move either.
But she was thinking, thinking so loudly he could practically hear her mind racing. Her face was flushed, and he could see her nipples pressing against the material of her shirt, two tight, aching peaks just waiting their turn for attention, which he was dying to give.
“I’m not sure where to start,” she admitted.
He could guide her, even rush her. Everything in those wide eyes, in the way she was breathing, told him he could.
But he’d promised her all the control, promised her that she could go at whatever pace she wanted. And if she wanted more, and Hawk hoped like hell she wanted more, she needed to make this first move. “Wherever you want.”
“Okay.” Finally she lifted a hand and glided it over his chest, her finger brushing one of his nipples.
His muscles leaped, and feeling it, she paused, then arched an eyebrow and did it again. “You like that.”
He was already sweating. “Yes.”
Chewing on her lower lip in great concentration, she ran her hands down his torso. More quivering on his part. “And that,” she noted. “You like that, too.”
“Let me save you some time here,” he managed. “I’m going to like everything you do.”
“Really?” Again her fingers moved, lower.
Over his ribs.
Then his trembling abs.
All while she watched his face with great interest.
Hawk had fantasized about this and far, far more. But in those X-rated dreams, he’d completely underestimated the effect she would have on him. Hell, she didn’t even have to be touching him to make him hard, just the sound of her voice could do it, and yet now she was pressed to his side, looking, touching…
The hardest thing he’d ever done.
“Okay,” she whispered, answering some unspoken question in her own head. Then she dipped her head and nearly, but not quite, touched her lips to his.
And then stopped.
He didn’t move either, just did his best to keep breathing so he wouldn’t pass out and miss something good.
And then, as if he’d somehow passed a final test he hadn’t even seen coming, she licked her lips and kissed him.
Killed him.
Same thing.
15
CALLEN SAT AT LOGAN’S SIDE. She’d been watching over the cocky ATF agent as she often watched over her patients, with one noticeable difference.
Her heart was in her throat.
Not a comfortable place for it to be, not for a person who was used to being in charge at all times. But all sense of control had deserted her. So had common sense. And for what? The one thing she’d always sworn she’d keep her head about.
A man.
His partner’s call had shaken her to the core. Logan was in danger; it sounded crazy, but she’d believed him. So much so that she’d switched the charts, and now Logan was Stephen Caudill. At the next shift change, he’d be making yet another chart change.
To Annabelle Levin, a thirty-year-old woman, nine months pregnant, five centimeters dilated.
He’d be so thrilled.
Heeding those words, Callen had made her way through life without getting overly involved.
Until now. Now she’d been clobbered, and as tough as she was, as careful as she’d been, she’d had no warning.
Kate had been right. It made no sense, and Callen had no explanation for it, but Logan was The One.
She knew it.
And she’d been so careful with her heart, too, only giving it away when she was quite certain it was safe.
But, good God, the man had charisma in spades. All he had to do was look at her. Hell, even lying there prone and far too still, she felt the space around her heart constrict, making it almost painful to be near him.
How did that happen in a matter of hours?
And then there’d been his obvious connection to his partner, and the frank concern he’d felt over leaving him alone to face the mess they’d found themselves in. She’d always had a thing for a man with a hero complex, and this man was definitely hero complex worthy.
She watched his face for signs of pain, because that she could handle, there she knew what to do, but his eyes were closed, his drool-inducing body motionless.
He was out cold.
So why her heart pounded, she had no clue. She couldn’t seem to find her cool reserve, the place in her head where she kept her fears and panic at bay. There she could treat and care for the sickest of people, and still remain a little bit distant, just enough that she didn’t lose a piece of her heart to each and every person who came into her life.
Because a lot of needy people came into her life.
But with Logan she hadn’t been able to retreat. It wasn’t just his physical attributes. She was immune to good looks and easy charm; in her line of work, she’d seen both erased by pain and suffering, leaving only the soul beneath.
Maybe it was his wit, which in spite of the pain, he’d shown in spades. Or maybe it had been the way he’d looked at her, as if she was the only woman he’d ever really seen.
Yeah, Callen thought, letting out a shaky breath. That’d been it.
She sat, at his side, watching him sleep as if she could keep him alive by willing it. But his injuries weren’t going to kill him, he was merely sleeping off the pain and the load of meds he’d been given. By daylight he’d open those melting eyes and be on his way to recovery.
And then she’d go.
Deep in his drug-induced dreamland, Logan let out a long sigh. He could be dreaming about anything, she knew, given the dangerous life he led. Shifting closer, she set her hand on his arm and stroked, hoping her touch was soothing. “Don’t let the bad dreams get you.”
“I’m not asleep.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
Turning his arm, he snagged her fingers in his. “Sorry.”
He had a cut on his thumb and his palm was rough, callused. Warm. Leaning over him, she looked into his eyes. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Fighting the drugs.” His voice was low, raw. Rough. “Callen-”
“Right here.”
