bit her earlobe. “Eating you.”
She sucked in her breath as his fingers parted her thighs and felt the hot wetness between her legs.
“Touching you.” He swallowed heavily.
“Making love is more than having sex,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s a full-body experience.” His hands roamed up her body, clasped her head from behind. “From your head.”
He kissed her, his breath hot, labored, wanting. His mouth moved from hers, back to her hard nipples, down her stomach, never stopping. He brushed his tongue against her clit, making her jump. Then he licked each inner thigh, first the right, then the left, and she squirmed, grabbing his head with her hands. Trying to bring him back to that spot in the middle that needed-demanded-his direct attention.
But he had other things on his mind. His mouth found her toes, pulled them one by one. She gasped. No one had kissed her toes before. His thumbs put pressure on the bottom of her foot, sending bolts directly to her hot core, and she gasped.
“Oh, God, Dillon.” She could barely speak, her mouth dry.
“Down to your feet,” he said.
He climbed on top of her, his erection reaching for her, his face inches from hers.
“Making love,” he whispered into her lips, “is much, much more than having sex.”
Then he slid into her, filling her, their bodies drenched in perspiration and desire.
Slowly, they moved together, finding their rhythm. Kate was losing herself in Dillon, giving her body, her heart, her soul over to him. Everything she was from this day forth was because of him. He had showed her things about herself she hadn’t realized, understood her in ways she didn’t know she missed.
She moved beneath him. His hands found hers. He raised his body, his face intent on hers. “Kate,” he gasped.
“I’m with you,” she whispered.
They came together, sealing a bond neither had sought or expected.
Dillon pulled Kate to him, holding her tight, his hand over her rapidly beating heart. They didn’t need to speak, not now.
Their mouths found each other and they continued to explore.
Sleep came much later.
Trask stared at the terrified face of the woman beneath him. She was restrained, and his hands encircled her neck. He tried to imagine Kate Donovan beneath him as he attempted to rape the woman.
He was failing, limp and unable to take her. Instead of Kate, he pictured Mina, that wily blond bitch who had hurt and humiliated him for his father’s pleasure. As soon as she came to his mind, his cock softened.
He remembered killing Mina and her whore friend. The blood. Red and wet. He smelled copper, felt the slickness of their pathetic lives coating his body. He’d stolen back the power. He was free of them.
Kate Donovan had taken his prize, Monique.
He began to harden. He released her neck and she gasped for air.
“Stop.” Her voice was almost gone. “Please, stop. I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me.”
Her pleas further excited him, but he’d prefer it if she fought him. Like he knew Kate would as soon as he had her.
He pushed himself into her and she tried to scream, but with her bruised larynx it came out a gasp. She pulled at her restraints, egging him on.
“That’s it. Fight me, bitch.”
She stared at his face. He wasn’t wearing a mask. The realization hit her. She saw her death in his eyes.
Trask wrapped his hands around her neck as she thrashed. He pressed hard, felt the bone break. Watched her eyes as she knew she was dying.
But he still had trouble.
“Fuck you, Mina!”
The woman beneath him scratched at his gloved hands, her eyes wide. He watched a blood vessel swell in the corner. Burst.
He kept slamming himself into her after she was dead, but no relief came.
TWENTY-SEVEN
A KNOCK ON THE DOOR woke Dillon and Kate. They were still entwined from the night before, naked, but Dillon had pulled the comforter on top of them in the middle of the night.
“I don’t want to move,” Kate said.
He kissed her neck. “Don’t.”
He slid out from the sheets, slid his jeans on, and crossed to the door.
“Who is it?”
“Quinn Peterson.”
“One minute.”
Kate moaned and got out of bed. She grabbed her pack and went into the bathroom.
Dillon opened the door. “Come in.”
Peterson entered. “Merritt’s on his way over. Where’s Kate?”
“Why? What’s the rush? Doesn’t he have more important fugitives to pursue? Does he know where Adam Scott is?”
“I tried to talk him out of it, but he’s adamant.”
“I’m not going to let Kate be arrested.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Dammit, Peterson, I thought you were going to do something about this!” Dillon ran his hands through his hair. “She’s the one who found Lucy.”
“Merritt is questioning that. He’s floated the theory that she intercepted a transmission meant for him from his undercover agent and because of that four people died and Adam Scott got away because of her maverick ploy.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Mallory told us he sent that message to Kate.”
“Mallory’s in ICU and unable to talk.”
“This Merritt has it in for Kate. He isn’t going to listen to the truth. He’s already made his mind up.”
“I agree. Where’s Kate?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dillon, don’t do this. I need to talk to her.”
Kate stepped out of the bathroom in clean jeans and tank. “I’ll go into headquarters on my own terms,” she said.
Peterson raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
Dillon took Kate’s arms. “You don’t have to do this. Remember what I said.”
She smiled sadly at him. “I remember. And this is the right thing to do. Full disclosure, and let the chips fall. I’m ready to tell the truth. But I don’t know if anyone will believe me.”
“I believe you.”
“If you want to piss Merritt off, we should leave now for headquarters. We’ll just miss him,” Peterson suggested. “That way you’re turning yourself in.”
“Sounds good to me,” Kate said.
“I’m working double time trying to get him off this case,” Peterson said. “He’s not thinking straight. But I have to smooth the way at Quantico and that’s not an easy task.”
“I appreciate it, Quinn. Really.”
“So hang in there. All I need is time, okay? And you’re in my jurisdiction. I’m not letting him take you out of it.”
