An Eye For Danger: Chapter 34 (unredacted version)

Sam turned on the television, flipped through a few channels with increasing irritation, then turned it off and tossed the remote aside. I'd taken a bite out of him, and the harm showed.

"My comment in the bathroom... that, that was uncalled for." My teeth were chattering, so speaking my apology sounded even more awkward than how I'd worded it.

"I need to know the truth," he said, not looking at me. "I need to know if something happened between you and Stone."

"Sam." This seemed an odd time to dredge up jealousy, but the air needed clearing, and I was just as concerned about Cameron. I needed closure before I could let him go.

"I need to know." Sam rubbed between his brows.

"You saw me. I was so confused from the alcohol and the drugs." My fingers gripped the bottle as my mind regurgitated the scene: I'd pushed Stone off me, locked myself in my room. But that morning, when I'd awakened to Sam's raid on the suite, there'd been a glass of wine on my nightstand, a cigarette floating inside. My body had ached, head to toe, and the covers had been pushed down to my ankles. But I couldn't process the possibilities at the time, because I'd been so consumed by Sam's entrance and exit. Even now I didn't want that bastard's image to sit between us. "But I stopped him. I swear to you."

"God, when you went to him. Right in front of me." Sam's jaw was as taut as the space between us. "I was so fucking angry with you." He wiped a hand over his face. "He played you. I warned you he would, and still you fell for every bullshit line."

"You're right." I withered, knowing I couldn't take back that slap I'd delivered Sam, the emotional or the physical one. And how cruelly I'd spoken to Sam in the storage room, telling him I'd rather escape alone than be with him. The same message his cheating ex shoved in his gut multiple times. When he most needed to hear that I wanted him. "I didn't get your hidden message till after you'd left. But still, I should never believe a word he says."

"Just not him." Sam closed his eyes. "Not him."

"There's only you, Sam." I gave him an apologetic smile when he rolled his head toward me. "That's my real problem."

His face drawn, he patted the mattress. I eagerly crossed the bed and laid my head on his chest, shivering. I could feel the heat of his body's frustration burning off, his chest rising and falling under me. He pulled the bedspread over me and rolled me tight against him.

Soft lips pressed to my forehead as he ran his fingers through my damp hair. "You always smell good." His bruised knuckles caressed my cheek, his thumb grazed my lips, warming me skin to bone. "Even that first day, you smelled of soap and sunlight. I couldn't stop inhaling you. I'd been so numb, so long. Bunking with twenty sweaty guys in a forest training post. I must've smelled like a dirtbag."

"I think I used the word 'rat'."

"Don't remind me. Practically passed out shaving that beard off for you."

I raised my head. "Thought you shaved to change your identity."

He grinned. "There's always a cover story."

Laughing closed more of the distance between us

I turned into his caresses, so his fingers covered my face and neck, and I remembered how alive I'd felt the first time he'd stroked my cheek, and how I'd run scared when the pleasure shifted to panic. Happiness in my life was something taken away, not given.

Warmth turned to longing as his thumb passed over my mouth, parted my lips. I caught his thumb and nibbled, drawing deep moans in his chest. Taking his hand, I dragged his fingers down the arc of my neck till he slipped his hand under the shirt and his wet thumb stroked over my nipple. His chest muscles clenched, his throat muscles tightened, and he wheezed for air like a man straining for control. But his hand wouldn't participate.