Page 29 of Rogue

I woke a little before dawn when the land was hazy with mist and the grey light of a shrouded setting moon. Dressing quickly in just a pair of tracksuit bottoms before downing a glass of orange juice, I set about my morning exercise. Quick but intensive, I took a five-mile run through the woods surrounding the property.

I’d always loved to run. There was something about running. It let me escape from everything, let me relax and fall into the moment. It was how I escaped my past and forgot the ghosts and demons haunting my shadows.

And it was why they had called me Tarzan.

I was always faster, more agile. The walking testimony that speed bettered brute strength and muscle. The streets of New York had been my jungle, and I’d mastered every part of them, from the stinking sewers to the highest rooftop. Nothing had been beyond my reach.

The forests of Washington were a very different sort of jungle, but the peace it brought was no less calming. And in the summer, it was a searingly beautiful scene. But summer was over, and in Autumn’s harrowing march towards winter, there was just the grey and the silence. Mist stuck to my skin, making me feel cold and clammy as winds whispered through the trees, raising goosebumps across my naked torso.

Yet the cold served its purpose. It helped me keep my thoughts grounded in the now and off her.

Although all the drama yesterday had left me feeling dog tired, I’d barely been able to sleep a wink all night. My thoughts had just kept drifting back to the fiery little minx, Jane Porter.

And wondering what it would feel like to have her spread out beneath me.

The idea sent a delicious sizzle of heat rushing down to the base of my spine that I wasn’t in too much of a hurry to force down.

It was a ridiculous thought. Of course it was.

I had no business even considering pursuing her, especially after the trouble I’d got her into yesterday. Even if it was indirect.

I was bad for her. I knew it, and she knew it. She knew it with that sixth sense all women possessed, and that drew them to only the most dangerous alpha males.

If experience had taught me anything, it’s that there was no place for love or attachment in my life. The risks were too great. For them and for me. If someone got too close, they became a weapon to be used against you. A hostage to be grabbed and tortured, a potential target to be slain as a warning or a punishment. And even if they weren’t the ones to go missing, there was the inevitable likelihood I wouldn’t come home one day. That they’d be left waiting, dreading every ring of the phone would be that call from the hospital or the morgue. All the while scared that call might never come because they couldn’t find my pale, bloated corpse in the river.

Or worse still, that my past would catch up to me. That one night there would be men at our door with duct tape, a do-it-yourself arson kit, and the message ‘Alexi sends his regards.’

Fuck that, it was just too dangerous anyway you cut it. Only a true psychopath could ever invite someone into that sort of danger.

Except that didn’t stop me from noticing how right she was for me. Just my type, in fact. A tiny little thing, all curves and legs, with a head of lush dark hair and a feisty little hell cat spirit. Like a leopardess in a cage.

If only I had the time to spare to pursue her. One day down on my five-day deadline, and all I had to show for my efforts was collateral and a promise. And that was the straightforward part of the job.

It was today things were liable to get complicated, and that was before getting to the matter of debt settlement. One slip up, and everything would spiral out of control into a serious drama.

Here was the part I needed to keep my head in the game. Where it belonged, instead of pining after Jane Porter’s great ass and imagining what would surely be the fuck of the century.

The sun was up when the route led back to the barn. There were still clouds, but the grey light had turned a royal blue even as winter’s bite kept gnawing at my ass. Going straight up the stairs to my living quarters, I made straight for the shower, dropping the joggers as I went.

The water was already scalding when it washed over me, like a rush of fire crashing across my face and down my back, cleansing me of the sweat and muck and chasing all my demons down the drain. It was as delicious as that first plunge into a hot bath and I stayed there under the spray, with head bowed and arms braced against the tiled wall. Quickly, the sting of burning needles dissolved into a deep, throbbing heat. It soothed all the aches from my run and all the lingering reminders from yesterday that I wasn’t that man anymore.

The truth hurt, as they say, and usually it wasn’t just a metaphor.

As the seconds turned into minutes, a curtain of steam rose around me. However, no matter how long I stayed there, I knew the water would never shake that one lingering thought from my mind. Just as I was certain it would never settle the very prominent stiffness standing rampant between my legs. Which just so happened to be growing increasingly uncomfortable as my thoughts drifted back to Jane Porter, and would make my task for today exceptionally difficult.

Fortunately, there was a sure-fire solution to both problems.

One of my hands was already halfway there when I made the conscious decision, my fingers closing around my length. Already hard, they could barely meet in the middle.

Fuck, what’s wrong with me?

There wasn’t any build up. Already wet from the shower, the first stroke had my head rolling back with a ragged moan. Christ, my dick felt like it was about to burst. What the hell had that little minx done to me?

As my hand pumped along my length, images of Jane Porter flooded my brain.

Bent over, hands flat against the wall, her head thrown back and a stream of soft wanton sounds flowed like music to my ears as I fucked her. Her lush ripe butt presented, her greedy cunt swallowing every inch as I went balls deep, wrapping around me, milking me, trying to wring the orgasm out of…

Fuck, I wanted her.

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