Heat of the Night(8)
Author: Sylvia Day

deeper…"

He caught her nipple in his fingers and pinched it, tugged it. Her inner muscles rippled along his length making him groan.

"That’s it," he praised, completely infatuated by her response. She was totally focused on him, as he was on her, which was perfect. She was perfect.

Stacey fell apart in his embrace with a thready cry that almost set him off. He clenched his jaw and held back, gentling her with kisses and murmurs of appreciation.

"Jesus," she gasped, her head falling to the side to press her cheek to his. "Three orgasms in an hour.

Are you trying to kill me?"

"Are you complaining? I can try harder."

She smacked his hand when he tweaked her nipple and he laughed.

"I like your laugh," she said shyly.

"I like you."

"You don’t know me."

"Hmm… I know you love your son and you’re a good friend to Lyssa. I know you’re tough and you raised a child alone without any support, something you resent and rightfully so. You’re uninhibited and comfortable in your skin. You’ve got a wicked sense of humor and you don’t trust men to want you for more than sex."

"Sometimes that’s convenient." She giggled, and the girlish sound combined with her lush woman’s body made him even harder. "Jesus. You might want to get that thing checked."

"I’ve only had one orgasm to your three," he pointed out. "And I want you for more than sex."

She stiffened.

"I have no friends here, Stacey. Besides Aidan."

"Listen…" She struggled up to a seated position and lifted off of him.

Sighing inwardly with disappointment, Connor rose, too, and reached down to tug off the annoying condom. Such precautions weren’t necessary in the Twilight where diseases did not exist and reproduction had to be planned, but he couldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t believe him.

"Friends-with-benefits is a great arrangement for a lot of people. But not for me."

He took a moment to step into the nearby downstairs guest bathroom and disposed of the condom. "Okay…"

He lifted the toilet seat and began pissing with the door open, waiting for her to finish voicing her objection.

Stacey leaned against the jamb and watched him warily. Relieving himself in plain sight was base and a bit crude, but also undeniably intimate, which was what he wanted. Intimacy.

Connection. He’d take it anyway he could get it. It also appeared to fascinate her enough to forget that she was nak*d from the waist down, a view he appreciated immensely.

"I can’t decide if you’re completely rude and arrogant," she murmured, almost to herself,

"which I hate. Or if you’re simply open and confident, which I like."

"You like me."

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I don’t know you near as well as you think you know me. The only thing really working in your favor is that you’re best friends with Aidan, who is overall a nice guy."

Connor stuck out his lower lip in a mock pout.

"The three orgasms don’t help?"

The corner of her mouth twitched and he was suddenly determined to make her laugh out loud.

She was too serious, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the exterior shell protected a vulnerable middle. A middle that very few people were ever privileged enough to see.

"We shouldn’t have done that," she said.

He flushed the toilet and then moved to the sink to wash up. He studied Stacey’s reflection in the mirror. Their eyes met and held, "Why not?"

"Because our best friends are getting married.

You and I are going to run into each other occasionally and this," she waved a hand between them, "is always going to be there. That we know sexual things about each other. That I’ve seen you take a leak."

Pulling the towel off the rack, Connor dried his hands and then leaned back into the counter.

"You don’t remain friends with the people you sleep with?"

She bit her swollen lower lip. He wasn’t a kissing man usually, but the desire to feel that mouth against his had been undeniable and he’d indulged. Stacey had full, plush lips. Connor wanted to feel them everywhere. All over his body.

At the thought, his cock, which was already at half-mast from the clenching of Stacey’s recent orgasm, leaped to attention.

"Okay." She pointed an accusing finger at his waving erection. "That thing is a sexual lunatic."

Connor laughed and then fell silent when she joined him. The sound wasn’t what he had expected. Instead of a girlish trill, it was low and throaty, almost rusty sounding, rarely used. Her green eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed.

"Beautiful," he said.

She looked aside, then she turned away, moving back into the dining room to collect her discarded clothes. She held them to her torso in an obviously defensive posture and he took up her abandoned position of leaning against the jamb.

"You didn’t answer my question," he murmured, watching her intently.

Shrugging, she said, "I have bad taste in men."

He didn’t say anything to that, just considered her carefully.

"I’m going to take a shower." She moved to walk past him.

He reached out and caught her arm, stopping her.

"Stacey."

Her gaze rested first on where his hand wrapped around her upper arm, then it lifted to meet his.

Her brows rose.

"Do you like Chinese food?"

She blinked and then gifted him with a soft smile, recognizing the olive branch. "Moo shu pork.

And cream cheese wontons."

"Got it."

There was a slight hesitation, then she nodded and moved to the stairs.

Connor knew what would happen next. She would come down washed and dressed, an outward show of her inward decision to wipe the slate clean. She would want to start over and pretend as if they’d just met and never f**ked. He knew because it was how he handled similar situations in the Twilight. Early morning training had worked for centuries as an excuse not to spend the night.

He wished Stacey had given them more time to be lovers, but he respected her decision and even thought she might be right. Better to end this as a quick, unplanned rut than to risk a messy situation.

By

nature

the

Elite

avoided

emotional

attachments. Very few of the Warriors partnered and those who did rarely stayed that way.

Detachment was required to succeed and for those Guardians who were unfortunate enough to fall in love with an Elite, it was a lonely and unequal romance.

The Elite were incapable of giving as much love as they received. In addition, for Connor it was simply bred into him to keep his focus on his mission.

"The Bruces live and die by the sword." He repeated the familiar refrain aloud. There was no other way.

This was why he was especially suited to protecting sensual Dreamers. It was a symbiotic relationship. He could don a fantasy and connect to another individual, fulfilling their dream while satisfying his own need for affection. A few hours of being the love of someone’s life was enough to ease the chill of a house and bed he shared with no one else.

Blowing out his breath, Connor straightened and moved into the kitchen where he found the drawer that Lyssa and Aidan used to hold their take-out menus. They ate at Peony’s Chinese Restaurant so often they had an account there, a bit of information Connor knew because he’d visited with Aidan in the dream state.

When a Guardian connected with a slipstream, all of the Dreamer’s memories became an open book. Everything stored in Aidan’s brain was now stored in Connor’s. It had been a brutal acclimation at first, the rush of centuries of recollections—both Aidan’s and the thousands of Dreamers Aidan had protected. Connor had learned to concentrate on the brightest moments in order to save his own sanity.

Of course, the brightest moments in Aidan’s life were those he spent with Lyssa, which had forced Connor to experience what it felt like to be deeply in love with a woman. For centuries he had been the recipient of such overwhelming affection in fantasies. When he shared Aidan’s dreams, he discovered what it was like to give that love back.

Connor pulled out the menu he wanted and closed the drawer. Something warm and soft rubbed against his ankles, and he glanced down to find JB circling his bare feet. It was then he realized that he was still nak*d. It was a state he was quite comfortable with when he was home alone.

However, he was fairly certain it would make Stacey anxious, so he dropped the menu on the granite countertop and decided to borrow something of Aidan’s to wear.

He reached the top of the stairs just as the upper floor guest bathroom door opened. Stacey emerged into the short hallway engulfed in a cloud of fragrant steam. Her hair was wrapped up in a white turban and her curvy body was hidden beneath a matching towel. She lifted her head and saw him—all of him. Her eyes dropped down to where the cat rolled shamelessly around his feet and then rose up to his eyes, stopping at all the places that heated and hardened under her perusal.

For his part, Connor enjoyed the view with equal pleasure. Her satiny skin was flushed pink from both the shower and the therapeutic effects of sexual release. Her thickly lashed green eyes were bright as jade, her full lips reddened, her br**sts accentuated by the knotting of the towel between them.

Suddenly his decision to remain aloof and give her the space she wanted was trampled by the more pressing desire to feel her arching beneath him.

He had no one in this plane he could talk to. No one with whom to share the details of his hellacious day, no Dreamer to lose himself in, no Elite to strategize with. He had no idea if he would ever go home again. But for a while, Stacey had enabled him to forget all of that. She had given him reason to smile and something else to focus on—her.

Just as he was focused on her now.

He gestured to the master bedroom across the hall. "I was going to find something to wear."

She nodded. "I’ll be down in just a minute."

"Okay," he said lamely, arrested by the weird feelings he was experiencing.

Turning, Stacey walked to the door of the guestroom she was occupying. Connor didn’t move, riveting by the gentle, unaffected sway of her perfect ass. Stacey turned the knob and stepped a short way into the room.

"You’re staring," she tossed over her shoulder before disappearing from view behind the closing door.

"I know," he muttered. He continued staring long after he heard the click of the latch.

Chapter 6

The coast on a balmy night was always beautiful.

This evening was no exception, but Aidan was too focused on his mission to enjoy the soft silver lighting of the full moon or the music of the ocean tide. With silent steps, he rounded the corner of the motel, heading toward Room 108.

There were people everywhere—groups of twenty-somethings who were dressed for the clubs and carrying booze in their hands, and older couples strolling toward the beach.

He wasn’t worried about the number of possible witnesses. Pretty much "anything goes" seemed to be the rule around here. Shit, he was fairly certain he could ask someone to help him break into the room. A simple story about losing his key while in a compromising situation would work.

But the ruse wasn’t necessary. Aidan had simply jimmied the lock to the housekeeping office door, which was conveniently hidden from guest view, and snagged the master key.

Armed with the required accessory, he simply walked casually, whistling, his hands in his pockets and his thoughts with Lyssa, who waited in the car with a fully loaded Glock in her lap.

In his mind’s eye, he could see her—her lush mouth set in grim lines, her dark eyes hard and wary. He loved that she was compassionate and gentle by nature, but tough, smart, and willing to do whatever was necessary to keep them both alive.

He’d shared enough romance novel-based fantasies with Dreamers to know that not all women would manage their situation with as much practicality. Some would wail and cry and wait to be rescued.

Aidan paused before the correct door, noting the lack of light emanating from behind the curtains covering the large window. No one home. He was both pleased and not. At least if the Guardian had been inside, he would know her location. As it was, she could be anywhere. Or she could be somewhere—such as near Lyssa.

Withdrawing the key from his pocket, Aidan slipped it into the lock and turned. The mechanism tumbled open. He thrust the door wide and flicked the switch on the wall. The light on the table between the two beds came on, revealing one mattress covered in the spilled contents of a duffle bag and another pristinely made up. A little further past the sleeping area was a sink, mirror, and door to the bathroom.

The room was empty.

Stepping inside, Aidan shut the door behind him and kicked his foot at the bed skirt. The toe of his boot connected with hollow-sounding plywood, a cheaper alternative to traditional metal bed frames. No one could hide under the beds. He then moved toward the bathroom, checking there for possible ambush, before finally moving to the items of interest on the mattress—a comm unit, an assortment of maps and knives, and a data chip, which unfortunately lacked a reader.

Aidan took it all anyway, tossing everything back into the duffle. As he thrust his hand into the bag, he touched something hard and cold. His pulse rate leaped. He wrapped his fingers around the stem and withdrew it.

The taza. And inside that, something wrapped carefully in thick cloth. He pulled out the small bundle and opened it, finding a metallic object encrusted with dried dirt. Rubbing with his fingertips, Aidan revealed delicate filigree scrollwork. He had no idea what it was and wouldn’t know until it was thoroughly cleaned, but its importance was obvious to his trained eye.

He rewrapped it and slipped it into his pocket, then returned his attention to the taza.

It looked just as it did in the renderings in the Elders’ journal. A silver-like metal scarred by centuries, dented and bearing empty settings where jewels once decorated the lip. What purpose it served, he hadn’t yet figured out, but it was his. In his possession. His mouth curved in a genuine smile that reflected the tiny sense of accomplishment he felt. He was another step closer to the truth. A truth that would hopefully set Lyssa free.