She stood across the room watching him, her arms wrapped across her breasts as she stared at him. And those pretty eyes, such a warm, sweet honey color, seemed to spill inside him.

“He was part of the reason your daughter was killed.” He spoke the words slowly and watched her flinch, watched her and made her accept that betrayal. The group Dayle Mackay was a part of had found a way to authenticate a strike that had never been approved. The strike that had killed her child.

“You weren’t.” She swallowed tightly as he watched her battle her tears.

He had only seen her cry once, and God help him, those tears followed him in his nightmares. Wrenching sobs tore from her soul as he held her safe beneath him, forced her head to his chest and watched that hotel explode.

And that night, the first time he had loved her, the night her daughter had died, he’d had to tear his gaze away from her, turn his back on her and clench his fists to keep from going after Dayle Mackay then and there. Killing him would only solve a part of the problem. Just one part out of a dozen. But he wanted to kill.

Because he remembered her screaming sobs as he dragged her back to the small hotel where he stayed sometimes. There he had held her, rocked her, loved her, and he let silent tears fall from his own eyes.

“His blood is mine.” He turned back to her and shook his head as he felt the chill inside him.

“And your blood?” she whispered as she moved to him, took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “You’re blood is here, Natches.”

He caressed her stomach through the clothes; he couldn’t help himself. Her heated flesh met his calloused hands, and as he did when he held her at night, he imagined he felt life there. Hope.

He shook his head and wanted to pull away from her, but he couldn’t force himself to.

“And when this is over, you may curse the night you allowed me to come inside you.” He found the strength to pull back from her, to walk away.

“You son of a bitch!” He didn’t get far before her fingers gripped his wrist and she jumped in front of him. “Excuse me here? But are you daring to walk away from me?”

He dragged his fingers through his hair, a frown jerking between his brows at the anger on her face, the accusation in her eyes.

“I have things to do, Chaya.”

“And of course you’re not going to do the ‘partner’ thing you’ve been preaching about here and tell me what the hell they are. Right, Natches?”

He nodded slowly. “That about sums it up.”

She looked as though he had slapped her. Natches stared back at her in confusion as she backed away from him, her face paling.

“So much for all my courage and strength that you so highly respect,” she sneered. “I guess, once again, I’m delegated back to the weak little woman who has to be protected. Right?”

“This is my fight,” he bit out.

“Because it’s your blood?”

“Fucking A,” he snarled.

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Mackay, but there’s a damned good chance I’m carrying your blood inside me, so I think that makes it my damned fight as well.”

And how the hell was he supposed to counter that argument?

“It doesn’t work that way, Chay.” He tried pure male dominance and decisiveness.

“Because you decree it?” Her eyes were fiery now, not just in anger, but in confrontation, in determination.

Hell, he was getting hard. He could feel his arousal stretching to life, the ice that had encased his emotions beginning to melt as she glared back at him.

“You can decree to hell and back, Natches, and it’s not going to do you one damned bit of good. You dragged me into this relationship, you’re the one that made damned sure my soul was so tied to yours that I couldn’t breathe without feeling you, and then you did everything in your power to help create life from it. Damn you, you’re not backing away now.”

“Backing away was never in the cards.” He lowered his head and growled the words at her. “Did I say you could leave this relationship?”

Her eyes widened and disbelief filled her face. And that made him grow harder, because the disbelief was filled with scornful amazement.

“Oh my God, you take the cake.” Her hands went on her hips, and his cock just got harder still. “I can’t believe your complete arrogance.”

“You should, you’ve dealt with it before.” He wasn’t budging. If he told her what he had planned, then she would just stick her nose into it. Her nose was far enough on the chopping block; he wasn’t going to allow it to go any farther.

“You are not doing this without me!” The words were said with such snap that his brow lifted mockingly.

“And you’re not going after him with me.” She’d lost enough in her life; he wasn’t going to allow her to lose any more. Not her life, or their child’s. And he knew that child was there, resting securely within her. He intended to make damned sure he kept that child safe. The child and his or her mother.

“I’ve worked this case for five years,” she said furiously. “Five years, so you could come in with your lies and your damned charm and force me out of it? ‘Oh, Chay, I just admire your courage and strength,’” she sneered, her face twisting in fury. “Fuck you, Natches.”

“And I didn’t lie.” His voice rose, unintentionally, fueled by the anger and the arousal rising inside him. “Do you think I don’t admire it? That I’d want to change a damned thing about you? I’m not trying to change anything, damn you, but I will protect you.”

“Screw your protection.”

He clenched his fists, not in rage, but to keep from touching her, to keep from jerking her to him and taking all the wild passion, driving into it until they both forgot the pain and the danger moving in on them.

“Chay, don’t push me on this,” he growled back. Damn her, she was tearing him apart inside. He could see the betrayal in her eyes, the hurt, and he hated it. “This isn’t a fight you can be a part of.”

“And it’s not a fight I’ll let you push me out of,” she yelled back.

Turning, he watched as she stalked to the table and snapped her laptop shut. She gathered the files, stuffed them with the laptop in her case, then jerked her boots from the floor and sat on the couch.

“What the hell are you doing?” He grabbed the boot from her hand and held it out of her reach as she came off the couch, fury stamped on her flushed features. “You’re not leaving here.”

“The hell I’m not.” When she couldn’t jerk the boot out of his grasp, she pulled the case on her shoulder and moved to the door barefoot.

“You can’t go outside without shoes. It’s cold out there.” He parked himself in front of the door as she stood before him, breasts heaving, her little fists clenched at her side as though she were actually going to use them on him.

“Better the cold outside than the cold in here.” She slapped his chest. “Now get out of my way.”

“Chay, you don’t want to keep this up,” he grated out. “Calm the hell down.”

“Don’t you tell me to calm down, Natches Mackay.” A finger was in his face, pointing too close to his nose as he looked at it, then slowly looked up at her.

“Put that finger down, Chay.” There was something about that finger in his face that made every male instinct inside him stand up in outrage.

“Make me.” That finger jabbed into his chest. “Come on, tough ass. Make me. You’ve cheated everywhere else in this relationship, you might as well cheat here, too. What are you going to do? Tie me to the bed? Because damn you, that’s the only way you’ll keep me here.”

SEVENTEEN

There was something about that finger in his chest and the complete and total fury transforming Chaya’s expression that did it to him.

“It” being completely wiping his mind of everything but possessing her. “It” being imagining her on her knees, naked, nipples tight, hard, and red, while he fucked that sarcastic little mouth with shallow thrusts.

“It” being owning her soul because she owned his. He knew, even as he stood there mad as hell and fighting it, that there wasn’t a chance in hell he could keep her if he did this alone. And that just made him madder. Just made him hornier.

“That finger is getting ready to get you in trouble,” he warned her softly.

Her lips flattened, then she did something he would have never imagined. Something that had his eyes widening in shock. She lifted that cute little hand and her middle finger shot up like a flag.

She didn’t have to say a word. Her expression said it all as she turned her back to him and began to move through the living room. Probably heading to the back deck door.

Oh, that was just too bad.

He jerked his boots off and let them thump to the floor as she reached the kitchen. And she kept going. His shirt came off as he moved after her, and he tossed it to the couch.

And she knew. She threw a look over her shoulder and almost managed to run a step or two. Before she made it past the table his arm hooked around her waist and he dragged her to the stairs.

And like the little hellion she was, she fought him. She kicked, she wiggled, she snarled, and he swore she bit his shoulder. But she wasn’t fighting hard enough. All that heavy breathing wasn’t just because she had her mad on. Hell no, she was as wet as he was hard, and he was betting his cock on that fact. Because that was the portion of his body that was going to fall off if he didn’t get it inside that hot little body of hers. Fast.

He couldn’t remember a time that he had been so enraged and so aroused at the same time. He could feel his muscles pumping with blood, his dick throbbing like an open wound, his balls tight with lust.

She wasn’t getting by with a single bout of anything today. Double helping, he thought. He was going to have that wet, impudent little mouth, and he was going to have that slick, heated little pussy, and when he was finished . . . hell, when he was finished, he was going to figure out how to give her what she needed and keep her safe at the same time.

But he didn’t have to tell her that yet. Hell no. She was spitting mad and clawing at his shoulders, cursing him even as he tossed her to the bed and stripped his jeans off.

Chaya tore off the shirt she wore, then the bra. She was certain the strap snapped at some point. As Natches stepped out of his jeans, she wiggled out of the leggings and panties and she was waiting on him.

His shoulders were scratched from her fury, and she was certain she would be reasonably sorry for that later, but right now, smug possessiveness curled her lips instead.

“I marked you,” she snarled at him as he stepped toward the bed.

He smiled. A slow, lust-worthy curl of his lips that had a fist punch of reaction jerking in her stomach.

“That’s okay, baby, because I’m sure I’ll mark you, too, before the night’s over.”

She crawled to the edge of the bed and licked her lips, staring up at him from beneath her lashes and waiting. Anticipating.

“I thought of you every time I used that toy.” She taunted him now and watched his eyes flare with wicked heat. “I sucked it until I could take it to my throat, and thought of you. I heard your groans in my head and I moaned around it as I touched myself.”

“To your throat?” His voice was a raspy, guttural growl.

“To my throat. And I moaned.” She licked her lips as she lifted one hand from the bed and let it run down her body. “And I touched myself.” She touched herself now. Her fingers slid through the slick juices, circled her clit, and her lashes fluttered in pleasure.

“Did you come?” He was closer, coming closer, his hand circling the thick shaft as the engorged crest tightened and throbbed in hunger.