Butterfly Bayou (Butterfly Bayou 1)

“Ne t’éloigne pas de notre amour.” He knew she didn’t want to hear that in English. He would simply tell her how he felt in French. No more running. He had her in his world now and he would make it so nice she wouldn’t ever want to leave. Of course, that would take some work, but he was willing to do all the heavy lifting.

And this . . . oh, this was no work at all. He stared at her gorgeously splayed out for him. She was a buttoned-up, somewhat tense professional, but right now she was a sultry, wanton woman waiting for her man to give her what she needed.

Luckily for him, what she needed was exactly what he’d been dreaming of for months.

“Armie, please.” The words were breathless.

He lowered his mouth down, kissing his way up her thigh to the juncture of her legs. He put his mouth on her, unable to hold back a single second more. It was everything he’d dreamed of, the connection flowing between them, and it didn’t take long before her whole body went taut and she called out his name. She went still beneath him and his heart pounded in his chest.

It was his time and he didn’t have to wait a second longer. He got to his feet, fishing the condom out of his pocket and shoving his pants and boxers down. He was so hard he could barely breathe, but that wasn’t going to stop him.

He managed to get the condom on, managed to shift her up so he could cover her body with his. He wanted to be close to her, wanted to feel her moving against him. Her arms locked around his back, her legs clinging to his hips. She opened herself for him, holding nothing back. When he looked into her eyes, the dreamy quality was gone and replaced with pure need.

“I want you.” She arched her back as though offering even more of herself—all of herself.

He would take it. “Then let me give you what you need.”

He thrust inside her, groaning at the exquisite feel. Heat and silk surrounded him, drawing him in. She was tight and it was a delicious fight to work his way inside. Her nails dug lightly into the flesh of his back and he welcomed it, welcomed every twist and turn of her body as she moved with him.

Their bodies found a rhythm, moving to the music and the beat of their desire. Over and over, he meshed his body with hers until he couldn’t remember where he ended and she began. He didn’t want to remember. He wanted to stay in this place where he was more than himself, where he wasn’t lonely anymore. Damn, but he hadn’t realized how alone he’d been until he’d met her.

He had to find a way to stay with her, to make himself meaningful to her life, because he was fairly certain he’d never felt this way about a woman before and never would again.

She called out his name and her body clamped down around his, throwing him over the edge. He lost control, thrusting in hard again and again, giving her everything he had.

He dropped down, not holding his weight off her, but she didn’t complain, merely held him closer.

“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Spend the night with me.”

Hearing her ask was everything he’d wanted. “Yes.”

He held her, the world warmer than it had been before.* * *• • •

Blood coated her hands, her knees, her legs. Anywhere her body met the cold of the ER floor. She’d been around blood. Blood didn’t bother her. Patients bled. It was part of the process, part of how medical professionals saved a person.

But not this time. This time the blood was merely wasted, like the life of the woman on the ground in front of her.

“It’s okay.” Maryanne slurred the words, blood dribbling from the corners of her mouth. She sounded like she was drunk, but it wasn’t from alcohol. It wasn’t sweet wine or hard vodka that made her friend’s eyes seem opaque. It was death. “Doesn’t hurt.”

“Doesn’t hurt?” A massive figure looked over Maryanne’s body, the same devil who’d shot at Lila when she’d tried to handle the bullet wounds on her friend’s body. “I hurt every day and you were the reason. Why couldn’t you love me?”

Her friend was nothing but a prize to be won. Maryanne had been this man’s property and when she’d tried to break away from his abuse, he’d killed her. He hadn’t cared how strong and brave she’d been, didn’t care about Maryanne’s intelligence or how much she cared about every patient that came into the hospital. She was nothing but property to this man, and he wouldn’t allow anyone to take what he claimed as his.