Evidence of Passion (Shadow Agents 7)

Jack sidled toward Dylan Foxx’s car. He had a little gift to leave for Dylan.

You’re out of this game. You won’t touch Rachel again.

The darkness of the night could hide so much. He’d always enjoyed killing in that darkness.

Chapter Five

Rachel fought to catch her breath. She couldn’t do it. Maybe it was because Dylan held her pinned to the couch or maybe it was because aftershocks of pleasure still pulsed through her body.

But she was panting and her heart was racing so fast that it shook her chest.

Dylan lifted his head and gazed down at her. “That should’ve taken the edge off,” he said as his words seemed to rumble against her.

His voice... A shiver slid over her.

“It should’ve, but it didn’t,” he said flatly. A dark, warning edge was layered in the words. “I still want you, just as badly as before.” But he was withdrawing from her, and the hard slide of his body had her gasping.

“Don’t worry,” Dylan said as his hands slipped from hers. “I already told you, we’re just getting started.”

Then he was on his feet, standing beside the couch, staring down at her. Rachel tried to reach for her robe.

He caught her hands. “Don’t. I want you to stay just like that. I’ll take care of you.”

She stilled.

His fingers slid over the inside of her wrist, caressing the spot just above her rapidly beating pulse point.

Then he pulled away. He headed toward her bathroom. Rachel tried to suck in some deep, fortifying breaths while he was gone.

Her legs were trembling. She was trembling.

The floor creaked. Her head jerked up. Dylan was already back. He’d zipped and buttoned his jeans, and they hung low on his hips. He had a soft cloth in his hand. He bent and carefully pressed the cloth to the tender flesh between her thighs.

Rachel flinched. “Dylan...”

His gaze held hers. “Was I too rough?”

She shook her head.

“Good.” He tossed the cloth aside. “Because this time, I get to savor.”

She couldn’t have spoken then even if—

A phone rang, the shrill cry loud in her apartment. She glanced to the left. It wasn’t her phone.

It was his. Dylan’s phone was on the end table, vibrating.

“It could be Mercer,” Rachel whispered. “We should...we should get it.”

His jaw locked. She knew he didn’t want to move. She didn’t want him moving anywhere.

Because she wanted to savor him, too.

The phone stopped ringing.

He smiled at her.

And the phone began its peeling cry once more.