If only those last two things were true. He hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t known she would care this much—
And he was dying.
The fair thing, the right thing, would be to walk away. To back off and give her a little distance while it was still possible. Right now, she would mourn him, but that pain would be a mere drop compared to the ocean of grief she would feel if they grew closer. If they fell in love.
She stared down at him, her dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Tension twisted between them, smoldering like a banked fire. Gray’s heart throbbed in his ears, and he felt himself reaching out to draw her near.
He should pull away.
He needed to pull away.
Instead, he tugged her closer. “May I?”
Her hand dropped to his shoulder to steady herself, but her body closed the space between them willingly. “I trust you.”
The words almost did what his own internal struggle hadn’t, but the tension curled around them like ink in water, blotting out everything but Maya.
He wasn’t strong enough to let her go. Not yet. She gasped as he pulled her into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, and his body tightened, as much from the sound as from the contact.
Maya’s free hand landed on the railing to the side of his head. Her grip crushed some of the honeysuckle twined with the kudzu, scenting the air as she stared at him from two inches away, her breathing quick, her eyes liquid with desire. “Gray.”
The dull ache in his belly sharpened. “Kiss me, Maya.”
Her eyes drifted shut. The first brush of her lips was hesitant, soft warmth feathering across his lips before she swayed away. But she came back again, and again, a quiet hum of yearning leaving her as her fingers dug into his shoulder.
His calm shattered. He took her head in his hands and tilted it, fitting his mouth more closely to hers. Her lips parted, and he pressed the advantage, gliding his tongue between them.
She shook against him, whimpering into his mouth. She squirmed in his lap, hips grinding down against his erection, and he had to lock his hands around her hips to freeze her in place before his control snapped.
Her whimper was of protest this time. Her nails pricked the back of his neck, in demand. In warning. A heartbeat later she tore her lips from his. She hid her face against his shoulder, panting for breath. “Oh … Oh fuck.”
Too much. “Are you all right?”
“I think so?” After another moment, she lifted her head. Her hands trembled slightly as she cupped his face. “I keep thinking I can manage this. That if I’m calm, or I’m ready, I can touch you and it won’t just sweep me under.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she swept out her thumb to touch his lower lip. “It’s not getting easier. It’s getting harder. Because every time I touch you, I want you more.”
“Does that mean you want to stop?”
Instead of answering, she kissed him again. Slow and sweet, her lips parting this time in silent but certain invitation. When his tongue met hers she groaned, sliding her fingers up to tangle in his hair. The kiss flashed from warm to hot, her body pressed tight to his, her hips fighting his grip in an attempt to roll against him.
This time when she broke away, she pressed her forehead to his temple, her panting breaths hot against his ear. “It’s scary as hell,” she whispered. “And it’s still the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”
It didn’t have to be one or the other. It never did. “As long as it’s worth it.”
“It’s worth it to me.” Her voice trembled. “Is it to you?”
For years, Knox had trusted Gray as his second-in-command, as a guiding force when he wasn’t sure what path to take. Even though the other Silver Devils outranked him, it was his judgment that their captain sought and trusted. Because Gray always knew the right thing to do, even when they couldn’t do it.
Just like he knew the right thing now. He needed to let Maya down easy, to push her away so gradually and gently that she thought the distance was her idea.
He needed to disconnect.
Instead, he chose the hard truth. “Yes. You’re worth it.”
The tension in her body eased. She turned her head, her cheek coming to rest trustingly on his shoulder as she relaxed in his arms. “Is this okay?” she asked softly. “If we just … sit for a bit?”
“It’s more than okay,” he told her.
It was perfect.
MACE
Ava didn’t look much like her sister.
Mace knew they were clones. He recognized that their features were identical in appearance and arrangement—same nose, same eyes, same long limbs and lean torsos contributing to the same height.
The devil was, as always, in the details. Sure, they had the same general build, but Nina had dedicated more of her time in the gym to developing strength and stamina. Ava was leaner, with muscles conditioned more for flexibility and speed. Stealth.
No wonder she was so good at sneaking around.
She watched him dispassionately as he levered himself up onto the exam bed and peeled off his shirt. That was another difference—even when she wasn’t actively smiling, Nina’s eyes often danced with warmth. Ava’s resting state was more of an icy glare.
He smiled at her, and her brow furrowed, clearly discouraging any friendly overtures. “I assume there were trackers you removed yourself? Where were they located?”
“There were four—three sub-Q and one submuscular. Which would you like to know about?”
That little crease between her brows deepened. “You cut out a submuscular tracker on your own?”
She sounded so shocked that if his ego had been a little more fragile, he’d have been hurt. “I am a medic. Though, technically, it was installed between the rectus femoris and the vastus lateralis.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “Wanna see my scar?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Keep the pants on. Got it.”
There was that icy glare again. In frigid silence, she sat on one of the rolling stools, crossed her legs, and unfolded a tablet to balance on her knee. “Nina tells me you escaped from Tobias Richter. That must be an interesting story.”
More like a frantic, desperate one. His wrists itched from phantom restraints, and he had to carefully moderate his breathing. Flashes of bloody memories began to play behind his closed lids every time he blinked, threatening to overwhelm him.
So he held his eyes steadfastly open as he answered her. “A small convoy was tasked with transporting me from TechCorps HQ to another location. I’m not sure where or even why. I took advantage of the opportunity.”
Ava reached into her bag and withdrew what looked like a handheld radioisotope identification device and clipped it onto the front of her tablet. “Do you remember when they embedded your trackers?”
“I wish I didn’t. But they weren’t big fans of anesthesia in the torture chambers.”
“No, it rather defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” She paused, and for the first time she seemed to actually notice his bare chest. Starting at his belt and traveling up, she visually cataloged every scar they’d left on his body, her gaze meticulous but, sadly, completely lacking in carnal appreciation. “Did they forgo regeneration therapy entirely, or are the scars … aesthetic?”