Rogue Rider

Yeah. Dumbass.

With a mental shift in thinking, he hopped back into bed with Jillian.

Her delicate yawn made him smile as she rolled into him so her forehead was braced against his shoulder. Shifting onto his side, he traced the strong line of her jaw as she lay beside him, taking immense pleasure in the smooth texture of her skin. She closed her eyes, and as her breathing settled into a slow, even rhythm, he thought about her scars, wondering if the ones he couldn’t see were as bad as the ones visible on her belly and thighs. Were they even worse?

And how bad would his scars be when—and if—he got his memory back?

It was highly unusual for Jillian to take naps, but Reseph had worn her out. Worn himself out, too, if his snoring had been any indication.

She’d dozed for an hour and then taken a shower, her mind replaying over and over what they’d done. He was such a good lover. She’d suspected he’d be great in bed, but he’d gone beyond great and right into out-of-this-world phenomenal. What she hadn’t expected—or wanted—had been the connection she’d felt between them. She had no doubt he could keep himself emotionally detached… hadn’t he been the one to say that there was no need to date? Hey, just have sex! Screw the relationship crap!

She’d seen how restless he was, how often he needed to get out of the house, how distasteful he found the idea of being tied down. Yep, she had to stay strong. Had to keep her heart locked up tight and protected. Any day now he could get his memory back and take off for the life he had before. She had to be ready.

By the time she was dressed, Reseph was up, looking out the bedroom window. Nude, of course.

He swung around to her, and she wondered if she’d ever stop being fascinated by the effortless way he moved, the play of muscles under his bronzed skin, the sweep of his thick hair around his shoulders. “I was hoping to catch you in the shower.”

“Somehow, I don’t think we’d have gotten a lot of showering done,” she said wryly.

He sauntered over to her, his smoldering gaze making her heart flutter. “Not true,” he said, as he planted a kiss on her neck. “There are all kinds of fun things we could do with soap.”

“No doubt.” She looked down at him. “I’m going to grab a pair of my dad’s sweatpants for you. Running around in only jeans… or na**d… can’t be that comfortable.”

“Naked is very comfortable.”

“Maybe, but it’s also very distracting.”

He grinned. “I distract you?”

“I’m not answering that. Your ego has no need of more stroking.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “And don’t tell me you have something else I can stroke. I’ve been around enough men to have heard it all.”

A low, rattling sound pumped out of his chest. “I’m not like other men.”

“No shit,” she muttered, as she headed down to the cellar.

Reseph, naturally, followed her. Thankfully, he threw on jeans first. “What is all of this?” he asked, when he hit the bottom step.

“My parents’ belongings, mostly. And a few things from high school.”

He ran his hand over a dusty box labeled THROW RUGS. “Why do you keep all this stuff?”

She shrugged. “I dunno.”

When he picked up a jewelry box sitting by itself on a shelf, she snatched it out of his hand before he could open it. “That’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” He eyed the box. “You’re pretty concerned over nothing.”

She shrugged again and returned it to the shelf. This time, when Reseph picked it up, she didn’t protest. He opened it and drew a sharp breath.

“It’s an engagement ring.”

It was a symbol of her stupidity. “Very astute.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Yours?”

“Yep.”

“The married bastard?”

“Yes.”

“So why do you keep the ring? He hurt you. You should have shoved it so far up his ass he could use it as a tooth filling.”

That image made her laugh, even though she was pretty sure Reseph wasn’t kidding. “Maybe I’m still hoping to do that.”

He studied her, his icicle-blue eyes piercing so deep inside she felt a chill. “No. You’re holding on because you can’t let things go. That’s why you don’t want to get attached, isn’t it? Because you hold on so tight.”

Damn him. How could he know that? His observation left her off balance, wobbling on her mental axle, and she had to fumble for the calm reserve she’d prided herself on cultivating for her air traffic control job.

“I guess,” she said, but there was no guessing about it. She’d never been able to let go of things that reminded her of strong bonds, to the point where holding on could be paralyzing.

It had taken her a full year to finally grieve for her parents, because she’d felt that as long as she had their things, she didn’t have to let them go.

Reseph put the box back on the shelf. “Seems strange to me. When things are gone, they’re gone.”

“Does that include people?” She knew the answer before he said it, and her stomach clenched.

“Yeah.” He glanced up the stairs as if suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. “I should probably shower.” As if his feet were on fire, he shot up the steps, taking them three at a time.

Okaaay. So it was easy for him to cut someone loose, but he didn’t like talking about it. Or, probably, facing it. She wondered if he was one of those guys who broke up with their girlfriends in text messages.

Son of a bitch. Leave it to her to get involved with someone like that.

No, not involved. They were not involved.

Yup, because if you repeated it twice, that made it true. Moron.

The sound of an engine cut through her dismal musings. She wasn’t expecting any deliveries, but Stacey sometimes—okay, often—popped in unannounced. She mounted the stairs and got to the front door just as the doorbell rang.

For a split second, she hesitated, the scene she’d witnessed at the neighbors’ house flicking through her brain. She doubted, however, that the monster that butchered them had rung their doorbell. Still, her pulse picked up a little as she opened the door.

Two men stood on her porch, both tall and dark-haired, but the one with the denim-blue eyes looked like he’d had his throat chewed on by an alligator. When he spoke, his gravelly voice doubled her alligator suspicion.

“Ms. Cardiff? My name is Kynan Morgan, and this—” he jerked his thumb at the man to his right “—is Arik Wagner. We’re special investigators, and we’d like to ask you a few questions.” He smiled, but she was anything but reassured. “May we come in?”

Special investigators. Her first thought was that they might be here for Reseph. Yes, she knew that more likely, the police would be the ones to show up with any news about who he was, but she suddenly had a bad feeling, as if these were not people she wanted to give too much information to.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not in the habit of bringing strangers into my home.” Unless I find them na**d in snowbanks. “I’m sure you understand.” She stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her. The one named Arik frowned and tried to peek inside, but she tugged until the door clicked.

“Of course,” Kynan said politely. “Are you alone?”

She smiled just as politely and made a point of not answering his question. “What can I help you with?”

Kynan tugged off his gloves with brisk, purposeful movements. “I assume you’re aware that your neighbors on both sides of you were killed, as well as a couple of local hunters.”

“I’m well aware.”

“We’d like to know if you saw or heard anything.” He tucked both gloves into one pocket and rested his right hand casually inside his other pocket.

A weapon. I’ll bet he’s got a weapon in there. “Not a thing.”

Kynan studied her as if trying to see through her, and it was unnerving as hell. “Have you ever seen a demon, Jillian?”

“Ms. Cardiff. And no.”

He gave her a tolerant smile, and Jillian got the same instant jolt of oh-shit she used to get when two planes were on a collision course. Somehow, Kynan knew she was lying. “Have you ever been attacked by a demon, Ms. Cardiff?”

Okay, now she was getting pissed. Especially because the other guy, Arik, was wandering around her deck, taking covert peeks through her window.

“If I had been attacked by a demon, then I’d have seen one, isn’t that right?”

“Not necessarily,” Kynan said. “Some are invisible.”

She smiled tightly. “Why don’t you tell me what special investigative unit you’re from.”

“We work for the Demonic Activity Response Team.”

DART. She’d read about them on the Internet. “I’ll assume that you’ve been in touch with local law enforcement?”

“Both the county sheriff’s office and the state police.”

“Then if you want anything more from me, I suggest you bring one of the officers with you, because I’m done with your questions.” She jerked her chin at the SUV in the driveway. “Now get off my property before I exercise my rights as a homeowner dealing with trespassers.”

Kynan cocked an eyebrow at her as she spun around and stormed into the house. She closed the door behind her, locked it, and fell back against the wood, her heart pounding crazily. She allowed herself two calming breaths, and then she grabbed the phone and dialed Stacey.

“Hey, Stace.” She didn’t even give her friend time to say hello. “I need to know what those guys from DART know about me.”

Stacey took a sip of something, probably coffee, on the other end of the line. “What are you talking about?”

“They were just here, asking me questions about demons.”

“Well, they’re investigating the attacks, and you’re the closest neighbor. It makes sense.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">