Heat of the Night

Chapter 4

Gasping for air and wracked by violent shivers, Connor emerged from the frigid lake and crawled up the sandy bank. As he pushed to his feet, his Elite uniform clung heavily to his body. He was so focused on fighting off the tension that came from hypothermia that he didn't realize he wasn't alone until he was tackled and knocked backward.

As a smaller, wirier body wrapped around his, his roar of outrage reflected off the surface of the water and released his mounting tension. Connor twisted and grappled with his assailant until the moment they both fell back into the lake in an explosion of water and slapping skin.

The sting of the unexpected impact combined with the shock of being attacked really, really pissed Connor off. He grabbed his assailant by the scruff of his robes and dragged him onto the shore.

"Wait!" Dressed in gray, the man could only be an Elder.

Unfortunately for him, Connor wasn't feeling so charitable toward Elders right now and he was in the mood to kick some serious ass. He reached over his shoulder and pulled his glaive free of its scabbard. "If you had a death wish, old man," he growled, "you should have just said so outright."

"Cross needs you."

Connor stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. Of course it couldn't be just any Elder. Not on a crappy day such as today. It had to be Elder Sheron. His instructor from the Elite Academy.

"What Cross needs are answers, Sheron. We all need answers."

The Elder pushed back the soaked cowl that hid his face and Connor took a good look at the man who had helped to mold him into the warrior he was today. Sheron's appearance had changed so drastically he was nearly unrecognizable as the vigorous Master he had once been. His dark brown hair was now pure white, the suntanned skin now an unhealthy pale, and his pupils were so wide and dark they swallowed the whites of his eyes all together. In that respect he looked very much like the thing that had been sealed up in the Temple.

Disgust filled Connor only to be quickly replaced by fury. Aidan had looked up to Sheron as one would a father. Deserted by his birth parents for entering the Elite Academy, Aidan had needed a parental figure and turned to Sheron to fill that role. It angered Conner further to think that his friend's trust had been so misplaced.

For his part, Connor came from a long line of Elite Warriors. Male and female alike, the Bruces all joined the Elite. Live and die by the sword was their family creed, which was why Connor had little patience for lies and deceit. Time was precious, even for a nearly immortal.

Aidan's parents, however, were a different breed of Guardian altogether-one a Healing Guardian, the other a Nurturer. They couldn't understand the path their son had chosen and the constant questions they'd pestered Aidan with had eventually driven him away. The Crosses couldn't understand why their only child needed to be working against the Nightmares, not repairing the damage they caused after the fact. Since they were the only family Aidan had, that left him with only two bonds-Connor and Sheron.

And Sheron had been unworthy of such esteem and affection.

"Others have been sent to the mortal plane after Cross," Sheron said grimly, both hands clasped tightly around the hilt of his sword. "Powerful Elders. He will require assistance."

"We're not as out of the loop as you might think," Connor scoffed, circling his adversary with slow, steady steps. "And while you're in a sharing mood, why don't you explain what that thing was in the Temple?"

Sheron stilled, his sword lowered. "I warned them. I told them the system was untried and unsecured. It was too risky, but they were determined."

"What are you talking about?" Connor's gaze narrowed on the Elder, his wariness increasing. He'd seen this ruse before, the one where a combatant pretended to lose interest in the fight only to strike with the element of surprise.

Sheron paused mid-step. "The cavern was our primary means of controlling the flow between the mortal plane and the Twilight, but we knew that such heavy reliance on one location left us too vulnerable. We altered a room in the Temple of the Elders in an effort to attract Medium slipstreams. It worked, to a lesser extent. But the Temple is not secure from Nightmares."

"It isn't?" That struck a deep cord of unease in Connor. He had always looked at the shining white edifice of the Temple and felt peace. It was untainted by their enemy and filled with the history of his people in the Hall of Knowledge. While he'd never personally made use of the information there, it had calmed him to think of it.

"No." Sheron pushed back the sodden shank of pure white hair that fell over his brow. "The Nightmares have grown more desperate. The older ones have learned to stalk their prey, rather than simply attack in a frenzy. Every shadow you see is suspect and only the cavern is safe, though we are not certain why. Something to do with the water, I suspect."

"Maybe it's too damn cold," Connor suggested, shivering in the gentle breeze. With a wave of his hand, he heated the air around him, forming an insulating pocket. Outside of that immediate space, the velocity of the breeze picked up exponentially and the sky darkened with roiling clouds.

"We do not know, Bruce. I tried to dissuade the others, but they felt the risk was worth the gain."

"And what exactly is the risk?"

Sheron's lips pursed. "That Nightmares will…"

Thunder cracked and blackness descended in an all-consuming blanket. The Elder screamed and the clouds began to take shape, reconstituting into the familiar form of Nightmares.

Thousands of them…

Connor awoke in terror.

He jackknifed upward in the bed, startled by his surroundings, his brain taking a moment too long to register where he was. His heart raced, his skin was coated in sweat.

The mortal plane. He was in hell.

His chest heaved with labored breaths as he swung his legs off the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

Nightmares, the bastards.

As if the smells of this world weren't bad enough, now he had Nightmares to deal with.

Disgusted, Connor pushed heavily to his feet and stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He opened the door to the guest room he'd selected after seeing that the other two bedrooms were occupied. One was the master suite, the other smelled like the hottie who had opened the front door to him.

His mouth curved grimly. At least there was something-someone-he liked about this place.

Stacey was round, ripe, curvy perfection with those full hips, shapely ass, and big tits. She was the kind of woman a man could hang on to and ride hard.

His dick swelled at the thought and he moaned softly, his blood beginning to simmer from the combination of too long abstaining, too shitty a day, and too fine a woman. He wanted to wrap his fist into that riot of tight black corkscrew curls and possess that lush red mouth of hers. Even with teary green eyes and red nose, her heart-shaped face had been alluring in the basest sense. He wanted to see it flushed, glistening with sweat, and etched with the tormented need for orgasm. If he hadn't felt as if he was dying, he would have cheered her up right.

Of course, better late than never. He needed cheering up, too. He felt torn-angry and disillusioned and lost. It was the last that affected him most. He prized a firm foundation. Aidan was the adventurer. Connor liked his life well-defined and without surprises. He didn't like this sensation of free-falling and knew just how to find a spot of peace in a frenetic world.

That spot was inside Stacey.

And she was downstairs waiting for him. Although she didn't know it yet.

Connor went into the guest bathroom and took a cold shower. It felt like heaven to wash up after the day he'd had so far and when he stepped out into the hallway a few minutes later, he felt better contained. Less restless and more in control.

He thought about getting dressed before heading downstairs in search of food, then decided against it. He didn't feel like putting his uniform back on until it was cleaned and as far as he was concerned, the towel wrapped around his hips made him decent. His lack of attire might just rile Stacey, too, which could be the impetus needed to get her into his bed. Passion of any kind could be turned to passion of the sexual kind, with the right persuasion. And Stacey already wanted him-those long, tight nipples proved it-even if she didn't want to want him.

He'd fulfilled enough human fantasies to know that sometimes women denied their desires for reasons that had nothing to do with the sex itself. Whether a man had a good job, liked kids, was faithful, a decent cook, knew how to fix cars, or wore a suit to work-the reasons for saying "no" to sex were way more numerous than the reasons for saying "yes."

Guardians didn't have such unrelated concerns. Sex was comfort and desire and a necessary slaking of needs. It promoted health and elevated moods. It was as necessary as breathing, and although some Guardians partnered permanently, most kept their options open.

He needed comfort now and forgetfulness, and if he gave Stacey more reasons to say "yes" than he did to say "no," he could have her. And he wanted her. Badly.

As Connor stepped off the last stair onto the marble tile of the foyer, he shot a quick glance at the decorative window above the sliding glass patio door. The reddish tint to the sunlight told him it was late afternoon, and a glance at the cable box above the television affirmed that it was a little past six o'clock.

"I'm not trying to guilt-trip you!" Stacey protested hotly.

Who the hell was visiting?

He was about to return to his room for his pants when she said, "I can't help it if I sound sad. I miss you. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't miss you? That doesn't mean I'm trying to make you feel bad for going!"

She was on the phone. He felt the tension in his shoulders fade. They were alone after all. Just what he needed. He didn't think he could handle a larger interaction at this point. His nerves were stretched too thin.

Connor crossed the living room and paused on the threshold of the dining room. Stacey was facing away from him, her back tense, her hand rubbing at the back of her neck.

Damn, she had a nice ass. Big, she'd called it. He had to admit it wasn't small, but it was tight and round and more than a handful. He wanted to palm those firm cheeks while he tilted her hips to the perfect angle to take his cock to the root. Hard and deep fucking… He wanted it like he wanted to breathe, wanted the tangible connection to another person. A shudder of longing wracked the length of his frame. Then her voice grew more agitated and he frowned.

"I understand you haven't seen him in years. As if I could forget that… No, that wasn't a dig… Jesus, it's the goddamned truth… he hasn't sent me a dime of support for you! I'm not making it up… Get over it? He's skiing and I'm broke, and I'm supposed to get over it? Justin? Justin? Honey…?" She sighed heavily and slammed the phone back into its cradle. "Shit!"

Connor watched as she ran both of her hands through her riotous curls. Then he noted that her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. Suddenly, the need to fuck and forget became something else entirely. The need to share misery, to sympathize.

"Hey," he rumbled softly, relating to the frustration and grief he heard in her curse.

She screeched and leaped at least a foot or more into the air.

"Fuckin' A!" she yelled, turning to glare at him with a hand pressed over her heart. Tears hung on thick black lashes and stained her pale cheeks. "You scared me to death!"

"I'm sorry."

Her gaze dropped to his hips and the boner that tented his towel, parting the two halves to reveal his thigh all the way to his waist. "Oh my god."

His lust, her pain, and the Nightmares of just moments ago made false charm impossible. "You have the loveliest ass I've ever seen," he explained.

"I have a lovely…?" She blinked but didn't look away. "You're walking around the house half-naked with a hard-on and all you can say is 'you have a lovely ass?'"

"I can be fully naked, if you prefer."

"Oh, hell no." Her arms crossed over her chest, which only served to accentuate her braless breasts. Desire, building for weeks, flared across his skin and left a light mist of sweat behind. "The house doesn't come with those kind of benefits."

"I don't care what the house comes with," he said honestly. She was soft, warm, emotional woman. That's what he needed. "I want to know what you come with. A soft touch? Something rougher? Do you like to be loved fast and hard? Or long and slow? What makes you hoarse, sweetheart?"

"Jesus! Don't beat around the bush or anything."

Connor watched her pupils dilate, an unconscious invitation. He stepped closer. Carefully. No quick movements, because he could tell she was in the grip of the fight-or-flight response and he didn't want her to run. Doubted he could let her run.

"I've no patience for lies at the moment," he murmured. "I want you. A night with you would be heaven after what I've gone through recently. I don't like it here. I'm homesick and just plain sick."

"S-sorry-" Stacey swallowed hard, her eyes big in her piquant face, her tongue darting out to wet cherry red lips. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I can't tonight. I have a headache."

He stepped closer.

She backed up and bumped into a barstool. Her chest lifted and fell rapidly, as did his. Her nostrils flared, sensing danger. Inside him, coiled tightly, was the need to snatch her close. To convince her to stay and say yes. To prevent her from denying that she was his, which some primitive voice inside him was whispering she was. Mine, it insisted. She's mine.

Something inside her understood.

"We're both having a crappy day," he managed, his voice raspier than he would have liked. "Why should we have a crappy night, too?"

"Sex won't fix my problem."

As she wrapped her hands around the edge of the wooden stool seat, her chin lifted. The pose thrust her breasts forward wantonly, defiantly, stirring the need he felt into raging hunger. A rough growl filled the space between them and she gasped softly. Her nipples beaded up tight, pushing against the loose cotton ribbing of her tank top.

Connor's cock swelled further, a response he was unable to hide as scantily dressed as he was. He wanted her. Now. Wanted to forget that he wasn't at home, that he might never go home. Wanted to forget that he'd been lied to and deceived. Wanted to wrap himself around a warm, willing woman and help her forget her pain, too. It was what he did, what he knew, what he excelled at. What grounded him. And this time it would be for real. Not a dream or a fantasy.

He could sense the vibrating anxiety in her, the tinge of desperation, the need to scream out her frustration and anger and hurt. The need to connect to someone who had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Someone blameless, without baggage or expectation, a guilt-free pleasure. She just needed a little push.

Tugging at his towel, Connor let it drop to the floor.

"Good grief," she muttered. "You're incredible."

With a gentle smile, he deliberately took her statement in a way it wasn't intended. "Ah, but I haven't even started yet."

The low, deep brogue wrapped around Stacey's spine, then slid down in a heated glide.

Infuriated with herself for being aroused, she stared at the tall, golden, gorgeous-impossibly gorgeous-naked man striding toward her. Unable to look away from the beautifully honed muscles drenched in tawny skin. Or the dark honey hair that hung over a strong brow. Or the Caribbean blue eyes that roamed her body from head to toe, the gaze hot and lustful but tender, too.

His sinfully sensual mouth was framed by lines of tension and stress, a sight that tempted her to kiss his troubles away. Whatever they might be.

As if it that was possible. Connor Bruce seemed to be an island unto himself. There was something inherently dangerous about him, something savage and untamed. He seemed… dark somehow, tormented. A feeling she understood because she presently felt that way herself. Barely leashed. Tense. She wanted to drive up to Big Bear and tell Justin and Tommy both that one fucking ski trip did not make Tommy Father of the Century.

Frustrated with her inability to "get over it," Stacey imprudently ogled Connor's luscious cock instead. After all, he was waving it around…

"It's all yours," he purred, coming at her with a devastating combination of determination and mouth-watering, finely honed abs. She looked up and saw challenge within the depths of his blue eyes. He knew she couldn't help but look and covet what he offered so bluntly. "And you're all mine."

God, how she wished she could laugh that off. Considering how long they'd known each other, that comment should have been funny as hell. But Connor was too primitive a male to dismiss when he became possessive. Just as she, apparently, was primitive enough to enjoy being dragged back to his cave by her hair.

There was something very wrong with a man being that perfect. Six feet plus of pure, potent male. He was big, broad, and bad. Irresistibly bad. And unapologetic about it. She might have been able to resist if that were all he was. But he seemed vulnerable, too, in a way she couldn't define. It called to her, though, whatever it was. Deeply. She found herself wanting to soothe him, embrace him, make him smile.

Her gaze once again fell helplessly to the long, thick cock that led the way for him. That was perfect, too. She couldn't find a damn thing wrong with his body and she was trying. Boy, was she trying. He was savagely beautiful and forbiddingly sexy, but she wasn't giving in. No way. She was drooling over him, yes, but she was not going to repeat her past mistakes. She didn't even know the guy, for chrissakes!

"Does that Conan the Barbarian act work for you?" she asked with an arched brow, acting for all she was worth. '"Cuz it sure as hell isn't working for me."

His lips curved in a boyish smile. She was stunned by her reaction to it. It was the kind of charming curve that made one want to smile back.

"Prove it." His long, easy stride made her shiver. She gripped the seat behind her with such force she broke a nail and a small sound of dismay escaped her. It gave away too much, that soft breathy cry. She could tell it did, because his gaze heated and darkened, and his cock swelled even further. Her mouth dried at the sight.

Lord have mercy. The thick length was lined with throbbing veins that forced her to bite back a moan of longing. Porn stars would pay for that cock. Shit, women paid for cocks such as his, molded in plastic with a speed control switch.

"Are you double-dog daring me?" she muttered, her gaze riveted by the sheer predatory grace of his movements. She wondered how he moved while fucking and the thought made her damp between the legs.

She was lonely, tired, frustrated by the hand life had dealt her, and pissed off enough to want to shed her unappreciated-mommy role for an hour or two. Get over it? Sure. What better way to get over it than to get under a man like Connor Bruce?

"Let me hold you," he murmured, his accent a gentle enticement.

Stacey didn't move. She couldn't.

As he came closer, she held her breath, knowing that her resistance to his very attractive but impractical offer would weaken if she smelled him. The scent of his skin was unique. A bit spicy, a bit musky. One hundred percent male. Pure Connor. Inhaling would sharpen the images already in her mind of him suspended above her, his arms bulging as he held his weight aloft, his abdominal muscles lacing tight as he pumped his thick cock in and out of her, his gorgeous features taut with lust.

The way he looked right now.

Panicked at her craving, Stacey shook her head violently and jumped quickly to the side, hoping to skirt the dining table and… hoping he'd chase her.

Which he did.

Connor lunged and caught her easily, his steely arm banding around her waist and hauling her back against him. The confinement awakened the full force of her desire, making her soften and grow slick with anticipation.

"Let me, Stacey." The tone of his voice changed, became urgent and thick with need. "I need you. You need me. Let it happen."

The fierceness of his desire was evident in every line of his big body. It was tangible and very, very tempting.

It was also insane.

"Damn it!" she snapped, struggling because it turned her on more to do so, not because she had any expectation of getting away. "You can't just haul me off to bed!"

"You're right. I won't make it that far. Right here will have to do."

"Here?" she croaked. "This is nuts! We don't even know each other!"

He tightened his embrace and nuzzled against her sweetly, his tongue gliding across the fluttering pulse at her throat. It made her dizzy to be held by him, surrounded by his scent and his attention to detail. She had no doubt that Connor would find every erogenous zone on her body. She also had no doubt that she wanted him to. God, it had been so long since she'd had great sex with someone who was focused on pleasuring her. Someone who seemed to need to pleasure her.

"You're thinking too much," he whispered with his lips to her ear. He reached up and cupped her unfettered breast. His palm was warm, his squeeze firm but gentle. His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple, rolled it, tugged it. She writhed as the sensation shot straight to her sex and tingled madly. A rough sound rumbled up from his chest.

The urge to close her eyes and melt into him was strong. "People don't just hop into bed with strangers because they had a shitty day."

"Why not? Why deny yourself something you want?"

"It's called maturity." She changed tactics and hung like a deadweight in his arms. He didn't appear to notice. The man was brawny enough to carry an elephant.

"Sounds like self-torture to me."

"I suppose you just barrel through life thinking you can do whatever you damn well please because you're hot."

He pressed a hard, quick kiss to her temple and used both hands to knead her breasts. "You're hot and you don't do what you want."

Stacey snorted. "Compliments will not get you into my pants."

Connor reached up and cupped her cheek, angling her mouth to meet his. "No," he whispered against her lips, "but this will."

He yanked open her button fly, then shoved his hand into her jeans.

"No…"

His tongue thrust deep into her mouth, stemming her protest. He cupped her through her lace thong. "Yes," he purred, rubbing her swollen, needy pussy with skillful fingers, "you're wet, sweetheart."

She whimpered as he pushed the intruding material out of the way and touched her skin-to-skin.

"Tell me you want me," he rasped, the callused tip of his index finger sliding between her folds and stroking over her engorged clit. Back and forth. Caressing, circling.

The tension was intense, her breath panting, her legs straining.

"Oh! I'm going to come… Oh god…" Jesus, she'd gone so long without she was hair-trigger ready.

"Tell me you want me," he repeated.

Her hips swiveled and rocked into that maddening finger. "Does it matter?" she gasped, bucking like a wild thing within the cage of his powerful arms.

"Yes." His teeth sank into the taut muscle at her neck and she cried out in surprise. "It does. I want you. I want you to want me back."

Two long, thick fingers were pushing into her and she spasmed on the verge of climax. Her eyes closed and her head fell back against his chest. She was shivering violently, overwhelmed, teary. Her entire day had been an emotional overload and now he'd added lust and desire to the mix.

"Yes…" she sobbed, her nails digging into the forearm crossing between her breasts. It felt so good to be held and embraced. Wanted.

"Push your jeans down."

Stacey grabbed her waistband and shimmied her pants down to her knees, blinking back hot tears. Straightening, she reached for her purse on the granite-topped breakfast bar and pulled out the string of condoms she'd picked up a week ago. They were Magnum XL, a joke she thought would add levity to her upcoming "birds and the bees" talk. Now, she hoped they weren't too small. Connor was hung, a circumstance that only made her wetter, less resistant. My god… he was going to be in her… soon…

He thrust one foot between her legs and stepped down, shoving her pants down to the floor. Her butt bumped against his steely erection and his breath hissed between his teeth. His grip on her torso tightened. Her heart leapt with a flare of fright. He was a huge man and he seemed barely in control.

"Shh," he crooned, releasing her only long enough to put his hand beneath her shirt. With his hand over her racing heart, he paused, his chest heaving against her back. His face was damp and feverishly hot, and he pressed his cheek to hers roughly. "This isn't me. I'm not like this. I'm pushing you too fast-"

"I'm not like this either," she whispered, setting her hand over his through her tank top and moving it down to her breast. Her fingers rested atop his and squeezed, urging him to fondle the heavy, aching weight of her flesh. "And you're not going fast enough."

"I'm going to fuck you. I can't help it." His brogue was so thick she could hardly understand him. "Hard and fast. Then we'll start over. I'll make it good for you. Do it right."

Shaking her head, Stacey leaned forward, offering the most private part of her body to him. "Just do it. Right or wrong."

Connor rumbled something, then he tore open the box of condoms and broke into a foil packet. She forced herself to breathe in and out carefully, willing her brain to feel less dizzy, telling herself that this was a one-night stand, not a goddamn relationship. He didn't have to be "permanent" material; he just had to carry the right equipment and show her some consideration.

The man was best friends with Aidan, who was a great guy. That didn't make Connor a great guy, but it did make him slightly better than a complete stranger. And they were adults. They could indulge in a little gratuitous sex and still be civil. She wasn't repeating past mistakes, because she had no expectations that this would go beyond an orgasm. Right? Right?

Stacey had almost convinced herself that this encounter was only slightly more involved that using a vibrator when Connor grasped her thighs and lifted her effortlessly, stealing her balance in more ways than one. With a startled cry, she clung to the barstool and felt the world tilt.

Then he was there, the fat tip of him notching into the slick, slitted entrance to her pussy. She moaned as he nudged and he made a soothing sound that might have calmed her if she weren't out of her mind with lust and a hundred other emotions.

"Relax," he urged hoarsely. "Let me in. I've got you."

Panting, she willed herself limp, afraid that she would be too heavy and startled to realize that he held her aloft easily. He eased in an inch and she felt every groove and vein of him because she hugged him so tightly.

"Oh!"

"Touch yourself." Connor shuddered as he fed more of his thick cock into her. "Get yourself off. You're so tight…"

Stacey clung to the seat with one arm, while reaching a hand between her legs to rub. She was stretched wide and tight to accommodate him, which exposed her clit even further from its hood. She was swollen, hot, slick; more aroused than she'd ever remembered being. He sank deeper, pushing with shallow, rapid digs that made her mewl and beg. Her pussy fluttered around his cock and he groaned, his fingertips digging into the flesh of her thighs.

"That's it, baby," he whispered hoarsely. "Suck me in. Take all of me."

With a relieved cry, she climaxed hard, her fingers rubbing, her cunt flooding with moisture, easing his way. He thrust hard and hiked with a grunt. In a distant part of her brain Stacey heard the phone ringing, but it didn't mean anything and a moment later all she could hear was the deafening rush of blood in her ears.

"Hang on," he ordered. He began to pound her pussy in a savage rhythm, pumping high and hard, his powerful thighs flexing between hers. Her eyes closed and her cheek rested against the hard wooden seat, sliding back and forth in her own sweat, her body on fire because his was. His cock was like a burning brand inside her. She was hot, but he was hotter.

Unbelievably, the tension coiled tight again, building… growing… His heavy balls smacked repeatedly against her tender clit, the sound so erotic she shivered with renewed arousal. The rim of his cockhead grazed a tender spot inside her and she was instantly on the edge.

"Oh god," she whimpered, "I'm coming again."

He spread her legs wide and struck deep, expertly stroking across that magic place inside her that caused her to wail in mindless pleasure. His satisfaction was tangible as she arched taut beneath his relentless drives.

For all his warnings of haste, he seemed in no hurry to come now that he was in her. Unable to bear anymore and slightly afraid of what would happen to her if she climaxed that hard again, Stacey reached between her legs and touched his swinging balls.

Connor cursed and swelled, stuffing her full. "I'm not going to last…"

Tightening down, she hugged him with her inner muscles. He jerked violently and with a guttural shout began to come. His cock strained and bucked with the force of his ejaculations in a brutal, wrenching orgasm. He lowered, taking her with him. First to his knees, then to his back, his sweat soaking her tank. His brawny arms circled around her. All the way to the floor.

Where he held her with his lips to her temple, still coming…