Grave Secrets (Manhunters 1)

She opened her eyes, lifted her head from his hand, and cupped his face. Her blue eyes slid over his expression. Her fingers traced his features. The gesture was so tender, her expression so loving, Ian’s chest tightened with an unfamiliar sensation. One that scared him a little.

Then she kissed him, a gentle press of lips, over and over—his mouth, chin, cheek, forehead, and the tip of his nose before she brought her mouth back to his for a deep, slow kiss that warmed him from the inside out.

Finally, she lifted her body from his, then collapsed against the bed with comical relief. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay here for a week. I don’t think I’ll be able to move again until then.”

Ian rolled to his side, draped an arm over her waist, and pulled her close. She slid an arm around his neck and her fingers into his hair.

“God, I wish I could memorize this moment,” he murmured. That foreign, powerful sensation tightened his chest again. “You’re so beautiful.”

Savannah grinned and stroked his cheek. “You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.” She closed her eyes, sighed heavily, and breathed, “Wow.”

Yeah. That about said it all, didn’t it?

Too bad that wasn’t the only thing they needed to talk about tonight—and he knew without a doubt, their next conversation would change the entire mood.

10

The smell of something delicious finally pulled Savannah from Ian’s bed.

They’d made love twice more before their growling stomachs sent Ian over to Savannah’s side of the duplex to raid her fridge. Now, at midnight, he was in the kitchen cooking something to eat.

Savannah stood, picked up one of Ian’s T-shirts from a folded pile of laundry and slipped it over her head. She wandered through the living room, noting the blankets and pillows on his couch, and smiled. Neither one of them would be using those tonight, but she appreciated his offer to sleep on the couch early on.

Now, he stood at the stove in his thermal shirt and jeans. His shoulders were wide, their corded muscle stretching the fabric. A sigh slipped out of her as she thought back over the last few hours, a wild whirlwind of lust, sweetness, passion, intensity, and release. More than she’d ever imagined and something she was fully aware might never happen again. Even if she hated the thought of this being a one-time event, she had to admit it made a lot of sense in her situation.

She might as well get as much of him as he’d give while she was here.

Savannah came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, flattening her hands on his taut abs.

“Hey there.” He slid a hand over her forearm and smiled over his shoulder. “I thought I was going to have to wake you up to eat.”

“It smells heavenly. What are you making?”

“Fre

nch toast.”

“Mmmm, one of Jamison’s favorites.”

“I hope it’s one of yours too.”

She released his waist and stepped up beside him at the stove. “It is.”

He set down the spatula and turned, pulling her toward him by the waist. His smile still made tingles of excitement skitter over her skin. “With butter and syrup, I hope. I stole those too.”

She laughed. “Did you leave me anything?”

He lowered his head and skimmed the tip of his nose down the length of hers, murmuring, “Maybe,” before he kissed her. A slow, sweet press of his lips that lingered until Savannah thought they might be putting food on hold again.

But the sizzle of the pan broke the trance, and Ian quickly saved the French toast. “Whoa, that was close.”

He pulled a plate warming in the oven and added the toast to a ridiculous pile of eight slices.

“Who in the heck are you cooking for?”

“Me, mostly,” he admitted with a grin. “I figured you for about two pieces.” He leaned over and kissed her again. “You helped me work up an appetite.”

When he said things like that, she got all giddy inside. Being with him created a constant inner battle between hope and reality.