Dean suddenly broke off the kiss. She nearly protested, but then his lips dipped downward, along the front of her neck, between her breasts, and downward, leaving a trail of heat in their path. He repositioned himself onto his knees, one hand now tweaking, teasing, and gently tugging at her nipples while his head dipped ever lower. Her pussy clenched in anticipation. Instinctively, she bent her knees, inviting him further. He obliged, his tongue leaving a path of burning desire as he inched slowly downward.
Her core contracted without conscious thought, as if in anticipation of its own. His tongue was there, first lapping gently, then sucking. She groaned. His tongue swirled around her clitoris, almost lazily, then Dean sucked her clit between his lips. Amy gasped as every one of her nerves erupted with sensations. She groaned again, her hands losing their grip on his cock as they grasped at the bedspread instead, her mind spinning, her ears buzzing.
Dean’s tongue teased and then offered pleasure, as if knowing exactly how long he could tease her before backing off and allowing her passion to build. She writhed beneath him, lifting her hips, trying to urge him closer. Every stroke of his tongue made her purr. She grasped the sides of his head and urged him on.
In moments, her world was spinning, her blood soaring, her nerves alive with sensations that nearly took her breath away. She felt herself heading toward the precipice, hanging there for what seemed like eternity before her orgasm slammed through her; long contractions that caused her to throw her head back and moan as her hips surged forward with a life of their own.
In the aftermath, her blood pulsed in rhythmic waves that eventually ebbed, leaving her feeling gentle waves undulating as she allowed every emotion but pleasure to drift out of her mind.
Gasping for breath, she felt boneless and lay spent while he moved to lie beside her. Amy finally got her breathing under control and reached again for his cock, but Dean made a sound in his throat and shifted slightly away.
“No,” he said, his voice thick with pleasure. “That was for you.”
He was smiling, his gaze riveted to her as he tenderly lifted a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her heart seemed to freeze for a moment. She struggled to identify the emotion. What was she feeling? What was this?
Was she falling for him?
Her heart sank. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not now. Not with this . . . this mess hanging over her head.
She lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling, feeling so lethargic she wished she could stay like this forever. Her skin glistened with sweat. Beside her, Dean’s chest rose and fell from exertion. She couldn’t help but skim her gaze over his body. Such a well-formed, perfect body. Even though she’d only just come hard, a renewed tingling erupted in her core. She tamped it down.
He glanced at her, did a quick double take, and then frowned.
“What’s on your mind, Amy? That’s not exactly the expression I was thinking to find after such mind-blowing sex . . . or was it?”
She forced a smile. “It was good, Dean. Really. But I have to talk to you about something.”
He sat up and reached for his jeans. “Give me a minute.” He quickly stood and walked around the base of the bed, not caring that his erection was still readily visible. He stepped into the bathroom, where she heard water running. Amy sat up herself and reached for her own clothes. By the time he emerged, she had thrown on her pants and pulled the sweatshirt over her head, braless. The dim glow of the bathroom light cast him half in shadow as he emerged, jeans fastened, hair dripping wet, but his chest still bare.
She could stare at that chest all day long and never get tired of it.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t think this . . . this situation is going to end anytime soon,” she said bluntly. Might as well get this over with quickly. “And I can’t expect you to babysit me—”
“I’m not babysitting, Amy,” he said, stepping to the bed. She watched as he rounded the bed, searching for his T-shirt. He was tense, brow furrowed. He found it on the floor. Dean scooped it up and shook it out before pulling it over his head. He stayed silent.
“You have a job, a life,” she continued. “I have no right to drag you into this.”
He settled the T-shirt around his waist as he looked at her. “You’re not dragging me into anything.”
“Be that as it may, I can’t do this for much longer. I’m not going to hide for the rest of my life.”
His gaze softened. “I know it feels like it right now, but it won’t be for the rest of your life,” he said. “I promise.” He moved toward the window, peeked outside from the side of the curtain.
“I need to talk to Agent Hemmings and see if there’s another solution to our problem.”
Dean looked back over at her, one eyebrow raised. “Like what?”
She heard the suspicion in his voice and cast her gaze around the darkening room, not wanting to look at him when she said it. “Maybe I could draw him out . . . draw him out in such a way that the FBI can grab him, sooner rather than later.”
Dean stiffened, a frown tugging at his brows. “You mean like bait?”
The word jarred her. She hadn’t really thought of it that way, but how else to put it? She shrugged. “I guess so.” His frown deepened. “Believe me, I don’t want to go that route, but this is ridiculous.” She gestured around the motel room. “I can’t live like this. I know you can’t live like this. So what other options are there?”
“There’s no fucking way you’re doing that. I won’t let you.”
His voice had a slight edge to it, but she stiffened her resolve. “Dean, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But this could go on for days, for weeks even. Maybe longer.” She stood, pushing herself off the bed and putting some distance between them. If she stood too close to him, then it would be far too tempting to simply fall back into his arms again. She couldn’t let herself do that.
Dean said nothing for several moments, leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. “There’s another option.”
She knew what he was going to say but didn’t want to hear it. She shook her head. “No.”
“If you go into WITSEC, you’ll be safe.”
“And I’ll lose any sense of identity I have left,” she said. She knew it was difficult to understand, but Nick had taken so damn much from her. She wasn’t going to let him take her entire identity, too. She couldn’t. “I’m not going to hide away for the rest of my life, Dean. Looking over my shoulder, wondering if that person bagging my groceries is going to pull out a gun next”—she shook her head—“or if the guy waiting down at the bus stop across the street is a really just watching me. I can’t imagine living like that. It’s been too hard . . . I’ve tried so hard to get back onto an even keel.” Warm tears filled her eyes and she rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms, groaning in frustration. “I can’t live like that Dean, I can’t. Not anymore!”
He said nothing.
“You understand, don’t you? Tell me you understand.”
“Please, Amy. Give the FBI a chance. Maybe one day you can come back once they’ve got him.”
“They had him once. He escaped! Who knows how long it’ll take them to find him again or if they ever do!”
He stepped toward her, wrapping his large arms around her. “Please. Just sleep on it, alright?”
She didn’t want to lose him. Just thinking of it put a heavy weight in her heart. She liked him. A lot. Amy suspected she might even be falling in love with him, if she was even capable of that. But if she went into WITSEC, she would never see him again. Or Meg or Sloane. Or her parents. She knew how that program worked. No contact with your former life. Ever. A new name, a new location, nothing the same. She would have to start all over.
When she didn’t answer right away, she sensed Dean’s frustrations. His frown, the way he ran his fingers through his hair, and his stiff posture. Finally, he sighed. “I’m going to take a quick walk around the motel, make sure
everything is alright.”
“There’s an FBI agent at the front office,” she softly protested. Was he leaving her?
“I know, but I want to check around. And, to be honest, to calm myself down a little.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Even though we’ve only known each other a short time, Amy, I want you to know that I care about you. A lot. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I know that this is your decision to make. I don’t want to lose you, through WITSEC or . . .” His voice stumbled and deepened. “Or through any other way.” His gaze burned into hers.
Dean’s words triggered a lump in her throat. Amy fought herself against throwing herself into his arms! His words touched her heart, but as much she had wanted to hear them, as much as she admired him and his feelings, she couldn’t acknowledge them. Better to just protect not only her heart, but his.
“I know,” she choked out. If she spoke any louder, she’d start crying. She turned away, pushing until his arms dropped by his sides.
Dean sighed, then turned and unlatched the door chain. He didn’t look back at her, speaking over his shoulder. “Lock the door and put the chain back on after I leave.”
19
Dean
Dean walked outside, struggling to tamp down his frustration. Didn’t she realize the danger she was in? My God, he was an idiot. Of course she did! So then why in heaven’s name would she suggest turning herself into bait, after everything she’d been through? He still couldn’t wrap his head around the possibility. He’d have a heart attack just discussing it again.
A thought chilled him to his core. If Nick got his hands on her, she wouldn’t be escaping again.
His heart pounded and his hands clenched. There was no way she’d do anything without discussing it with Hemmings first, right? She wanted it all to be over. Hell, he wanted that for her more than anything. But to offer herself up on a platter? If she went through with it, and that was a very big “if” in his opinion, then he’d be right by her side. The caveman inside him didn’t care what she thought. Having eyes on her the entire time was the only way he’d get through the whole mess without losing his mind.
Dean walked to the end of the hallway of the motel, searching the growing shadows. A few cars sat in the parking lot, as with the other motel, but there was nothing suspicious. He paused, taking his time, inspecting his range of sight slowly and carefully. The night was quiet, save for the usual country Georgia ambience: a frog croaking somewhere in the distance, crickets chirping a short distance away, maybe on the other side of the parking lot, and the dim echo of a hoot owl deep in the woods.
He turned the corner of the motel and further into darkness. Maybe he should turn on the light on his phone? No, stupid idea. One of the visitors staying there might mistake him for a Peeping Tom. Just in case, he didn’t want to bring any law enforcement that Hemmings hadn’t already looped in to the motel. It would be useful to be able to see if anyone else had been walking back there lately, though. More importantly, it would be good to see if any footprints were visible outside of the bathroom window of Amy’s motel room.
He doubted it. She hadn’t been here that long. Then again, if Nick had managed to find the first motel, Dean wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t find this one, too. His nerves taut with tension, he continued his exploration.
He paused about halfway down the length of motel rooms, maybe ten feet away from the faux logs that formed the exterior of the rustic motel. The shadows of gas meters cast elongated, dark shapes against the walls. The back of the motel was mainly dark, with only the dim glow of light emanating from the bathroom windows of a couple of other rooms. He stayed in the shadows, not wanting to be spotted. He turned to face the woods behind him, trying to peer into the darkness toward the RV park. Nothing, or at least it was too dark now to see a damn thing. A slight breeze tugged at his hair and rustled through the leaves of the trees, sending a strong aroma of pine wafting toward him.
Dean quickened his steps. He’d been gone too long. He’d complete his walk around the perimeter, make sure that the agent in the front office was alert and check in with him, and then he would return to the motel room. Already his anger was morphing into determination. He would try to talk Amy out of literally sacrificing herself without offending her or—
A rush of sound from behind prompted him to spin around, heart pounding. He instinctively lifted his right arm to protect his face, but it did no good. Something—no, someone—barreled into him, tackling him around the waist and knocking him to the ground, flat on his back. The breath was knocked out of him. He lay stunned, trying to suck in a lungful of air.
Before he could even do that much, something hard slammed into his cheekbone. What the hell?! Two hands grasped his neck, lifted his head from the ground, and then slammed it down again. Hard.
Dean struggled upright, trying to block the attack. Did the guy have a knife? Would he see a muzzle flash and feel the impact of a bullet, and then nothing? Adrenaline surging, he balled up his fists and lashed out. His right fist landed on skin, but he couldn’t be sure where. His left fist made contact with leather. A leather jacket?
He twisted violently, forcing both his hands up between his body and that of his attacker, tucking his chin down, trying to keep the guy from choking him to death. With a huge effort, he jerked his forearms sideways and managed to loosen the grip of one of his attacker’s hands. That was all he needed. He quickly turned onto his left side, his momentum yanking the attacker off balance.
Just when he thought he might gain the upper hand, Dean felt a sharp stab of pain in his left bicep. Pain radiated through his muscle and up into his shoulder. His hand immediately grew numb. Shit! Had he just been stabbed? Furious, blood pounding through his veins, he pushed his attacker off and scrambled to his feet. He had only regained his balance and was straightening, arms raised in a boxing stance when his attacker pounced again, first with a quick right to his temple, another to his jaw.
He didn’t even see them coming. The two blows, coming one right after the other, nearly had him toppling again, but he quickly shifted his stance, tucked his chin into his chest, and punched. A flurry of blows followed, some by his attacker while he himself managed to land a punch or two. One of his thrusts made solid contact, smacking against skin, bone just underneath. He wasn’t sure if he had struck an eye socket, a cheekbone, or a jaw.
His attacker grunted and then chuckled. At least it sounded like a chuckle. Then something slammed against the side of his head. The world dimmed for a moment. He bit his lip and spat blood, his head spinning as he fought to stay on his feet. What the hell . . . that was no fist. A tire iron? A pistol butt?
He managed a shot with his fist just before the attacker’s fist slammed into his face. He tasted blood. Enraged, Dean lashed back, but his attacker had the advantage. His ears ringing, his vision blurry, he couldn’t locate the man.
Wham! Another impact against his forehead.
He staggered backward several steps, barely managing to maintain his balance. He swung again, wildly, but only caught air. Fighting the pain throbbing in his skull, he turned and tried to find his attacker, but saw nothing but blurry darkness. The blood dripping into his eyes didn’t help any.
Wham! This time the blow landed against his ribs in the back, just over his kidneys. Fucking coward! He bellowed in rage, but the sound that actually came out of his mouth was much softer than he intended.
He heard the sound of a window sliding open.
“What the hell is going on out there? Get away from here or I’m calling the cops!”
His attacker muttered something Dean didn’t make out and then Dean heard the sound of footsteps rushing away.
Dean tried to ask for help, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Call the cops! His brain screamed. Though his lips moved, no words came out.
“Fuckin’ idiots!” the man in the window growled as the window slammed shut.
Dean teetered on his feet like a drunk. Blood filled his mouth. He spat it ou
t.
Shit! He had to get back to the motel room! He had to protect Amy! He stood wavering on his feet for what seemed like forever. His attacker had fled, but where?
Get to Amy!
Groaning, he took a step forward but tripped over something on the ground. It sent him sprawling and he lay face first in the dirt, his body throbbing with pain. Blackness hovered around the edges of consciousness. Despite his best effort to fight it, that darkness eventually overwhelmed him. Dean’s last conscious thought was that the sweet smell of dried pine needles and the rich loamy Georgia soil sure was nice.
He snuggled deeper into the covers, trying to get warm, until he noticed the smell of pine and dirt. A cricket chirped. The sound jarred him into a state of half consciousness. Had a cricket gotten into his room? Damn it! Why was he so cold? He reached to grab his blanket but only managed to grab onto a clump of dried, sharp pine needles.
Confused, Dean opened his eyes. Something prevented him from opening his right eye all the way. He tried to move and brush away whatever it was but winced in pain as he felt the swollen flesh there, covered with something sticky. What the hell?
It all came back to him in a rush.
His heart pounded as he remembered. He had taken a walk, leaving Amy in the motel room. Somebody had attacked him behind the motel rooms, taken him by surprise. The bastard had managed to get the better of him. The last thing he remembered was trying to make it back to their room.
He forced his arms to move and pushed himself up from the ground, biting back a groan of pain caused by a renewed and relentless throbbing in his skull. God, it hurt! He managed to get up onto his knees, his shoulders sagging, his head drooping forward as he tried to get control of his movements, to fight against the pain that surged in his back, for a moment even overpowering the stabbing pain in his head.
Unable to hold back a groan that gurgled upward from deep in his chest, he allowed his body to rest on his forearms for a moment. Only a moment, and then fear took hold.
Burning the Past (Southern Heat Book 3) Page 12