Page 12 of Tracking Luxe

Was he going down the same path, getting crazy over a woman? How had it come to this?

Luxe had slept most of the night, or given Grinder the impression she was asleep, her back turned to him, the comforter pulled up to her ears.

He felt such a pull to the woman.

Mostly he’d felt anger this entire year every time he’d dragged up the memories of her.

Now he wasn’t sure exactly what he was pissed about. That she’d stolen from him, no big deal, it wasn’t his bike after all, or the fact she’d led him on and dumped him mid-lust.

The same lust he had covering his vision as he watched the gentle rise and fall of her slim shoulders.

With a left jab of her scent he groaned the sound of a tortured man.

Keep your shit together.

Grinder was a capable hunter able to track a man clear across the country and never lose his cool even when they ran him a merry dance, because he knew one thing for definite; he always got his man. There was no felon he couldn’t track, criminals were stupid at heart, because a scared man makes mistakes, they resorted to form and it takes some skill to learn these lessons, to get into the minds of people who would instinctively try to outrun the lion. Poor fucking stupid gazelles, they ought to know by now to just lie down and wait for the inevitable.

Grinder was the lion.

He got his mark. Always.

But this one woman and her tempting scent that was a punch of pure sex and need and enticement, she was making him lose his mind, he was unfocused, and just a bit unhinged taking shitty risks he never would in a normal setting.

Tying a woman to a bed for days was as far from normal as he could get and he’d had some bondage fun in the past.

This wasn’t fun.

He was unnaturally tortured by her.

How was it he was the imprisoner but the dirty rotten thief had all the power?

Maybe, just maybe, he could convince himself if he tried really fucking hard, that it didn’t bother him, that a woman he’d wanted played him like a chump. He was no Don Juan, he couldn’t have every woman he’d fancied a taste of over the years, so why this one stuck in his throat he didn’t know.

Fuck.

In any case, he couldn’t psychoanalyze himself today, he had to get his head in the game to do the recon for Rider.

At least that he could think logically without it giving him fucking hives in his throat.

Goddamn annoying Russians. He’d had no interactions with them so far, and yet his irritation was prodded. Grinder rose, felt the snap of his aching spine as his bones realigned to accommodate his frame, mostly lean muscle, he’d missed a few work-out sessions this week, interrogating a thief was more time consuming than initially anticipated.

Get your head on straight, he warned himself. Another look in Luxe’s direction. He had nothing good in his mind keeping his eyes on her.

Nothing good at all.

Downright filthy.

He could still feel her gorgeous tits in his mouth, how plump and firm they were and the hard-little button of her nipple rolling along his tongue tip. The way she’d moaned when he’d begged her for a taste, real low, hardly distinct, but she’d gripped his hair, keeping him right there as if to tell him keep going with his sucking. It was only when he’d slipped a hand down her belly and further, cupping her crudely, grinding the heel of his palm that she’d put on the brakes after pumping her hips a few times. She’d been breathing speedily. Grinder had been practically panting to get inside her.Let me give you the best fuck of your life. Only she’d smiled, kissed him again and told him she would be right back.

Good job he didn’t hold his breath, he griped, he’d be standing there now stone dead.

With a roll of his shoulder, and stealing his jaw tight, he had a plan and was sticking to it.

The dirty rotten thief needed to know she wouldn’t win everything.

Not with Grinder.

Not with him any longer.