The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 2)

. . . and remembered what had been inside of it mere moments before.

Closing her eyes, she felt the throbbing between her legs and relived what it had been like to feel Luke’s tongue slick into her, and his lips pull against her, and his—

She popped her lids open and grabbed for the bar of soap. “Not the time, not the place.”

But damn.

Even though their quick, super-fast, super-sonic session had been, well, quick, it was clear that the man had hidden talents, and that he was willing to share them with her. He also had stamina for days, which she took as a compliment. They’d hooked up for all of about ten minutes, tops, but there had been a number of orgasms on both sides—

As arousal thickened her throat and forced her to take a couple of deep breaths, she pivoted around so that the spray dampened her hair. When she leveled her head and opened her eyes again, Luke was leaning against the wall and watching her with his arms crossed and a secret smile on his face. He was fully clothed, dressed in black combats and a black turtleneck that made him look like he was part of a militia.

She smiled back at him.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said.

Rio swept both her hands over her head, sluicing water down the back of her skull. As she did, her wet breasts swayed, heavy and gleaming. They were aching for his attention, and she wanted him to know it.

And given where his eyes were, it was a good guess her message had been received.

“You want to join me?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do. Really fucking badly.”

Those eyes roamed her up and down—and she decided that he deserved a good look at the back of her so she pivoted on the ball of one foot. When she glanced over her shoulder, he was rubbing his chin as if he had more than accepted all the things she was offering.

And was thinking about where to start.

Except then he abruptly looked away, in the direction of the door. The frown that drew his brows together meant one and only one thing.

“I put your clothes right here,” he said as he turned away. “On the chair.”

Rio canned the water, the dripping loud into the silver drain. There were no towels—because, hello, this wasn’t a Hilton—so as she stepped out from the little tiled section, she sloughed off her arms, her legs, her butt with her hands.

Getting her bra on took some maneuvering because the straps stuck on her wet skin. When it was in place, she pulled the shirt he’d given her on, and then did the same with her pants. The underwear were completely unusable. She wadded them up and shoved them into her back pocket.

The ruined t-shirt and fleece, the ones she had had on before, she left on the floor.

As she came around the partition, she saw Luke over by the bed, tucking a gun into the waistband of the combats he’d put on.

“You can’t go out there,” he said gruffly. “If you’re found, it’s going to get bad.”

That was when she heard the voices. Outside the door. Loud and insistent.

“Where’s your gun?” he demanded.

Rio went over to the table and picked the weapon up. “I’ve got it.”

Luke stared at her. Then came across to her.

She didn’t even hesitate. She threw her arms around him and held on tight for a brief moment.

“Please be careful,” she said.

God, the idea she might never smell his cologne again . . . and the fact that she wasn’t now because he’d sprayed something on himself, something that was like the incense in the clinic.

She pushed back urgently. “Better than that, let’s leave together. We’ll just go out the back and—”

“Rio, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. I’m serious about getting out of the life. You could be free of this—”

“It doesn’t work like that, and you know it.”

“But I can help you.”

“No, you can’t, and besides, how would it be for you? If I’m out, and you’re still in? Have you thought about that.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“So you think I’m going to come work for your Mozart? Not going to happen.” He drew a hand through his hair and looked over at the bloodstain on the floor, which was still bright red. “I don’t know, maybe I can get out in a little while, who knows. But it won’t be to Caldwell. Your world . . . is not mine.”

“It could be.”

“No, it couldn’t. And you know that.” His broad, warm hand stroked her shoulder gently. Then he lifted something up. “By the way, this dropped out of your pocket when I was getting your clothes.”

Dangling off his forefinger was the key fob to the Chrysler.

With a locked jaw, he put the the thing in her hand and closed her grip around it. Then he nodded. “I want you to leave now. Go through that back door and drive away—”