Page 34 of Caretaker

Chapter Twelve

He wasn’t angry at my possessiveness. On the contrary, he seemed pleased. Quite pleased. Maybe he’d played me to get me to claim him, and maybe that pleased me.

The last time we’d had sex, we’d been high on the aftereffects of a bloody, vicious battle and filled with a little madness and bloodlust. Now, there was only lust.

He buried his fingers in my hair, tilted my head, then lowered his lips to mine. He kissed me like he wanted to crawl inside me, like there was nothing else in the world as vital as that kiss.

He kissed me like he’d wanted to kiss me for years and had just gotten the green light. He devoured me with that kiss.

Desire, sharp and hot, shot through me, tightening my belly, speeding my heart, and making me wonder why I’d forced myself to wait.

We were parked on the street in front of the judge’s house, and though that realization gave me pause, the wrongness of it made me even more excited. I never said I wasn’t a freak.

But finally, he pulled away.

“I’m taking you home with me.” His breath caught and his voice was ragged and strained, but he gave me a little push. “Buckle up.”

Sliding away from him might have been the hardest thing I’d ever done. I jerked the belt across my chest, and finally, he took it from me to shove it home when I took too long to fasten it.

I didn’t want anything taking my attention from him and what was about to happen, so I called Frank Crawford’s cell phone. I wanted to keep Madalyn’s encounter with the tree trunk to myself, because the crime scene could easily lead the cops to her before I had a chance to find her.

But she could be out there somewhere, injured. Dying. And I couldn’t keep information away from the very people who might be able to save her. I’d thought I could, but I couldn’t.

When Frank didn’t answer I left a message, explaining exactly what I’d found and where I’d found it. I also texted him the photo I’d taken, then slid the phone back into my pocket, my conscience clear. Sort of.

The ride there was a blur. I couldn’t look away from Shane. He was mine, and I felt it with every part of my body, my heart, my mind.

He was my hunter.

I’d never been inside his place. I’d assumed he stayed in Bay Town, but he sped to an apartment complex a few miles from the building I’d lived in before I’d moved in with Angus.

He led me into his apartment and to his bedroom, placed his shotgun on the dresser, then turned to me.

He watched me, his stare dark and fierce, his hands at his sides.

It was like I had to slog through quicksand to reach him. My legs were heavy, sweat trickled between my breasts, my heart pounded. I was nervous, excited, impatient. I was full of need.

My hands shook as I unbuckled his weapons belt. I let it drop to the floor, then began searching for and removing his weapons, one by one. I knelt and pulled a knife from one boot, a small holstered gun from the other, then unlaced his boots and waited for him to kick them off.

I ran my hands up his legs, then cupped the bulge at the front of his pants.

“Is that a weapon?” I asked.

He stared down at me. “If you want it to be.”

I wet my dry lips with the tip of my tongue. “Not this time.”

He hauled me to my feet, his fingers hard on my upper arms. “Whatever you need.”

I slipped my hand under his shirt, concentrating on the feel of his warm, smooth skin beneath my fingertips. I rubbed my thumb over a raised scar, then pushed his shirt over his chest. He was wearing too many clothes, and I wanted to look at him.

He lifted his arms, helping me, and when his shirt was gone, I ran my hands over his ribs and then dipped my fingers into the waistband of his pants.

He sucked in a breath but said nothing as I unfastened them and slid them over his hips. He stepped out of them, kicked them away, then stood in his boxers while I swept his body with a hungry stare.

I reached out to touch the flatness of his stomach, then bent forward to kiss the small, long-healed scar to the right of his navel. “How did you get this?”

He cleared his throat. “Knife fight.”