He pulled back a little. The odd seriousness in his dark eyes made her pulse skip, then race. “There was never anything controlled about us. Not once we actually met, anyway."
Part of her desperately wanted to believe that statement, to believe that he'd been as much a prisoner of passion as she'd been. But the simple truth was, his actions denied his words—then and now.
"Everything about us was controlled—from the minute you walked onto the commune grounds to the moment you raided my mind. All of it was planned to achieve one goal."
"To catch a killer,” he agreed.
"So how can you say it wasn't controlled?"
"I didn't say the situation wasn't controlled. I said we weren't."
She raised an eyebrow. “There's a difference?"
He slid his hands under her rump, supporting her as he moved away from the wall and walked toward the sofa. “A big difference."
"I wouldn't have thought so."
He kicked the lever that folded down the back of the sofa and placed her on the worn cushions. He stretched out beside her, throwing one leg over hers and drawing her so close that skin pressed against skin, letting her feel every beat of his heat, every intake of breath. It felt good. Almost too good. But the sofa wasn't all that big, and there was no point in trying to retreat because there just wasn't room.
And if she told herself that often enough, she might even believe it.
"Different or not, it doesn't really matter any more, does it?” he said.
"No.” But it did, if only because one tiny part of her was still so desperate to hold on to the dream, even if that dream was not one he'd ever share. “But that doesn't mean there's no need to talk about what went on between us."
As he leaned back a little and idly flicked a nipple with a gentle finger, an almost insolent smile touched his luscious lips. In the sharpening coldness of the night, it was an almost painful sensation. And yet, at the same time, very arousing.
"Leave it in the past, Vannah. Dragging up old wounds won't achieve anything."
His head dipped and his teeth grazed her aching ni**les. She shivered, barely resisting the urge to arch her back and raise her br**sts for his dining pleasure.
His teeth skimmed her areola, then caught a nipple and pulled lightly. She gasped, caught between pleasure and pain, and loving every unexpected minute of it.
"I need to move on with my life,” she somehow managed to say.
He didn't answer, simply shifted and grazed his way up to her neck, her ears, her lips. His gaze caught hers, and again, there was an energy, an anger, gleaming in those navy depths that stirred something deep inside her.
She was pretty sure that what she felt was fear, because Cade had hurt her once, and if she wasn't very careful, he could do so again. And the anger that burned deep in his gaze suggested that while the moon was driving them together, it was a more basic need that was fueling him now.
The need to fully reclaim what was once his.
His next words confirmed her thoughts. “There will be no moving on until the moon and I are done with you."
"The moon only gives you four more nights,” she said bluntly. “And if we survive this, I want to move on. From the past and from you."
Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes. He didn't answer, just claimed her mouth with a kiss that was fiercely possessive and so damn hot it felt as if she would explode into flames.
From then on, there was no talking, just touching and caressing and tasting. She explored his body, imprinting his scent, his salty, seductive and oh-so masculine taste, on every sensory level, until all she could feel, all she could smell, all she wanted, was him.
He returned the favor, leaving no part of her upper body untouched or unexplored. He nipped her, caressed her, licked her, discovering erogenous zones long ignored and bringing her to the edge of orgasm time and again. But he never let the wave crest. He backed away each time, waiting until the tremors eased before starting it all over again. He did this until her skin was slick with sweat and desire, and all she could think about, all she wanted, was to get him inside. To feel the rigid length of him sliding deep and hard into her.
But if he sensed her need, he was ignoring it, because his touch and his lips moved down.
When his tongue flicked over her clitoris, she jumped, and a whimper that was part frustration and part a plea for more, escaped her lips. He chuckled softly, his breath fiery against her moist skin. Then he suckled on her, and she came with such a thunderous roar that her neighbors would have surely heard her had they been home.
The tremors hadn't even begun to ease when he shifted over her. His flesh was as slick as hers, and his body trembled with his effort at control. She wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to force him closer, desperate to feel him inside. When he pressed himself against her, she whimpered, wanting the whole damn length of him, not just the tip.
"Vannah,” he said, and in his voice there was an edge of command she could not ignore.