“Wake me in an hour,” he insisted.
“All right.”
“Thanks.” He tugged off his shirt.
With the fabric gone, Nick exposed tribal tattoos that swept up his lean ribs on one side, covered his bulging pectoral, drifted around his solid shoulder before changing direction to cascade down his rippling biceps and thick forearm. Sasha tried not to swallow her tongue as he lay on one side of the bed, closest to the door, and his body stilled.
In seconds, he dropped off. His deep, even breathing was barely audible in the room. And she was still staring at him, dazed by the sight of his wide back bunched and defined with more muscle.
Goodness, Nick Navarro was a beautiful man.
He wasn’t Mike. No one was. But she’d loved her late husband the way a girl cherished Prince Charming. She’d given her heart to him in a sugary drop, fallen with him into a champagne bubble of warmth and comfort. His death had burst that. With the pretty pink bow of forever ripped away, Sasha had been forced to push through thorns and become a woman.
Her sweet prince would never ride up on his white horse to save her because the villain had killed him. But the big, dark Beast beside her now would vanquish the demon, with her at his side. And she would fight to the death to protect her child—and her future with Nick.
There was nothing soft or sweet or innocent about the way she wanted him. She ached for him desperately, urgently, passionately. He challenged her between the ears, roused the flesh between her legs, and ignited a blaze between her ribs she suspected would burn eternally.
Asking how or why was a stupid waste of time. Mike’s murder had proved that no one was guaranteed a tomorrow. She was going to wring every moment—and experience—she could from her time with Nick. She was going to tell him what was in her head and her heart. If he didn’t want her for more than a night…well, she would at least have the satisfaction of knowing she had given herself completely and honestly.
Suddenly, as if he sensed her gaze—or her decision—his eyes flashed open. Sasha found herself freefalling into his relentless stare, which seemed to remove every stitch from her body, despite the fact he wasn’t touching her at all.
“Nick?” She heard the breathlessness of her own voice.
“I need a shower,” he growled as he bounded off the bed and nearly ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Sasha frowned. He was…so jumpy. Tense. Wound up.
Sexually frustrated?
Suddenly, all the showers he took—morning and night—made sense. He wasn’t a clean freak or a germophobe. If he had been, they certainly wouldn’t be staying in this dive of a motel. He was masturbating in the shower to curtail his desire so he wouldn’t jump on her like the ravenous Beast she suspected he could be.
Like she wanted him to be.
It was up to her to prove she could not only handle that animal part of him, but that she craved it.
They still had hours to kill before they could return to Josh’s place, so now was the perfect time to show Nick exactly the woman she’d become.
His woman.
Chapter Ten
Son of a bitch. Nick yanked on the tap and jerked off his jeans. He unwrapped the toy-sized bar of soap resting in the dish in the stall, then stepped under the weak spray.
He had to spend another night beside Sasha, sharing her sheets, wrapped in her sweetly female scent. How the fuck was he going to stop himself from stripping off every stitch she wore, baring all her sugar-soft skin to his greedy gaze, then crawling between her legs to shove his way home? Because that’s how he thought of her now. His person. His woman. His home. With her was where he wanted to be forever.
Jacking off wasn’t a substitute for her anymore, and he swore he’d lose his goddamn mind if he couldn’t touch her, taste her flavor on his tongue, and feel her every limb and orifice cling to him soon.
He could lie to himself, but why bother? He didn’t just want her because he hadn’t had sex in well over a year. He didn’t burn for her because she was beautiful. He coveted her because she was good and warm and giving. She was his sun and lit his darkness with so much light. Now that he’d seen the fierce survivor and protector in her, he only hungered for Sasha more.
And last night, she’d looked about as eager to take him deep inside her as she was to catch a disease. So where did that leave him?
Utterly fucked. No. Fucking his hand for relief. Again.
Nick lathered the harsh soap in his hands, which smelled faintly of artificial coconut and chemicals. He tried to block out the crappy scent as he tossed the small bar into the dish, then grabbed his throbbing cock.
He had to end the danger to Sasha tonight. He had to make certain they were safe—for Mike, for her daughter, for his own freaking sanity. Then he’d start over, maybe take Javier and Xander up on their offer, see if Sasha could picture any sort of future with him. If not, he’d find someone else he’d want eventually, right? Someday…maybe. On the twelfth of never. After hell froze over.
As fixated as he felt on Sasha Porter right now, he doubted he would ever lose his heart to any other woman.
