Page 42 of John’s Yearning

What had he done?

If he could flog himself, he would. Because he deserved a severe beating. He’d taken advantage of Savannah, of her vulnerability. And not only that, he’d fucked her like an animal, without finesse, without tenderness, without concern for her likes or dislikes. He hadn’t whispered tender words to her, goddamn it, not even dirty ones, when he’d made love to her. Made love to her? He shouldn’t be allowed to call it that. Because he hadn’t behaved like a lover, he’d behaved like a caveman, like a wild animal engaged in rutting. Shame flooded him. This wasn’t how he’d imagined things playing out.

Sure, he could blame the fact that she’d almost been kidnapped tonight and that he’d needed to reassure himself that he hadn’t lost her. But it was more than that. It went deeper. Savannah had gotten under his skin, appealing to that part of him that he kept hidden. The part of him that was all vampire, all animal, all alpha. And had he not kissed her during the entire time, had he dared lay his lips onto her neck or any other part of her, he would have bitten her. And lost her. Because she would have pushed him away in horror. Because what could be more frightening than realizing that the man she was in bed with was a dangerous creature who lusted after her blood?

Had he been a gentle, tender lover, maybe then he could eventually have revealed what he was and shown her that she didn’t have to be frightened of him. That a bite could be a loving experience. But the way he’d behaved tonight, the way he’d fucked her with almost brutal passion, had made that impossible. She would be crazy to believe that he was capable of tenderness and love.

With a sharp intake of breath, he sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He couldn’t allow this to happen ever again. Or his chances of winning Savannah were equal to nil.

Winning her? Was that his plan? When had he made that decision?

He let out a shaky breath. He had no reason to believe that Savannah was even interested in him. She was probably already regretting having slept with him. Or why else wasn’t she saying anything or reaching for him? Why else was there this awkward silence between them? He didn’t dare look back at her, not wanting to see the look of regret on her face. Instead he reached for his boxer briefs and stood up. He pulled them on, keeping his back to her, while he looked around for the rest of his clothes.

His eyes fell on the chest of drawers. On top of it stood a framed photo of Buffy. He froze in his movements. He’d seen pictures of Buffy before, but this one was different. This one was taken by a professional, it was posed. And there was something about it that drew him to it. Something about the photograph was familiar. He’d seen it before, even though he knew with certainty that this photo hadn’t been in the police file. Not in Buffy’s.

“This is it,” he murmured to himself. The connection.

“What?” Behind him, he heard Savannah sit up in bed.

He turned around to her, his eyes taking in her naked body. God, she was gorgeous. Her hair was tousled, her body glowing with perspiration, and her eyes were full of passion. But then she pulled the duvet to cover herself, as if embarrassed. Regret. Yes, he saw it now. But for the sake of Buffy, he had to push that disappointment aside.

He reached for the photo and showed it to her. “When did you get this photo of her taken?”

Surprised, Savannah stared at it for a moment, then she said, “Two or three weeks ago, why?”

“Because I think this is the connection. This is the missing link I’ve been looking for.” He put the photo back on the dresser then reached for his pants. “Get dressed.”

“Where’re we going?”

“To my office. The other police files are there. I need to look at them to confirm my hunch.”

She jumped out of bed, suddenly not concerned about her nudity. “What hunch? John? What do you see?”

But he didn’t want to give her false hope, in case he was wrong. Though he didn’t think he was. “I’ll explain when we’re in my office, and you can see it for yourself.”

While they got dressed, they didn’t speak. However, John couldn’t help but steal glances at her as she dressed in jeans and slipped into a tight turtleneck sweater. Again, no bra. Did this woman not realize what she was doing to every healthy man by wearing no bra? Could she not see that when she moved, her breasts would bounce ever so slightly, tempting every sane man to touch them, to squeeze them? Could she be so innocent that she didn’t realize that even a turtleneck sweater that revealed no cleavage, no skin, couldn’t hide her sexiness? Couldn’t hide her delectable curves. Couldn’t hide that body that was made for sin. For sex. For him.

Savannah didn’t bother freshening up her makeup or wasting time in front of the mirror to fix her hair, instead, she simply combed her fingers through it a couple of times, and then looked at him. “Ready.”

He’d never seen any woman get ready this fast, particularly not after sex. He was more than just a little impressed.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” she said.

Fuck! He felt like an idiot. He motioned to the bedroom door. “Living room.” Then he pointed to the picture. “We need to take that with us.”

While Savannah took the picture out of the frame, John finished dressing. Moments later, he was ready.

They drove in silence. Traffic was much lighter now, though it got busier when they reached the Mission. Many popular restaurants, bars, and nightclubs were located in the neighborhood, making driving challenging at any time of the night.

John drove into the parking garage underneath Scanguards’ headquarters and parked in his assigned spot. He knew it was against the rules to take a client into the building this way, since he was bypassing security where she would have to sign in. But there was no time for formalities right now. Besides, she wasn’t a client. Not an official one, and the less people knew of her presence, the better.

They reached his office without incident. John opened the door and ushered Savannah inside, glad to see that Deirdre had left. However, she’d stuck a post-it note to his computer.

You could have called me back. D. P.S. You’re welcome.

Apparently Deirdre was a little miffed that he hadn’t let her know whether he’d been able to reach Savannah in time. He grabbed the note and crumbled it up, but not before Savannah had seen it and managed to read it.