“She’d get dumped over a bridge.”

“After being…abused.” He seemed to have trouble getting the words out. “If they weren’t dead when I finished with them, Dare or Trace would have taken care of that.”

“Good.”

He looked at her. “When the guys showed up, she sided with me. I guess she already knew I’d pulled her from the river, but she didn’t know what they would do.”

“She sensed that you’d protect her, with your life if necessary.”

His mouth twitched. “Yeah, I would have, but I doubt either of us was thinking anything that dramatic. I figured I could take them both if I had to, and she’d have a chance to get away. Turned out I didn’t need to fight them and probably wouldn’t have fared as well as I thought I would anyway.”

“You don’t meet many men like them. Like you.”

“True enough.” He pressed his finger deeper again and smiled at her soft sound of growing excitement. “Later, when Trace told me he wanted me to work with them, he said that my way with women was as valuable as my other skills.”

“Yes.” Her eyes sank shut; her willpower waned.

Jackson turned his hand, worked his finger in as deep as he could. “I don’t think Trace meant you when he said it.”

Alani knew he was being evasive about the details of how he got started working with Trace, leaving out as much as he told, but with the way he touched her, she let him slide.

Her back arched a little. “Probably not.”

“And now,” he whispered, “I’m done talking about the past, because I want to concentrate on the here and now. On you. On this.”

Moaning, Alani closed her eyes and gave in. Not that Jackson afforded her much choice in the matter. His mouth covered hers, and their conversation officially ended.

TALKING ABOUT THE PAST stirred feelings that, when mixed with the need bombarding Jackson now, conspired to do him in. He hated rehashing his family history; it left him almost as angry as thinking about that awful night when he’d seen a young lady thrown into a cold, churning river, her hands tied, her face and body bruised…

As the perfect foil to his dark mood, Alani’s fingers sank into his hair. She curved her slim thigh up and over his wrist, trapping his hand there.

She kissed him deep as her inner muscles clamped around his finger.

So wet. So hot. Her mouth, her sex.

He couldn’t get enough air, and he couldn’t get enough of her. But he wanted to go slow, to make it last.

To torment her in the most heated, sexual ways possible.

In the shower, he’d gotten off, knowing he had to blunt everything he felt when touching her, looking at her. Tasting her.

“I need more,” he whispered, taking his hand from her, putting his finger in his mouth to suck away her excitement.

She moaned in response, the sound achingly real and honest.

Moving up and over her, Jackson straddled her thighs and looked at her body, so delicate and so damned sexy. He cupped both br**sts. “You’re about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, circling her darkly flushed, stiffened ni**les before leaning down to draw one into his mouth.

She arched again, her head back, her hands kneading his thighs.

He kissed his way to her other breast, caught that nipple with his teeth, tugged, licked. Sucked hard.

“Jackson,” she whispered.

He loved hearing her say his name. He loved hearing her moan, too. He continued drawing on her for a long time, switching from one nipple to the other, occasionally just petting her, barely touching, then taking her into his mouth again.

She rocked her hips up against him, seeking a different touch now.

“Easy.” Sitting up, Jackson ran his thumbs over her wet ni**les while watching her expressions. She twisted, turning her face to the side, but he didn’t mind. She wouldn’t be able to hide from him for long.

He took his time, pulling gently, rolling, playing with her until she trembled all over, and still it wasn’t enough.

He didn’t know if he’d ever get enough. Not of her. Of this. Of feeling the way she made him feel, things he’d never imagined before.

He moved off her, put his hands on her soft, pale thighs and opened her legs.

She bit into her bottom lip, waiting, taut with anticipation. Already he could see the moisture, smell her heated scent.

Before he finished, she’d be as addicted as he felt.

“Let me look at you, Alani.” He eased her leg up, bending her knee, and sat between her sprawled thighs. His heartbeat hammered in his chest. His voice dropped to a gravelly timbre. “Damn, so pretty.”

“I’m not used to this, Jackson.”

“I know.” With one fingertip, he traced her swollen lips, pink and shiny, further spreading her wetness but avoiding her distended clitoris.

She gave a humming groan and shifted.

On a growl, watching intently, he sank two fingers into her. The fit was snug enough to rob him of composure.

God, she squeezed his fingers, so how would she feel on his cock? How would she feel with him filling her up?

He pressed in, pulled back while turning his hand, and slowly slid back in again. Deeper this time, thrusting into her, pulling almost all the way out, in again.

Over and over.

Alani squirmed against him, her thighs tensing, her little clit there, needing his touch. He could put her over the edge and he knew it.

But not yet.

Breathing harder, determined to prove something to her, to himself, he continued to build the sensations. Her modesty shot, her legs opened wider, her hips lifting up to him, her every breath a ragged moan.