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anti-Shifter laws passed, he pulled her head back with his hand fisted in her hair.
    She looked at him with big, enthralled blue eyes, her fingers twisting into the front of his shirt. “Oh—are you going to be rough? That. Is. So. Hot .”
    “You like it rough?” he growled, staring down at her with what he hoped was a murderous glare, digging his fingers into her bottom.
    She responded with a soft, happy sigh. “I like you , however I get you.”
    She liked him. That did something strange to his stomach. Before he could spend too much time pondering why he cared that this cold-hearted, bigoted, despicable excuse for a human being liked him, she was talking again.
    “Let’s get you naked, stud muffin. I want to see my birthday present.” She tugged his shirt from the waistband of his jeans and flattened her hands over his stomach.
    Stud muffin? Present?
    Several things clicked into place, and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing.
    Oh, this was too, too good. This was better than he could have ever expected.
    His gaze fell on the Canon with the telephoto lens on the nightstand beside the bed, and with a thrill of victory he realized that now it was better than he could have ever expected.
    Because the downfall of New York Times senior war correspondent Jacqueline Dolan was going to be epic —
    And caught entirely on film.

The noise she made was loud, animal, and incoherent. It tore from her throat as her back bowed into an arch against the bed and every single muscle in her body clenched.
    “You like that, don’t you, Red?” Hawk said in a throaty murmur. When she moaned her approval, he added a second finger to the first.
    It had taken him all of ten seconds to get both of them undressed and on the bed, and her into a very compromising position that involved his hot, demanding mouth and fingers, and her spread legs.
    “Please!” she gasped, writhing against his hand. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
    She was too close for him to stop. If he stopped now, she’d have to kill him.
    He chuckled. “So bossy. If you want me to keep going, you have to tell me what you want, Red. I want to hear you say it.”
    Her hips bucked as his fingers pressed deeper inside her. “Mouth—please—lick me—suck me—oh God!”
    Her gasped plea ended as he lowered his head and took that most sensitive little nub of nerve endings into his mouth again, and sucked, hard. Then with both hands spread under her bottom, he lifted her up and ground his mouth against her. She came in an explosion that felt nuclear.
    She sobbed his name, clenched her fingers into his hair, and came again.
    Time spun away. The room faded out. All her awareness shrank to the space of a few inches, to his tongue and teeth and lips, the low, approving growl that rose in the back of his throat as her hips undulated uncontrollably in his hands.
    Worth every goddamn penny! she thought, delirious with pleasure.
    Jack collapsed back against the mattress, twitching with aftershocks, her thighs trembling, dragging air into her lungs in deep, ragged gulps. Hawk looked up at her from between her spread thighs, sent her that beautiful, lazy, self-satisfied smile, and said, “I think someone needed that.”
    Someone did. Someone so did.
    Still panting, her limbs liquid and her body covered in a sheen of sweat, Jack laughed weakly and coaxed him up her body with her hands tugging on his broad shoulders. He crawled up the mattress to her until they were face to face and he was looking down at her in smug satisfaction like a big game hunter who’d just bagged an elephant.
    She said, “Don’t get too cocky, yet, tiger. We’re just getting started.”
    In a lightning-fast move she’d practiced a thousand times, over years of self-defense classes, Jack threw her weight to the side and pushed him over with her hands spread on his chest, using his size to her advantage to throw him off balance. He flopped back against the bed and bounced once. The