“I’m certain of it.”
His tone was so dark, she didn’t doubt him for a second.
Actually, she was getting the feeling that Detective Thorne
was a bad guy’s worst nightmare.
“Well, that’s great news. I’ve got to admit, this whole
thing has been making me a little jumpy. I guess witnessing
a brutal murder will do that to a person, right?”
He gave her only the barest nod of agreement. A man
of few words, evidently, but then who needed conversation
when you had soul-stripping eyes like his?
To her relief and annoyance, from behind her in the
kitchen, the oven timer started beeping. “Shit. That’s,
um—that’s my dinner. I’d better grab it before the smoke
alarm goes off. Wait here for a sec—I mean, do you want
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to—?” She took a calming breath, unused to being so rat-
tled by anyone. “Come in, please. I’ll be right back.”
Without hesitation, Lucan Thorne stepped inside the
apartment as Gabrielle turned to set down her cell phone
and liberate her manicotti from the oven.
“Am I interrupting something?”
She was surprised to hear him in the kitchen with her
so quickly, as if he had been silently on her heels from the
instant she invited him in. Gabrielle lifted the pan of
steaming pasta out of the oven and set it down on the
range top to cool. She stripped off her hot mitts and
turned to give the detective a proud grin.
“I’m celebrating.”
He cocked his head to regard the quiet space around
them. “Alone?”
She shrugged. “Unless you want to join me.”
The mild incline of his chin seemed guarded, but he re-
moved his dark coat and draped it over the back of a
counter stool. He was a peculiar, distracting presence, all
the more so now that he was standing in her small
kitchen—this heavily muscled stranger with the disarming
gaze and slightly sinister good looks. He leaned back
against the counter and watched her attend to the bub-
bling dish of baked pasta. “What are we celebrating,
Gabrielle?”
“I sold some of my photographs today, in a private
showing at a chichi corporate office downtown. My friend
Jamie called about an hour ago with the news.”
Thorne smiled faintly. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” She pulled an extra glass from the cup-
board, then held up her opened bottle of chianti. “Would
you like some?”
He shook his head slowly. “Regretfully, I cannot.”
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“Ah. Sorry,” she said, reminding herself of his profes-
sion. “On duty, right?”
A muscle jumped in his strong jaw. “Always.”
Gabrielle smiled, reaching up to hook some of her
loose, curling hair behind her ear. Thorne’s gaze followed
the movement, and narrowed on the small scratch that
marred her cheek.
“What happened to you?”
“Oh, nothing,” she replied, not thinking it was a good
idea to tell a cop how she spent part of the morning tres-
passing out at the old asylum. “Just a scrape—hazard of
the job from time to time. I’m sure you know how that
goes.”
She laughed lightly, a bit nervously, because suddenly
he was moving toward her, his expression very serious. Just
a few smooth paces brought him right up in front of her.
His size—his obvious strength—was overwhelming. This
close, she could see the thick slabs of muscle that bunched
and moved under his black shirt. The fine knit fabric clung
to his shoulders, arms, and chest, as if tailored to fit him
perfectly.
And he smelled amazing. She didn’t detect cologne,
only the trace scents of mint and leather, and something
darker, like an exotic spice she could not name. Whatever
it was, it drenched her senses in something elemental and
primal that drew her closer to him when she probably
should be backing away.
She sucked in her breath as he reached out to her, the
tips of his fingers tenderly grazing her jaw. Heat spread out
from that bare contact, flooding her neck as he splayed his
hand along the sensitive skin below her ear and around to
her nape. With his thumb, he traced the abrasion on her
cheek. The scrape had stung when she cleansed it earlier in
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the day, but now, under his unexpectedly soft caress, she
felt no discomfort. Nothing but languid warmth and a
slow, swirling ache at her very core.
To her astonishment, he leaned down and dropped a
kiss on her marred cheek. His lips lingered there, long
enough for her to understand that this was meant as a pre-
lude to something more. She closed her eyes, heart racing.
She didn’t move, hardly breathed, as she felt Lucan’s
mouth drift toward hers. He kissed her lips meaningfully, a
faint bite of hunger cushioned within the warm press of
his mouth. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her.
His gaze held an animal wildness that sent a thrill of anx-
iousness shooting up her spine.
When she finally found her voice, it came out in a
small, breathless rasp. “Should you be doing this?”
That penetrating gaze stayed rooted on her. “Oh, yes.”
He bent down to her again, brushing his lips over her
cheeks, her chin, her throat. She sighed, and he caught her
little gasp with a searing kiss, thrusting his tongue between
her parted lips. Gabrielle took him in, vaguely aware that
his hand was behind her now, slipping beneath the hem of
her tee-shirt. He stroked the arch of her bare back, his fin-
gers tenderly brushing her spine. His caress traveled lazily
downward, over the fabric of her pants. His strong fingers
cupped the curve of her ass, squeezed her tightly. She
didn’t resist at all as he kissed her deeper and gradually
pulled her forward, until her pelvis mashed against the
hard muscle of his thigh.
What the hell was she doing? What was she thinking here?
“No,” she said, her conscience struggling to surface.
“No, wait. Stop.” God, how she hated the sound of that
word when his mouth was feeling so damned good on hers.
“Are you . . . Lucan . . . are you with someone?”
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“Look around, Gabrielle.” His lips dragged over hers
as he spoke, making her dizzy with want. “It is only you
and me.”
“A girlfriend,” she blurted between kisses. It was proba-
bly a little late to
be asking, but she had to know, even if she
wasn’t at all sure how she would deal with an answer she
didn’t want to hear. “Do you have a girlfriend? Are you
married? Please don’t tell me you’re married. . . .”
“There is no one else.”
Only you.
She was pretty sure he hadn’t said those last couple of
words, but Gabrielle heard them echo in her mind, warm
and provocative, stripping her of any resistance.
Oh, he was good. Or maybe she was just that desperate
for him, because that spare, unadorned pledge was all he
gave her—that, and the dizzying combination of his ten-
der hands and hot, hungry mouth—and yet she believed
him without a shred of doubt. She felt as if his every sense
was trained on her alone. As if there was only her, only
him, and this burning thing that existed between them.
Had existed, from the moment he first showed up on
her doorstep.
“Ohh,” she gasped as the breath left her lungs in a slow
sigh. She sagged against him, reveling in the feel of his
hands on her skin, caressing her throat, her shoulder, the
arch of her spine. “What are we doing here, Lucan?”
His low growl of humor hummed beside her ear, deep
as night. “I think you know.”
“I don’t know anything, not when you’re doing that.
Oh . . . God.”
He broke their kiss for an instant, looking into her eyes
as he ground into her with a slow, meaningful thrust. His
sex was rigid at her abdomen. She could feel the solid
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length of him, could feel the sheer size and strength of his
shaft, even through the barrier of their clothes. A flood of
moist heat surged between her legs at the thought of tak-
ing him inside of her.
“This is why I came here tonight.” Lucan’s voice rum-
bled beside her ear. “Do you understand, Gabrielle? I want
you.”
The feeling was more than mutual. Gabrielle moaned,
her body writhing against his with a heat she had no power
to control.
This wasn’t happening, not really. It had to be another
crazy dream, like the one she’d had after the first time she
met him. She wasn’t actually standing in her kitchen with
Lucan Thorne, letting this man she hardly knew beyond
his name seduce her. She was dreaming—had to be—and
before long she was going to wake up on her sofa, alone as
usual, with her glass of red wine dumped on the carpet
and her dinner burning in the oven.
But not yet.
Oh, God, please . . . not yet.
Feeling him stroke her skin, burning under the skill of
his tongue, was better than any dream, even the delicious
one she’d had of him before, if that could be possible.
“Gabrielle,” he whispered. “Tell me you want this,
too.”
“Yes.”
She felt his hand working between them, urgent tug-
ging, his breath hot against her neck. “Feel me, Gabrielle.
Know how badly I need you.”
His fingers were light on hers, guiding her to where his
stiff erection protruded, freed from its confines. Gabrielle
wrapped her hand around him and gave the velvety shaft a
slow, admiring stroke. He was large here as everywhere,
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and brutally strong, yet so very smooth. The weight of his
sex in her hand intoxicated her like a drug. She tightened
her grasp and pulled the hard flesh, her fingertips skim-
ming over the thick head.
As she worked her hand along his length and girth,
Lucan’s body jerked. She felt his hands shake a bit as he
moved them from her hips to the loose ties of her pants.
He yanked at the knotted cord, his hot exhalation feather-
ing across her scalp in a foreign-sounding oath. There was
a rush of cool air against her belly, then the sudden heat of
Lucan’s palm as he slid his hand inside her panties.
She was wet for him, out of her mind and burning with
desire.
His fingers slipped easily through the narrow thatch of
curls between her legs, then into her slippery cleft, teasing
her with the play of his hand against her aching flesh. She
cried out as hunger washed over her in a shivering wave.
“I need you, too,” she confessed, her voice threadbare,
raw with desire. In response, he eased one long finger in-
side of her, then another. Gabrielle writhed around that
questing, not quite filling caress. “More,” she gasped.
“Lucan, please . . . I need . . . more.”
A dark growl boiled out from between his lips as he
leaned down and claimed her mouth in another hungry
kiss. Her pants came off in a hasty tug of falling fabric.
Her panties were next, thin lace snapping under the
strength of Lucan’s impatient hands. Gabrielle felt air hit
her suddenly naked skin, but then Lucan sank down to his
knees in front of her and she was on fire before she could
take her next breath. He kissed her and licked her, his
hands braced hard and unrelenting against her inner
thighs, spreading her wider for his carnal desires. The feel
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of his tongue spearing her flesh, suckling her deep into his
mouth, turned Gabrielle’s limbs to liquid.
She came swiftly, harder than she could have imagined.
Lucan held her firmly in his hands, pressing her damp core
to him, giving no quarter as her body quivered and
bucked, her breath falling to a strangled gasp as he stroked
her toward the crest of another climax. She closed her eyes
and dropped her head back on her shoulders, surrender-
ing to him, and to the insanity of this most unexpected en-
counter. Gabrielle clawed at Lucan’s shoulders to hold
herself up while her legs went boneless beneath her.
Release bore down on her again. It seized her in a
fierce grasp, spun her high into a sensual dreamland, then
let her go, and she was falling, falling. . . .
No, she was being lifted she realized from within her
sexual daze. Lucan’s arms held her tenderly, curved be-
neath her back and under her knees. He was naked now,
and so was she, though she couldn’t recall taking off her
shirt. She looped her arms around his neck as he carried
her out of the kitchen and into the living room, where
Sarah McLachlan’s voice poured out of the speakers,
singing about holding someone down and kissing their
breath away.
The soft crush of chenille cushioned her as Lucan
placed her down on the sofa and braced himself above her.
It wasn’t until that moment that she was able to see him
fully, and what she saw
was magnificent. Six-and-a-half
feet of solid muscle and sheer masculine power caging her
beneath him, his strong arms hemming her in on either
side.
And as if the raw beauty of his body wasn’t enough,
Lucan’s gorgeous skin was decorated with a jaw-dropping
array of intricate tattoos. The complex design of arcing
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lines and interlocking patterns swirled around his pecs and
ribbed abdomen, up over his broad shoulders, then down
his thick biceps. Their color was elusive, variegated in
shades of sea green, sienna, and wine-dark red that seemed
to pulse toward richer hues the longer she stared at them.
When he tilted his head downward to lavish attention
on her breasts, Gabrielle saw the tattoo that stretched up
the back of his neck and into his dark hairline. She had
wanted to trace the intriguing markings the first time she
saw Lucan. Now, she gave in to the urge with abandon, let-
ting her hands travel all over him, marveling at both the
mysterious man and the unusual art he wore.
“Kiss me,” she begged him, reaching down to clutch at
his tattooed shoulders.
He started to rise up over her and Gabrielle arched into
him, fevered with hunger, needing to feel him inside her.
His erection was a heavy length of steely heat where it
pressed between her thighs. Gabrielle slid her hands down
and stroked him, lifting her hips to welcome him in.
“Take me,” she whispered. “Fill me, Lucan. Now.
Please.”
He did not deny her.
The thick head of his sex pulsed, hard and demanding,
at the entrance of her body. He was trembling, she realized
dimly. His massive shoulders shook beneath her hands, as
if he had been holding himself back all this time and was
now about to burst. She wanted him to come apart like she
had. She needed to have him inside her or she was going to
die. He gave a strangled groan, his mouth at the sensitive
crook of her neck.
“Yes,” she urged him, shifting beneath him so that the
shaft of his cock now cleaved the center of her. “Don’t be
gentle. I won’t break.”
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His head reared up at last, and for an instant he stared
down into her eyes. Gabrielle looked up at him from be-
neath heavy lids, startled by the untamed fire that met her
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