Breaking free of my grip, she clings onto me, and suddenly, our hands are everywhere. My back, her waist, tangling in that red hair I've been dreaming about for months, and scraping across the back of my neck.
"Fuck," I groan when I press my thigh between hers, and she cries out, clutching my shoulders, riding my leg. As I rock against her, she moans, low and broken, and so fucking hot that my bear roars in triumph. I can scent her arousal now, rich and heady, and I know she's wet. I know that if I slid my hand under that dress, I'd find her dripping.
I can't get enough of her.
My bear wants to taste her, begs me to drop to my knees right here, to push that dress up and taste her. And I'm seriously considering it when she pulls back just far enough to whisper against my lips.
"When you're going after Amber…" Her breaths are ragged, and her eyes are dark. "Let me come. You can trust me."
I raise an eyebrow, pulsing my thigh once more, giving her the friction she needs and enjoying how she whimpers while struggling to stay focused.
"Can I?" My words come out rough, my need for her making my breathing ragged. "How do I know you can keep a secret?"
We both know I'm not talking about Amber.
She stares up at me, eyes bright, and her full, rosy lips swollen from my kiss. Her anger drains away, and her expression is unguarded and vulnerable in a way I've never seen her.
She opens her mouth to answer when a deep voice rumbles through the dark.
"For fuck's sake."
We both spring apart like teenagers caught by their parents.
Bodhi is standing at the corner of the bar, arms crossed and staring into the gloom, looking like he's seriously reconsidering every life choice that led him back to lead his clan. My bear roars in frustration and seriously considers charging at him for interrupting what was about to happen.
"I thought I was coming out here to make sure you two hadn't killed each other..."
With a despairing shake of his head, he turns and walks back toward the party, muttering under his breath.
The silence he leaves behind is excruciating.
Lisa smooths her dress with shaking hands. Her lipstick is smeared, hair mussed and cheeks flushed. She looks thoroughly kissed, and some primitive part of me is deeply satisfied by that, even if the last thing I want is to send her back out there horny, smelling like lust, and pissed off at me.
With one last expectant look, which I return with a sad shake of my head, she turns away.
"This isn't over," she says over her shoulder, voice steadier than I expected, "You hear me, Beau? This isn't over."
She doesn't wait for my response. Just turns on those fucking hot as hell heels and struts away, mercifully heading straight for the parking lot.
I watch her go, knowing full well that's not the last I've heard of this. And a sick part of me relishes in the battle I know is coming my way.
20
LISA
I've been parked outside Beau's house since before dawn, and I'm starting to question my own sanity. Are these the actions of a hard-nosed determined detective who's following her gut, or a deranged woman and borderline stalker now, who's still obsessed with the man she scorned?
I remind myself that I came here to try and talk sense into him. In daylight, sober, no audience. After last night, after that kiss, lying in bed at three in the morning, I decided that if I showed up and made sure he knows that I’m not interested in finding out if Bodhi was at that cabin, if he’s the one that killed Kozlov, he might finally do the right thing.
If not, I'll find out my own way.
Only time will tell.
It's a quiet, family-friendly street. Not the kind of neighbourhood I expected from a Lennox, but then again, nothing about Beau is what I expected. His pickup truck sits in the drive, and there's a single light on in what I assume to be the kitchen.
He's awake, at least. Hopefully being up at this ungodly hour bodes well for me not having to witness a walk of shame thatmight just tip me over the edge. Not that I have any right to care after I kissed him last night. Or let him kiss me. Either way, it's none of my business what happened after I stormed out.
Except, it wouldn't be a walk of shame. I've been with Beau Lennox. Any woman crawling out of his bed would be skipping down that road with a big smile on her face. If she could still walk, that is.