Taken by Midnight (Midnight Breed 8)

Although she'd confessed to being out of practice, he would never have known it from the sensual feel of her lips against his. Her kiss, both soft and direct, giving and taking, set him aflame. He stepped in tighter until he was standing between her legs, needing to feel her body pressed to him as he swept his tongue along the velvety seam of her mouth. He ran his hands down her sides, helping her up onto the conference table when her injured thigh began to tremble beneath her.

The kiss had been a mistake on his part. He'd thought he could leave it at that--just a kiss--but now that he'd started with Jenna, he wasn't sure how he would find the strength to stop.

And from the feel of her in his arms, her pleasured mewls and broken sighs as their kiss ignited into something far more powerful, he was certain that she wanted more of him, too.

Apparently, he couldn't have been more wrong.

It wasn't until he felt moisture on his face that he realized she was crying.

"Ah, Jesus," he hissed, backing off at once and feeling like an ass when he saw her tearstained cheeks. "I'm sorry. If I was pushing you too fast ..."

She shook her head, clearly miserable, but she wouldn't speak.

"Tell me I didn't hurt you, Jenna."

"Damn it." She sucked in a hitching sob. "I can't do this. I'm sorry, it's my fault. I never should have let you--"

The words broke off, and then she was pushing him away from her, scrambling out from under him and all but running for the corridor.

Brock stood there for a second, every part of him tight and aching, raw with need. He should let her go. Chalk this up to a disaster narrowly averted, and put the all-too-tempting Jenna Darrow out of his mind.

Yeah, that's exactly what he should do, and he damned well knew it.

But by the time the thought had formed, he was already halfway up the corridor, following the soft sounds of Jenna's weeping back to his former quarters.

Chapter Thirteen

Jenna felt like the biggest coward--the biggest damned fraud--as she fled up the corridor, sucking back tears. She'd let Brock think she didn't want him. Probably made him believe he'd been forcing himself on her in some way with that kiss, when it had nearly melted her into a puddle on the conference room table. She had let him worry that he'd done something wrong, possibly even hurt her somehow, and that was the most unfair thing of all.

Yet she couldn't stop running, needing to put distance between them with a determination that bordered on desperate. He made her feel too much.

Things she wasn't prepared for. Things she craved so deeply but didn't deserve.

And so she ran, as terrified as she'd ever been and hating the cowardice that pushed her each step of the way. By the time she reached her quarters, she was shaking and breathless, tears streaming in hot trails down her cheeks.

"Jenna."

The sound of his deep voice behind her was like a caress of warmth against her skin. She turned to face him, astonished by the speed and silence that had brought him there not even a second after she'd arrived. Then again, he wasn't human. Not really a man at all--a fact she had to remind herself of when he was standing so near, the sheer size of him, the raw intensity of his dark gaze, speaking to everything that was woman inside her.

Her mouth still smoldered from his kiss. Her pulse was still thrumming heavily, heat still kindling deep into the core of her body.

As if he knew this, Brock moved closer. He reached out to her, took her hand in his, saying nothing. There was no need for words. Despite her slowing tears and the tremble of her limbs, she couldn't hide the desire she felt for him.

She didn't resist as he drew her nearer, into the heat of his body. Into the comfort of his arms. "I'm scared," she whispered, words that didn't come easy to her, and never had.

His eyes locked on hers, he gently stroked the side of her face. "You don't have to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you, Jenna."

She believed him, even before he bent his head and brushed her lips in an achingly tender kiss. Incredibly, impossibly, she trusted this man who was no man. She wanted his hands on her. Wanted to feel this connection to someone again, even if she wasn't at all ready to think beyond the physical, yearning to touch and be touched.

"It's okay," he murmured against her mouth. "You're safe with me, I promise."

Jenna closed her eyes as his words sank into her, the same words he'd soothed her with in the shattered darkness of her Alaskan cabin, then again in the compound's infirmary. Brock had been her steady link to the living world after her ordeal with the Ancient. Her only lifeline during the endless nightmares that had followed in the days after she'd been brought to this strange place, changed in so many terrifying ways.

And now ...?

Now she wasn't sure where he fit in the confusion that remained of her life. She wasn't ready to think about that. Nor was she at all certain she was ready to give in to the feelings he stirred in her.

She pulled back slightly, doubt and shame welling up from the part of her that was still in mourning, the open wound on her soul that she had long ago come to accept might never fully heal.