Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 05 (24 page)

He’d shot back that she was probably still in love
with Ashe Granger.

They’d argued that if Kierland wasn’t man enough to
fight for her, then he didn’t deserve her.

Digging his fingers into his tired eyes, he’d finally
snarled that they didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, after
which they’d both called him an uptight control freak—one who would never learn
to be happy if he didn’t get rid of the stick up his ass. Since the
conversation was obviously going nowhere, Kierland had changed the subject,
telling them of Morgan’s theory about the Dark Markers possibly being the keys
that would open the gate to Meridian. Their attention diverted, the Watchmen
had grilled him for details, and they’d found themselves engrossed in a tense
discussion about the war.

“The Death-Walkers are the element that worries me the
most,” Quinn had grunted, “and not just because they’re coming after my
friends. It’s the fact that they don’t give a rat’s ass about anything. Once
the humans find out about them—”

“The shit’s gonna really hit the fan,” Aiden had cut
in, finishing Quinn’s thought.

After he’d promised to watch his back and get in touch
with them as soon as possible, Kierland had ended the call. He’d had another
drink, and had tried to sit back and chill. Breathe. Relax. But it hadn’t
worked. All he could think about was Morgan in her room, lying in that
bastard’s arms. Anger and lust and jealousy were all twisted up inside him,
coiling him in knots, his face hot, his grip on the highball so tight it was a
wonder the glass didn’t shatter in his hand.

Eventually, he’d given up trying to fight it and had
gone back upstairs, letting himself into Morgan’s hotel room. The vamp had
fallen asleep on the bed with her, still cradling her in his arms. The urge to
throw the dickhead out on his ass had been nearly impossible to resist, and
yet, he’d held off, knowing she needed the rest…the peace. So he’d settled down
on the sofa instead. He’d felt like an idiot, but he hadn’t been able to go to
his own room and leave her there with Granger.

It was becoming clearer to him that in so many ways,
he didn’t know the real Morgan Cantrell at all. He’d created an “image” of her
in his mind, which he’d used as a target for his anger and frustration,
but…that wasn’t the real Morgan. She was tough and could be a hard-ass when she
needed to be. She was strong and fierce and could stand up to him, refusing to
take his shit. But she was also kind and soft and almost…fragile. As delicate
as antique lace or the furled, tender petals of a flower in bloom. As ethereal
as a misty, lavender dawn…or the first glistening, shimmering rays of sunlight
after a storm.

Embarrassing, the way he was waxing poetic about her,
but it couldn’t be helped. His friggin’ head was spinning just from looking at
her, remembering every moment of those blistering hours in that hotel room in
Weesp, his damn dick so hard he could have hammered through a bloody wall.

She was, in reality, a complex blend of tenderness and
strength—white-hot…dangerous…fascinating—and if there’d been a chance in hell
he thought it could happen without ending in disaster, Kierland would have
wanted to keep her more than he’d ever desired anything in his entire life.

Aw, hell, he thought, scrubbing his hands down his
face, his beard stubble scratching against his palms. Who was he trying to fool
with that line? Just because he knew he couldn’t keep her didn’t mean he wanted
her any less. He knew it was madness, but he couldn’t stop thinking about
getting her under him again. And after the crazy, out of control sex, he wanted
to cradle her in his arms and just hold her against his heart, telling her how
precious she was…how beautiful…how brave.

And just what in God’s name is that about? he silently
snarled, digging his fingers into his eyes.

“You seem tired.”

The soft words jerked Kierland out of his thoughts
like a splash of cold water in his face. He lowered his hands, blinking,
surprised to find Morgan standing before him, staring into his eyes…waiting for
a response. Clearing his throat, he shoved his hands into his pockets and
simply said, “It was a long night.”

“LONGER FOR SOME THAN others,” Morgan murmured, unable
to disguise the bitterness in her voice.

He cocked his head a little to the side, obviously
picking up on the strain in her words. “If there’s something you want to say,
just say it.”

“Okay. Where did you go last night?” she whispered,
the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. Morgan knew she was nuts for even
asking him, but she couldn’t stop herself. It had been driving her crazy all
goddamn day. “While I was with Ashe? I know you came back to the room and slept
on the sofa, but where were you before then? What were you doing?”

He drew his brows together in a scowl, the brackets
lining his mouth deepening with anger. “Wait a minute. Are you serious?”

Pushing her hands into her coat pockets, she wet her
bottom lip and nodded, her stomach twisting with nerves.

He narrowed his eyes, the pale green beginning to glow
with an unearthly light as he asked, “What do you think I was doing?” His voice
was deceptively soft, but Morgan could hear the undercurrent of anger
sharpening the words to a lethal point.

“I think you went to the bar downstairs and…” She
swallowed, unable to get the words out—but it didn’t matter. She could see from
the grim, shocked lines of his expression that he knew exactly what she was
getting at.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, then forced out two
low, guttural words. “I didn’t.”

The way Morgan’s heart lurched in response told her
how badly she wanted to believe him. Stupid, but she couldn’t help it. Taking a
swift breath, she turned her face to the side, staring at the tangle of snow-covered
limbs in the surrounding forest. “I’d be an idiot to believe you,” she
whispered, shaking her head.

“Damn it, Morgan. I didn’t screw anyone!”

She flinched from the brutal force of his words, her
gaze whipping back to his, caught by the fierce burn of emotion smoldering in
that pure, beautiful green. She wanted so badly to believe him, which just made
her feel like a bloody fool.

“I could have had a woman under me, if I’d wanted
one.” Husky words, heavy with restraint, as if he was struggling to sound calm.
“But the only woman I was interested in was cuddled up in bed with a vamp. So I
had a couple of drinks and came back upstairs to sleep on your bloody sofa.”

“Why?” she murmured, her gaze locked with his. She
couldn’t have looked away even if she’d wanted to. “Why did you come back to my
room? Was it because you didn’t trust me with Ashe?”

He pulled his hand from his pocket, shoving his long
fingers through his windblown hair as he growled, “I was worried about you,
damn it!”

Her breath caught on a gasp, and she pulled her bottom
lip through her teeth, wanting so badly to touch him…kiss him, even though she
knew it would be stupid. A mistake. She was already obsessed, unable to get him
out of her mind. Any extra contact at this point was only going to make it
worse.

In a soft voice, she asked, “What do you want from me,
Kierland?”

“Something I can’t have,” he muttered, looking away.
“Something that doesn’t even exist.”

Fighting the urge to reach out and touch his hard,
shadowed jaw with the tips of her fingers, she whispered, “I don’t know what
that means.”

A rough, gritty bark of laughter tore from his throat,
and this time it was his turn to shake his head. “You don’t want to know,
Morgan. Trust me.”

With a deep breath, she forced herself to take a step
back, deepening the distance between them. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said
in a soft rush, knowing she needed to turn around and walk away, before she did
something stupid. “This was a bad idea. I don’t know what we were thinking. What
happened between us, it…it didn’t make anything better.”

His head shot up, nostrils flaring as he pushed away
from the tree. “There’s no going back now.” He ground out the words, his eyes
gleaming within the dusky shades of twilight.

“No, listen. Three nights ago you were picking up two
women in a club. Despite what you think of me, Kier, that’s not the speed I
move at. I like sex, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. But I’m not…I don’t play
the field like you do. It means something to me. There may be no love lost
between us. I mean, I know you were just looking for a physical release to burn
out whatever it is…lingering between us, but I’m not wired that way.”

For a long, strained moment, he simply stared down at
her, his eyes heavy-lidded, the muscular wall of his chest heaving with the
ragged force of his breath. And then he was standing right in front of her, his
powerful body pressing against her, his big hands holding the sides of her
face, tilting her head back. “I didn’t want it to, but it means something to
me, too.” Gruff, thick words that vibrated with hunger. “So stop thinking I’m
looking for another woman to score with, because that’s not gonna happen.”

Blinking up at him, she said the first words that
popped into her mind. “But you don’t even like me, Kierland.”

He shook his head a little, a wry smile touching the
corner of his mouth. “I never said that.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think our history speaks for
itself.”

He blew out a rough, shuddering breath of air, and
pressed his forehead against hers, his fingers shaping themselves around her
skull. “My feelings are…complicated where you’re concerned, Morgan. But if I
didn’t like you,” he rasped, his voice low…raw, “I never would have given a
damn about what happened between you and Granger.”

“You are so confus—” she started to say, but the rest
of her words were lost in his mouth. Stolen right off her tongue.

The deep, open-mouthed kiss was deliciously wild,
hungry and gnawing, his body rubbing against hers in a way that made her breath
get all stuck in her throat. He licked the inside of her mouth as if he was
eating at her taste…her flavor, the sensual act one of the most erotic things
Morgan had ever experienced, and her body answered with a startling, dizzying
wave of heat.

She’d never have guessed that he would enjoy kissing
as much as he did, but it was obvious in the way that he ravaged her mouth with
deep, seductive licks and nibbles and thrusts. It was hypnotic, rich and
drugging and achingly delightful, every rough breath and hungry stroke of his
tongue pulling up sensations from the churning depths of her soul.

Growling low in his throat, he twisted around,
switching their positions, a sudden urgency in his movements as he pressed her
against the thick trunk of the same pine tree he’d been leaning against. She
gasped, her pulse roaring as he tore open her jacket, shoving her sweater up
and pulling the cup of her bra down until her pink nipple was bared to the
elements, puckered from the cold. Morgan shivered, then cried out as his hot
mouth closed over the sensitive tip, burning and wet. He suckled her greedily,
working her nipple against the roof of his mouth, while he ripped at the button
on her jeans, tugging on the zipper. Then he pushed his hand inside the opening,
shoving those long fingers inside her panties, reaching deep until he was
touching the hot, drenched folds of her sex.

“You’re still swollen,” he groaned, licking her
nipple, then catching it playfully with his teeth. His eyes flicked up to her
face, full of secrets and hunger and things she needed more brain cells to
analyze, but all the blood was rushing to the place where his fingers touched
her, pulsing in the swollen knot of nerves caught beneath the deliciously
callused pad of his thumb. “Too sore?” he asked, pushing two thick fingers into
the slick, tender opening of her sex, stretching her as he forced them deep, up
to the knuckles.

Morgan shook her head, unable to keep her hips from
shoving forward, seeking more of that intimate penetration. Snowflakes fell
onto the dark spill of his auburn hair, catching at the tips of his long
lashes. His eyes burned greener, as if they were soaking in the colors of the
wintry forest.

Then he kissed her again, and she was undone by the
hot silk and velvety softness of his mouth. Ways she’d never thought of
Kierland before. He was so hard and aggressive on the outside, and yet, his
kisses were full of lush, carnal promise. They were like foreplay all on their
own, and she melted from the sensual onslaught, drowning in hunger and
blistering sensation.

Curling his thick fingers inside her, he stroked the
slick, sensitive depths of her body as he broke the kiss, his breath hot and
fast against her cheek. Words tumbled out of his mouth, husky and rough. “I
can’t stop thinking about you. About how you feel, how you taste. How tight
this sweet little piece of you is. How it holds me. Sucks me in.” He pressed
his warm mouth to the coolness of her face, rubbing pleasure into her skin. “I
want to spend hours inside you, Morgan. I want to stay there until we can’t
remember our bloody names.”

“Yes!” she hissed, going crazy at the thick, rigid
pressure of him grinding against her hip. She was desperate to touch him. To
hold his heavy shaft in the coolness of her palm. Breathless and aching, Morgan
reached for his fly, but he suddenly grabbed onto her wrist.