Tomorrow, the Lawrence heli-jet would take Dawn off the island and return her home. That was the best place for her, not here, not where Dawn could stare at him again with betrayal and agony filling her eyes because Caroline had thrown herself into his arms.
He couldn’t get that look out of his head any more than he could get the taste of her out of his mouth. Getting over her this time would be worse than hell. Worse because he knew her kiss, knew the unique flavor of her hunger, the silken feel of her flesh, the sight of her need glistening between her thighs. But he would get over it. He had beaten it the first time; he would beat it again. But sweet merciful heaven it hadn’t been this bad the last time. Even during the worst nights, the most aroused agony he had gone through, it hadn’t been this bad. His skin hadn’t itched with the need for her hands alone. His c**k had never been so engorged, so violently aroused that even the wash of the water over it was an untold pleasure. But it was nothing compared to her lips against his chest. Her nails raking his shoulders.
Before he could stop himself, he struck out, slamming his fist into the ceramic of the shower wall as an enraged snarl tore from his lips.
Damn her. Fucking damn her, he hadn’t asked for this. He’d stayed away from her, and by God that was what she had wanted from him or she would have sought him out. Tomorrow. Dash better get her on that f**king heli-jet tomorrow or he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. Ten years was long enough for a man to torture himself over a woman. He wouldn’t be tortured any more than he had been already. If she wasn’t on that heli-jet, then she was going to be on her back with his dick buried so deep inside her she wouldn’t know where he ended and she began. And God help them both if it wasn’t what she wanted.
Dawn didn’t sleep that night. She tossed and turned in the bed, listened to Seth pace the floors, and she stared at the ceiling, a frown furrowing her brow at the scent of arousal and fury that wafted from his bedroom.
She wanted to feel regret. It was obvious he didn’t want her there, even more obvious that he truly had been ready to begin a life, of some sort, with that corrupt little witch he had had at his side. She couldn’t feel that regret though, and she couldn’t make sense of what she was feeling. As though a veil had fallen between the old Dawn and the one that had emerged at the knowledge that Seth had a lover, Dawn no longer knew herself.
As morning peeked over the horizon and she rose, showered, despite the extreme sensitivity of her flesh, and dressed in the more socially acceptable formal uniform that the Breeds wore when working social functions, she was still frowning.
She wore a silk undershirt beneath the baby-soft cotton of the short-sleeved black dress shirt. She tucked that into snug black slacks and strapped on her utility belt before securing her weapon holster to her thigh.
A Cougar emblem with the initials B.B.A., Bureau of Breed Affairs, was stitched to the right sleeve. Under it were four small silver stars, announcing her status as commander. On her feet she laced dress boots that went to her ankle rather than hiking boots, and tucked a dagger into the sheath at the side of the right one. Then she moved to the mirror that sat on the chest of drawers across the room.
She saw a woman she didn’t know.
She hadn’t had her hair cut in a while. The short strands were whispering around her face, a few inches longer than normal, almost falling to her shoulders. The tawny gold color was mixed with hints of red and darker brown, shades of sunlight and earth. Like the cougar. Like the animal she could feel rising inside her.
She was still short. Nothing could change that, barely five four, but she made her stature work. What she couldn’t accomplish with the advantage of height, she had been taught to make up for in calculated treachery. She could take down a Breed twice her size without getting a bruise, because she could move
around him, below him, she could hit him where it mattered and use his height against him. But she was still a woman. Her br**sts were about the right size for Seth’s hands. He had filled his fingers with them the night before and groaned at the fit. Her stomach was flat, her legs well toned. She wasn’t a beautiful woman, nothing compared to the cool, dark beauty of Caroline Carrington. But Seth belonged to her.
She felt her breath hitch at the thought of losing him. She had suffered; she had fought to strengthen herself, fought to get past the dark nightmares enough to gather her courage and maybe, one day, arrange to be where he was, to see if there was a chance.
She had tried to find a way to be a woman rather than the frightened child Dayan had used so easily, but maybe it had taken too long. Love could turn to hate, she had heard. Had the heat that tormented her tormented him until that had happened?
She wiped her hands over her face before staring at her image again. She had almost feline features. The high cheekbones, the narrow face and stubborn chin. Her nose was narrow and a little short. And it turned up at the end like a perky teenager’s. She had always hated that. And she had never cared about her looks, so why was she standing here now as the first rays of the sun slid across the sheltered balcony outside?
Shaking her head, she pulled the communications link from her utility belt, unfolded it and attached it to her ear before activating.
“Report,” she spoke into the slender wand of the mic quietly.
“Someone needs to pull your mate in off the balcony,” Moira said with her faint Irish brogue. “He looks better than that coffee he’s drinking.”
Dawn’s lips tilted sadly and she thought longingly of a cup of coffee. She knew the hazards of it. She would probably end up ignoring the hazards, but she knew them.
“Down, Moira,” Dawn murmured when she wanted to growl in possessive anger.
“Morning recon of the island is complete,” Lawe reported in. “Merc and I have just made our way back. There’s no sign of unauthorized landings or wandering guests.”
“We’re moving from the house to begin morning security protocol.” Noble Chavin’s rough growl filled the link.
“And wit’out me mornin’ cho’olate,” Styx said mournfully. “Lass, ye need to be talkin’ to him about this.”
The Scots Wolf Breed was a true anomaly within the species. Not so much in his love of chocolate, but in his overall attitude. Styx didn’t get temperamental; he could be savage, he could kill, but he did it with a smile. He had fun, no matter what he was doing, and he drove the rest of the team crazy in the process. But he had an instinctive sense of danger that no other Breed could touch, and a sense of smell when it came to tracking that couldn’t be beat.
“Did you beat Styx out of his chocolate, Noble?” She chided him mockingly. Noble snorted. “Some blond-haired vixen fed him chocolate most of the night in his room, Dawn. I’m amazed he can still walk today.”
Styx chuckled. “He be jealous.”
“And we’ve reached radio silence,” Noble announced, indicating the boundary of the main grounds around the estate they would patrol that day. “Contact in two.”
Two hours, unless extreme circumstances occurred. Dawn braced her hands on her hips and paced over to the duffel bag that she hadn’t unpacked the night before. From within it she pulled free the sat laptop. The satellite-linked personal PC would give her a clearer view of the main grounds from the Lawrence satellites. Pulling her PDA free from the utility belt, she powered it on and checked her inbox for the files she had ordered on Caroline Carrington.
She had received part of them the day before, but the Breed contacts in New York had promised her more sometime today. There were no files listed, but there were two messages from Callan and one from Merinus. They weren’t marked priority, which meant they were personal. She didn’t open them.