“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her throat. “I always had you, honey.”
Her hands scrambled at his jeans, pushing them down. She wrapped her fingers around him, and he groaned, deep and low. She loved that sound. Missed that sound. Missed him. His weight, his body, the way he knew exactly how to touch her, to pull her apart and put her back together again.
He shoved his jeans down just far enough and positioned himself at her entrance. “Last chance to stop,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t you dare give me that out.”
His eyes flared. And then he was inside her, one long, slow thrust that filled her completely, stole her breath. She gasped and clutched at his shoulders, back arching as he began to move. It was everything she remembered. And more. Slower. Rougher. Charged with all the pain and heat they’d buried under years of silence.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and met every thrust, her nails digging into his back as he drove them both toward the edge. Sweat slicked their skin, the air thick and humid, the sound of their bodies colliding muffled by the buzz of insects and the creak of the cot.
“Say my name,” he groaned.
“Cross—” she gasped. “God, yes—Cross?—”
His rhythm faltered, his control fraying as he reached between them, circling her clit with his thumb. She shatteredaround him, crying out as pleasure ripped through her, white-hot and blinding. Her whole body clenched, holding him tight as he groaned her name and followed her over, hips thrusting once…twice, before he spilled inside her.
They lay tangled in the sheets, breathless and shaking, the world reduced to the thud of their heartbeats and the warm press of skin on skin.
She didn’t speak. Neither did he. Because there were no words for what just passed between them. Only the knowledge that something had cracked open between them again—something she wasn’t sure they could ever close. She knew as she lay there that her only way of surviving was to get as far away from Cross Morgan as possible.
CHAPTER 12
The doorcreaked shut behind him, but Drew didn’t turn. She just sat there—back rigid, shoulders high and tight like she was carrying the weight of the goddamn world. And he’d put it there. Or at least some of it.
Cross lingered in the shadows of the doorway, water dripping from his body, the soaked t-shirt clinging to his chest. The cold shower hadn’t done a damn thing to chase away the heat boiling in his blood or the guilt gnawing at his spine. He ran a hand through damp hair, his eyes locked on Drew like he could mentally will her to turn around. To see him. Really see him.
But he didn’t deserve that. Not after the way he’d left.
The moment he saw Drew cuff that skip in Vegas with nothing but grit and a smirk, he was hooked. There’d never be anyone else for him. She was all fire and sharp edges, and he’d loved her with everything he had. But that fire scared him… Because he didn’t think he could hold it without getting burned. He’d walked away like a coward, telling himself it was for her own good.What a fucking lie.Nothing could have been further from the truth. Leaving her had hurt like nothing else. He’d only been half alive without her. The moment he saw her again, it was like the half-dead part of him unfurled with life again.
Now here she was, in the middle of a goddamn swamp, risking her life for a man who’d broken her heart. Cross knew that she still loved him. He heard it in her voice earlier. Even if she didn’t know it, even if she would never admit it, he’d heard it. He just had to figure out how to make her see they belonged together. He had to make her forget the past and desire a future for them. Desire him for the rest of their lives.
He stepped out, slow and quiet, and sat beside her on the porch step.
“Drew—”
“Don’t,” she said, voice sharp.
He flinched. “Just listen for a second.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I can’t. Not tonight.”
“You still love me.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Not a question. A fact. And it hung between them like a fuse waiting for a match.
She let out a bitter laugh. “Not enough to do this again.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. He deserved that, but it still stung. Before he could say more, the sat phone inside the shack rang. One sharp chirp. Then another.
Cross bolted up and grabbed it off the counter inside the shack, answering in a low voice. “Yeah?”
“It’s Stone,” came the ragged reply.
Cross stiffened. “What happened?”
“We’re burned. Rodriguez found us. I don’t know how, but he did. We barely made it out. I’m hit—shoulder—bad, but not fatal. We need help.”
“Shit.” Cross’s brain kicked into high gear. “Where’s Tessa?”
