it was just a dream—another fantasy—it felt wrong to dream of another man when she wanted to be with Trace. The more time she spent with him, the more she felt herself coaxed to the edge of a thrilling drop. Not only did the man know how to kiss a girl senseless, he seemed to care about what happened to her.
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It was easy to see now, looking back, the kindness in his eyes—when he wasn’t imagining her naked—the thoughtfulness that hovered behind every lethal smile. She smiled in the dark, the wings of a thousand butterflies clipping wildly in her stomach, and going up in a fiery blaze as she tried to imagine Trace’s face if she were to crawl into his bed in the middle of the night. A sound she couldn’t identify came from somewhere in the apartment. Tense, Finley sat up, straining to pinpoint the source of the noise. Seconds turned into minutes. Had she imagined it? A muffled thump echoed across the hall. She crept to her door, cracking it open. Another grunt followed, and she quickly crossed the hall to Trace’s room. The door was slightly ajar so she pushed it open further and ventured inside. “Trace?” The bed was rumpled, but empty. Finley turned to leave, thinking he must have gotten up already, only to stop when she spotted him sitting on the floor on the far side of the bed. Naked. “Trace?” she said again, coming around the foot of the bed. He lifted his head, but didn’t look at her. His fists were clenched at his sides. His eyes remained closed as she kneeled down next to him. He laid his head back on the edge of the bed and drew in a ragged breath. “What’s wrong?” She reached out, felt his hand tremble slightly under hers. “Migraine,” he answered through his teeth. “Can I get you anything?” She felt unsure of what to do, how to help him as he’d helped her. “I just need a minute until the worst passes.” “Do you want me to go?” He grabbed her hand, his grip iron tight. “Stay.” “Okay.” He still didn’t relax after a long minute, but shifted so he sat with her hand clasped in
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his, held tight against his chest. “Talk to me about something.” She nodded. “Do you get these often?” Finley winced, realizing that talking about the migraines probably wasn’t what he meant. “Depends.” “On?” “How many people are in trouble.” She frowned at his response, wondering if the migraines were so intense they affected his mind, like waking from a nightmare and not realizing right away that it hadn’t been real. “What people in trouble?” He opened his eyes slowly. “You’re beautiful, you know that.” Finley scoffed. “Clearly the migraine has affected your vision, because after tossing and turning since going to bed, I know that can hardly be the case.” “Then I take pleasure in telling you how wrong you are.” He squeezed his eyes shut, his grip on her hand tightening to the point of pain. “Tell me what to do.” “Nothing can be done. It’ll pass,” he gritted out. His jaw was rigid, his upper body locked up tight. Finley tentatively lifted the hand he didn’t have trapped over his heart, and cupped the side of his face. His lips parted on what sounded like a sigh. Not having one sweet clue what she was doing, Finley leaned in and gently brushed her lips over his. She meant for the kiss to be comforting, reassuring. She didn’t expect him to kiss her back. Or expect both his arms to come around and pull her into his lap. She looped her arms around his neck, falling fast into the kiss that quickly intensified with the crush of his mouth and every hungry stroke of his tongue. His arms tightened, his fingers digging into his skin. She didn’t know how it was possible, but he drew her closer. The smooth head of his erection pressed against the inside of her thigh, reminding her instantly that beneath her borrowed T-shirt, she wasn’t wearing panties. Almost as
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though he became aware of that too, he rocked against her, his cock sliding along the front of her now aching sex. Finley gripped his shoulders. The heady accelerant pouring through her veins needed just one more spark to ignite. Unable to stop herself, she arched against him, moaning against his mouth when he fit snuggly against her opening. Every cell in her body screamed for her to push down harder, to take his thick shaft deep in her sex. Trace murmured something against her lips that she didn’t catch, his hand sliding possessively up her back. The kiss slowed and the grip of his fingers over her skin eased. He drew back just enough that his arousal no longer pressed against her, and rested his head against hers. “I have to go.” Her body cried out in protest. “Where?” “I need some air.” He gently lifted her, set her on the edge of the bed. “Thank you.” “I didn’t do anything.” But she really wanted to. Only the lingering mix of pain and regret she glimpsed in his eyes made it possible to release him. “More than you know.” After one more feverish kiss, he turned away. The sight of his naked ass was next to torture, made all the worse by the way her body hung on the edge in anticipation of finishing what they’d started twice now. He snagged a pair of shorts from the floor near the door and pulled them on. “I shouldn’t be gone too long.” “Are you sure you don’t want company?” He shook his head, his smile halfhearted. “Go back to sleep. I always have a hard time drifting off after one of these. I’ll be awake for a while. I’ll see you in the morning.” And just like that he was gone. Finley stared after him, collapsing back on the bed a moment later, trying to figure out exactly what just happened.
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She woke up in his bed. Finley frowned and tried to get her bearings, wondering how she’d managed to fall asleep and not missing the fact Trace hadn’t returned to his bed. She glanced at the clock. Almost six a.m. Wide awake, Finley rolled out of bed, ran her fingers through her hair, then headed for the kitchen. A quick check of the apartment and studio revealed Trace wasn’t anywhere to be found. Where did he go when he needed air and time to get over a migraine? If he wasn’t back by the time she got out of the shower, she’d track down Gary’s number and ask him if Trace normally disappeared like this. Finley kept her shower brief, realizing after she was already soaked that she hadn’t carried in her clothes from yesterday. They were all she had to wear until she could borrow a few things from Avery. She pulled Trace’s red T-shirt back on after she toweled off, returning to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee brewing. The coffee pot was easy enough to locate, the coffee being another matter entirely. After double-checking, she finally spotted a container on the top shelf in the cupboard. She grabbed a chair from the table and carried it over, stepping up to reach the coffee. She still had to stretch since the container was tucked in the corner, making her Tshirt ride up in the process. “There’s a sight I could get used to seeing every morning.” The sound of his voice caught her off guard and she shifted forward, felt the chair skidding from beneath her. Finley managed to catch her balance, but not before she felt his hand on her bare thigh, steadying her. She glanced down to find his face indecently close to her breasts. A burst of raw, fiery lust pooled low in her belly, snaking down to settle between her thighs. “Morning.” He grinned up at her. “Feeling better?” She searched his face for any sign of lingering pain. “Much.” She drew in a breath, wishing he’d put her out of her misery and touch her already. It
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felt as though she’d been waiting forever to pick things up where they’d left off. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He tipped his head to indicate the rear of the apartment. “A door off the studio leads up to the roof. You were still sleeping when I got back, so I grabbed my camera and went upstairs for a little while.” “Oh.” What else was there to say when the warmth of his palm and steady brush of his thumb along the inside of her leg made rational thought difficult? “Need a hand down?” Right. She was still on the chair with his fingers brushing the hem of her shirt. Inches from where the hot walls of her sex clenched in sheer, exquisite eagerness. As though Trace read her mind, he stroked his thumb higher. She put a hand on his shoulder to use as leverage as she stepped back to the floor. Trace didn’t take his hands off her, simply slid his palms up over her bare ass. “I’m glad your migraine is gone.” “Me too.” Then he bent and captured her lips with his. His mouth was cool and tasted of apple juice, and the hot sweep of his tongue made for delicious contrast. She fumbled to set the container of coffee down on the counter behind him, struggling to hold on as he deepened the kiss. Her breasts grew heavy and full, her nipples hard and sensitive to the soft fabric of the shirt, craving the friction that came with plastering herself against every inch of him. He teased his fingers along the edge of the T-shirt, skirted the swell of her ass, then pushed up underneath to settle at her hip. But that wasn’t enough contact. She wanted more. More of his hands. More of his mouth, his tongue. More of him. Trace broke from her lips and found the spot just under her jaw that tripled the ache throbbing deep in her sex. She was ready to demand he skip taking things slow, but the words froze on her lips as he edged his hand over her stomach and curved up to follow her ribs to the side of her breast. The back and forth sweep of his fingers drove her
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insane. “Trace?” “If this is where you tell me to slow down, you just might trigger another migraine,” he teased, then nipped the flesh at her throat before smoothing over the skin with his tongue. “Actually, if you don’t move a little faster—” she reached between them to find his hard shaft and closed her hand around him, “—then you just might give me a migraine.” He palmed her breast, brushing his thumb across the erect tip. “We can’t have that.” Muscles stretched and warmed, and she instinctively rocked up on the balls of her feet. “Just…don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” she whispered, terrified it was more than lust that flooded her system now. Terrified that letting the sensation overwhelm her would backfire somehow. There were no shadows here, no props or dares to mask what she was feeling, leaving her body and her heart more exposed than ever before. “You’d have to kill me first,” he growled fiercely. He pulled her forward to grind against his hard cock. She gripped him through his pants, shuttling her palm from base to tip, smiling when she heard him groan. Then both his hands were at her breasts, plucking each nipple until the slow, even tugs coiled inside her like a spring ready to snap and unravel any second. Trace yanked the borrowed shirt over her head, then bent to drag one pebbled tip into his mouth. The impatient swirl and flick of his tongue alone made her want to implode, and the sensation rocketed when he drew it deeper with one hard, wet pull after another. Finley couldn’t have held back her answering moan if she tried, nor the one that broke past her lips as his fingers skimmed down her belly. He parted her sex to find her clit. Again he teased, following the path between her swollen folds up and down, then rubbing his thumb over her slick knot. Already aroused to the point of begging him to make her come, she whimpered in protest when he backed off. She pushed up on her toes, needing to feel— He thrust a finger inside her. Finley cried out, and then his mouth was full and hot as he feasted on her lips. He
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added another finger, both sliding through her wetness to plunge deeper. “So tight,” he murmured against her mouth. “So hot.” “You make me this way,” she whispered, rotating her hips as he continued to strum her clit, increasing the erotic rhythm. She clung to him as he moved to the side and propped one of her feet up on the chair, opening her farther. Finley moaned, trying not to think of the image she made, naked in the middle of Trace’s kitchen, one foot braced on the chair, rolling her hips forward each time he sank his fingers into her sex. Trace didn’t let up with his mouth, kissing her through every hiss of pleasure. The nip of his teeth, the soft sweep of his tongue, the brutal primitive possession—all of it left her shaking inside. “I could do this to you all day,” he said, his breath hot against her ear. He rubbed his fingers back and forth across her clit, the pressure enough to make her muscles bunch and strain, but not enough to shove her over the edge. “I wouldn’t last all day.” It came out on a panted whisper. He pulled her back against his chest, jamming his erection against her bottom. He cupped her breast with one hand, scuffing the tip with the pad of his thumb, while the other dragged through the curls hiding her sex, and he slowly screwed his fingers in and out. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” Almost as quickly, he changed position again and came around in front of her, ducking his head to suck her nipple between his lips. He scraped with his teeth, licked with his tongue, sucked with his mouth, all the while his fingers played her, stroking her clit, deepening the thrusts. Her orgasm struck hard, stealing her next breath, even as he moved up to devour her mouth anew. His hands continued to skate over every inch of her flesh. “Tell me you want more.”
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Chapter Seven Trace waited until she opened her eyes and nodded, then lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. Even through his pants his cock fit snugly against her sex, and the friction from walking stoked the fire burning him up inside. She had his shirt stripped off by the time he managed to make it to his bedroom and set her back on her feet. The rest of his clothes were peeled away. By her hands. By his. Their mouths came together, fused with a need that was unexpected in its intensity, but one that made him all the more desperate to possess her, to fuck her until he couldn’t think straight. She prodded him back until he came up against the wall, and then she took his aching cock in her palm. Her fist closed over him and she gave a long, sweet tug that made his shaft pulse in her hand. Her smoky laugh was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of. He hooked a hand behind her nape, reeling her in to meet his mouth, wanting to drown in the taste of her. He pushed his tongue between her lips, claiming her the way he wanted to claim her body. Breathless, she drew back, painting her thumb across the head of his cock, then working back down to the base. “I could do this to you all day.” “I wouldn’t last all day.” She arched a brow playfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” Her bold smile unleashed a wave of carnal lust that threatened to take him out at the knees. The sight of Finley kneeling in front of him kept his feet locked to the floor. She didn’t torment him with teasing strokes or feathery licks. No, the woman ran her tongue up his rigid length and pulled him greedily into her mouth. He could have come right then. One of her hands cupped his sac, her thumb rubbing in all the right places as she 78
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worked her lips up and down his cock. He kept his hands anchored at his sides for as long as he could, then sank his fingers into her hair. His hips rocked of their own volition, sinking deeper and deeper into her mouth. Faster. Trace yanked her to her feet. Now. He needed to be inside her now. For weeks he’d hungered for her, driven closer and closer to the edge by just how much. He’d been slowly coming undone since their night in the stairwell, hanging on by a frayed thread since being forced to leave her last night. He was long past reasoning with himself about the risk of getting involved with anyone—least of all someone who knew him as both Trace and the Night Watcher. He was long past putting aside the things he craved the most. And he sure as hell was long past going slow. Finley didn’t relinquish her hold on him as she started to inch backwards, forcing him to move with her to maintain the torturous grip. As close to losing his mind as he’d ever been, Trace caged her face in his palms, their explosive kiss snapping down his spine, making his cock throb even more. The back of her knees hit the mattress, and she fell back onto his bed. He didn’t move, drinking in the sight of her stretched out so provocatively on his bed. Exactly where he’d imagined her a hundred times before. Exactly where he intended to have her now. Finally. Trace hesitated only as long as it took to grab protection out of his nightstand. Finley lay on her back, her gorgeous hair spread out on his pillow like a goddess, her knees slightly bent and parted to give him a tantalizing view. He slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, then pumped two fingers inside her. Still so wet. And so damn hot. He groaned and trapped her beneath him. He reveled in the feel of her naked body pinned under him, and he bent his head to first tease her nipple, then to find her mouth. He hooked her leg over his arm and thrust into her sex. They both moaned at the hard glide of his cock filling her, stretching the slick walls until they both trembled from the staggering pleasure of it. He sucked in a breath and withdrew, driving back in, sinking
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deeper. She arched underneath him, her breasts way too enticing to resist a flick of his tongue over each peak, before impaling her once more, fucking her harder. And harder. It was useless to hope he could do this to her for hours the first time, but damned if he couldn’t wait for the days when he could. Long nights locked deep inside her. Quick afternoon teases where little more than underwear was yanked aside in the heat of moment. Finley moaned and shuddered under him, her wet flesh squeezing him tight. He slung her other leg over his arm and plunged deeper. Her quick intake of breath made him pound faster, his muscles locked, loving every second he withdrew only to push back into her. A snap of lust roared down his backbone and he came with a guttural cry that shook him to the core. Trace didn’t move for a moment, used his arms to keep the bulk of his weight off her. Slowly, he lifted his head, found her gazing up at him, her eyes sleepy, sated. He kissed her softly, promising with his mouth all the things he wasn’t sure he was ready to say out loud just yet. Like how he ached to tell her the truth and prayed she wouldn’t think him some kind of freak when he told her about the visions. Like how he didn’t plan on letting her go—that he even could. He rolled until she was tucked against his side. Exhaustion crept over him, and the soft body pressed intimately against his kept his mind distracted from the fear that another vision would ruin this moment entirely too soon.
“This place is going to take forever to clean up.” Avery pitched another pile of shredded paperbacks into a garbage bag. “You said that this morning and we’ve managed to get a lot done in the last three hours.” And Finley had the aching muscles to prove it. Her friend nodded to a stain on the carpet. “Do you think Trace might have some cleaner for that?”
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Finley finished straightening the few books that had escaped ruin and stood. “I’ll go check.” “I’m gonna call in to work and see if my contact at the police station has heard anything new about the case.” Finley wasn’t holding her breath. So far they had nothing but a partial footprint on a manila envelope and fingerprints they couldn’t match to anyone in their system. She didn’t know whether or not to be relieved the prints hadn’t matched either of the men who had attacked her. She wasn’t naïve enough to rule out the events being related, but with nothing to connect them beyond speculation, the police couldn’t do much. With another quick scan of the progress they’d made, Finley pushed her hair back from her face and smoothed down the sundress she’d borrowed from Avery. “I knew it was inevitable.” At Finley’s questioning look Avery added, “You and Trace.” The second Avery had learned she’d spent last night with Trace, the smug looks had begun. “The guy has popped back over here a hundred times this morning alone. He’s clearly crazy about you. I would have never forgiven you if you hadn’t fallen into bed with the man.” The mention of Trace’s repeated appearances sent her heart into another wild tailspin. She’d never felt so completely satisfied and utterly content as when they’d lain together in his bed earlier that morning. Avery paused, her expression far too probing. “Wow, you really like him, huh?” “Yeah.” She almost wished she didn’t like him so much. Wished she could slow down the tangled rush of emotions being around him unleashed. The thought of setting herself up for heartbreak, falling too hard, too fast… Finley brought that train of thought to a grinding halt, refusing to get ahead of herself. She’d slept with the man, not promised to bear his children. Hours of talking and incredibly off-the-charts sex did not mean she was anywhere close to being in love with the guy.
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Liar, her heart whispered. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Avery and crossed the hall to Trace’s apartment. “Trace?” When he didn’t respond, Finley headed down the hall towards the studio, ducking into his office first. She scanned the empty interior, taking a moment to absorb any details that would help her to learn more about him. Drawn to a framed photo she assumed to be of his family, she crossed to his desk. After a quick look at Trace and his brother and parents on what looked to be graduation day, she replaced the frame and turned to leave. Another picture, this one next to an expensive-looking printer, caught her attention. Her heart started to pound as she edged closer and recognized the woman in the photo. Her blonde hair was mussed and trapped by the plain black strip that hid her eyes. Her lips were parted, her face turned ever so slightly from the camera. While the black and white image caught the rest of her body in profile, her arms trapped in her shirt, the backdrop seeming to hold her up, her attention remained fixed on her face. Her stomach flip-flopped, and she shook her head, letting the picture slip through her fingers. Seeing herself through the camera’s eye made her wonder what had possessed her to let things go so far, let alone have it captured on film. She hadn’t expected to look so brazen and utterly vulnerable. Was that how Trace saw her last night, what made him hesitate and pull off the blindfold right before they’d been interrupted? Maybe she’d gotten so caught up in the moment he regretted letting the game go so far. She didn’t want to believe that, but faced with the reality of it, the proof that sat on the desk, staring her in the face, she couldn’t help but worry she was doing exactly what her mother always worried about—being too reckless, too wild. Only this time, it might cost her a relationship she was just beginning to realize how much she wanted. “I was hoping you’d drop by.” Finley jumped at the sound of Trace’s voice, bumping against the desk when she whirled around. The picture sailed off the desk and landed on the floor between them. It took her a moment to process that, to process anything beyond Trace standing opposite
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her in nothing but a pair of faded, low-riding jeans. His attention drifted to the picture and neither of them moved for a long moment. Trace bent down to pick it up and she averted her face, unable to meet his gaze. “I was looking for you and…” she trailed off, unsure of what to say, what she wanted to say. He closed the distance between them, setting the picture aside. “I never said thank you.” “For what?” He cradled her jaw in his palm. “For letting me photograph you, for trusting me like that.” “You did say I’d get twenty percent, right?” It took her ten seconds to realize her playful tone was at odds with the tight fists clenched at her sides. Three more to realize he knew it too. “Finley?” She sidestepped him, but he reached past her and shut the door, crowding her against it when she turned to face him. “Whoa.” She planted a hand against his chest, but sucked in a breath at the warmth burning against her palm, unable to push him away. He closed his hand over hers. “From day one, you’ve been upfront about your thoughts on everything from the Night Watcher to my dating habits, and hundred things in between. Don’t hold out on me now.” When she glanced past him to the desk, he arched a brow. “Don’t tell me a stunning picture of an incredibly sexy and amazing woman made you skittish?” She frowned up at him. Stunning? Amazing? “That’s what you see when you look at it?” “Hell, yeah.” His grin was pure lethal charm, but his sincere expression left no doubt in her mind that he meant it. Finley closed her eyes. “I thought that maybe I was…that last night I went too far—”
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He cut her off with a slow kiss, lingering over her mouth until the barest whisper of his lips made her trembled. “Last night, you were a photographer’s wet dream come true. And I loved every second of it.” When she trusted herself to look at him, the predatory glimmer in his striking green eyes launched her pulse into overdrive. Still feeling incredibly self-conscious, she squirmed against him, ducking her head. He didn’t budge an inch, the press of his solid frame heightening the vulnerability she couldn’t seem to shake. “Don’t hold back with me, Finley,” he warned, then crushed his mouth down on hers, his tongue moving in for the kill with a bone-melting precision that made her whimper in protest when he pulled away from her. She locked her arms around his neck, taking for herself what she’d waited for last night in the studio, what he challenged her to take now. Their breaths collided when she dragged him back to her mouth. His hands slid up her dress and tugged her panties off. Demanding fingers parted her silky flesh and she couldn’t even bring herself to be embarrassed by how damp she already was for him. Every nerve ending crackled in anticipation of what his touch could do to her. Trace whipped her around, pinning her front against the door, his bare chest burning into her back. One forearm rested against the wood next to her face, his other hand curving around her hip and dipping lower. She lifted her bottom, pushed back against him. She smiled at his groan, and reached back to palm his thick arousal. He laced his fingers over hers against the door, and as she slowly worked her other hand up and down the front of his shaft. His grip tightened in response, banishing the lingering doubts she had about the photo. She was only vulnerable if she let herself be, and even trapped between him and the door, she was far from powerless. With the top button of his jeans already undone, Finley easily tugged the zipper down and closed her fist around him.
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Trace rocked hard against her palm. “Did I mention I was hoping you’d drop by,” he growled against her ear. “Need to borrow some—” He plunged two fingers inside her, and she moaned low and deep. “How long before Avery comes looking for you?” He nipped the side of her neck, tugging the sensitive flesh between his lips. “Not long,” she managed, biting down on her lip when he reached up and untied the knot securing the top half of her dress. The fabric slid down her chest, helped along by an impatient jerk of Trace’s hand until he had access to her breasts. Her bra was only a minor obstacle, his fingers quickly finding her nipple. She tipped her head back, seeking his mouth and looping one arm up behind his neck to guide him down. Hungry and possessive, he thrust his tongue between her lips until she couldn’t get enough. Trace rubbed at the wet seam of her sex, and the slick swirl of his thumb across her clit and the slow pump of his fingers between her thighs shot her headlong towards release. A moment later she cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth. The sound of a foil wrapper torn open explained why his hands left her. Finley glanced back over her shoulder as he stepped up behind her, his hands sliding over her bottom before he gripped her hips and slammed inside her. She pressed her palms against the door, pushing back to meet his next thrust. He groaned and buried himself inside her again. And again. The possessive rhythm of him filling her, his cock rocking hard into her sex, stole her breath. The ruthless pace continued, each hammering thrust rippling through her womb, drawing the tension tighter until it snapped and she shouted as she came again. His own harsh cry joined hers in the next heartbeat. Trace turned her back around and pulled her into his arms. A moment later she lifted her head from his chest, her heart still racing, and found him smiling at her. “What?” she asked.
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“You’re amazing.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. The tender sweep of his thumb along her jawline made her go even more limp. “You’re pretty damn amazing yourself.” She leaned up and brushed her mouth across his, wishing Avery wasn’t waiting for her across the hall. Almost on cue, a knock came at the apartment door. “Does he have any?” Avery called out. Finley groaned, dragging herself out of Trace’s arms. “Yeah, got it. I’ll be right there.” Trace smirked. “You got something all right.” She swatted him as she hastily tried to straighten her clothes. “Wait,” he reached out and managed to catch her hand before she could dart out of reach. “Before you go…” His mouth melted against hers. “Just something to think about until later.” “Damn distracting is what you are.” Finley was still grinning when she crossed the hall, stopping in front of her own door when she realized she forgot to ask him if he had any cleaner.
She was half in love with the man. Maybe more. Probably more. But then after the last three weeks of keeping things running smoothly at the shop, and most nights inevitably spent in Trace’s arms—when a migraine didn’t disturb him—it wasn’t a huge surprise. She was crazy about the guy, an addictive feeling only intensified by the fact he made it clear he felt the same way about her. Thankfully, he didn’t mind the long hours she put in at work. He’d fallen into the habit of dropping by to say hi, and it seemed silly how much her day brightened when she turned from dealing with a customer to find him there. It was, however, taking some adjustment to get used to the migraines that stole him away from her. She hated that he went off alone each time one woke him in the dead of night. Sometimes gone only an hour, sometimes until morning. More than once she’d
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sensed there was another reason he pulled away, but whenever she brought it up, he distracted her with that damn mouth of his until she dropped the subject. Still, she couldn’t ignore the vibe that there was something else he wasn’t telling her. Having just finished making plans over the phone to grab lunch the next afternoon with Avery, Finley was ready to lock up the shop for the night. A last minute delivery and paperwork she’d been putting off had kept her later than she expected. Although there hadn’t been any more incidents or calls from the sleazy realtor, she was still playing it safe. Given that Trace had sounded distracted and mentioned hanging out with Gary when she’d called earlier, she decided to call a cab tonight. Spotting the bag of garbage still to go out, Finley picked it up and headed for the back door. She propped the door open and walked the few feet back to where the dumpster was. With a hefty toss, the bag was taken care of and she turned around, coming to a standstill as she felt someone watching her.
Trace knew the second she spotted him and cursed under his breath. He hadn’t expected her to step outside to put garbage out. He’d been close by after stopping a man with a knife from taking a chunk out of a woman to get her wallet, and wanted to see if Finley had left the shop yet. The shop lights had dimmed moments ago, and he’d been ready to head home to meet her. Now he stood motionless in the shadows, wondering whether to turn and leave without a word. The curious smile on her lips relaxed him a little, making his decision for him. She glanced around, and took another step in his direction. “Corner any more women in dark stairwells?” He grinned at the reminder, remembering at the last minute to keep his voice low and masked by the accent when he answered, “Not lately, no.” “Still keeping an eye on me?” “You could say that.”
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She cocked her head thoughtfully. “Do you know something I don’t?” He shook his head. She ventured towards him, keeping her progress casual as though he wasn’t aware every step brought her closer to seeing him more clearly. Trace retreated further into the shadows cast by the building next to them. Finley grinned. “Still playing Mr. Anonymous?” “For a bit longer.” “Busy night?” “Not really.” “How long are you going to do this gig? The night-watching thing?” She smiled teasingly, and his body reacted to the full curve of her lips. At the same time, his mood darkened considerably at the fact that she smiled at a man she didn’t even know. Not the way she knew him as Trace. And now he was jealous of himself. God, maybe Finley had been right. Maybe he was a nutcase. She nodded to the back door of her shop. “I was just headed for home.” “Good.” “Night, then.” She started to turn away. “Wait.” He didn’t know what prompted him to call out to her beyond needing to see her smile one more time. Almost reading his mind, she shook his head. “No more flirting with me, tough guy.” “Moved on already?” She laughed. “You have to have something with someone before you can move on.” “I don’t know, chérie, I’d say that night in the stairwell was something.” “True. But that’s all we had.” “You’re involved with someone else,” Trace said, taking total advantage of her to probe for details about what she thought of him. If feeling her up in the stairwell hadn’t done it, this would definitely book him a one-way trip to hell. The slow smile that came to her lips locked him in place. “He’s a really great guy.”
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He nodded thoughtfully, bizarrely pleased by her straightforward, but friendly tone. Not the same as the playful teasing during their previous encounter. “I’m glad you met someone who makes you happy.” “You know, I think you actually mean that. Which is really odd since I don’t even know anything about you, other than that you came to my rescue and know how to give a girl a night to remember.” He grinned. “This new guy memorable?” “As a matter of fact, he’d give you a good run for your money.” He laughed, so damn pleased it was hard not to grin like an idiot. “Don’t believe me?” “More than you know.” And he was so going to hell. He needed to leave before he made things worse. If he pushed it any more, he’d be dead meat when she learned about his extracurricular activities. Given the way he felt about her, telling her the truth seemed inevitable. Knowing that and coming clean, however, were two very different things. Especially when he’d complicated the entire situation by playing to her fantasies. Trace knew the longer he put off telling her the truth, the worse off they’d be. He just needed to first figure out how to ask her to trust him, to keep his secret, especially after she learned he’d been lying to her. Finley smile faded, replaced by a curious frown. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice before…” The lines between her creased brows deepened. She shook her head. “You have a dimple.” Trace froze. Pain exploded up the side of his arm, the sound of a gunshot echoing through the night. The unexpected impact made him stumble and he lost his footing. He pitched forward to his knees, his head striking the side of the dumpster on the way down, knocking his sunglasses off. His vision grayed and he registered the sound of footsteps down the back alley. Then Finley was next to him. He ground his jaw at the pain in his arm, never taking his blurry gaze from her face as recognition flashed in her eyes.
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“Trace?”
Finley stared at the man on the ground at her feet, the hood pushed back and enough moonlight to see his face. Trace was the Night Watcher? There was no time to process any more than that. The sight of blood soaking through the jacket he wore made her gut clench. “Not one move, bitch.” The snarled voice caught her attention, and she jerked her head around. A twist of icy fear slithered down her spine as she instantly recognized one of the two armed men stalking towards her. So much for the police letting her know one of her attackers was back on the street. Next to the bearded one who’d had rape on his mind the last time they met, a man with slicked-back blond hair and shifty eyes gestured her towards Trace. “Real slowly, I want you to reach into your friend’s coat and hand over his tranq gun.” “It’s not on me,” Trace snapped, using his real voice. The man aimed his gun at Finley’s head. “Still don’t have it?” Trace’s jaw tightened. His gaze darted from her to the men in front of them, and back. “It’s at the back of my waist, Finley.” Their gazes locked as Finley waited for him to roll to the side to give her access. The one with the beard snapped it out of her hand the second she drew it from under his jacket, and fired it at Trace. The dart struck him in the leg. Trace gripped her hand before he collapsed back on the cement, out cold. “Her too.” Finley heard the words, but was too slow to react before she felt the sting of a dart pierce her arm. Her vision swam and she slumped forward, the world turning black.
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Chapter Eight She couldn’t breathe. A cough rattled her lungs, her skin feverish to the point of pain. Finley forced her heavy eyes open, the acrid smell of smoke filling her nostrils at the same moment she saw the flames that engulfed the back of her shop. She struggled to sit up and found her arms bound behind her. A sharp ball of fear lodged in her throat, and she tugged at her bonds. Pins and needles raced up her arms. She closed her eyes, thankful she couldn’t have been tied long enough for them to go completely numb. How she wished that could be reassuring. Spotting the sight of a familiar trench coat, she tried to turn. “Trace?” Her mind spun again at the revelation that Trace and the Night Watcher were one and the same, and she embraced her anger at being lied to—manipulated. Better that than to give in to the icy panic that flooded her system. Smoke billowed across the ceiling, dipping down to smother the air between them. The wild snap of the flames made it necessary to yell. “Trace!” He was bigger than she was. If the tranquilizer had worn off on her, why wasn’t he already awake? The gunshot. Driven by a rush of adrenaline, Finley managed to drag herself to a sitting position. “Trace, wake up.” He stirred but didn’t open his eyes. Fuck. The phone. By the time she used the table as leverage to get to her feet, Finley knew calling 911 wouldn’t get them out of here in time. The fire was spreading, the heat fast approaching unbearable and every breath burned. www.samhainpublishing.com
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“Finley?” Relief surged through her. She’d never been so glad to hear his voice, and he damn well better enjoy the sound of hers because he was about to get an earful. “Maybe you should call me the Day Avenger from now on.” She scanned the top of the counter next to the register. Where had she put the knife she’d used to open her shipments? “I wanted to tell you,” he began. A fierce cough triggered by the smoke swallowed the rest of his half-assed admission. She leaned to the side and used her elbow to knock aside the papers littering her counter. “Really, when? Before or after you would have tried seducing me in the alley tonight?” He made it to a sitting position. “That wasn’t part of the plan.” Her eyes burned, and a bitter laugh lodged in her throat, trapped there when she couldn’t pull in a breath without coughing herself. The fire had spread down two sides of her shop now. There wasn’t even time to mourn the loss of it, not when they had to get out of there. A folder hit the floor and she spotted the knife. Turning around, she tried to feel her way to the knife, but was a few inches shy. “What are you doing?” She gritted her teeth, fighting the pain in her arms as she reached back as far as she could. “Saving your ass this time.” She didn’t care that the crackle of out-of-control flames devoured her voice. She managed to hop onto the edge of the counter and shimmy back to reach the knife. Finley closed her eyes in relief when her fingers closed over the handle. The third side of the shop was slowly being consumed by the licking orange flames. Even if they had her keys, they couldn’t get out either door now. That left throwing something at the front window to break the glass, but not with their hands at their backs. She could barely blink through the stinging in her eyes now. The temperature felt like it had jumped a hundred degrees in moments.
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She dropped down next to him. “I don’t know how to do this.” He’d managed to get into a sitting position. “Back to back,” he ordered. “This isn’t an Indiana Jones movie.” “You grabbed the knife.” “I didn’t think a tranq gun would be much help,” she snapped. Finley used her shaking fingers to find the tape between his wrists and position the knife. “But if the Night Watcher has another suggestion…” “Just hurry.” Like she needed the reminder. Her hands trembled as she dragged the knife up against the tape, then back down. “More force.” She locked her jaw, afraid to cut him, afraid they’d die in here if she didn’t get the tape off. She swallowed the fear coating her throat and concentrated. After a few jerks of the knife she felt the tape giving way, and he only hissed once. “Got it,” he said, and she heard the sound of tearing tape before he took the knife and used it to cut through her bonds. He grabbed her hand and hauled her up. She could barely see him through the reaching flames and black smoke that surrounded them. Sirens sounded in the distance. Trace grabbed the small metal ladder she used for stocking the higher shelves and heaved it at the front window. The glass shattered, smoke billowing outside, the fire flaring with the burst of fresh air. Trace wrenched off his coat and took her arm, propelling her through the flames that seemed to reach out to snare them. The broken glass on the sidewalk made the ground treacherous, taking them both to their knees. Bits of glass bit into her skin as they landed in an awkward heap. Trace hauled her into his arms. “You okay?” She nodded to his blood-soaked shirt, fighting each cough that made it difficult to draw in a breath of fresh air. “Better than you.” Lights flashed at the end of the street, and the few people who had gathered on the
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opposite side of the street, drawn by the smoke, ran over to see if they were okay. She let Trace answer their questions of what happened and if anyone else was in the shop, her insides shaking with how close they’d come to not making it out of there. Their voices retreated into the background, the weight of Trace’s arms, strong and steady, soothing the tension locked in her chest. They were on their feet as the fire truck pulled up in front of the building that she doubted could be salvaged. She remembered clearly the day her mother had paraded her through the front door, rambling about her plans for the place. They’d twirled across the bare wood floor, smiling and laughing. “Sorry about the shop,” Trace said gently. “Me too.” Tears thickened her throat and she pressed her lips together, afraid if she said any more she’d fall apart. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.” She lifted her chin, seizing on another subject to ease the pain that felt like she’d lost her mother all over again. Digging into her anger with both hands, she glared at him. “Or maybe you’re just sorry your cover was blown before you could grill me further about my feelings…for you!” Her mind reeled from everything that had happened, and she struggled to keep up. Trace was the Night Watcher. The man who’d saved her from the two men the first night. The same man who had given her one of the hottest moments of her life in the stairwell. The same man who had made her body ache for him. Made her heart ache for him. She felt like a fool not having figured it out somehow. But what sane woman would ever believe the sexy charmer who lived next door would be stalking the streets at night playing hero? There was no time to get into it before the paramedics were on the scene, ushering them to the ambulance. After suffering through the oxygen mask for a short time and treating her fairly superficial injuries, the paramedics prepared to get Trace to the hospital.
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“I’m not leaving you here,” Trace argued. “You have a hole in your arm.” She managed to keep her voice even as she pointed out the obvious. Inside she felt stretched to the breaking point. “The police will want to talk to you about what happened.” She glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “So you want to stay for me or because you’re worried I’ll tell them who the Night Watcher is?” “That’s not fair.” “And that’s not an answer.” She moved aside as the paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance to shut the door. “Wait,” he ordered the man. “Finley, just give me a chance to explain things.” His pleading tone affected her more than she wanted it to. Reluctantly, she stepped back. “Get your arm taken care of.” The paramedic shut the door and she almost stopped him to say she wanted to go along. But she didn’t. Trace was the Night Watcher. She wondered if she reminded herself of that often enough if it would ever feel real. The ambulance pulled away and she was left alone on the sidewalk. She couldn’t bring herself to turn and face the crackle and sizzle of flames being extinguished. Afraid to take her eyes off the flashing lights of the ambulance racing away. “Ms. Gallagher?” She spotted one of the detectives she’d spoken to about her break-in heading towards her. She filled him in as best as she could, forced to admit that Night Watcher had been there, and had gone after the two responsible as she and Trace escaped out the front window. Since they’d both been shot by Trace’s tranq gun, there was no way to get by without mentioning the elusive vigilante. If the two responsible were caught, and if they actually confessed to dumping her and the Night Watcher in her shop to die in the fire, then Trace would have some additional explaining to do. She wanted to be angry with herself for feeling the need to protect him when he’d been lying to her from the start. Instead, all she felt was numb.
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The fire was well out by the time she finished talking to the detectives. She stared at the ruins of her shop, the last piece of her mom she’d had left, the only thing she had in this world that was truly hers, and it was gone. “Finley?” She raised her head just as Avery reached her side, pulling her into a fierce hug. “A friend heard about the fire on the police scanner. Are you okay?” “Yeah.” “What happened?” “I think the guy who wanted me to sell just got really serious.” Anger pulsed inside her, a molten anger not directed at Trace or the two men who set her shop on fire and left them to die, but the man she suspected was behind it all. “Are you already finished with the police? I can take you back to my place if you want.” Finley shook her head. “I need to stop by the hospital first. To make sure Trace is okay.” Avery frowned. “What happened to Trace?” “He was shot.” Saying the words aloud made her hurt and anger less important than how close she’d come to losing him. If their aim had drifted anymore to the left… Finley closed her eyes, grateful for Avery’s timely arrival. “Is he going to be all right?” Finley straightened. He was for now. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to say the same when she got through with him.
Trace came to a standstill at the sight of Finley curled up on his couch. He leaned in the doorway and drew in a reassuring breath. After their brief scene at the hospital, which consisted of her asking him how his arm was and briskly explaining the story she gave the police so his statement would match, he’d wondered if she would go stay with Avery. She’d spared him a total of two minutes at the hospital, refusing to get into anything
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then, saying she might be around the next day. Not that he could blame her really, but he was damn annoyed when the police chose that moment to arrive to get his statement. Finding her there made his heart ache, and giving him hope he hadn’t screwed things up between them permanently. He wasn’t even halfway across the room when she sat up. She had her mother’s vase tucked against her, and he remembered he’d left it on the table, planning to give her the repaired vase as a surprise. The sight of the cut on her cheek reminded him of how close the assholes had come to hurting her a second time. When he got a hold of them… “I thought you would have been back before now.” He perched on the edge of the couch, afraid if he got too close, she’d bolt. “I would have fought to get out of there sooner if I’d known you were here. I thought maybe you’d stay with Avery.” “She snores.” He searched her face, wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms and keep her there. “I’m glad you’re here.” “Don’t get too excited. I’m still pissed.” He grinned despite the frown on her face. “Pissed I can handle.” “You say that now.” She glanced at his arm, her expression softening. “How is it?” “Throbbing like a bitch, but I guess I’m lucky that’s the only place they shot me.” Nodding, she set the vase on the end table. “Thank you,” she said quietly, but the wariness that flickered in her eyes warned Trace that he wasn’t anywhere close to being out of the doghouse yet. “That night on the roof… You overheard Avery and I that afternoon, didn’t you, heard me mention the Night Watcher?” There wasn’t any point in denying that whatsoever. He nodded, but quickly added, “I hadn’t planned on what happened.” Hadn’t planned on his feelings for her growing so quickly. Hadn’t planned on being so damn scared to tell her about the visions. He’d been half shot when he’d worked up the nerve to tell Gary. This time the stakes were much higher, and he’d be a fool to let himself think otherwise. “So you only decided at the last minute to take advantage of something said in
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private?” Hurt and anger glittered in her eyes. “It wasn’t about having a good time, a perfect opportunity to test the water to see how far I’d go? How wild I’d get? Was taking my picture like that too? Just for fun?” “What happened between us was not like that.” “No? I was one step away from having sex with a stranger—a half-crazy stranger— in a dark stairwell. Tell me you didn’t wonder what else I might be willing to do after that?” “I can’t.” She averted her gaze, but the glimpse of painful resignation in her eyes made his gut clench. “I can’t help but wonder because I love that about you,” he said softly. “I love that you don’t hold back with me, that you aren’t afraid to live out a fantasy. But,” he added, waiting until she looked at him to continue, “that’s just one of the things I love about you, and if you were never that inhibited again, I’d still want to be with you. But if you’re asking me to regret any of it, I can’t.” Not when those nights would be forever imprinted on his memory. “How about not telling me the truth? Do you regret that?” He hated the hurt that blinked across her face before being swallowed by the determined expression he was having trouble reading. “Up until recently, you’ve been clear about your mistrust of the Night Watcher. Can you blame me for not feeling comfortable showing my face that first night on the street?” “You couldn’t have told me since then?” “I would have.” She cocked her head, the gesture warning him he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. “Before or after you probed for more details about the new man in my life?” Trace winced. “I know I was pushing it earlier tonight.” Her cheeks flushed. “Only pushing it?” “I wasn’t expecting you to come out back like that.”
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“Kind of like not expecting those two thugs to show up and getting a shot in?” “Are you mad at why I do what I do, or because you didn’t figure it out on your own?” She sighed and slumped back against the cushions, looking as exhausted as he felt. “I should have.” “Why? Because of a few short encounters? What signs do you think you missed?” “Quite a few actually, now that I’ve been thinking about it for hours.” She sounded just as annoyed with herself as she was with him. “Like that first night in the damn stairwell when you said you knew me better than I thought. And after my place was trashed when you tried to catch yourself when you said about kicking their ass harder next time.” He frowned, not having realized he’d actually slipped up that many times. She raked her hands through her hair. “How dumb am I?” And in the next breath she poked her finger at him. “Even looking back and piecing things together…who in the world would have believed that you were out there chasing down bad guys, taking risks—” Her voice cracked and she slammed her lips shut. Finley closed her eyes and leaned back against the couch. Trace took a chance and slid down next to her. “No one knows about what I do except Gary. I keep my face hidden to protect my family, and because my mother would have a heart attack if she knew what I was up to. As much as I’m not a part of the circles my parents travel in, I wouldn’t cause my family pain because of the visions in my head.” A confused frown brought her eyebrows together. “Visions? The migraines?” He took a breath, nodded. “That’s how I know where to find people, how I knew you were in trouble that night.” “How?” There was no suspicion or disbelief in her voice, only puzzlement. “I was in a car accident a year ago, nearly drowned. My car went over an embankment when I tried to avoid a drunk driver. I had to be resuscitated.” Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. He reached between them and laced their fingers together, forced himself to keep
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going. “A few months after that, I would get these images in my head. Most of the time they come when I’m sleeping. I didn’t know what they meant for a long time, thought I was going a little crazy.” “Because the trench coat and carrying a tranq gun are completely normal.” He smiled at the sarcasm, foolishly encouraged by it. “It wasn’t until I saw an article in the paper, recognized a man’s photograph and knew it was his death I had seen the night before.” “Why didn’t you call the police when you had these visions?” “I did. I made a number of calls when I realized a lot of the visions gave me clues. Try convincing a cop that someone is going to be hurt at a certain location, but you couldn’t tell him when or why, other than it would be soon.” “So you donned your cape.” She lapsed into silence for a moment, then asked, “You don’t get these visions during the day?” “Seldom. And a lot of them still don’t give me enough to go by to stop the crime.” “But you still try anyway?” He nodded, clinging to the hope she understood, or could try to understand where he was coming from. His earlier fear of her telling Avery everything paled in comparison to his fear of losing her. “How often do you get them?” “A couple a week most times.” She turned more fully in his direction, a mix of irritation and worry imprinted on her face. “And how long until someone recognizes you? Those men from tonight could expose you when they’re brought in.” “That’s only if the police find them before I do, and I’m not convinced they’re about to confess their part in the fire. Whatever happens, I’ll deal with it as it comes.” “Maybe it’s time to hang up the tranq gun.” He struggled to silence the staggering fear she was slipping beyond his reach. “I don’t think I can as long as I have these visions, the power to help someone.” She closed her eyes, opening them a second later, her fingers tightening over his.
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“Then maybe the Night Watcher needs to have a little chat with the police. After the crimes you’ve stopped, they may be more open to those tips now.” “Something to think about.” “But not right now?” He drew her hand up to his chest, drawing her closer. “Right now the only thing I’m worried about is making sure you don’t think I’m some kind of freak and that you’re not about to walk away.” “I don’t think you’re a freak,” she said, her sincere expression untwisting the grip she had on his heart. Still, he was almost afraid to ask. “But…” “That stunt in the stairwell was pretty damn low.” “I’m a slime ball.” “And I should go at least a few days without talking to you.” “But you should take into account,” he rushed to add, “that I did come to your rescue.” If that didn’t earn him a few brownie points, he was seriously screwed. She sighed, the sound falling somewhere between reluctance and acceptance. “Both nights probably. If those two hadn’t been all horny to play with your tranq gun tonight…” To hell with it. Trace pulled her into his lap. “We got out of there. Together. Besides, I think you still owe me.” Finley planted a hand against his chest. “Now you really are pushing it.” “Lots of dinners. Lots of movies. Lots of—” She slapped her hand over his mouth. “I haven’t said anything yet about not walking out that door.” Trace didn’t wait for permission before tugging her hand aside and slanting his mouth across hers. When she didn’t shove away from him, he locked his arms around her completely, keeping her in his arms. Where she belonged. “Don’t go,” he murmured against her mouth. “Trace—” “Besides,” he said, cutting her off. “I just happen to know that you’re dying to find
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out what happens when I don’t leave you desperate for more in the stairwell.” Finley snorted. “I was hardly desperate.” “Care to test that theory?” She arched a brow. “So you’re cocky with and without your disguise.” “Part and parcel with the whole package.” “Take it or leave it?” He searched her eyes, hunting for a sign she wasn’t pulling away from him. “I’ll need some warning if this is going to be one of those boot-crushing-my-heart-to-bits moments.” She smiled tentatively. “It’ll take some time getting used to.” Trace grinned, his heart expanding in his chest. “Definitely.”
Two weeks later The sight of Trace coming down the hall, jacket still on, hood still up brought a slow smile to Finley’s lips. She sat up from where she’d drifted off on the couch. “I figured you might be awake.” She’d been spending most nights with Trace, and after he had one of his visions and left to play hero, she tended to be too worried about him to go back to sleep right away. Letting him go each time he had a vision was a lot harder than she’d thought it would be. “Another bad guy under wraps?” She gave him a critical once-over. “No injuries?” As much as part of her wanted to ask him to stop, she knew the guilt would eat away at him if he couldn’t help. It was that, along with knowing he saved somebody’s friend, mother, father or child every time he walked out the door that made it bearable. “Not a one.” Thankfully he was at least working with the police a bit more, though they still didn’t have a clue who he really was. Something she was still learning herself. She’d been so preoccupied with the mystery surrounding the Night Watcher in the beginning and having him literally save her, she’d been slower to see the less obvious ways Trace
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had gone out of his way to help and watch over her. “Though I did hear something interesting tonight,” he added. “It seems the police got a match off a partial print from the envelope on the floor in your apartment, one that belongs to Dan Patterson.” “He was actually at my apartment?” “So it seems.” “Still no word on the other two?” “Nope, but the first guy who couldn’t make bail for attacking you confessed to being paid to hurt you and burn the place down.” “So it’s settled then.” Finally. No more looking over her shoulder, wondering if something else would happen. Her shop, at least the structure, had survived the fire and she had begun rebuilding. Only this time, running it wouldn’t be about holding on to the past, but embracing the future. “And your secret is still safe.” Trace nodded. “For now.” He pulled her to her feet, his hand closing tightly over hers. Somewhere in the last couple of weeks, she’d come the conclusion that as much as she’d been drawn to both sides of his protective nature, she craved his passion and unpredictable side just as much. Maybe more. No longer did she hold tight to the carnal dreams she’d worried would keep her from finding someone who truly wanted to share a life with her. Since the night of the fire, Trace went out of his ways to try and prove that she could trust him with her wildest fantasies, just as he trusted her to keep his secret. When Trace bypassed the hall and headed for the front door, she frowned. “Where are we going?” “Upstairs.” She glanced down at her tank top and panties. “I need to put on more clothes before I go anywhere.” Trace wrapped an arm around her, bringing her against him. “Seeing as how I plan to finish what we started in the stairwell before, more clothes will just be a waste of time.” Grinning, Finley reached up and looped her arms around his neck. “Took you long
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enough to get around to it.” “You know us hero-complex types, duty before pleasure.” She reached up, and just before her mouth met his, said, “Someone really needs to rewrite those rules.”
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About the Author To
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[email protected] or join her monthly newsletter to keep up to date on Sydney’s upcoming releases, contest info and works in progress: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/flirtingwithpassionnewsletter.
Look for these titles by Sydney Somers Now Available: Unbreakable Stripped Away Spellbound: Say You’re Mine Spellbound: Don’t Let Go Talons: Caged Desire Call Me Cupid
Coming Soon: Storm Warning
Quinn excels at slaying demons. But betrayal is the one demon she never saw coming.
Stripped Away © 2008 Sydney Somers Nothing gives Quinn a rush like hunting and vanquishing the very demons that changed her life. But lately something is off. Way off. Nightmares she can’t explain, irrational fears surfacing at the most unexpected moments. And when her twin sister vanishes, Quinn’s world starts to come apart at the seams. Since becoming an agent for the Shadow Destroyers, Braxton has excelled at playing by the rules. Until, in a moment of weakness, he let his common sense desert him for one night in Quinn’s arms. A night she doesn’t remember. For weeks he’s kept their relationship strictly professional, but seeing Quinn so edgy and lost puts his telepathic abilities—and his restraint—to the test. As the search for her sister intensifies and everything Quinn thought she knew comes into question, Braxton seems to be the one true thing she can hold onto. Until she discovers he’s been keeping a very big secret of his own. One that may destroy her trust just when she needs him the most.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Stripped Away: She edged away from the door and closer to him. “I can see on your face how much you want me.” He grabbed the doorknob, her proximity stretching his control like a sheet snapping wildly in the breeze before a thunderstorm. If he dropped his head just a bit, he could sample the mouth he’d been fantasizing about since she’d first sauntered through the field office doors. Her hand closed around his on the door. “Just for a few minutes.” “We can’t.”
She snaked an arm around his neck. “Yes, we can.” She trailed her mouth along the edge of his jaw. “All you have to do is give in. Like I have.” “And you’ll regret even going this far in the morning.” It was a chore to even speak at this point. Only his fierce grip on the door kept him from sweeping her straight into his arms. “I won’t regret a thing because what I’m feeling is real.” “And was what you were feeling real when you came onto Drew?” She smiled. “You’re jealous.” “I’m just pointing out that you don’t care who you get naked with.” A wounded look filled her eyes before she moved quickly, reversing their positions to back him against the door. “My comment to Drew was nothing more than flirting, and he knew it or else he would have followed me home like the nympho we all know he is.” She pushed her hands under the edge of his shirt. “What I said to you before, what I’m saying to you now, may be coming out because of that lust demon, but I’m not sorry for it. Not when I’ve wondered what it would be like between us, wanted to have you exactly where I’ve got you now—knowing how bad you want to give in.” He swallowed hard, unable to fabricate a denial when she had every luscious inch tucked against him. Quinn reached up and brushed her mouth across his. Sweet softness and the slow silky glide of her tongue exploded across his senses. Common sense dictated he pry himself out of her arms and get the hell out of there. Although there might be a lot of truth to Quinn’s claim of wanting him as much as he wanted her, he knew she wouldn’t be kissing him senseless if not for the lust demon. But no amount of reasonable argument silenced the one part of him he couldn’t ignore. The part that demanded he take just a minute and appreciate this moment because it might never come back around. He’d be stupid not to take a full taste of her and put his wandering mind to rest about what it felt like to fall into a gut-wrenching kind of kiss with Quinn at the wheel. The kind that led to hours of tangled sheets and slick sweaty bodies.
He groaned and swept inside her mouth, his hands moving from the door to grip her waist. Better than he imagined and worse that now he knew what he would be missing after this one kiss. One kiss that didn’t end as she fisted her hands in his shirt and pressed every enticing curve into him. When she nudged his impossible-to-hide erection, his muscles locked in sweet anticipation of her doing it again. That’s how he knew he was in trouble. Though it killed him, he drew back. “I’m going now.” “No.” “Quinn,” he began already knowing his denials were running out of fuel. “No. Tonight, right this second, that rule book is going in the garbage.” She tugged her shirt over her head. A better man would have closed his eyes, would have snatched her shirt up and pressed it against her chest. He might not be a rule breaker, but he was far from a saint and couldn’t have stopped his gaze from tracing every smooth plane and inviting curve even if a Scion appeared out of thin air next to them. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the door, grappling for the strength to do the right thing. “Brax.” She lifted his hand and guided it to her breast. “Touch me. Learn me in all the ways I dream about when I’m at home alone.” She caught his mouth with hers. He let her explore his mouth, and in turn lost himself in the slick stroke of her tongue. The way her body fit so snugly against his. The way she arched against him as he worked her bra off and brushed his thumb down the side of her breast. One last burst of rational thought tried to squeeze through and kill the moment he selfishly wanted for himself. “You know you won’t remember this in the morning.” “I might,” she whispered against his mouth. “Probably not.” She shook her head. “I want you so badly that nothing is going to let me forget what it feels like to finally have your hands on me.”
Nothing but the infection. She tipped her face up, her gaze far too perceptive for someone in the peak of a temporary pollution from the lust demon. “If I do forget, I know I can trust you to tell me.” “Which is why we should stop—” Why he should stop before what was left of his control disintegrated altogether. She silenced his objection with another kiss that jolted his system. “We’re not stopping. We both know I’m safe from pregnancy from the shots,” she added, squelching his last logical argument for pulling back, “and I’ll remember this. I will, Brax. Please tell me you’re not going to walk away now?” She didn’t even give him a second to answer before she caged his face in her hands and poured every inch of her into a kiss that knocked his last objection right out of the ballpark. Then she backed away. With the siren smile firmly in place, she stripped off her panties and headed for the bathroom. “I feel like a shower.” Appreciating the sweet curve of her ass as she vanished into the private bathroom, he yanked his shirt over his head and started after her. She didn’t even look over her shoulder to see if he followed. Because she already knew what he’d been slower to admit. He wanted her too damn much to walk away now.
Even with her shaky past, Aislinn can’t help but to secretly want Kyle. When she witnesses his death in a vision, how can she tell him without giving away her secret or her lust?
Two Sighted © 2007 Annmarie McKenna Aislinn Campbell is a clairvoyant, the latest in a long line of first-born daughters to the previous first-born daughter. All of them have fiery red hair and a second sight. Hiding from her ex in the presence of a sexy ex-military millionaire seems the safest way to start over. Until she “sees” his death. Kyle Turner III has been keeping a close eye on Aislinn. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about his personal assistant, including her secret and ugly past. He also wants her in his bed more than his next breath. When he receives an anonymous warning that something might happen at his annual Fourth of July bash, he doesn’t take it lightly. He knows exactly who sent the warning and he knows she’s being watched by her bastard of an ex. After he’s injured in an accident, Kyle isn’t about to leave Aislinn unprotected for a second. He coaxes her into more than just tending to his wounds. Because making Aislinn believe in him and her together far outweighs anything her ex can dish out. Warning, this title contains the following: explicit sex, violence and graphic language.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Two Sighted: Aislinn looked fucking gorgeous this morning, as always. Freckles danced across her nose and cheeks. Kyle wanted to count them. With his lips. Her green eyes sparkled like brilliant emeralds from the laughter she’d been engaged in with Christina a minute ago. Sometime soon she’d laugh with him the same way. He was working on it, slowly but surely. When she walked, the unruly red hair she had in its usual ponytail swished across the back of her neck, trickling over delicate skin. When he finally got her into bed, that space
would be one of the first places he tasted. Aislinn never quite pulled the hair all the way through the band, but left the ends tucked in so the tail became a bun. Sort of, he guessed. Kyle had no clue what women called those particular things. He only knew he couldn’t wait to strip the elastic out of her hair and feel all those glorious fire red strands sliding over his thighs as she sucked his cock. His dick twitched inside his jeans, coming to life the way it had every day for the last six months. If her past was anything to go by—and he knew it was—he had very little time left to make her his before she bolted again. He wasn’t about to let that happen. It was time for her to stop running. And he was the man prepared to see to her safety. She didn’t know it, but Kyle had been keeping a periodic eye on her since the moment he’d learned the reason she’d come to Turner Industries in the first place. Hell, she’d only been there for three days when his private investigator had come in with a background check on Aislinn—a background that included an abusive ex who had stalked and tormented the fiery redhead until she felt the need to get a restraining order. The order had only succeeded in pissing the bastard off to the point of attack. According to the police reports, Aislinn had barely lived through the terrifying ordeal. Kyle fisted his hands, remembering the pictures he’d seen of her battered face. The fucker should be in jail. Instead he was out there somewhere, hiding like the little mole he was. Where the urge to protect her so fiercely came from, Kyle had no idea. He only knew that from the second she’d walked into his office, he had to have her. The background check had given him pause and made him back off when he would have started in immediately trying to make her his. If he waited much longer, his cock was likely to shrivel up and fall off from lack of use. It knew Kyle’s hand in explicit detail, but it wanted the soft recesses it would find buried deep in Aislinn’s pussy. He fully applauded her attempt to flee David Tarkell. She’d done an excellent job, moving from place to place, never staying in one location for more than eight months or so, never getting attached to the people she worked with. Except she had this time. He could tell how close she’d gotten to Christina. He even recognized her initial wariness to do so.
“Coffee, Mr. Turner?” He growled low in his throat, loud enough for her to hear, if the way her spine stiffened was any indication. Kyle hated the way she said his name. Or rather, didn’t. No matter how many times he’d asked her to call him Kyle, she still refused. He guessed it was some sort of defense mechanism. If she didn’t get close to anyone, it was easier to move on. “Coffee?” Kyle cleared his throat. “Please.” She moved past him, carefully skirting his body even as he crowded her between himself and the desk. Her sharp, white teeth bit on the full lower lip he couldn’t wait to taste. He inhaled her scent as she came within inches of him—a combination of something fruity from whatever shampoo she washed her hair with and all woman. Based on the fact he could smell her sweet essence, she sure as hell wasn’t as immune to him as she would like to believe. He would bet anything she was wet under the shapeless black slacks. He snorted. If she thought she was hiding anything from him, she was sadly mistaken. She could wear a potato sack and he’d still be able to see her great body. The only thing left to do was strip the material from her so he could actually feel the perfect skin he knew he would find beneath. “Do you have a duster?” she blurted, rolling the words together. Kyle jerked his gaze from her ass to her face as she turned around, coffee in one shaky hand, eyes wide, lip still being worried by those teeth. Fuck. At the rate she was going, she’d have a hole in that lip by noon. He moved to her slowly, an eyebrow quirked. She’d thrown him for a loop for sure. “As in…feather?” he asked, getting closer and not even beginning to imagine where she was headed with the question. He knew what he’d like to do with a feather duster and a whole lot of her gorgeous, bare skin. She swallowed and two spots of red graced her pale cheeks. “Oh God.” Her cheeks got impossibly redder and he bit back a smile.
“And just why is it you want to know if I have a feather duster?” he whispered, running his knuckles up the arm holding out the mug. Beneath the white blouse she wore, her nipples puckered. He wondered if she even noticed how her body responded to him because he sure the hell did. She tensed and sucked in a breath, but he didn’t let up. It was time for her to stop running.
If you held the fate of the world in your hands…what would you do?
Master of Disaster © 2008 Lani Aames Since the day she inherited a mysterious artifact from someone she once interviewed, small-town reporter Brita Swift’s life has spun out of control. For take-charge Brita, losing control is a fate almost worse than death. The artifact takes her on a quest— straight into the path of a Category 5 hurricane and into the arms of a man she swore off long ago. Zeke Masters—nicknamed “Master of Disaster” because of the chances he takes while documenting natural disasters—isn’t sure he’s going to survive his tag-along partner, a woman he still loves with all his heart. Seeing her again causes all the old feelings to surface like storm surge cresting from hurricane force winds. The artifact brings voices in the wind only Zeke hears. As the storm bears down on the ex-lovers and the time comes to save the world, the “Master of Disaster” hopes he can convince Brita he’s changed—and ready to be the master of her heart. Warning: This title contains the following: explicit sex, graphic language and the creative use of tangerine juice.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Master of Disaster: Refreshing the NHC web page again, he scowled when it showed no change. His agitation escalated, but he dealt with it as he’d learned to do. Take deep, even breaths. Why didn’t the damn cyclone do something? Shake out your hands. Why hadn’t it already turned toward Gulf Beach? Roll your shoulders. Could his instinct be wrong for the first time, losing him the chance of his career? Count to ten in Spanish: uno, dos, tres— “No change?” Brita stood behind him, her breath tickling his ear. In the old days, he’d swing her around into his lap and kiss her until their lips ached. Even though they’d made love, he didn’t feel comfortable doing that now. He didn’t want
to feel her tense with apprehension or see her frown in disapproval. He’d rather gaze at her half-closed eyes, her parted lips, and her body flushed with arousal. Oh, damn, don’t think about that. He shifted in his seat, to find a comfortable position for his hard-on. It wasn’t easy. “Has Omega changed course yet?” she asked again and handed him a banana. “Dessert,” she added when he looked up at her. He watched as she slid her full lips over the tip of the long shaft, and a strangled groan rumbled deep in his throat. Her eyes widened, and he knew by her expression that she understood what caused his reaction. Sadistically, she chomped off the end of the banana and raised an eyebrow at him while she chewed. He winced, but it didn’t make him lose his erection. He wanted her so badly he’d take his chances. She shook her head as if acknowledging him as a sad case. “I take it there’s no change.” “No.” The word came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “No change.” Worry furrowed her brow again. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit here with you and watch.” “Sure. I don’t mind.” He watched her carry her chair from the table and set it beside his. She finished the banana without any more suggestive moves. He had no appetite for his and laid it on the desk. She tossed her peel into the trashcan and leaned closer to study the screen. Her scent teased his senses, a delicious aroma of her natural musk and fresh fruit. He wanted to loosen the band on her mane of untamable curls and let it tickle his skin as it did when they made love. She nodded toward the satellite image of Omega. “Looking at it like this, a hurricane is beautiful—the perfectly round eye surrounded by a fluffy swirl of clouds. It reminds me of cotton candy at the fair and how it looks in the vat while they’re making it.” “Yeah, it is an awesome sight,” he agreed. “And an awful sight, knowing how much destruction it can cause. No deaths have been attributed to Omega yet, but she did some damage in Cuba and the islands when she passed through as Category 1 earlier in the week.”
The tip of her tongue ran over her bottom lip as she contemplated the image on the screen. “Don’t hurricanes slow down when they make landfall?” Her unintentional tongue action nearly sent him over the edge. Blood pounded in his tightened balls, and his cock tented the crotch of his pajama bottoms. He leaned back in his chair and propped one ankle on his other knee to hide the evidence of his lust for her. Clearing his throat, he focused on answering her question. “Usually. Official landfall is when the center of the eye crosses land or a barrier reef. By then, half the hurricane can be over a landmass. When it enters the gulf, the warmer gulf water turbo charges the storm, but after it starts moving across land, the uneven terrain acts like a buffer and slows it down.” “So a lot of things can factor in?” she asked. “Like how fast the storm is traveling, the velocity of the wind, and even the type of landscape.” Zeke nodded. “Even so, a few hurricanes have made landfall at Category 5. There’s no sure-fire way to tell exactly how a hurricane will act. After the experts studied the data, they determined that Hurricane Katrina made landfall as a Category 3, and look at the destruction she caused. Today’s state-of-the-art technology and guesstimates based on experience will only get them so far. Mr. Mendoza is right—it’s like the storm has a mind of its own.” “The cloud area is huge,” she observed. “No wonder Omega is so strong.” “The two don’t necessarily go together.” Taking a deep breath, he refrained from asking the obvious. She planned to change her career to documenting natural disasters, but she didn’t have a basic knowledge of hurricanes? As thoroughly as Brita prepared every move she made, it just didn’t add up. Zeke shrugged. Brita would explain everything eventually. He had to be patient and use this chance to show her how he’d changed. He went into detail with his answer instead of criticizing her. “Even after they launched the first weather satellite in 1960, meteorologists thought the larger the cloud pattern, the stronger the storm. Hurricane Camille disproved the theory in 1969. Camille’s cloud pattern was small and compact, and they didn’t realize how intense she was until reconnaissance planes flew in and measured wind speed at
Category 5.” He grinned and jiggled his eyebrows at her. “Which proves size really doesn’t matter.” Shaking her head, she cracked a smile and rolled her eyes. “Sure, that’s what they all say.” He laughed out loud. “You never complained.” She dropped the smile, her expression turning serious. Only her eyes gave her away. Like amethysts at midnight, they sparkled with humor. She shrugged. “Well, y’know, it’s not polite to complain after—” He cut off her teasing jibe with a kiss. He moved so fast, he wasn’t aware he planned to kiss her until after he lowered his leg and leaned forward. When his lips slid over hers, he knew it was the right thing to do. He watched her eyes widen through the blur of his lowered lashes and felt her start to pull back, even raising her hands to push him away. Instead, she closed her eyes and slanted her head, once more giving herself to him.
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