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  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “No. This is way more fun.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  There was a fire in the brick pit in Teige’s backyard. At least Kayla thought there was, since it was covered.

  Which meant one thing—Teige was home. Finally home.

  As she watched out the window, he came out of the woods and took the cover off the fire. Then he sat back in that familiar spot and watched the smoke rise in thick puffs toward the night sky, never taking his eyes away.

  She wanted to be closer to him, to see his face, the fire reflected in his eyes, the light sheen of sweat that slicked his body.

  She wanted to take a picture of him so badly she ached, but instead committed the moment to memory. And she held out going to him until three in the morning. Waited until he returned from another long run in the woods and watched him sit on his porch, as she had before.

  He must feel you watching.

  And rather than stalk him through a window, she wanted to be face to face with him. To touch him. She let Hanny out and followed her out into the pouring rain. The dog ran to Teige, who petted her absently. He refused to meet Kayla’s eyes, like if he pretended he couldn’t see her, she didn’t exist.

  Kayla knew how that went. And still, she pushed forward until she was standing right in front of him, impossible to ignore. Taunting a sleeping beast, although that was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Bullshit. You want him any way you can have him.

  She’d never felt an attraction like this—it was as if they each held an end of an electrical wire and it was sizzling with live energy. Nothing—no one—had come close to touching her like this. She wanted to crawl inside his window, let him inside her until they were wild with abandon.

  That total loss of control…she could never let that happen. If she stayed around Teige for any length of time, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop it.

  Before she had a chance to speak, he told her gruffly, “I don’t want company.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…Hanny missed you.” I did too. I was worried.

  Thankfully, those last thoughts didn’t come out. Instead, she croaked another sorry and turned to leave, telling herself that this was all a mistake. Prepared to go inside and pack up and be out of here within the hour.

  He caught her when she was halfway to her porch. Turned her around by force and she told him furiously, “You didn’t want company.”

  “Still don’t,” was his answer and she didn’t know what kind of battle was raging behind his eyes. Didn’t know if she should be scared of it or not, but she was so tired of fear, of looking over her shoulder, of her whole life being a ticking time bomb.

  He ordered Hanny inside her house, and Hanny listened.

  Then he turned his full attention to her, wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he hoisted her, and still, the rain fell harder. Her shirt clung to her and he sucked one of her nipples through the wet cotton of her T-shirt, hard enough for her to feel the jolt to her womb.

  Her hands twisted in his wet hair. He sucked harder, then ripped at her shirt until it tore. The wetness hit her nipples as she rode against him. She was thinking how much she missed him, or maybe she was telling him out loud as her sex spasmed. His hands were everywhere, it seemed, in the frenzy.

  She let him strip her in the rain, until she was completely naked and clinging to him. He remained dressed, his jeans undone and pushed to his hips.

  “I don’t want this,” he kept repeating, but he was lying, she supposed, because he did want her, judging by how hard he was when he entered her, pressed her against the porch rail, her ass balanced on the rough wood, protected by a T-shirt he’d slapped on there.

  He smelled like the jungle, like gunpowder and battle and victory.

  He smelled like danger, she thought as she buried her head against his neck as she came.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Afterward, he sat on the edge of the old claw-footed tub and let her wash him while he stared straight ahead. She didn’t care that she was half naked, soaked to the skin. Right now, getting Teige back was most important, and not because she needed him.

  Because he needs you.

  He wasn’t all there but she refused to let him go. She washed the dirt from his face, neck and chest, used another to wash his arousal, still hard. Then she moved down to his feet, washed them almost reverently. They were bruised in places, like the rest of him, and she worked the knotted muscles in his calves with her hands until she heard a groan of appreciation.

  “I want to take care of you,” she told him.

  “That’s a dangerous road to travel.”

  “I know. Damn you for it,” she whispered. Wanted to freeze the night just like this so nothing at all would change, so no one would have to move forward from this moment. So she’d never have to attempt to explain something she wasn’t allowed to in the first place.

  But for tonight, he was more fucked up of the two of them. She’d do what she could to make it right.

  Finally, he stood and wrapped wound a warm towel around her. She hadn’t realized she was shivering until he did so.

  “Thanks,” she said softly. Liked the way his eyes glowed. There was desire there, as well as purpose.

  He pulled her to him, held her there, her cheek to his chest. His heart beat so fast—she’d never have believed it from his calm facade. But they remained like that, rocking slightly, dancing to a rhythm only the two of them could hear. Her palms splayed against his bare back, feeling the old scars. His broad forearms rested on her lower back, his cock pressing her belly.

  The urgency began to rise then. It was never not there, but this intensity went somehow from zero to sixty, and his mouth came down on hers as soon as she tilted her head up to him. He lifted her, and her hands went to his shoulders, her legs around his waist. Soft moans escaped their mouths—frustrated groans drummed in the back of his throat like the low growls of a stalking lion.

  He wanted nothing more than to push inside her, no words, not dealing with anything beyond fucking.

  But this had gone so far beyond fucking. So he pulled back, put her feet on the floor and put some space between them for a second so he could goddamned think without his cock getting in the way.

  “I’m not…” He paused, wasn’t sure of what to say. “I’m not…” he tried again and she put her finger to his lips.

  “I’m okay enough right now for both of us.”

  It was what he needed to hear. He put his mouth on hers again hungrily, drawing strength from her as she’d offered it. It was all he could do not to take her right there against the sink, on the tile floor, but that was too barbaric for his tastes right now. It would take him over the edge, and he needed to remember the woman who was with him, who was edging down between his legs to take him into her mouth, who was fucking him with teeth and tongue…who was threatening to make him forget everything else existed.

  He twisted a hand in her hair to hold her there and she moaned when he did. Smiled around his cock and sweet Jesus Christ, it was all too much. His bare toes curled on the cold tile floor, her fingers dug into his hip, her free hand alternately cupping his balls and stroking his shaft. He put a hand out to the wall for support, because his knees felt ready to buckle as the orgasm approached.

  He wanted to put it off forever, to keep this intense, nearly painful state to remind him that he was alive, that things were okay. That he’d gotten through.

  But she moaned then and the hum sent him over the edge as he spilled into her mouth.

  He didn’t remember her standing and leading him to the bedroom. He was lost in the hazy afterglow when even the slightest touch to his skin made him shiver.

  She pushed him a little toward the bed and he didn’t argue. Lay on his back and she lay down on top of him, her now naked body covering his. She planted small kisses along his
collarbone as the rain began to fall in heavy sheets outside, the flashes of lightning interspersing with booms of thunder large enough to make Hanny pace restlessly in the hall outside the bedroom.

  The door was open, but Hanny always stood guard in the hallway. Hanny, and the ghost of Old Man Kennen.

  Neither seemed to mind the other.

  Finally, he lifted a hand, smoothed her hair from her face. “Thank you.”

  “When I’m with you, everything melts away. It’s what I need,” she told him. It was exactly the way he felt with her, put so easily into words.

  “Thanks for taking care of Hanny,” he said, because he didn’t trust himself to say anything further.

  “I meant it when I said you were beautiful. And I don’t just mean here.” She cupped his face in her palms and then moved one down to his chest. “I meant here.” A palm, flat against his heart. “My camera doesn’t lie.”

  “Jesus, I don’t fucking deserve this,” was all he could say.

  She leaned in and kissed him then. This time, she was the one holding his wrists to the sides. He could break the hold at any time—they both knew that. But he didn’t.

  She cocked her head and stared at him for a long moment. “You’re leaving again soon.”

  “Now you’re psychic?”

  “I’m beginning to read you.”

  “Then I’m in trouble.” He was only half kidding. “I leave tomorrow. I’d say it wasn’t my choice, but it is.”

  “Because things are intense here.”

  “Maybe.” In truth, he was like a pinball, bouncing back and forth between dangerous situations, each one intensifying the next. That was his comfort level and this—whatever was happening with Kayla—was so far out of it, he was starting to spin. Getting out would put him back in a familiar situation, one he knew how to handle.

  You’re running, Teige.

  He told himself to fuck off.

  Kayla wasn’t going to be that easy to deter. “These jobs you do—”

  “Don’t, Kayla.” His voice held a couched warning, but she pushed on.

  “They take so much from you—I can see that. And I’m not asking you to tell me what you do. I can guess that and I’m probably right. But what I want to know is, what do these jobs do for you?”

  He was taken aback by the question. His voice, when he spoke, sounded rough as it he hadn’t used it so much over the past weeks. “They give me what I need.”

  “What I can’t?” The instant the words came out, she regretted them, but she couldn’t take them back.

  “You shouldn’t even want to try,” was his answer. And still, even after that, she kissed him, cradling his face in her palms until he pushed up with a vicious groan and spread her thighs.

  *

  The next morning, she was sore and satiated. She woke wrapped around Teige, who didn’t seem to mind.

  “You stayed longer than you were supposed to, right?”

  “Again with the psychic thing. But yes, I have to leave within the hour.” He motioned toward her shower. “Mind?”

  “No. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

  “You don’t know how to cook,” he reminded her.

  “I won’t screw up eggs. Much.”

  He snorted and walked naked to the shower. She watched the subtle movements of his broad back until he was out of sight, and then she pulled on a long T-shirt and went downstairs. After letting Hanny out and feeding her, she started to crack the eggs.

  He came down to the kitchen naked, called, “I’m going to get clothes,” and walked out of the house. She supposed there wasn’t anyone to see him but it still made her cover her mouth and laugh.

  When he came back, he wore jeans and a T-shirt, carried a full-looking camo bag and a new bag of food for Hanny.

  “I want to give you a number to call if you need me,” he said suddenly. “It’s not direct but—”

  “I’d like that. There’s a pad and paper in that drawer.”

  “You’re the only one using pen and paper these days.”

  “I like them. Makes things seem more permanent.” She paused. “You want to scramble the eggs while I shower?”

  He snorted again and she took it as a yes. Went upstairs and washed off quickly, even though she hated losing his scent.

  She’d stepped out of the shower, pulled on underwear when he walked in. She knew instantly what he’d found in the drawer before he held the picture up.

  “You shouldn’t have looked through my things,” she said for lack of anything better.

  “Nice try. You told me to look for a pen in there,” he reminded her.

  Maybe she’d wanted to get caught.

  “I think you owe me,” he told her, and only then did she realize he had her camera in his other hand. “How about I get to take a picture of you?”

  “How about if I rip your picture up instead?”

  His mouth tugged a little to the left. “You’ve had it for a while now. Beyond that, don’t you want it anymore?”

  She couldn’t deny it. It helped, especially when he was away.

  He stared down at it, then back at her. He wasn’t mad. Weeks ago, he would’ve been, but not now.

  “Fine. One picture.”

  “More than one and you can pick.”

  “Look how that ended up.” She put her hands on her hips. “One shot.”

  He nodded, lifted the camera. She wasn’t going to smile, not until he said, “I guess we’ll do it topless.”

  She’d forgotten completely. Crossed her arms over her bare breasts, bent down a little and laughed.

  That’s the shot he took.

  “That’s not fair.”

  “That’s the only way I play.”

  He wouldn’t let her see it until he’d printed it out. Only then he passed it over and she tried to study herself dispassionately. Did she realize how long it had been since she’d seen a picture of herself?

  Looking into a mirror was one thing, but this was another entirely, a moment in time, never to be recreated.

  She looked…happy. Pretty. Exposed, but not in a terrifying way.

  In his eyes, this was how Teige saw her.

  Wordlessly, she handed it back to him. He smiled, placed it carefully inside his jacket and then turned back to her.

  She’d dropped her hands to her sides. Felt more comfortable naked with him than she ever had. All of this was happening so quickly and she had no safety net.

  Except Teige. He looked at her like she was everything. He was, without a doubt, the strongest man she’d ever known, the most dominant.

  The only one who never made her feel weak, not for wanting to hand over or lose control…not for wanting to forget.

  He was the first man she wanted to tell all her secrets to. And that scared her more than anything else.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Teige left after eggs and another round of sex on the counter with her hands held over her head, following his directives. Kayla goddamned burned for him and wandered around the house in a daze for the next twenty-four hours, touching the pad with his number on it every time she passed the hallway table. She’d left his picture out too—he’d taken the one of her with him, placed it carefully inside a book in his backpack and left with that all-knowing smile that made her shiver.

  An hour later, the horrible feeling she’d had days earlier was back. She was nearly doubled over, nauseous, afraid to move. When the phone rang, she knew it was Abby calling, the way she’d known Mara had a new victim. She managed to grab the phone, whisper hello before Abby said, “Kayla…”

  “Just tell me,” she bit out.

  “There’s more.”

  Abby paused and then told her, “Another juror’s missing.”

  “It just happened.”

  “We think so.”

  “I thought they were all protected.”

  “They were. At least, they were told. Offered protection. Some of them couldn’t give up their jobs, and this woman was one of t
hem. She had to go on a business trip. She got off her plane but she never came home.”

  And she wouldn’t. Kayla didn’t have to close her eyes to picture Mara’s face. More and more, she thought of her twin as an avenger, torn between protecting Kayla and killing her.

  She had a feeling that these days, she was leaning more toward the latter.

  Maybe it was what Kayla deserved all along. “They won’t find her,” she told Abby before hanging up on her. Because what else was there to say?

  Besides, she wasn’t able to hold in the heavy, choking sobs any longer. Her body wrenched from them and it was for the victims, for herself. And for something else she wished she’d never experienced.

  Damn you, Teige, she thought, even as Hanny came closer. She’d remained on the periphery, as if guarding while Kayla had been unable to move. Now, she nosed at Kayla’s face, and Kayla buried her cheek in the soft fur as Hanny whimpered for her softly, like she felt Kayla’s pain.

  Kayla was crying for something—someone—she never had. Teige had told her he’d had to be a bastard to survive, expecting her to not understand. But she did. It set off reminder bells in her head. She was too close. She’d already created a danger zone far more potent than any of the others.

  Mara would know that, would feel it, and while Kayla had never actually forgotten that, she’d prefer to pretend that it wouldn’t happen this time. In truth, she’d been so worried about Teige that she’d let herself forget everything.

  Mara would find her eventually, even if it was simply by Kayla presenting herself to her sister. Kayla refused to let Teige pay the price. She refused to let that happen.

  She would run. At first, she’d do it to escape the marshals and then she’d find Mara, stop the killing once and for all. It wasn’t fair for people to be killed because of her. She needed to end it.

  Giving up the man she might be able to love seemed the right price to pay. Because there was always a price.

  *