Savage Hunger(33)

How the hell did he come so close to losing every shred of control when he was with her? Every time. Every goddamned time he got near her he had this crazy reaction to take her. To have her writhing beneath him and crying out his name.

He’d thought he would be okay—he’d made it this long without touching her. But then he’d woken up and in a moment of weakness he’d given in. Had tasted her again. Touched her. Opened that door to temptation.

Which meant that he was going to have to keep his distance from this point on, as much as this damn op allowed.

“I’m sorry, Sienna. This is my fault,” he muttered and turned for the door, his chest tight. “When I return I’ll take the floor again.”



Sienna flinched as the door clicked shut. Her fingers gripped the sheet so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her shoulders started to shake from being so taut with tension, and her throat had gone thick with tears she absolutely refused to cry.

She’d cried over Warrick once, when she was barely a woman. And like hell she’d do it again.

But God, what had they done?

Sometime in the night she must’ve stopped fighting to get free of his imprisoning grasp. Because she’d woken to find herself crawling all over him like a bitch in heat.

She should’ve been shocked to realize that she’d nearly wrapped her body around his. Instead she’d grown flushed with awareness, every inch of her body tingling with the need for more. The need for Warrick.

And once again, just like that night six years ago, he’d rejected her as if she were a wine he’d sampled then decided it wasn’t to his liking.

Though neither of them could deny he was attracted to her, all right. He couldn’t quite hide the fact. It was the moments after they had an intimate encounter that he’d turn all wacko. That he acted like she’d sprouted a second head or something.

She saw what had happened between them as an emotional doorway that led to so many wonderful possibilities, but in Warrick’s eyes that door needed to be shut. Wait, no. Shut, nailed and boarded up.

It’s better this way, she told herself. She shouldn’t be thinking about getting it on with Warrick anyway; she should be thinking about getting the hell away from him. From all these testosterone-laden P.I.A. agents.

Which, now—with all the agents out of the house—seemed like just about the best opportunity she’d probably have.

With her arousal fading and her thought process becoming a little more rational, she remembered the other reason she needed to get out of here. Now that she knew it was Leo who’d been killed in the lab, it upped the stakes. She’d suspected it, but the confirmation from Warrick’s mouth had felt like a physical kick in the stomach.

It was clear somebody at the lab—whoever was behind the experiments on the shifters—didn’t want any evidence left behind. Including anyone who was aware of the situation. Had they discovered Leo had told her? Would they be coming after her next? And if Leo’s warning was true about someone working both sides from within the P.I.A., then she was essentially a sitting duck.

The realization sparked her blind fear to run. To hide. To get to Boston.

Swallowing her fear and frustration, Sienna thrust the sheet aside and scrambled out of bed, rushing to the dresser and pulling open a drawer.

You promised him you’d stay inside.

Forcing back the hint of guilt that she was going to break that promise, Sienna began pulling on clothes.

Her stomach churned at the thought and her throat grew tight with the urge to cry out in frustration. Fear. She’d get to Boston and everything would be fine. She’d give her father the information on the jump drive and he could start figuring out what the shifters had been given and end their suffering. Discover a permanent cure and not some temporary fix with tranquilizers.

If you were as smart as your dad, you’d have the solution figured out by now yourself.

She shoved aside the belittling voice in her head that loved to remind her she’d never be the same brilliant mind that Kevin Peters was. There just wasn’t time to indulge in the familiar self-bashing.

Her fingers shook as she finished getting dressed. Again she wondered who the bad agent could be. Larson wasn’t exactly giving off the trust-me vibe. But, God, it could be anyone in the agency. Even Warrick.

Her stomach revolted at the idea, and she shook it off before it could take root. No, she thought, her lips curling into a scowl. Warrick might be an insensitive jerk at times, but he wouldn’t turn against his comrades. He had far too much integrity for that.

But someone had. It could even be one of the agents here. And every moment she stayed in this house, the more at risk she put the information on the jump drive. Maybe even her own life…