Rafe scowled as Sheila left the house, head low, her steps slow.
She had donned the dark, close fitting clothes she wore when she
Hunted and he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the way the black
fatigues stretched across that delightfully round ass.
He had missed her.
Gone three weeks to Excelsior, and all he could think about was
her.
He had sensed her the moment he stepped back on Eli’s lands and
his blood seemed to burn inside his veins, hunger throbbing in
his cock, in his head, tightening his muscles. Seeing her, he
had wanted nothing more than to sink to his knees in front of
her and wrap his arms around her, burying his face between her
full, rounded breasts.
She made him weak.
And he hated it.
So
he had ignored what he wanted, ignored the hesitant smile in her
eyes, keeping his attention focused on Erika, ignoring the pain
he felt coming from her.
She knew the score, damn it. After giving Erika a slight smile,
he had left the kitchen, the scowl deepening on his face once he
was out of their sight.
Now, a day later, he couldn’t stop craving a taste of her.
Sheila hadn’t been in her rooms today—he had no idea where she
had slept. And he refused to go looking for her.
Just after sunset, she had returned, her eyes hooded, the long
sweep her rose colored skirt flowing down the length of her
thighs, a pretty sweater, shades darker than the skirt, giving
color to her creamy complexion. Rafe had watched her from the
greatroom where the Hunters of Eli’s enclave had gathered for
the night, watched as she sauntered in and dropped onto a couch
between Mike and Jonathan. Lori was sitting in Jonathan’s lap,
so the two of them took up a little more room, meaning Sheila
had to sit closer to Mike than Rafe could stand. Studiously, she
ignored the looks he had slid her, staring at Eli with intent
focused eyes.
That had sliced. Deep.
Mike’s dark gray eyes had slid to Rafe as Sheila sat there, and
Rafe had scowled, jerking his gaze away from the Inherent,
knowing his anger was naked for all to see.
Now, hours after the meeting had ended, she was leaving for her
night of patrol with her shoulders slumped and her eyes on the
ground. Damn it. The southern belle looked about as happy as he
felt.
In
his hands, he held a short sword, polishing the surface that
really didn’t need it. The blade all but glowed in the dim
light, reflecting his face back at him as he tore his eyes from
Sheila’s form, forcing himself to look at the sword as he ran
the cloth up and down.
But barely a moment passed before he lifted his gaze, searching
for Sheila once more. She was gone from sight.
Out Hunting.
Walking away from him…
Hunger, pain, guilt, need, they all ran together and wrapped a
tight fist around his heart. Laying the sword aside, he spun
away from the window to pace the floor.
She knew. He’d warned her from the beginning he wasn’t the man
for a relationship. Not that she ever asked for anything. But he
saw the disappointment in her eyes every time he pulled back.
Sheila wanted more. Hell, that was what she was made for. And he
couldn’t give it to her.
But he’d be damned if he let her walk away.
Seeing her warmed something inside him he thought had died long
ago. Any man that so much as looked at her had him ready to
kill.
He
stalked into her rooms, ignoring his own as he dropped down on
her bed, closing his eyes. Her scent was everywhere—her touch
all over the place. Wrapped in it, he let it soothe the ache in
his gut while he waited.
* * * * *
Sheila came to an abrupt halt just inside her door.
Rafe lay on the bed, his long, lean limbs sprawled sexily on the
bed, the mellow gold of his skin gleaming against the white
eyelet comforter. He wore jeans. Just jeans.
Her heart leaped into her throat, dancing a jig as his eyes
opened.
A
light dusting of hair trailed down the center of his chest,
thickening into a darker line that disappeared under the
waistband of his jeans. In the dim light, he stared at her from
hooded eyes, his mouth curved in just the slightest of smiles.
The muscles in his belly worked as he sat up slowly, his eyes
dark, all but glowing with hunger.
Her own hunger was a pulsing thing in her belly, throbbing and
hot. The urge to leap atop him and kiss him senseless rose, but
she beat it down.
Two days. He’d been back two bloody days, and he hadn’t said so
much as a word to her. But now, he was in here waiting for her,
and she knew damned well why. Not to talk to her, not to hold
her or tell her that he’d missed her.
Just to fuck her. His cock strained under the sturdy denim cloth
and she could hear his heartbeat picking up as he stared at her.
Nothing more. She loved him, with every fiber of her being and
she was nothing more than a way for him to slake his hunger.
Sheila wasn’t doing this any more. He ignored her, except when
he wanted to fuck her. And she just couldn’t take it any more.
“Get out, Rafe,” she said quietly, walking away from the bed,
sitting down on the chair in front of her vanity, her fingers
going to the band that held her braid together.
“Rough night, belle?”
His voice, as always, made her shiver. Sliding him a blank
glance, she lifted one shoulder and said, “No. The night went
fine. Get out.”
In
the mirror, she could see him as he rose. That vampires didn’t
cast a reflection was a lie. They all had one. And his was
moving closer to hers. Her hands fell away as his took the thick
cable of her braid in his hands, slowly unwinding it, combing
through the wavy locks, taking an inordinate amount of time
doing so, smoothing it down along her shoulders and back,
stroking the down the locks that spilled over the upper mounds
of her breasts.
As
the flats of his hands brushed against her nipples, Sheila bit
back the whimper that rose in her throat. Throwing off his
hands, she stood up and moved away, walking to her closet and
kneeling down to unlace her boots. “How many times do I have to
tell you to get out, Rafe?” she asked quietly.
For a long while, he was silent, and when she raised her head to
look at him, a shiver raced down her spine at the intent, hungry
look in his eyes. “You kicking me out, belle?” he asked gruffly.
