Burn For Me (Phoenix Fire #1)(14)
Author: Cynthia Eden

She shook her head. “N-no.” Her gaze darted around the room. “What happened to Wyatt?”

“He burned.”

Another flinch from her.

Why wasn’t she looking at him? Cain caught her chin in his hand and made her focus on him. “Forget him. He deserved a fast trip to hell.” Did she have any idea how many paranormals that bastard had tortured? Cain had heard their screams. He knew.

“What about the others?” Eve asked. “Did they get out? Did they—”

“A lot of them did.” Not everyone, not all the paranormals and not all the humans. Those explosions had been timed too perfectly.

Wyatt hadn’t minded killing his lab rats or his own research teams.

And the guy thought Cain was the monster? Wyatt was as sadistic and twisted as any killer could possibly be.

Her breath rushed out. “I have to—I have to call this story in—I need to tell—”

He remembered what Wyatt had said about her. Eve wasn’t another scientist out to poke and prod her prey. She was a reporter. A woman after a story. I won’t be her story. “You’re not telling anyone anything.”

She pulled away from him.

“Not yet,” he said, trying to soften his words. “Not until it’s safer.” Not until he’d had his fill of her.

She’s afraid of me. So what? Everyone is. He could work past her fear. He had to.

He’d been held captive for too damn long.

And he wanted her too much.

“You can stand the fire,” he whispered.

Her gaze came back to his. Still laced with fear, but . . . was that a flash of awareness in her eyes? “Yes.”

His stare dropped to her lips. He wanted to taste her again. Cain leaned forward, bringing his mouth closer to hers. Eve didn’t pull back.

Did she—hell, did she lean toward him? He sure thought that she did.

He pressed his lips against hers. He wanted to ravage her mouth. To take and taste and hear her moan. But he touched her lightly with his lips, carefully . . . at first.

Don’t scare her any more. Not yet.

His control was razor thin. He needed to woo her while he could.

Her lips parted beneath his. Still not pulling away. Then her tongue came out and licked against his.

Fuck.

That control got even thinner. “I want you.” Guttural. His c**k was so full and aching—from one damn kiss—that he hurt.

He couldn’t remember his last lover. He couldn’t picture her in his mind. The lovers he’d taken before hadn’t mattered to him. He hadn’t let them matter. They couldn’t get close to him. Couldn’t find out what he really was.

Bodies in the dark. Pleasure. Sex.

That was all his past had been.

The light of dawn streaked through the cabin. It wouldn’t be sex in the shadows. Eve wouldn’t be a woman that he forgot.

Her gaze held his.

“If you don’t want me, you’d better tell me to stop now.” While he could still stop. Because in a few more seconds . . .

Take her.

There’d be no turning back.

Her lips were red. Slick. Her breath came faster. But . . .

But she shook her head.

He pulled away from her, every move so painful that he wanted to rage.

“Your eyes . . .” Her whisper.

And he knew that his control was breaking. He’d used too much power back at Genesis. He couldn’t let the beast out and expect to instantly shove him back in the cage.

Want her. Need her. She could soothe him. Make him forget hell.

Except she was pulling away from him. Rising. Stumbling toward the door on the right. The bathroom.

Leaving him aching. Hungry. Aroused.

Saying no.

When the door shut behind her, the beast broke free.

What in the world was happening?

Eve stared at herself in the mirror. Was she really about to have sex with Cain? A man she barely knew?

A man who’d made her wet with just a kiss.

She twisted the faucet and sent a burst of cold water pouring into the sink. She cupped her hands and threw a cold spray on her face. The water rinsed off the ash and who the hell knew what else from her skin. She tossed away her clothes. They were ruined anyway, and if she was doing this, then she was damn well doing it right.

Adrenaline pumped through her blood. She could remember the fire. That jerkoff Wyatt. Screams and death.

And Cain. He’d held her. Gotten her out of that nightmare.

She’d wanted him before he’d saved her.

She still wanted him.

They were in the middle of nowhere. Alone. With a big bed just waiting for them.

Why couldn’t she want him? Why shouldn’t she want him?

She kicked away her clothes. Took a minute to survey herself in the mirror.

There was no sound from the other room. He’d better not have changed his mind. A girl just needed a little time to try and get sexy after an all-out hell battle. Was that such a bad thing? Not like it was a crazy urge.

Because . . . he mattered. She wanted it to be right. Special.

He’d be grand lover number four in her life. Didn’t that deserve special fanfare? Eve figured the situation at least called for some non-singed clothes and a non-ash-covered body.

She turned back toward the door. Put her hand on the wood. The drug wasn’t making her body feel limp anymore. No, limp was the last thing she felt right then.

Her ni**les were tight. Her sex quivering.

Because Cain was waiting on her.

She opened the door. Naked, she walked to him.

Cain whirled around when the door squeaked open. His face was hard, more menacing than she’d seen it before, and his strong jaw had locked.

But she wasn’t about to lose her nerve. Eve lifted her chin, licked her lips. “I . . . want you, Cain.”

His eyes blazed. Literally blazed with fire. Not dark anymore. Burning bright.

She liked them that way.

Two steps, and he had her. He rushed toward her, took her mouth. Not softly, not lightly anymore. Good. She hadn’t wanted that. Maybe it was the drug leaving her system. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was just him.

But she didn’t want easy and soft. She’d had that with the other men. Men who were careful with their touches and too hesitant in the dark. Right then, she wanted passion and she wanted fire.

The real world would intrude soon enough. She got that. For the moment, though, . . . screw off, real world.

She put her arms around him. His chest was bare. He wore a pair of loose jogging pants, pants that had been burned and ripped, and those pants did nothing to conceal the thick length of his arousal.