Harlequin Nocturne March 2016 Box Set by Megan Hart

were at an impasse, but then Monica lifted herself up, fiddled with something at her hip and released a tie he hadn’t noticed before. The pants opened somehow in that magic way of women’s clothing he’d never understand. She wasn’t naked beneath, but a good tug tore her panties away. She cried out, a sharp sound that mimicked pain—except Jordan knew the sound of pain.
    He was inside her in the time it took to breathe once, twice. She cried out again, and this time, there was a tinge of true pain in the sound. He wanted to slam deep inside her but eased out, only to have her grab him by the hips and pull him back.
    â€œLook at me,” she demanded in a low, urgent voice.
    He did and lost himself in her gaze. She took his hand and slid it between them to get his thumb against her clit. She was slick, and his thumb slid easily against her. She bucked and gripped his hips again. Her back arched. Her mouth opened.
    â€œFuck me,” she whispered. Then louder. “Please, fuck me.”
    The table creaked as they rocked. The hunger built inside him, and the only way to slake it was to take her. Her mouth. The heat between her legs.
    â€œMine,” Jordan heard himself say but as though from far away.
    He felt it when she came, her body clutching his and forcing him over the edge into an orgasm so powerful that he saw gold stars flickering around the edges of his vision. He captured her mouth once more, the kiss at first fierce in the last few ripples of his climax, then softening.
    In the silence that followed, he heard her breathing shift. He looked into her eyes again, not sure what he expected to see there. Or what he wanted to see.
    Monica curled her fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him to her to brush his lips with hers. “Jordan.”
    That was all she said. One word, his name, a wealth of meaning in the two syllables, if only he could figure out what it was. Or if he wanted to.
    They disengaged. She tidied herself, and he did the same. Neither speaking. She didn’t need to ask him where the powder room was, since the layout of their bungalows was the same. By the time she came out, he’d changed into his running clothes.
    â€œOh,” she said.
    â€œI need to go for a run.”
    â€œJordan...”
    â€œWhat?” he asked roughly.
    â€œWhat just happened?”
    â€œYou ought to know,” he told her. “You were there.”
    â€œThat’s not what I mean, and I’m sure you know it.”
    â€œWhat can I say?” he said with a shrug. “I needed someone. You were there.”

CHAPTER 9
    B astard, Monica thought, even though she knew she’d deserved it. Why did she seem to pick only the men who got bent out of shape about what could be pure and simple passion if only they’d let it? She was still bruised and tingling from the ravishment Jordan had so delightfully provided on his dining room table only an hour or so before, but though her body was sated, her mind was anything but. She’d tried to sleep but couldn’t, and for once, not because she was afraid of the nightmares.
    She’d been watching from the window to catch a glimpse of him coming back, but so far, nothing. Instead, she sat on her uncomfortable couch and made more lists. She’d signed in to the Crew database again to compare what she’d been able to find out with what others had logged in their experiences. So far, not much was making sense. Then again, not much ever did.
    Dark had fallen, and with her window cracked, she could hear the familiar far-off noises of the animals in their habitats and night-active insects. Low-grade anxiety plagued her. A crackle of tension, as though there was an oncoming storm. Or maybe it was simply that she’d been here two days already and hadn’t figured out what she was looking for.
    Or she was fooling herself, she admitted reluctantly, and her need to pace was directly related to the man who