Savage Hunger(29)

“I’d shut the fuck up if I were you, Rafferty,” Hilliard advised with a biting laugh. “Don’t think Donovan much appreciates your offer. He’s kind of got that same feral glaze in his eyes the shifters out in the barn are sporting.”

Did he really? Warrick winced internally and forced himself to take a deep breath. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d worked with these men since he’d joined the agency years ago. Crude talk and giving each other shit was just part of the job. They were always on missions together. Sometimes literally buried up to their elbows in mud or some other filth. They knew the stink of each other’s sweat and how many push-ups it took before they started puking.

These men were his brothers. He trusted his life in any one of their hands and knew they felt the same. So where the hell was this urge coming from to rip out the throat of anyone who made a move on Sienna?

“Donovan, you do whatever you need to.” Larson stood from the table and went to refill his water. “But I think everyone should get their ass to bed soon. I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be another short night.”

It was a couple hours until midnight and how much sleep they’d be getting was anybody’s guess. The moon was full, which could play havoc with the shifters in the barn. They were all hoping the tranquilizers held.

“Yeah, that’s my cue to catch a few hours,” Rafferty agreed and stood.

Warrick grunted and followed suit. Walking down the hall, his throat tightened as he thought of Sienna waiting in the bedroom for him. Probably in bed. Hopefully asleep.

He pushed open the bedroom door a moment later and let his gaze swing to the bed.

Sure enough, she lay on her back, the sheet around her waist. Her eyes were shut and her body still. Too still. Damn. He didn’t have a doubt in his mind that Sienna was wide-awake.

He shut the door with a deliberate click and then pulled off his T-shirt. Next he unsnapped the fly on his jeans, before the sound of his zipper going down filled the room.

Even though her eyes were still closed, he could see Sienna flinch and her fingers gripping the sheet turn white.

Only in his boxers now, he crossed the room toward her and stopped on the opposite side of the bed. Then reached for the sheet.

Sienna’s eyes snapped open and she jerked upright. “Oh no. Oh hell no. You’re not sleeping in this bed with me.”

“Wrong. I am sleeping in the bed with you and you’re just going to have to deal with it,” he said curtly. “I gave you way too much freedom last night and you abused it.”

“Oh, damn you, Warrick! You can sleep on top of the sheets,” she muttered and tugged the sheet back up to her chin. “If I even feel your leg touch mine—”

“Go to sleep, Sienna,” Warrick snapped. He shoved a hand through his hair, regretting the sharpness of his tone. “I won’t touch you.”

And, even though he was forcing them to share a bed, he damn well meant it. Bedding Sienna was never going to happen. Not six years ago, and not any time in the future. No matter that whenever he got within feet of her everything inside him itched to drag her into his arms and crush her pretty mouth beneath his.

Which is why sleeping in bed with her is a really shitty idea, moron.

Still, he tugged the sheet back on his side of the bed to prepare climbing in. It was probably a good thing his muscles ached and he could barely keep his eyes open.

Sienna’s eyes widened with fury, and if looks alone could wither his balls off, he’d be a eunuch.

He climbed into bed and Sienna made a soft noise of anger and began to sit up, but he caught her arm and pulled her back down, muttering a tired, “Relax, kid.”

“I said not to—”

“I heard what you said, and I’m ignoring it.” He reached above him and grabbed his pillow, fluffing it a few times, before lying back down and folding his arms beneath his head.

He closed his eyes and breathed in a calming breath. Then immediately regretted it. The soft feminine smell of Sienna’s skin assailed his senses. It had nothing to do with her perfume this time—she’d washed that off in the shower—but was the subtle underlying scent of her that mingled with the standard Ivory soap the house provided.

Even with his eyelids shut, he could see the way she’d looked this afternoon. The ribbed white tank top that clung to her breasts and the sexy smattering of freckles on her chest and shoulders. Since that evening she’d come on to him at her prom, he’d spent endless nights fantasizing about counting all those freckles as he anointed them with his mouth.

Get off this road, buddy, it’s taking you nowhere.

Forcing his mind on to a more somber path, he asked, “Who is Leonard Perkins?”