“Yes, you did.” He stood, shoving back his chair with a groan of sound. “Did I ever tell you that I used to go to Quantico to observe you?”

“What?” She rose, too, slowly. The chair rolled behind her.

“I took a risk, pushing you through the program. There were folks out there just waiting for you to crack.”

She hadn’t cracked.

“So I’d check in on you, every now and then. To see how you were handling the pressure.”

Just fine. Or not.

“Sometimes, when I’d see you, you seemed so alone.” The words were gruff. Hesitant. Hyde wasn’t the hesitant kind.

Monica didn’t know what to say. She cleared her throat. “I’ve never been big on socializing.” Friendships had made her nervous.

“No.” His lips rose just a bit. “But I saw you one night… at some dive… your group was having drinks. I saw you—and Dante.”

“But you never said—”

“You looked different with him. Your eyes.” His hand lifted, then fell. “Not so cold.”

Her breath choked out as she realized just what he’d done. “You set me up.”

“You think I saved you, don’t you?” he asked, confusing her. Because, yes, he’d saved her. If he hadn’t come in, she would have died in that cabin. It had only been a matter of time.

“I know you did,” she whispered.

“I’d been arriving too late for so long.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know what it was to hope anymore.” He turned away from her and strolled to the door. “Be happy, Monica. I think it’s finally time for you to just be happy.”

Her heart squeezed. “Thank you, Keith.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Right back at you.”

Her lips curved, and she had to blink, fast, because Hyde didn’t like tears.

“Watch your ass with Romeo, got me? I don’t want him getting any kind of hold on you again.”

“He won’t.” Because she wasn’t afraid. Not of the Watchman. Not of Romeo.

It was time Romeo started to fear her.

She came to him. After the press conferences and the newscasts, she came to him.

Her knock on his door had been so soft, but he’d known it was her.

Now she stood before him on the threshold of his room, and Luke could only stare at her.

Monica. She was so damn gorgeous she took his breath away. She’d used makeup to hide her bruises for the camera and her lips were slick with gloss, her eyes even more blue with dark shadow.

“Luke… I—” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be away from you anymore.”

He opened his arms. She stepped toward him. Pressed her body against his and fit.

She’d always fit.

He had stitches in both arms. His shoulder had been patched. He had bruises and cuts all over his body, and he looked like a freaking Frankenstein.

He didn’t care. Neither did she.

Monica stripped him. Carefully, slowly. Her fingers fluttered over his wounds, and her lips pressed against the darkness of his bruises.

This time he knew it would be different. He let her lead him. Right then, he would have followed her anywhere.

She slipped off her dress, the dress that had driven him crazy during the press conference. A slinky little black number that had hugged her hips, cupped her br**sts, and made his body ache.

When the dress fell, he swallowed when he saw the black panties and matching black bra. Small scraps of lace. She walked before him, her hips rolling, and his c**k swelled even more.

“Lay down.” Her sensual order. “I’ll be careful. I won’t hurt you.”

He’d be damned if he ever hurt her.

The bed squeaked beneath him. He stretched out, unable to take his eyes off her. What sane man would?

Her fingers hooked under the edge of her panties. She pushed the lace down. Stepped out of her strappy shoes.

Ah, he liked those. Sexy. She could have kept those on while they—

She climbed onto the bed. Crawled over him.

So. Fucking. Sexy.

Her mouth found his, and she kissed him. Her tongue pushed inside his mouth, tasted him, licked, stroked. Then she eased back and sucked his tongue.

Luke’s heels dug into the mattress. Her hand slid between their bodies. Found his cock. Ready and thick. Heavy with need. Desperate to thrust deep and hard into her.

She pumped him, worked him over and over with her tight fist and he groaned. Fuck, no. “I want… in you.” But he had to make her ready. He’d stroke her first. Find her clit. Caress that soft nub until she moaned against him and pushed her hips against his hand. He’d take her breast into his mouth. Suck her ni**les. Hear her breath catch.

Monica shifted, widening her legs, straddling him, and the folds of her sex brushed over his cock.

“No, wait—”

She arched up and pushed down on him.

Luke’s back teeth clenched. Ready. Wet. Tight. Hot.

So good.

He tried to grab her, to slow her down. Luke didn’t want to hurt her shoulder—

“No. Don’t move your arms.” She shook her head. Her dark locks fell around her face. “I need this. Let me.”

He was already gone. She could do anything she wanted. As long… ah, damn.

Her hips rose, fell. Her sex clenched around him.

He slid his fingers between their bodies. Pressed against her clit. Plucked. Stroked.

She started to move faster.

He thrust harder. Deeper. Inside. As deep as I can go.

She rose onto her knees and arched down. The black lace hugged her br**sts, but he could see the shadow of her ni**les, stabbing out. Such pretty br**sts…

Heat flushed her skin, face, chest. Her breath panted out. So did his.

The climax was coming. Her sex milked him, stroking every inch of his c**k and driving him out of his mind.

He thrust his c**k into her. Slammed balls-deep. She took him. Took everything.




Her sex convulsed around him, contracting hard, squeezing so tight. Jesus!

She stared right at him, her eyes blue and blind with pleasure, and she whispered, “I love you.”

He exploded. Pleasure, so intense it stole his breath.

Just like she’d stolen his heart.

No light spilled from the bathroom. There was no gun under her pillow. Or his. Just the two of them, touching on the bed.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” she told him, her voice husky in the darkness.

He turned toward her, feeling the pull of his stitches. He hadn’t felt a thing before. “It was a long time ago.” Easy words. Words most people would expect.

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