Lover at Last (Black Dagger Brotherhood #11) - J.R. Ward Page 0,144

blackened window on the right, meeting the stare of the woman who he knew was there in the shadows, watching him….

A shot of pure, undiluted lust shot through his body, taking over, replacing higher reasoning as the driver of his actions. The female underneath him ceased to be one of his species that he had bought for a short time.

She became his burglar.

And it changed everything. With a sudden surge, he struck the column of the female’s throat, taking the vein, drawing what he needed…

All the while imagining that the human woman was beneath him.

Sola gasped—

And ripped herself away from the cottage’s window.

As her back hit the hard, bumpy side of the river-stone chimney, she closed her eyes, her heart pounding against her ribs, her lungs dragging in cold air.

On the backs of her lids, all she saw were the bare-naked breasts laid out before him, his dark head descending, his tongue flicking free of his mouth…and then his eyes lifting and meeting hers.

Oh, Jesus, how had he known she was there?

And shit, she was never going to forget the image of that woman splayed out beneath him, that coat of his cast aside, his body surging into the cradle of those slender hips. She could imagine the warmth of the fire beside them, and the even more powerful heat coming off of him—the feel of skin on skin, the promise of ecstasy.

Don’t look again, she told herself. He knows you’re here—

The keening cry of a woman orgasming vibrated out of the cottage, laying waste to the wholesome appearance of the place.

Sola leaned back into the window, peering through the glass again…even though she knew she shouldn’t.

He was inside the woman, his lower body pumping, his face buried in her neck, his arms bowed out to support his heavy upper torso.

He wasn’t looking up anymore. And he was going to be busy for a while longer.

Now was the time to retreat.

Besides, like she really needed to watch?

With a curse, Sola ghosted away from the site, beating feet through the scratchy underbrush, dodging the thin, leafless trees. When she got to her rental car, she jumped in, locked the doors, and started the engine.

Shutting her eyes once more, she replayed the entire scene: her closing in on the cottage, coming up to the window, staying in the shadows thrown by the chimney.

Him standing across the open room, the woman in front of him, her graceful body covered with black satin, her long, dark hair reaching down to the small of her back. He had put his hands to her face and kissed her hard, his shoulders curling as he’d bent down to make the contact with an utterly erotic expression…

And then he’d eased the woman over to the couch.

Even though it killed her to admit it, Sola had felt a stab of irrational jealousy. But that hadn’t been the worst of it: her own body had responded, her sex blooming between her legs sure as if it had been her mouth he was working, her waist his hands were on, her breasts that were up against his chest. And that reaction had only intensified as he’d positioned the woman on that couch, his face marked with dark hunger, his eyes glittering as if what was beneath him was a meal to be eaten.

Watching was wrong. Watching was bad.

But even the threat to her personal safety—and, arguably, her mental heath—hadn’t been enough to get her away from the glass. Especially as he’d reared up and dragged that heavy black overcoat off his shoulders. It had been impossible for her not to picture him naked, seeing his broad chest exposed to the firelight, imaging what his abs would look like curling up tight beneath his skin….And then it had appeared that he’d bitten—bitten, for godsakes—through the spaghetti straps of the negligee’s bodice.

Just as the woman’s goddamn frickin’ perfect breasts were exposed…he had looked at her.

With no warning whatsoever, those glittering, predatory eyes had risen and drilled right into her own, a sly smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

Like the show was just for her.

“Shit. Shit.”

One thing was clear: If he’d wanted to teach her a lesson about spying? Hard to think of a better way—short of making her eat the barrel of a forty.

Sola eased off the shoulder and got onto the road. As the Ford Taurus took ten miles to accelerate to the speed limit of forty-five, she wished she were in her Audi: With her blood still pumping through her