Beyond Control (43 page)

She considered it for a moment, balanced the loneliness of being the only person on the compound not celebrating against the awkwardness of being the only outsider at the party.

Except no one treated her like an outsider, not with Bren around. "I'll come. I want to."

"Good. Trix'll want you to be there."

Something he'd been careful not to mention until after she agreed, just as he'd kept any hint of encouragement from his own voice. Smiling, she clinked her beer against his. "Then it's a deal. As long as I can scowl at Ace if he tries to make me dance."

Bren downed half his beer in several long swallows. "Scowl at Ace for whatever you want. He probably deserves it."

"Yeah, but he probably likes it, too." At least he'd stopped tossing her those flirtatious smiles, the ones that were all charm and dirty promise--and all the more alarming because she didn't think he did it on purpose. "But he's not so bad anymore. Did you tell him to stop hitting on me?"

"Might as well tell the sun not to shine, sweetness."

She laughed. The sound was so foreign it still startled her sometimes, another way her body turned traitor around Bren. The warmth and the tingles and the smiling and now laughter, and even if it was low and a little rusty, it was
real
. "Are you almost done working?"

"Yeah." He pulled down the metal rod propping up the hood and let it slam shut. "Want me to walk you to your place?"

"Sure." She slid off the workbench and tried not to let her gaze linger on his shoulders. This was always the most dangerous time, when she was loose and relaxed enough to remember a time when sex had been more good than bad, when she'd appreciated a man with a hard body and beautiful shoulders.

White looked good on him, especially with all the engine grease. His T-shirt clung, the sleeves stretching wide over flexing biceps. Aside from his O'Kane cuffs, his arms were free of ink, but a black swirl curled up his neck from beneath the white fabric, hinting at the tattoo that covered his entire back.

She loved watching him fight in the cage, watching all those muscles move together so perfectly she thought the prissy bastards in Eden must be at least partly right. Only a higher power could have created something as graceful and beautiful and deadly as Brendan Donnelly.

He turned and caught her staring--he
must
have--but he didn't call her on it. Instead, he finished off his beer and held out his hand. "Come on."

Exhaling, she slipped her fingers into his. His hands still bore smudges, the kind that would rub off on her skin as tangible proof of contact. She knew she'd stare at it later, at the dark grease on the back of her hand that marked the spot he'd rubbed his thumb over, and she'd remember the way it felt. This jolt, the way his touch shivered along her nerves as if her instincts couldn't decide if he was blissful safety or delicious danger.

Her gut already knew. Her body was safe with Bren, but her mind, her heart, her
soul
... Hell, Wilson Trent had shattered her into a thousand razor-edged pieces, and he hadn't felt this dangerous. Bren could grind those shards into dust.

If she had half a brain left, she'd run.

Kit Rocha is actually two people--Bree & Donna, best friends who are living the dream. They get paid to work in their pajamas, talk on the phone, and write down all the stories they used to make up in their heads.

Beyond Control is the sequel to Beyond Shame, and their second dystopian erotic romance. They also write paranormal romance as Moira Rogers. You can learn more about their work at
www.kitrocha.com
&
www.moirarogers.com
.

While you're waiting for your next taste of a dangerous future in
Beyond Pain
, consider a trip to an alternate past. Written as Moira Rogers, the Bloodhounds stories are short category-length erotic romances featuring a group of vampire-hunting super-soldiers with some very other-worldly needs in the bedroom. Enjoy the following taste from
Wilder's Mate
, the first in the Bloodhounds series.

* * *

He'd almost managed to get to sleep when a timid knock sounded on the door that led to Satira's adjoining room. "Wilder?"

He fought the urge to slam a pillow over his face. "Yeah?"

She must have taken his reply as permission to enter, because the door inched open and she slipped through, a slight shadow wrapped in a blanket. The floorboards creaked as she took a step closer to the bed. "Do you mind...?"

She looked like she thought he'd growl at her until she ran screaming from the room. "Come on in."

"I can't sleep." Her voice held more than a little shame at the confession. "If people are expecting you to bed me, it can't hurt our disguise if we sleep in the same room, can it?"

Now he wanted to slam a pillow over his lap. "Can't hurt our disguise." It could only hurt
him
if he had to control himself around her. She grasped her blanket tight around her shoulders, but the gauzy fabric brushing the floor as she walked was sheer, flesh-colored silk.

She stopped next to the bed. "If you don't want me here, I'll go. I'll understand."

"Do you?"

"I think so." She stared at the floor. "Men have needs, but you're not interested in complicating our already difficult situation by giving in to them."

If he was a snake... "Did you come over here for sex, or because you'd sleep better if you weren't alone?"

"The latter." She shivered and clutched at the blanket as it began to slip. "I know you could get to my room quickly enough if anything happened, but the way some of those men were watching me..."

She was scared, and he felt even worse about his lust as he patted the blanket beside him. "Climb up. You don't have to be alone, and you don't have to worry about me."

"Thank you." The blanket gaped open as she scrambled onto the bed, revealing that the damn flimsy nightgown Juliet had packed for her was transparent all over. She shivered and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

Wilder shook his head. "That scrap of nothing isn't warm enough."

Satira choked on a laugh, a little hysterical but genuine. "I know. If it gets much colder tonight you'll have to kick me out of your bed to keep me from cuddling as close as I can."

The laughter was better than the way she'd looked at him before, hesitant and wary and almost ashamed of her fear. "If you put your cold feet on me, I'll scream like a little girl."

Icy toes poked at his leg, and he laughed and shoved her away.

She squirmed right back, and this time he got an entire foot pressed against his knee. Her breathless laughter cut short on a little moan of pleasure. "You're so
warm
."

"Won't be for long." He affected a growl, one he ruined by laughing again. "Jesus, woman. What were you doing, hanging your legs out the window?"

Satira huffed, but it didn't stop her from tucking her other foot against his shin. "My feet get cold."

"You're a walking icebox."

She echoed his words back, laced with drowsy contentment. "Won't be for long."

Quick as a rattlesnake bite, his protective shell of humor faded, leaving him in bed with a sleepy, scantily clad woman whose body made his knees weak. "Then it'll be my turn to freeze."

One small hand crept back across the covers until her fingers brushed his. "I'd keep you warm."

His balls ached. "Better watch what you promise, sweetheart. I'm not a noble man, no matter what you think."

Satira twisted until she faced him, eyes wide but unafraid. "It's been eleven months since a man took me to bed. I don't want noble."

His first thought was to turn her over his knee and spank her. That led directly to his second thought, a mental image of her bent over in front of him, her pale ass red from his hand, her cunt glistening and wet. "Satira."

She squeezed her eyes shut and went still, her slightly ragged breaths and too-quick heartbeat the only sounds for long moments. Then she breathed out a tiny sigh. "You make me feel like such a fool, throwing myself at a man who doesn't want to have me. Over and over again, and I'm supposed to be intelligent."

He urged one of the thin straps of the nightgown from her shoulder. "You worry too much."

"I know." With her eyes still shut she missed his mouth the first time, her open-mouthed kiss landing on his cheek.

His cock jerked like she'd licked him, and he turned his head far enough to meet her second kiss head-on, opening his mouth under hers. He swallowed her tiny little moan, and for a moment she seemed shy. Her tongue darted along his lower lip, then returned to stroke deeper, teasing against his.

He moved before he realized it, rolling them both and pinning her to the bed. "I'm not a boy. You know that, right?"

A short, jerky nod, and she wet her lips. "You're not just a man, either. I know that too."

No fear, and he trembled at the thought of being able to let go.
Really
let go. "No, not a man, either."

She craned her head up and kissed his chin, then the corner of his lips. "I will enjoy your attentions. Even if you wish to bind me, or order me to my knees, or take me across yours."

"Shh." Right now, there was only one thing he wanted to do. He slid one hand into her hair and tilted her head back, opening her mouth wider so he could kiss her deeply.

There was nothing quiet about her moan this time. Her fingers found the back of his head, clutching at him as if she could pull him closer. She reacted more quickly than he thought she would, melting under him.

He trailed his mouth to her neck and collarbone. "What if I do something else entirely? Will you like that?"

"I won't know until you do it." Her fingers stroked down to his shoulder, exploring with unabashed curiosity. "I like an adventure. And learning new things."

"If what I have planned for you is new, you've been bedding the wrong men."

Her bare shoulder lifted in a shrug, but her voice held a soft vulnerability. "They found me pleasant enough to tumble. Perhaps I didn't inspire them. None of them had seen me in my fancy hair and expensive dress, after all."

"Like I said..." He skimmed one hand down her side and gathered her sheer gown high on her leg. "You've been bedding the wrong men."

* * *

Available now from Samhain Publishing at all digital retailers.

As always, we owe eternal thanks and gratitude to the many people who helped us get through this book. First thanks go to the ever-patient Sasha Knight, who has been a partner in this adventure above and beyond the call of editorial duty. Thank you for making us fight to be better, and for summoning excitement, dispensing encouragement and handing out hugs at all hours of the day and night. Additional thanks go to Sharon Muha, the sharpest proofreader one could hope to find. Any mistakes that have wiggled by these two are well and truly our own.

Many thanks as well go to the many friends who held our hands through panic and frustration, especially when we weren't entirelly sure we'd survive our hero and heroine--or that they'd survive each other. We owe the finest bottle of whiskey we can find to Vivian Arend, Alisha Rai, Ann Aguirre, Eliza Gayle, Lauren Dane, Lillie Applegarth and Edie Harris for alternately propping us up, pinning us down, slapping us silly and hugging us crosseyed. And two bottles go to Sophia for holding Bree's hand through a million website redesigns and checking two million versions of these ebooks until the formatting was just right.

Finally, our biggest debt of gratitude is to all the readers who loved the O'Kanes as much as we did, and who, through blogging, tweeting, lending and word-of-mouth turned
Beyond Shame
into a bigger success than we dared hope. It's thanks to you that we'll get the chance to tell more stories. The next round at the Broken Circle is on us.