Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(63)
When he had lifted her off her feet, cupped her backside and tilted her hips before backing her up against the wall to thrust in and out of her, he had been consumed by a spike of desire. He’d been overtaken with lust of the most potent kind. And the pleasure that followed still had him quivering in the groin.
Inhaling deeply, he knew he had to pull himself together before placing a call to Stonewall. Since Striker had no idea how far he’d need to drive to relocate Margo, he planned to take advantage of her napping next door and take a nap himself. He would alert Stonewall to make sure the exterior was monitored while he caught a few winks.
“What’s up, Striker?”
“Checking in. About to take a nap.”
“This time of day? Um, sounds interesting.”
Striker rolled his eyes. “Get your mind out the gutter, Stonewall.”
“Whatever. We’ll keep an eye on the exterior and buzz you if we see anything out the ordinary.”
“Any more sightings of that dark sedan?” Striker asked.
“Not since last night, but we’re keeping watch. I have a funny feeling about that car. And just so you know, we’re getting another place ready for you and Ms. Connelly. A cabin. I’ll tell you where in a coded message.”
Striker nodded. The thought of him alone with Margo in a mountain cabin for no telling how long could spell trouble. But he had no intentions of breaking his rule about not taking her again.
“Get some rest while you can. Chances are you’ll be moving out tonight.”
Striker nodded. “Did Roland go home when he left here?”
“No, he’s here. Right now he’s resting on the cot,” Stonewall replied. “He still needs to take it easy, but you’ll never convince him of that.”
At that moment Striker heard sounds coming from Margo’s bedroom and went on full alert. Moans. Groans. His ears perked up. What the hell? “Stonewall, I’ve got to go,” he said quickly, knowing he sounded rushed.
“Something’s wrong?”
The last thing he would do was tell Stonewall what he was hearing. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Stonewall was quiet for a moment and then said, “We’ll be calling later with specifics about tonight. We’ll text coded messages.”
“Okay.” Striker then clicked off the phone and listened intently. Either Margo was in the throes of some hot dream or she was intentionally messing with his mind. He had a feeling she was deliberately setting him up, probably thinking he didn’t have the ability to keep his pants zipped where she was concerned. Well, he had news for her. He was programmed to do without a lot of things he wanted. Things that could become his passion. That was the way of life for him. And when it came to his job, he took it seriously.
Granted, lust had overtaken his senses last night and this morning, but he was back in control now. He would admit she was a temptation, but he would fight it. He could fight it. And if it was a setup like he suspected, he would have to show her his resolve was better than most. The quicker she knew that the better.
With that dogged tenacity, he moved out the door. When he got to her bedroom door, he stopped. She was still making those sounds and was probably having fun doing so, figuring he would eventually come to her. Intent on catching her in the act, he opened the door, stepped in her room and froze.
Margo was lying in the middle of the bed, and it appeared that she was really sleeping. And it seemed those sounds she was making were from a dream. He wondered who the leading man was in what appeared to be the equivalent of a wet dream. He would like to think it was him, but for all he knew, it could be good old Scotty.
Striker tried not to let that possibility annoy the hell out of him. Thinking she deserved to have her dream in private, he was about to leave when he heard his name moaned from her lips. He drew in a sharp breath. So what if she was reliving memories of their time together while she slept? He could understand that happening. After all, the lovemaking had been good. Damn, better than good. But still, the fact stirred his insides and made him hard.
His gaze swept across the bed, and he wished she wasn’t lying there in just her bra and panties. And he couldn’t help noticing that her thighs quivered and her legs twitched whenever she moaned. Damn. Just what was he doing to her in the dream? Was his mouth between these twitching legs? Was his body between these quivering thighs? Inside of her? Was she on top of him? Was he on top of her? Who was riding whom?
The visual of any one of those scenarios made his erection press hard against his zipper. A degree of lust he didn’t want to think about or feel took over his mind and senses. Where in the hell was that control he’d felt earlier? That determination not to touch her again? Both had been obliterated the moment she’d moaned his name.
Moving closer, he inhaled her scent before squatting down beside the bed. The movement brought her awake. She snatched open her eyes and jerked upright in bed, looking at him and then frantically glancing around. “What is it, Striker? What’s wrong?”
His gaze roamed over her, and then, after a slight hesitation, he said, “You said my name.”
She looked at him, confused. “I did?”
“You moaned it, actually. Must have been some dream you were having.”
His words made her blush and her expression went from bemused to knowing. Pushing a lock of hair from her face, she said, “Well, yeah, it was. I invited you to join me, but you turned me down. So I had to dream up a few what-if scenarios.”