“Not this time.” Not ever again. “It’s sure a very unlikely coincidence that we had a near mugging and a break-in all within such a short timeframe.”

  “You know I never believe in coincidences.”

  Gray typically thought they were BS, too. “Let me know if you or any of your members hear chatter focused on her. I want to know exactly who has too much attention centered on my partner.”

  “Done.” That was all. Typically the way with Cass. His word was his vow. A reason he was respected in the more shadowy parts of the world—well, that and because Cass was one wicked and dirty fighter. Dude had always been way too into adrenaline.

  And violence.

  Following orders? Yeah, like Emerson, Cass couldn’t follow orders for shit. That was the reason he’d never been a Marine. Gray had signed up, but his cousin had gone down a very different path.

  Those paths were colliding now.

  Gray trailed him to the door. He started to slam the door shut, but Cass’s gloved hand flew up and pressed against the wood. “A word, Gray? Outside, away from the partner?”

  Gray thought he’d made it clear that Emerson should hear everything.

  “Go,” Emerson urged from behind him. “It’s okay.”

  Body tight, he crossed the threshold as Cass retreated a few steps. Gray pulled the door closed behind him.

  “I don’t want you ending up in a body bag,” Cass muttered.

  “Aw, you do care. So sweet.” He put a hand to his heart.

  A rough sigh broke from Cass right before he pointed at the closed door. “Do I need to be worried?”

  “About what? My partner shooting you? Maybe, if you get on her bad side. She’s a really good shot, just so you are aware. Tread carefully.”

  “Thanks for the tip about the shooting skills. I’ll remember that. What I meant, though, was do I need to be worried about you?”

  Gray did not change expression.

  “You don’t bring lovers home. You screw them in hotel rooms and don’t call them back later.”

  “Ouch.” Gray winced. “Pretty sure that’s your style. I always try to properly thank a lady for a good time.”

  “You don’t let lovers close. You know it. I know it. But you’ve got Ms. Gorgeous Eyes looking rumpled and recently sated⁠—”

  Hell, it had been that obvious.

  “Even as you stare at her like you’re dying to eat her alive.”

  He could go for another meal. He was feeling snacky.

  “You let the woman know our secrets,” Cass accused.

  “Uh, for the record. I didn’t let her know anything. She’s observant. She picks things up.”

  “Because she’s a mind fucker, just like you.”

  “I really don’t like that particular term.” Gray sniffed.

  “Too bad, mind fucker. She plays head games. Dr. Emerson Marlowe. Yeah, frown at me all you want. I’m gonna dig deep on her because I want to make sure you aren’t getting played. That prick with the knife was coming up way too intently on your back.”

  “Emerson had nothing to do with that attack.”

  “I’ve done some preliminary poking already,” Cass revealed.

  Like that was surprising. Emerson had dead-on pegged him when she said Cass was protective. That was one serious understatement. If you belonged to Cass, he would scorch the earth for you.

  Sure, they might be cousins, but to both men, the link had always been deeper. More like brothers. Even when the world said we should be enemies. He would never, ever turn his back on Cass.

  “Your lady has a thing for psychopaths.”

  Gray tilted his head to the side. “You heard her. Not all killers are psychopaths and not all⁠—”

  “Fine. Your lady has a thing for monsters. That better?”

  Not really, no. He scraped a hand over his jaw.

  “Oh, what? Come on, I knew that detail about your partner even before meeting her in person. Word travels in my circles. She likes to go into prisons. Interview killers. The more dangerous, the better.”

  “She’s a psychiatrist. That’s her job—interviewing killers. Understanding them. Trying to figure out how to stop them.”

  “Her current job is helping you, right? Partner?”

  Yes, that was Emerson’s current job.

  “I just want to make sure none of her exes are out there, causing trouble. Getting possessive and deciding they don’t want to share her with you. Because maybe that guy who was sneaking up on you in the dark is one of the monsters who took a liking to her.”

  “Emerson isn’t what you think.” And I’m the monster who will fight to the death for her.

  “Do tell.”

  He did not, in fact, tell. Because this is Emerson, and she is mine.

  After silence that stretched too long, Cass nodded. “Understood.”

  “There is one ex I wouldn’t mind you and your guys keeping an eye on. A covert eye.” Because Gray had his own suspicions about the things happening around Emerson.

  Cass sent him a slow grin. “You know covert is my middle name.”

  No, it wasn’t.

  “Spill it,” Cass added. “Tell me who I’m hunting.”

  “Dr. Nathaniel Hadaway,” Gray said. “Her ex appeared in town right around the same time our mystery mugger did. And Nathaniel was close when her apartment had that unwelcome visitor who decided to smash up all her mirrors.”

  Cass nodded. “I can put a ghost on him.”

  A ghost. The term Cass used for an MC member who would not be seen or heard but would follow his prey to the ends of the earth. “Thanks. Report anything suspicious, would you?”

  “And you’ll report when you find my killer?”

  No, he would not. Because Cass might eliminate the guy before Gray could get him locked away. “I’ll take care of the situation. Justice will be served.”

  “Don’t go getting your uptight ass killed,” Cass warned. “The world is a bit more fun with you in it.” He turned away. Seemed to immediately blend with the shadows near him.

  Yeah, man, thanks. Love you, too. “Same,” Gray tossed out. He waited, making sure Cass was gone, then Gray entered his house. He’d owned the home for years, and, no, he did not make a habit of bringing casual lovers to his place.

  He shut the door. Locked it. Set the alarm.

  Emerson wasn’t in the den. He frowned. The gun was gone, too. Not on the table where she’d placed it. “Emerson?” Gray sprinted forward.

  “In the bedroom.”

  He kept right on sprinting. Entered the bedroom. Froze just beyond the doorway.

  Emerson was in bed. The covers were pulled up to her chin.

  She looked incredibly good in his bed.

  “Is he gone?” she asked.

  Gray nodded. Her shoulders were bare. Did that mean the rest of her was, too? Oh, yes, please, let the rest of her be bare.

  “Do you have any other secret family members who will be making an appearance tonight?” she inquired politely.

  He shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Any other guests slated to pay you a visit?”

  Again, Gray shook his head.

  “Good.” A long exhale. “Then how about we pick up where we left off?” She pushed down the covers to reveal that, hell, yes, she was completely bare.

  And she was about to be completely his.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What do I think of my new partner? Agent Stone is intense, driven, and calculated. He would make for one very dangerous enemy.” – Emerson Marlowe, on day one of her partnership with Gray Stone

  He should have control.

  He should seduce. He should tempt. He should caress every single inch of her. Treat her like a queen.

  Not pounce on her like⁠—

  Like I want to do.

  He was screwed. Gray shook his head.

  Her hand tightened on the cover she’d just dropped. “Gray? Is there a problem?”

  His dick shoved against the front of his pants. “Yeah.”

  “I-I thought you wanted me.”

  “That is not our problem. Will never be our problem.” Not in a million years.

  Her tongue skated across her lower lip. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Trying not to pounce.”

  She leaned forward. Her beautiful breasts did the best jiggle in the entire world. “Why not? I would love for you to pounce. Consider this your pouncing all clear.”

  Fuck. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  “Why? I’ve been wishing for you since the first day we became partners. Seems to be working out so far.”

  He was her wish? Seriously? In what screwed-up universe? “Try to remember you said that.” A nod. Then he began to unbutton his shirt.

  Her gaze fell to his chest. Her eyes widened. That cute, little pink tongue of hers came out again. Her nipples were hard. Tight. He wanted them in his mouth. Wanted his mouth back between her legs as she cried out for him and pleasure made her whole body tremble.

  He’d like more of that, hell, yes.

  He popped a button off the shirt in his haste.

  She gasped. Her eyes rose to lock with his. Her lips curved into the faintest grin. “Oh, no. Not your fancy shirt. You lost a button. However will you recover?”

  He threw the shirt. Kicked out of his shoes and ditched his dress socks. “Emerson, don’t make me spank you.”

  “Why not? Could be fun.”

  Everything stopped. Every fucking thing. She was teasing him. Flirting. Playing.

  He wasn’t. “You should…be careful.” A gritted warning.

  Only Emerson was not careful. She slipped from the bed. Naked. Her body driving him crazy. She crept toward him. Stopped right in front of Gray. “I’m always careful,” she confessed. “All the time. With everyone.” Her hands rose. Went to the waistband of his pants. Undid his belt. Pulled it out from the loops. Let it fall. “With you, care and control aren’t what I want. Like you told me, let’s stop thinking.” She unbuttoned his pants. Lowered the zipper. Shoved down the pants and his boxers, and she dropped to her knees with them. “Let’s feel.” Her fingers curled around his dick. She brought the thick head toward her mouth. Blew lightly over it.

  His feet pressed harder against the floor. “Emerson.”

  She opened her mouth and took his dick inside.

  His hands clamped around her shoulders. She was hesitant. Careful, taking just the head. Licking him. Rubbing that sweet, sweet tongue against him, and then Emerson opened her mouth wider. She pumped the base of his dick with her hand and took more of him inside.

  Yeah. I’m done.

  His control ripped to shreds. He lifted her up even as he kicked away his pants and boxers.

  “Gray? Did I—did I do something wrong?”

  Hell, no. Too right.

  He dropped her onto the bed. Yanked open the bottom drawer of his nightstand and had a condom out of that drawer and on in record time. Then he was climbing onto the bed. Pushing her legs apart.

  He positioned the head of his cock at the entrance to her body.

  Her breasts—those tight, tempting nipples—thrust up toward him.

  He had to bend down. Had to lick. Suck. Had to taste. Had to use the edge of his teeth in a light, sensual bite.

  “Fuck me, Gray. Fuck me.”

  He drove into her. She’d been tight when he put a finger inside her before. Now, around his dick…So tight that I am going to lose my mind.

  She gasped and moaned. Her legs flew up to curl around his hips. He gave her an instant to adjust to him.

  So good. So insanely good.

  He withdrew. Thrust into her. Again. Harder. Deeper. Her nails raked down his back. Her moans urged him on. His dick was thick and swollen. Hard as hell. He hammered into her. Pushed a hand between their bodies and stroked her clit, working her with his fingers even as he thrust his dick into her again and again.

  Her body stiffened beneath him. Her head tipped back against the pillow. Her mouth widened, and she gasped out his name. He felt the contractions of her inner muscles around him, milking his dick.

  Hell, yes. Hell, yes.

  She came, crying out his name.

  And that was fabulous. She felt incredible. But he wasn’t done.

  He pulled out of her.

  “Gray!”

  He flipped her on the bed. Brought her up to her knees. “Lock those hands around the headboard.”

  Trembling, uncertain, she did. She gave him one hell of a view of her ass.

  And he remembered what she’d said about spanking…

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  His hand slid over the curve of her ass.

  “Gray?”

  “Hold tight, baby. I’m not close to done with you yet.” He drove into her from behind, sinking into her hot, tight sex. One hand chained her hips against him. The other slid around her body. Eased between her folds. Worked her clit again and again because he needed her wild.

  She arched back against him as he thrust into her. Her hips rocked hard against his. She was thrusting and heaving desperately. He kept his hand on her clit. Thumb stroking. Fingers squeezing. Her hands whitened around the headboard as her grip became even stronger.

  “Gray, I-I can’t, I can’t again⁠—”

  Oh, she could. He drove relentlessly into her. Felt her spiral into another release.

  He poured into her. Her release had ignited his own. His hips slammed against her. That lush ass. That tempting body. Those soft moans. She drove him to the edge and beyond, and he poured hotter and longer into her than he ever had in his entire life.

  By the time the orgasm ended, he felt emptied out. Sated.

  Fucking mated.

  No, no, wrong word. Too primitive. It had just been sex. Just sex.

  Just—

  She looked over her shoulder at him. Bright eyes. Trembling lips.

  Fucking. Mated.

  He kissed her.

  Her lips parted beneath his. One hand still gripped her waist as he held her against him. Pleasure had poured through every cell of his body. The moment was tense. The air hummed with a dangerous, consuming charge around them.

  He lifted his head and realized he was in trouble. I don’t want to let her go. Not now. Not ever.

  She stayed the night with the FBI agent. Their lights finally turned off well after midnight.

  He watched the house. A big house, one decked out with security cameras, so he hadn’t been able to risk getting too close. He was used to Emerson’s systems. Easy enough to bypass because he was always given access to her codes. But he didn’t know what tricks Agent Stone might have at his place.

  Better to wait.

  To watch.

  To learn his new enemy.

  Emerson should have been afraid. She should have understood his message. She wasn’t safe, not even with the FBI agent. The past could always come up and take her.

  She didn’t get to walk away. She didn’t get to go off and start a life with someone else. He had plans for her. She would stay with him.

  The house remained dark.

  It was a big house.

  Plenty of rooms.

  Just because the house was dark, it didn’t mean that Emerson was fucking the FBI agent.

  They were kissing near O’Sullivan’s. I saw them.

  Just because the house was dark…

  He reached for his knife.

  I am going to kill the FBI agent.

  Sooner or later, Gray Stone would die.

  He’d always wondered what it would be like to kill someone. He thought it might be quite…fun.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Sex doesn’t change anything. Even great sex.”

  – Emerson Marlowe

  “Yeah, it does.” – Gray Stone

  “Oh, look at that, Emerson.” Gray’s voice was hushed and falsely excited at the same time. An interesting combo. “A limo. One waiting right in front of the FBI office. Who could be inside?”

  She’d spotted the limo just seconds ago, right after they’d rounded the corner as they advanced toward the FBI office. They were supposed to meet the others at 0600. A time that was less than fifteen minutes away. They’d stopped for coffee. She hadn’t even batted an eyelash when Gray had rattled off her preferred—and somewhat convoluted—order. He’d been with her before for coffee pickups. So, of course, he’d memorized her order.

  He’d just grinned when she’d rattled off his stark request—black coffee. That was all he ever ordered, after all. Black coffee and a blueberry protein muffin.

  They hadn’t spoken about the sex. The mind-blowing, give-me-more sex. He’d slept in the bed with her. She knew because she’d woken up once, heart racing from a half-remembered nightmare, and he’d been there. Warm, strong body. An arm around her. She’d felt safe. Safer than she’d felt in years. She’d gone right back to sleep.

  When she’d woken again, he’d been out of the bed. Showered and dressed already. Another crisp shirt—pale blue this time. Gray pants. Gray suit coat.

  At first, he hadn’t said anything as he stared down at her in the bed. But his eyes had blazed. Then he’d told her to take her time in the shower before he double-timed it out of the bedroom.

  He’d made her an omelet. They hadn’t spoken about the previous night. Just made small talk. He’d told her that his mother had taught him how to make omelets years ago. That he could also make some absolutely delicious grits and biscuits that were to die for.

  She’d confessed to being a terrible cook. His omelet, by the way, had been heavenly.

  The little kitchen routine had felt both foreign and oddly comfortable. Though that made zero sense.

  And now…

  The limo.

  As she watched, the rear door opened. A tall, fit man with silver streaking through his dark hair rose from the back. “Emerson.” His lips curled. A brief hint of warmth. Then, “Your mother would like a word.”

  Emerson stopped on the sidewalk. She’d known the confrontation would happen, sooner or later. “If she’d like to talk, then she should just call me, the way most mothers call their adult children. She doesn’t have to show up in her limo, waiting outside of my work.”