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“You jog.” It was something he didn’t know about her. There was, in fact, so much he didn’t know. So much of her life he’d never been able to observe.
“I aspire to jog. Mostly I walk. And only on the weekends when my caseload is light. I like to go to the beach and run in the surf.”
“Perhaps you’ll walk there with me some evening.”
“I’d like that,” she said as his fingers traced over the curve of her hip and then up to cup her breast. Her nipple was hard, and he teased it between two fingers, watching the way her areola responded. Her breasts were lovely, full and firm, and as she arched back, her lips parted with pleasure. He forced himself not to think about marking her there. Tasting her. Making her truly his.
“Please,” she murmured, the word like an answer to his thoughts. Instead, he eased his fingers down, exploring the texture of her ribs under her skin, feeling the excited, rapid beat of her heart beneath his fingers, then the soft texture of her abdomen as he worked his way slowly down, relishing the way her breaths came faster and faster, culminating in a little moan when he reached her pubis. She was waxed, her skin slick, but he didn’t move his hand any lower, even as she whimpered in his arms.
“Luke.”
He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to slide his fingers over her slick heat, then toss her onto the bed and lose himself in her. But he couldn’t. She deserved the truth, though not all of it. Perhaps he was a coward, but he feared that she’d despise him if she understood what he was. What he’d done.
But she should know the rest of it. The fact that they could only have this night. He had to leave this place, and by the time it would be safe for him to return, she would be only a memory. But even if he stayed—even if he were not a wanted man, they could have no future. Not really. And yet he knew that he would live on this night forever.
And what will she do?
He closed his eyes. Yes, she deserved the truth. Or as much of the truth as he could tell her.
“Luke?”
“I must leave before morning,” he said, wishing he could lose himself in the stormy sea of her eyes. “I don’t know when I will be back.” He cupped her cheek. “I may never come back.”
“You’re married.” Her voice was dull. Flat.
“No. For work. There is no one else.”
“Then why don’t you know when—?”
He shook his head. “I will stay or I will go, and I cannot tell you more. But the choice is yours, Sara. Shall we share one night? Or shall I go right now?”
His body went tense, and it seemed as though the sum of every moment of happiness he had ever experienced hung in the balance of her decision.
She said nothing. Instead she moved closer, pressing her body against his, her head tilted back as her lips brushed his in a sweet kiss that could have been either in farewell or welcome. When she pulled back, she met his eyes again, and her single word sent the world tumbling beneath his feet. “Stay.”
* * *
Despite being surrounded by businesses that reflected a booming economy, Orlando’s exterior was dull and drab, with peeling paint and a neon sign that flickered, showing nothing more thanOr doinstead of the establishment’s actual name.
Despite its shabby appearance, the parking lot was full, and Doyle knew that the inside would be packed. He shot a look toward his partner. “Ready?”
“The place gives me the wiggins. No offense, man, and I get why we’re bringing her here. But soul-trading….” He trailed off with a shudder.
“You think it’s my happy place?” Doyle snapped, then wished he could call back his words when he saw the regret on his partner’s face.
“Shit, Doyle. You know I didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Doyle said. “I know.” Except really, he knew no such thing. Why shouldn’t Tucker despise a place like this? Doyle did. Hated that he had to take souls to survive. That the demon inside needed them to live, to hell with what the human half wanted. To be a man and not a monster. But it was the souls that gave him the strength to battle the demon back down. That fueled the gifts that made him one hell of an asset to the PEC.
And how was that for the universe throwing some fucking hideous irony his way?
“Gotta be done,” he said, opening the passenger-side door and causing the light to illuminate the Catalina’s interior. He swiveled, looking into the backseat where Sally was spread out, her eyes moving in panicked motion under her closed lids. “Wait here if you want,” he added to Tucker as he slid out of the car.
“Screw that,” Tucker said, and got out as well.
It was easiest to just carry the woman, and Tucker took that on, as if to reinforce the apology. They entered together, moving from the shabby exterior to the clean, contemporary decor of the bar. He started toward the stairs, knowing that was where Lissa kept her office, but was stopped by Marco, the head of security for the soul-trading bar.
Marco sniffed, then his eyes narrowed. “A human? And her soul in tatters? What the hell are you doing bringing her here?”
