Dark Taste of Rapture (Alien Huntress 6)

Crave her? Please.

She studied his tortured expression. Pushing for answers here, now, wasn’t wise anyway you sliced it. Public place, possible public humiliation. Did that stop her? Hell, no. “You can’t—what you said can’t be true. You wouldn’t ignore me—”

A moment passed as he visibly fought for control. He rubbed a hand down his face, the skin on his palm normal, the ink dark. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Too bad. “You brought it up. Also, you made me talk about my problems when I didn’t want to.” And he’d helped her in a way she could hardly believe. She felt lighter, more guilt leaving her by the second. “A year ago, you stomped all over me, told me never to speak to—”

“I know what I told you,” he snapped, interrupting again. “I don’t need a retelling.”

“So why are you with me right now? Helping me with my problems? Telling me that you …”—her voice lowered to a barely audible rasp—“crave me.” Why? The intensity of her need to know the answer staggered her.

How many nights had she pleasured herself while thinking of him? Now he was suggesting, in a roundabout way of course, that he had done the same. That amazed her, delighted her. Truth or lie, though?

He looked over his shoulder, at his car, as if he longed to bolt.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Scowling, she cupped his cheeks and forced his attention back to her. “You’re staying right here and confessing.”

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits, a glare that usually preceded multiple dark curses. Instead, he said, “I’ll stay.” Harsh, broken. “If we talk about something else.”

Damn him. He meant it. Restrictions grated, big time. In fact, she would have left him in the dust on principle alone, but then he did the strangest thing. He leaned into her touch, rubbing his stubbled jaw against her palm, practically purring like a contented kitten.

Maybe he did crave her. But … but …

When he realized what he was doing, he went military straight and paled. He shook out of her hold, his eyes glazing fearfully, guiltily, then angrily.

He had liked the connection, but hadn’t wanted to like it. Why? The question of the day, it seemed. Hell, the question of the year.

Whatever the answer, though, he wasn’t yet ready to spill all and really would bail if she remained in pursuit. That fear … So she would drop the craving thing. For now. But, oh, God, hope swirled through her, a bright light in an endlessly dark void.

“So, uh, how have you been?” she asked, hands tingling where they’d touched him.

Now he arched a brow, losing his worry, guilt, and anger in a single instant. Relief descended. “Since yesterday?”

“No, smartass. Since …” Our last kiss. “All year.”

“Good. You?”

“Same.”

Awkward silence.

O-kay. Was this how it would always be between them? Either snipping and snapping at each other, on the road to kissing, or struggling for something to say? A fraction of the hope withered.

“How’s our suspect, the van’s driver?” she asked, deciding to talk shop rather than separating and ending on a bad note. There had to be more to their relationship than the snipping and silence. Right? He craved her.

A little color drained from his cheeks, and he rocked back on his heels. “I wasn’t going to tell you until after the wedding, but …”

“What?”

“He killed himself.”

“What! How? When?”

“At the hospital. Cyanide pill. Had one in a hidden pocket.”

“Why would someone do that?”

Hector’s strong shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Fear. You remember what he said, about the mysterious he hurting him worse than we ever could.”

Yeah, but still. “You get any useful info out of him first?”

An abrupt shake of his head, the color returning to his cheeks and deepening with … shame? Probably. Hector took his job more seriously than most, and took his cases personally.

Noelle flattened her hand above his heart. The organ rushed up to meet her, the beat quickening. Hector didn’t chastise her. “Wasn’t your fault,” she said, offering comfort. “And two women were saved from God knows what.”

He gulped. His gaze met hers, the gold glittering, no hint of the frost he so often directed at her.

In an instant, her thought path changed course. From business straight back to the pleasure. She had her hand on him. He was close enough to kiss. And he craved her.

Thought you weren’t going to do this with him ever again?

Things change. He craved her. She would never get tired of those words.

You’ve forgotten the humiliation of his rejection, then?

Argh! She despised these conversations with herself.

Dallas had amused her, but Hector… Hector tantalized her. He didn’t tease, he snarled. He didn’t flirt, he informed. His intensity was a constant brush against her nerve endings, awakening long forgotten parts of her body, working her into a frenzy.

“You know, the last two times we stood like this, we … did things,” she reminded him huskily.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Never forgotten.”

Me, either. “We should probably—” Go our separate ways. She tried to force the words out of her mouth, but they congested in her throat.

“Yeah,” he repeated. He leaned closer, closer, probably seeing the pulse at the base of her neck speed out of rhythm. He hovered there, breathing her in, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next.

Forget separating. She wanted more and took care of the rest, tracing her tongue along the seam of his lips. He moaned, but didn’t open, so she turned her attention to his pulse, licking up the base of his neck. She loved the honey and almond flavor of his skin. Loved the—

Honey and almond.

Like a woman’s body lotion.

Jealousy was like a thousand knives inside her. What he did—had done—wasn’t her business. They weren’t dating. He could do whatever the hell he wanted, with whomever the hell he wanted.

And yet, still Noelle felt her nails dig into his chest as she straightened. “Hector, I’m going to ask you a question and you’re going to answer honestly or I swear to God I’ll ensure you’re never able to have children. Did you just have sex with someone?”

He stiffened, that flush of shame now so deeply rooted he might never get rid of it. “No, I did not have sex with anyone.” Each word was carefully uttered, precisely measured, as if he didn’t want to lie, but didn’t want to admit the truth, either.