Page 42 of When He Hunts

Except…

Maybe I want more.

Her hand reached for the doorknob. It turned easily beneath her grip, and then she was out in the hallway. A quick turn to the right, a few stumbling, nervous steps, and then her fist was knocking at his door. Once, twice, and?—

The door flew open. “What’s wrong?”

No shirt. Boxers. That awesome chest of Ronan’s was on full display. So were his abs. In the soft light of the hallway, she could see the faint, white lines that rose on his tan skin. Scars from long ago wounds. Scars that made him seem even more dangerous and sexier and stronger because he’d survived.

He wasn’t the kind of person who’d ever been afraid to live. She knew Ronan certainly wasn’t the type to fear death, either.

“Luna.” His nostrils flared. “What is it?”

“I—” Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should turn and run. Scuttle back to the safety of her room.

Safety.

There it was again. That word. Her chin lifted. “Promises were made.”

“What?” His forehead furrowed. Such a sexy furrow.

“Promises were made,” she repeated. Her chin remained up. “You can’t go around telling a woman that you are going to have her coming against your tongue and begging for m-more long before…” She swallowed. “Long before your dick enters her.”

His hands flew out. Not to grab her. But to clamp around the wood of the doorframe. “Luna.”

“I mean, if you’re going to make promises like that, you should deliver on them. Otherwise, it just seems like false hype.”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s not false hype.”

She didn’t think it had been. He probably made women come by crooking his little finger. “Then you should deliver.”

“Luna.”

When he said her name in that growl, it made her stomach twist. In a good way. “I played the radio during the drive. I didn’t distract you. I was holding up my end of the deal.”

“You distract me by breathing. As far as playing the radio and you not talking—that shit was about me trying not to fuck you in the car.”

“We aren’t in the car any longer.” She tilted a little to the side in an attempt to look around him. A failed attempt because he was so big. “We’re in a safe house. One with plenty of beds that we could use right now.”

“You don’t want to do this.”

He was so wrong. “Is making love with me against FBI rules?”

“I’m not in the FBI.”

She stared up at him. Then, slowly, her hands lifted so that her palms pressed to his jaw. His beard tickled her skin. “Is it against your rules?”

“I don’t tend to fuck good girls and walk away.”

“Who says I’m good?”

“You’re a line I shouldn’t cross.” But his head turned. His lips brushed against her palm. The contact did more than tickle. Especially when she felt the lick of his tongue.

Electricity ignited in her veins. “You’re a line Iwantto cross.”

His eyes squeezed closed. “Fuck.”

“Yes, that’s precisely what I want to do.” But she did have some pride. She’d come here. She’d told him already how she felt. If he was pulling back, making promises he had no intention of keeping, then she would stop. “I’ll go back to my room.” Her hands dropped from him as she stepped away.

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