Read Night Hunter for Free Online Page A

shrink’s couch,” she blithered. “He could write a whole book on what we tell him, make his fortune and be awarded the Pulitzer or something.”
    Laird must not have thought she was funny because she didn’t sense his response. Maybe she’d done a piss-poor job of hiding her arousal, and he was waiting to see what she’d do next.
    “What?” she pressed. Lordy, it was hot and steamy back in here. “You think we should get our fifteen minutes of fame and to hell with him? Book ourselves onto talk shows, get on the cover of those tabloids?”
    “What do you want out of life?”
    “What?”
    “I never asked myself that before. Wouldn’t allow it.”
    Giving herself a mental shake that only partly deflected her focus on the area between her legs, she mulled over what he’d said. “You wouldn’t allow it because you were too busy growing up, riding motorcycles, chasing women—not that you’d have to throw a net over them.”
    “Something like that.”
    If he hadn’t sounded so reflective, she would have teased him. Or maybe she wouldn’t. She’d been keeping a light tone because the whole insane scenario was easier to accept that way, but that approach wasn’t getting her anywhere. Neither did it address his damnable mastery of her body.
    “You’re questioning the meaning of life now?” she asked.
    “Something like—yeah.”
    “That’s good, I think. Only, was it necessary for this to happen?” Unwilling to confess to what she meant by “this”, she gnawed on her lower lip. Her surroundings hummed and hissed, and the warm, damp ground steamed. So did she.
    No way about it, that one section over there was darker and denser than the rest of the leaves or whatever they called that stuff. She didn’t want to stare, and yet she did.
    After a few seconds, she could no longer call the object of her attention an anomaly or a reason to make an appointment with an optometrist. A shape was taking form—a man’s shape.
    Only, it wasn’t a man. Not really. The size was right and what she concluded were shoulders were more than broad, thank you very much. A head, yes, a head. Except that he—she decided it was him —didn’t have the traditional face. Instead, he was all eyes. Eyes with the power to hypnotize.
    Energize.
    Gentle and searching, maybe unsure or even lonely beneath it all. No, she thought, I want you to be all-powerful, not human like the rest of us.
    Forget the business with leather and lace. In her fantasy of fantasies, she imagined herself being thrown naked over a savage’s shoulder and carted off to become his sex slave. Despite the erotic image, she didn’t really want that, because she’d never been able to figure out what a sex slave did when her services weren’t needed, except die of boredom.
    “You’re doing it again,” she accused as her cunt whispered back to life. She wanted to explore and encourage the sensation, not fight it. “I’m here, all right! You got me to do what you wanted.”
    “Not entirely. Not yet.”
    But he was determined to change that. Wasn’t the simmering, the hot hunger, proof of that? “What are you trying to prove?” she demanded. It took every bit of willpower in her not to clamp her hand over her crotch. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she began contracting and releasing her pelvic muscles. The rhythm wasn’t doing anything to decrease her arousal. In fact, exactly the opposite was happening.
    “Imprinting. So you never forget.”
    As if that was the remotest bit possible. Her feet slid forward a few inches before she could order them to stop. Now she made out his legs—his naked legs. Unfortunately, he reminded her of the famous old picture of Adam and Eve with the fig leaves.
    “Are you shy?” She indicated the haze where his genitalia belonged. “Keeping your assets hidden?”
    “Let your imagination take care of that.”
    No problem. After a moment during which she unsuccessfully tried to remind herself of the fragile line