Savage Hunger(42)

“You’re right. I did start it. I couldn’t stop myself. It seems to be a recurring problem with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Way to go, blaming the victim. It’s like when you and Daniel used to pass the blame on to me as kids.”

Her comment had likely been a joke, but if he needed another reason why he should be keeping his hands off her, she’d just reminded him of it.

Dammit, she was Daniel’s little sister. Beyond the complications of her being human, there was also an unspoken friend code. Maybe if he could’ve seriously entertained a relationship with Sienna—if they could have more than just a fling, things would be different.

Pulling his finger away from the temptation of her teasing mouth, he shook his head. “We need to get some sleep, Sienna. The sun will be up in a few hours. You should try to sleep now.”

“Yes, I know. You’re probably right.”

She stared at him, as if hoping he’d change his mind, then finally gave a sigh of defeat and turned to lie down. She tugged the sheet up over her waist and placed her hand beneath her cheek on the pillow. Looking drowsy and less irritable. And all too innocent. Not at all like someone who’d just about screamed the house down with her orgasm.

His gut kicked briefly as he realized that the other agents in the house had likely heard her. Knew what had happened—but they’d be wrong. They would assume Warrick had fucked Sienna until she couldn’t see straight. They wouldn’t have the slightest clue how damn hard it was to not take her completely. To essentially walk away with a dick like granite.

“Are you going back to sleep too?” she asked softly.

He hesitated. Long enough for relief to flicker in her gaze and for her to pull back the sheet and gesture to the empty space next to her.

“Please, Warrick. Just hold me until the sun comes up. It’s been a horrible night and I think the only way I’ll get any sleep is in the knowledge that you’re next to me. Holding me.”

Her words were honest and without pride. The vulnerability and exhaustion in her gaze were what made him capitulate and slide down next to her. Warrick pulled her into his arms and she immediately curled her body into his, burying her face against his chest.

His throat tightened at the wave of tenderness that rose inside him. The need to possess faded as the subtle need to protect replaced it. He ran his palm down her back, tracing the gentle ridge of her spine as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Warrick tried to ignore the thoughts of tomorrow, and the feeling of impending trouble. Sienna had thought tonight was horrible, but she had no idea the man she would be facing tomorrow.

Unfortunately, Warrick did.





“Rise and shine!”

Shit. Warrick’s muscles went taut at the harsh drawl, but he kept his eyes closed, giving himself a moment before he faced the man at the end of the bed. Silently he cursed a blue streak that the shifter had entered the room without Warrick immediately waking up. He never slept that heavily.

But apparently last night he had. Sleeping like the dead with Sienna in his arms. Not even stirring once until the agent who now stood above them had spoken. But he was awake now. And so was Sienna if he judged by the sudden tension in her body.

Warrick finally opened his eyes, making sure there was no trace of sleep in his gaze.

“Quinton,” he greeted with a slow drawl. “You should’ve called first, I would’ve had breakfast ready.”

“Cute, Donovan.” Any amusement—if there’d been any—disappeared from Quinton’s gaze as he slid it over them. His icy blue gaze narrowed on Sienna, before his mouth thinned. “So this is the piece of ass who’s causing so much trouble?”

Any question on whether Sienna was asleep disappeared as she sat up in bed. “Piece of ass? Who the hell do you—”

“Sienna,” Warrick cut in, placing a warning hand on her thigh before she could rip the older agent a new one. “This is Quinton. A senior agent with the P.I.A.”

Quinton was an icon. No one really knew if Quinton was his first name or last, but it’s all he went by. Who he was known as. He’d been with the agency for thirty years and was highly respected within the shifter community. He was cold and ruthless and hardcore. You didn’t fuck with him. Even Warrick’s crack about breakfast had probably been pushing it, but hell, he’d hoped to diffuse the tension.

Warrick had always looked up to the older agent, who’d always put career and community first, who’d helped train Warrick, and who’d never settled down with a family and shown no desire to do so. Quinton had always been the man Warrick strived to become. Quinton had been everything Warrick’s father hadn’t been.