She expected him to pounce. He didn't. He handed her the soap. Her hands trembled as she removed the wrapper. As she cleaned up, he leaned against the wall and watched. Then they switched. By then, her muscles and bones were no longer soothed. They were on edge, waiting, hoping.

"We're not . . . done, are we?" After all, he'd put the condom on. And he'd kept it on, thank you very much.

"Hell, no," he said. And then he was on her, mouth pressing against hers, tongue delving deep.

Passion and shadows once more swept her under, and she returned his kiss with a fervency that scared her. Taking, giving, craving, silently begging, needing, clutching, clawing at him. Their tongues were practically having sex on their own, rolling over each other, battling, thrusting deep.

"You're ruining me for everyone else," he growled.

She was glad, hated herself for feeling that way, but couldn't stop the joy. She wanted him to herself, for herself. Wanted everyone else to stay away from him. But only for a little while, she forced herself to add.

"Tell me you want me."

"I do. I want you. So bad I ache."

He stood before her and growled his approval, then cupped her ass, lifting. She wound her legs around him, locking her ankles at his back, just as he shoved inside her. There was no slowly sinking inside, allowing her body to grow used to him. He was in her to the hilt in seconds. Their groans of pleasure mingled, his low, hers high, and it was like music, urging them on.

"Damn. Shit." Over and over he pumped, slipping and sliding, filling her up, stretching her wide, hitting all the way to her soul. "Sorry, sorry," he said. "Should go slow. Should savor, not fuck through your spinal cord."

That would have made her laugh if her body weren't currently on fire, her nerve endings screaming at her. "No, no. You feel so good. I can take it. Can take it hard and fast."

He took her at her word. He spun and slammed her against the tiles. The cold made her gasp, but he used the leverage to penetrate balls deep. Her nipples abraded his chest as he pressed her forward and gripped her hips, spreading her thighs as wide as they could go. Only his shaft held her up, gravity causing her to fall on him with every arch of his hips. He was a part of her, that missing part, finally making her whole. Her head thrashed from side to side, and she scratched at his back, holding on for the roughest, naughtiest, and sweetest ride of her life.

His movements became more frantic, the pumps short but deep. He was close, she knew he was, and that thrilled her. Gave her power. She had done this, pushed him to the edge.

"Hate me all you want afterward, but right now you're mine," he gritted out.

The words were as powerful as a caress and Gabby flung herself over the edge, screaming her pleasure, muscles spasming, stars winking behind her eyes. She lost her hold on reality for a few minutes--maybe hours--spinning out of control, body washed with a bliss so sublime she would never be the same.

Sean roared, loud and long, then found her mouth again, tongue thrusting home as his climax hit. Kissing him like that prolonged her own climax, taking her to yet another new height.

Finally, he collapsed against her. Finally, conscious thought returned to her. The water was cold, she realized. At least Sean's big body shielded her from the brunt of it. Her legs fell from him, but her feet were like blocks of lead and she was unable to balance her weight on them.

He reached back, leaning away from her slightly, and twisted the knobs until the water stopped cascading. Without the hum of water dancing over porcelain, the raspiness of their breaths echoed.

When he faced her, his expression was unreadable. "That ever happen to you before?"

"A . . . a million times." Her teeth chattered together, her wet skin like ice as the air brushed against her.

"Liar," he said.

Yes, she was. Nothing like that had happened to her before.

"You were as surprised as I was."

"Don't--don't delude yourself."

He helped her from the stall and patted her dry with a towel. He used the same towel on himself, and she liked the thought of the same cloth touching both their bodies. Silly girl. Repeat performances aside, this had to be a one-time thing. Couldn't be more. He was dangerous, and when all was said and done, she had to run again.

Didn't she? She'd never considered working for an agency before, government or otherwise. But as she'd thought before, not having to constantly look over her shoulder and leave the things she grew to love would be nice.

Rose Briar had lied to her, though. Not that lying was such a terrible sin, but they had thought to trick her into trusting and helping. It was proof that they were just like everyone else. Their agenda was all that mattered and they would have no problem hurting her if she ever defied them, she was sure.

Sean opened the bathroom door, and even colder air swept inside. As she glanced down at her dirty clothes, she shivered and shuddered, not liking the thought of putting them on again now that she was clean.

"Under the covers," he commanded. "I'll have new clothes for us by morning."

So they would sleep naked? If so, they'd have sex again. She knew it, and couldn't allow it. After the earth-shattering sex they'd just had, twice could lead to addiction. And whether she decided to work for Rose Briar or not--God, was she truly considering it?--she had to be ready to walk away from this man at a moment's notice.

Only way to stop it, really, was to make him want to keep his distance.

"Thanks. Just so you know, I prefer real cotton. Oh, and thanks for the distraction," she added as if it were an afterthought, trying for a cold tone.

"You're welcome," he gritted out.

"It was . . . pleasant. I guess." Gabby sailed past him. Or rather, tripped past him. Her legs were still weakened.

In the room, she dived for the bed and scrambled under the covers. Now that passion was no longer clouding their thoughts, she wasn't as proud of her body and knew he would not be seeing it in quite the same way.

The moment she settled, she felt the mattress dip. Her eyes widened as she swung her attention to Sean. He was scooting in beside her. He didn't ask for permission but hauled her to his side.

"There are two beds."

"I know. Now keep me warm," he commanded.

He was already warm, his body like a furnace. That heat enveloped her, drugging, delicious. "Okay, but I'm not yours," she whispered, surprised by the sense of depression filling her. "I can't be. And you called me yours in the shower, said it didn't matter if I hated you. Which I do, by the way."

"Do you always believe a man who's fucking you? We tend to say things we don't mean." He didn't wait for her reply. "Go to sleep, Gabby. We'll figure all of this out in the morning."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Quiet as possible, Sean removed the GPS tracking chip from inside the sole of Gabby's shoe. He'd forgotten he'd placed it there before taking her to the safe house. He stuffed it in his pocket and stared down at her. She was on her stomach, face turned toward him, and sleeping peacefully. She was naked, still flushed.

If she woke up and ran . . .

I'll find her, he thought.

Walking away from her just then was difficult. But he did it. Even though every cell in his body demanded he sink back under those covers, plaster that woman's delectable curves with his weight and heat, and enjoy another taste of her. He snuck through the bathroom window, so he wouldn't disturb the belt still attached to the door.

He quickly hot-wired a car and drove to the nearest--and biggest--store, a supercenter, tossing the chip out the window along the way. Thankfully, there was a bit of a crowd and he was able to blend in. He picked up shirts, pants, underwear for a man his size and a woman Gabby's. All made of cotton. Granola bars, bread and ham, and bottles of water. A lawn mower muffler, which he planned to use as a makeshift silencer for his gun since he'd left his with Rowan. Most important, he purchased a prepaid phone.

Of course, the entire time his thoughts remained on Gabby and what they'd done last night. He loved sex. Since his first time at the age of fifteen, while "studying" over at a girlfriend's house, he'd loved sex. The meeting of bodies, that sense of companionship, of belonging, just for a little while. But what he and Gabby had done last night . . . it had been more than sex; it had been a possession.

What was it about her that got to him so intensely?

He'd watched her these past couple weeks. She was so wary, so secretive. Not once had she opened up to anyone. Not once had she gone on a date or talked and laughed--with anyone. She'd kept to herself, jumped at the slightest noise. Tensed when someone touched her. Except him.

Sean knew about her uncle now, and wanted to kill the fucker. More than kill, he wanted to torture. And he would. When this was over, he planned to make sure the bastard never hurt another little girl like he'd hurt Gabby. The bastard wasn't why Gabby was like she was, though. As much time as she'd spent on the streets, she had to have seen the worst humanity had to offer. She'd probably seen all kinds of depraved acts. Some might even have been done to her.

Sean's hands clenched at his sides, and he fought the urge to hunt down everyone she'd ever met and kill them all. Clearly she didn't trust anyone. And just as clearly, he'd done nothing to earn her trust. Quite the opposite. That hadn't bothered him before--much--but it bothered him now. Trust was a precious thing, and he wanted hers. As much as he wanted her body.

Want, want, want. Still he wanted more from her.

He wanted her beautiful eyes to regard him with interest--sometimes they did, but he wanted more. All the time. All her time. He wanted to know her secrets, to share his own. He wanted to protect her, to make sure nothing bad ever happened to her again.

He wanted to take the darkness of her past and give her light for the future. Which was stupid. Him, the king of shadows, gifting someone with light. He laughed bitterly. Light wasn't something he knew. Not well, at least. But she had opened up to him a little and shown him a dry wit that delighted him and a strength of spirit not many possessed, and he'd liked it.

She had a good and generous heart, soft when it should have been petrified into stone, and had had a tough life. She deserved peace, freedom from her demons. She deserved love.

Was Sean capable of that? He'd admired his father but hadn't wanted to spend time with the man. He'd enjoyed other family members but had easily left them when his darkness had begun to seep into their lives. He respected Rowan, and a few other agents he worked with, but again, he could walk away if necessary. But love?

What he felt for Gabby had to be something else. Obsession, maybe. He scowled. He didn't like that word, either. It implied that nothing else mattered. Still, a part of him didn't mind the thought of his darkness being part of Gabby's life. He liked it. Wanted to share it with her. Wanted to wrap her in his shadows and float away, just the two of them.

Want, want, want, he thought again.

Stop examining your feelings, pussy, and go save your girl. Sean tossed his packages in the car, buckled up behind the wheel, and drove. He parked at the edge of the motel, angling the car so that he had a direct view of his and Gabby's room. The sun was high and bright, chasing away most of the day's shadows, so his coverage was minimal.

He was not at his best at times like this, but he had to get Gabby out of that motel room and on the road within the hour. She had to be in different clothes--people were already looking for that black top and jeans, he was sure--and she had to cut all that silky hair.

No, he thought next. Too much did he enjoy fisting that hair. He'd get her a ball cap.

Get busy. He dug out his new cell and dialed Rowan.

The agent answered on the second ring. "Agent Patrick."

Finally. "Guess who?"

There was a beat of silent surprise. "Fuck! Sean. Thank God, man. I got your message. What the hell is going on?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"We found Bill's body, just as you said. Someone popped him up good. He managed to drive to the cabin and crawl his way inside. Probably trying to warn you. Whoever did it followed him. We found nine sets of footprints there. They'd disabled the security we set up, so we didn't get a look at their faces."

Shit. "Why was Bill shot, though? As many secrets as that man had, he was better off alive, you know?"

"I know, and we don't have a goddamn clue as to what's going on."

Sean stiffened. "Who's we?"

"Me, Bentley. A few others who've been pulled on the case. Look, why don't you bring the girl to Rose Briar? We'll keep her safe while we figure this out."

"No. I trust you, but no one else. Bill's death wasn't some random accident, and he wasn't followed just so some thugs could rob him. They shot him for a reason. And whoever was there knew Gabby and I were there, too. They wanted us."

"Shit."

"Yeah. My thoughts exactly."

"Think it's the scientist who messed with her brain?" Rowan asked.

"Maybe." Sean pressed his head against the back of his seat, the rough material making his skin itch. "Find out what you can about him, about the other kids he fucked with, too. Maybe Bill knew something he didn't share with us." With the words, an idea hit Sean.

As high up on the power pole as Bill had been, he would have documents. Top-secret documents only he had been privy to. They could very well be stored on any or all of his computers. At the office, at his home. He might have text messages and e-mails on his phone.

First order of business, then: getting Gabby inside Bill's house. Second . . . "Did you get Bill's personal effects?"

"Yeah," Rowan said. "Why?"

"I want his phone."

"That's already been confiscated by top brass. Standard procedure, you know that."

"Yeah, but can you get it for me?"

A pause. A sigh. "Yeah. Your message said you abandoned your own phone. How do you want me to let you know I've got it?"

As Rowan spoke, Sean's gaze scanned the lot. He was just opening his mouth to reply when he spotted two men slinking along the pavement just in front of the motel room doors. Both wore jeans and T-shirts, as well as jackets. Jackets to conceal their weapons, just like the ones who'd waited for Gabby that night at her apartment?

"Sean?" Rowan said.

"Don't worry. I'll find you," he replied, and hung up the phone. His heart drummed in his chest as he exited the car. He palmed his SIG. A gunfight would bring news stations and witnesses, and he didn't want that. He hadn't had time to rig the silencer, so if he fired, he'd have to leave the scene quickly.

The men stopped in front of Gabby's door, looked at each other, their expressions equally determined, then looked around. Sean ducked under an awning, out of sight. There were a few shadows present and he willed them around his body before surging forward again.

The men must have thought the gray cloud was odd, though, because both stared over at him, brows puckered in confusion. Confusion they soon shook off to concentrate on Gabby's door. Human minds simply couldn't process what they didn't understand.

One man gripped the knob. Sean increased his speed, sweat already beading on his skin. Both men withdrew weapons, and they had silencers.

Shit! Damn! They planned to kill her.

He wasn't in range yet; frustrated, helpless, angry, he picked up speed. Only two ways he could have been found. One, his call to Rowan last night had been traced and the bad guys had been in the area. That didn't explain how the goons had known what room Sean was using, though. Or two, he'd been pegged with a tracker he didn't know about. If that was the case, why hadn't the room been invaded last night?

Too many questions, Sean thought.

Almost . . . there . . . almost . . .

Sean had crawled out the bathroom window to exit the room, leaving the buckle he'd rigged around the knob in place. He hoped the jingle of that buckle had woken Gabby and sent her into hiding. He hoped she wouldn't assume it was him.

Both men frowned when the door didn't automatically open to their ministrations. The one with his hand on the knob backed up, aimed his gun, and fired. There was a slight whiz, followed by an equally slight pop. So much for finesse.

Sean, finally within striking distance, raised his own gun and fired. There was a loud bang. A grunt. Contact. The man collapsed onto the ground, a new hole in his head. A kill shot.

Sean wasn't in the mood to play.