Feehan, Christine - Ghostwalker 03 by Feehan Christine

Author:Feehan, Christine [Feehan, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-02-27T06:00:27+00:00

CHAPTER 11

“Essayez-vous de vous echapper de moi, ma petite flamme?” Flame paused in the act of shifting carefully off the bed. She should have known she would disturb him. “I’m not escaping. I’m not your little flame either. I’ve got business this morning.”

Gator groaned and sank his head back onto the pillow, fingers curled around her wrist, anchoring her to him. “Is it morning? It’s still dark.”

“You have your eyes closed. You’re not a morning person, are you?”

“I could be if you snuggled with me,” he said hopefully.

“I don’t snuggle. I don’t even know how.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “Thanks for last night. I’m not usually so—pitiful.”

“You were grieving for Burrell. That’s human, Flame. You are human, aren’t you?” His eyes were open now. One kiss, a featherlight brush over his skin at that, and he was wide awake.

She frowned. “How would I know? For all I know I have the DNA of a tiger. Let go. I’ve got work to do and I don’t have much time. It occurred to me that whoever sent those men is going to be wondering what happened to them. The police know all about Burrell and the house boat, but they have no idea all four men were killed too. So someone will be looking for them. And they’ll be hunting for evidence before too many people start stirring.”

“It’s too damned early in the morning to be killing anyone. And you certainly aren’t going off alone.”

“I can handle it.” She twisted her wrist to remind him to loosen his grip. “It’s just recon. I want the person behind this, whether it’s Whitney or someone else. I’ll just follow them and see where they go.”

“We’ll follow them,” he corrected, reluctantly letting go of her. He watched her scoot off the bed, fish around for her jeans, and drag them on. He caught a brief glimpse of soft curves and his body reacted with a rush of need.

“You could have looked away.”

“Yeah. I could have.” He’d be damned if he was repentant. He’d been a saint all night, lying awake in too tight clothes, with her bare skin and silky hair and soft breathing. He’d been as hot and as aching as a man could be without shattering. And then she cried in her sleep. It was enough to make a tough man turn into Jell-O. “But the view was too nice. You have beautiful skin.” Although her leg was worrisome. It was very bruised and for some reason, that raised a red flag in his mind. He wanted to bring her to his grandmother immediately.

“Thanks. Good genes, you know.” Sarcasm dripped.

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