Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(47)

Bas was a master of hiding his emotions.

Of course, she’d just come out of a compulsion spell and had been reeling from shock at the time.

Not exactly at the top of her game.

“Fear,” she at last said. “Regret.”

“And when he spoke of the kidnapper?”

That one was easier.

“Fury.”

“But not fear?”

“No.” She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “I don’t think so.”

Fane pressed a kiss against the side of her neck, the searing sensation penetrating her self-imposed trance.

Oddly, the feel of Fane’s touch wasn’t an intrusion. It offered comfort rather than distraction.

As if Fane was capable of sharing his strength with her on a psychic plane.

A thought that should have been terrifying, not soothing.

“Trust your instincts,” he urged.

Steadied by his solid presence, Serra allowed herself to trust what her senses were telling her.

“He fears the cost demanded by the kidnapper, but he’ll pay it to rescue his daughter,” she said with absolute certainty. “That’s why he’s so anxious for me to find her first. He doesn’t want to be responsible for what happens if he gives the kidnapper what he wants.”

“So what could frighten a man like Bas?”

Deconstructing the room in her mind, Serra snapped out of her trance and opened her eyes.

“Does it matter?”

“I have a feeling it might matter very much,” Fane said, but suddenly his tone was distracted, and his hand was skimming up the flat plane of her stomach to cup her bare breast.

She hissed in pleasure, all thought destroyed as his thumb strummed the tip of her nipple. How could any woman think when his fingers were doing such lovely, wicked things to her body?

“Fane,” she muttered.

“Hmm?”

Her heart stuttered, a perilous warmth exploding in the center of her heart as his lips stroked along the line of her shoulder.

Oh . . . shit.

It was madness. Complete and utter madness.

Hadn’t she just been fretting and stewing over her intense reaction to Fane’s touch? Hadn’t she realized that she could never have “just sex” with this man?

“I told you, I need a shower,” she breathed.

“It can wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“This.” He tugged at her extended nipple, chuckling at her low moan of pleasure. “And this.”

She shivered as his other hand reached down to grasp her knee, tugging it upward so he could slide his muscular thigh between her legs.

“It’s a formal event.”

His lips continued to wreak havoc as they trailed back up her shoulder and found a highly erotic spot at the base of her nape.

“And?”

And? She struggled to keep track of her protest. Not an easy task when he pressed the impressive length of his arousal against her lower back.

Sensual anticipation flowed through her veins like warm honey, his heat no longer a trap to escape, but an invitation to paradise.

Not that she was ready to concede defeat.

Was she?

“And it takes more effort to get ready,” she tried to bluff.

“Serra, you are the most breathtaking woman I have ever seen,” he growled, his large thigh moving upward to press against her moist core. “You could throw on a rag and outshine every woman in St. Louis.”

She made a strangled sound of shock.

For a man who could rarely string more than two words together, Fane seemed to know exactly what to say.

Impossible, aggravating, bewitching male.

Bewitching. Yeah. That just about summed him up, Serra acknowledged, vividly aware of the slide of his big hand over the curve of her hip that only intensified the heat blazing through her.

She craved this man with an insatiable hunger that she knew beyond a doubt would plague her the rest of her life.

Regardless of how long or short that life might be.

“You’re trying to charm me again.”

His thigh rubbed against her sensitive clit, his fingers continuing to toy with her maddeningly responsive nipple.

“Not charm,” he murmured. “Truth.”

Serra released a shaken breath, feeling her resistance melting.

Christ. She was already heading toward another orgasm. Already aching to feel him deep inside her as she convulsed around his thick length.

No. This wasn’t sex.

This was . . . dangerous and painful and eventually heartbreaking.

Now, however, didn’t seem the time to argue the point.

“We agreed this was just sex,” she ridiculously tried to insist.

He parted his lips to bite the spot where her neck connected with her shoulder. It wasn’t hard enough to pierce the skin, but the punishing nip sent a shocking jolt of ecstasy through her body.

“There was no agreement,” he reminded her in harsh tones. “You said this was just sex, not me.”

She struggled to breathe, her body trembling with need. “I don’t want you to think—”

“Good,” he interrupted, using his tongue to soothe the tender skin of her neck. “Because right now thinking is the last thing I want to do.”

She tried to focus on the expensive Picasso prints framed on the far wall.