A flesh-and-blood man, a man who wanted her, not a dream.
“There are just too many clothes between us,” he muttered, “but I think I can solve that problem.”
She was sure he could.
The marshal had great problem-solving skills.
Cadence Hollow shoved open the door to the morgue. “Dr. Wright!” She knew Walker’s body had been transferred to the morgue, and she wanted to see the Bayou Butcher herself.
Dr. Wright didn’t respond.
Her footsteps tapped over the old floor. Goose bumps rose on her arms as the chilled air swept over her. Most people didn’t like morgues. FBI agents and cops she’d met would often tell her that dealing with the dead was their least favorite part of the job.
That wasn’t the case for her. In order to hunt killers, it was best to study the victims. The victims held the secrets. They could show why and how the killers had acted.
The ME’s office smelled of antiseptic and bleach. Everything was in a briskly organized fashion. She crept closer to Greg’s desk. She’d done her research on him, as she did on everyone working her cases. Obsessive, that was her. A negative side effect of the job.
Greg had taken the ME’s position about six months ago, transferring from New Orleans. He was originally from Baton Rouge, and had left years ago to attend med school at Tulane.
“What are you doing?” His voice—sharp, definitely annoyed—called from behind her.
She turned from his desk. No pictures. No adornments of any sort. Her gaze swept over him.
He wore a pair of scrubs, white gloves, and a clear shield over the lower part of his face. She could just see Dr. Wright’s eyes, so incredibly dark, studying her.
“I’m here to see Walker. He was brought in earlier, wasn’t he?” She’d gone back to the scene of his death, searched the area, studied it, and come back here as the darkness swept across the city.
“He’s here.” He tossed aside the face mask.
Greg Wright was classically handsome. His blond hair slanted away from the strong planes of his face, curling just slightly.
She’d heard some of the cops call him Dr. Death.
She didn’t exactly go for the pretty boys. She had a rule about that. Men who were too good-looking often came with far too many flaws on the inside.
Cadence cleared her throat. “Show me the body.”
Instead of showing her the body, Wright stepped forward and placed himself in front of her, effectively blocking the door leading to the mortuary area. “I was in the middle of an autopsy. Things are graphic in there right now.”
She stared up at him. “I track serial killers for a living. Trust me, there’s nothing you can show me that I haven’t seen.” Had he forgotten she was the one who’d been behind him at Helen Lynch’s crime scene? Had she gotten shaky and sick then?
No. Some poor uniform had been the one to lose his breakfast.
A ghost of a smile lifted the ME’s lips. “Aren’t you a surprise.”
“No, I’m not.” She was a licensed doctor—she could handle blood just fine. She waited. He didn’t move. “The body?”
“Right this way, Agent.”
She was so f**king beautiful that she stole his breath.
Lauren lay naked on the big, four-poster bed, her hair fanning behind her. Her body was pale and perfect, a temptation that would never get out of his head.
He stared at her and wanted to feast.
“I like the way you look at me,” she told him, her voice like sin. “When you look at me that way, I know just what you’re thinking.”
That he’d kill to have her? That he’d do anything to get close to her? He hoped she didn’t know what dark thoughts raced through his head. She might be afraid then. He never wanted her to be afraid of him.
“I’ll be easy,” he promised her as he tossed his shirt to the floor. He knew her injuries still hurt her.
Lauren shook her head. She rose and sat up. Her br**sts thrust toward him. Round, with pink tips that he wanted to lick all night long.
“That’s not how it’s working tonight.”
He slowly removed his holster and put it on the nearby table.
“You don’t get to call all the shots.” She reached for him, her hands a silken heat on his flesh. “I get my turn tonight.”
“But you’re—”
“I don’t even have a headache.” Her fingers slid down to the snap of his pants. A few seconds later, the zipper eased down with a hiss. “I’ve got other things in mind.”
Then her mouth pressed against his and he couldn’t think. He could only feel. Her lips. Her tongue. She was licking him. Sucking him. Stroking with both her fingers and her mouth. He thrust helplessly forward, because Lauren—hell, the woman drove him crazy.
His hands rose, but he didn’t want to touch her head. Didn’t want to hurt her. So he fisted his fingers even as his hips surged. Her mouth feathered over the head of his cock, her tongue licked him, and his breath hissed out as the pleasure pulsed through him.
“Stop.” It came out a growl. If she didn’t stop, he wouldn’t be able to hold back.
She licked him again.
“Lauren…” He pushed lightly at her shoulders.
Her head lifted. Her eyes, so bright, stared up at him. She smiled. “I love the way you taste.”
Hell. He could feel his control ripping away. The control he always held—no problem—with other women.
Not her.
Her fingers slid down his erect length. “I think I’d like to taste more.”
He would go insane. Anthony shook his head. “My turn.”
“But—”
It had to be his turn.
He pushed her back against the covers. Then just drank her in, memorizing every detail of her body with his eyes, his fingers, his mouth. When he kissed her br**sts and licked those sweet ni**les—better than candy, so much f**king better—she moaned his name.
His c**k was so full and heavy that he hurt. He wanted to drive deep into her, as hard as he could.
But she wasn’t ready yet.
And he wasn’t done with her.
His head lifted. His breath was sawing out, but he had to say, “If I hurt you—”
“You won’t!” Demand sharpened her voice.
“Tell me to stop,” he finished. He’d stop, no matter what, for her.
She shook her head. “I want more! I want you.” The demand was even stronger now.
His fingers slid between her thighs. She was wet. Hot. Fuck. He thrust two fingers into her. Lauren’s hips arched as her breath rushed out, then she bit her lip.