She woke at night, staring up at the ceiling and savoring the feeling of his body so close to hers. She knew he was awake, unable to sleep. She wished she could find a way to take away his nightmares the way he did for her. She could tell by his ragged breathing and the intense heat of his body that the memories were too close. He was sitting beside her, the sheet—and little else—separating them. She was always acutely aware of him as a man. “Bad tonight?”

He turned his head to look down at her, and she caught a glimpse of hell in his eyes before he smiled at her, covering his thoughts, his fingers coming up to tangle in the gold and silver silk of her hair. “Not too bad.” He tugged at her hair, rubbing the strands between his thumb and finger as if savoring the feel of it. “I love to watch you sleep.”

It should have bothered her, being so vulnerable as to sleep with a man watching her, but somehow, he made her feel safe. She wanted that for him. He was the silent sentry, standing guard over her, his nightmares close and vivid, while he made certain she was able to sleep like a baby. It hardly seemed fair. “I wish you could sleep too. We need to find something to help you with that.” There was an unconscious invitation in her voice.

Ken sat beside her, feeling the warmth of her body, the rush of electricity sparking along his skin. He had every good intention, had given himself a million lectures, but being with her night and day, watching the shadows chasing across her face, knowing what her life had been—what it would be again if Whitney had his way—made him feel less of a monster than he was. And that was dangerous.

“Ken.” There was an ache of longing in her voice. She reached up and touched his lips, tracing the outline with a light caress.

He shook his head. “You’re tempting the devil, Mari.”

“I don’t think of you as a devil.”

Ken framed her face with his hands, his fingers exploring, tracing the fine bone structure of her face and sliding down her chin to her neck. “You’re so delicate. How can you have so much strength packed into such a delicate little body?”

“No one’s ever called me that before.” She turned her face into his palm and rubbed like a cat. “You just have big hands.”

Ken found the way her face moved over his hand far too sensual for his liking. Her tongue darted out to taste his skin, a soft, heart-stopping curl along his thumb, sending erotic images into his head before he could censor. He needed Mari to feel safe with him, but she was naturally sexy, responding to their potent chemistry with little inhibition due to the drugs in her system. Her soft br**sts pushed against his chest, sending an electric current through his body. “Maybe you should go back to sleep.”

“Why?”

“It’s just safer for you.”

“You mean safer for you,” she said, mocking him. “You’re such a baby.” She nuzzled his hand again, her tongue and teeth this time sliding up his wrist. Her lips were featherlight against his scars, tiny kisses designed to drive him crazy.

Ken cleared his throat, his heart racing. “I have no idea what kind of drugs Lily is giving you, but I’m sure it’s a potent combination.”

“It’s the drugs? I want you because Lily gave me drugs?” Her mouth engulfed his thumb and sucked hard, tongue fluttering suggestively. All the while her chocolate eyes remained locked with his.

His heart nearly stopped. His body reacted, blood pounding, filling his groin to bursting, centering awareness in one pulsing, throbbing ache. “Sweetheart, you just can’t do things like that. You’re playing with fire.”

Teeth scraped and teased the pad of his thumb. His c**k jerked in response, anticipating the pleasure of teeth scraping along his scars, tongue and mouth tight and hot and oh so moist.

He slid his hand beneath her shirt, sliding over her bare stomach and up along her ribs to cover her breast. He took his time, giving her plenty of time to pull back, to stop him. She arced into him, pushing her nipple into his palm. It was already tight and erect, begging for attention.

“Tell me what your home is like. I’ve never been in a home.”

Ken laid his head on the pillow beside hers, fingers stroking gently. “Jack and I built a house in Montana. We have quite a few acres and the national forest surrounds our property on three sides, so we’re fairly isolated. We’re entirely self-sufficient. Jack made most of the furniture. We have a gold mine—never worked it, but there’s a vein there for certain.”

“Is it beautiful?”

He edged her shirt up, bunching the material little by little to reveal the smooth skin from her tummy and her tucked-in waist to her narrow rib cage, until he’d exposed the underside of her br**sts. “I never thought a lot about it, but yes, the country is beautiful and the house is wide open with plenty of space for two families. The view from nearly every room is amazing.” His knuckles rubbed back and forth under her breast, savoring the soft, satiny skin. No one had her amazing skin.

Mari relaxed more, her body soft and pliant from the mesmerizing movement of his hand. The heat of his body warmed hers. “Do you have a fireplace? I always thought pictures of fireplaces were romantic and homey at the same time.”

“We have a fireplace in the great room, a common room shared by Jack and me. We both have our own wing of the house. He has two bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms and an office. We both have fireplaces in the bedroom. The house is large and very spread out, and we heat mainly with wood. It snows there, so it can get very cold at night.”

Her skin fascinated him. It was softer than anything he’d ever felt before. He had to admit, when it came down to sex, he liked rough and fast and plenty of it, but there was something magical in lying beside her simply savoring the feel of her skin. He enjoyed his rising temperature, the pounding of blood through his swollen cock. He felt alive and he felt—happy. He almost didn’t recognize the emotion.

“I grew up in the barracks. I have my own room now, but there’s nothing in it. Just the bunk and my locker. We aren’t really allowed personal items. There’s a television in the game room, but we’re watched all the time, and everything we do is recorded. Mostly we train and work on education and strengthening our psychic talents to make us better soldiers. Well, at least we did, until Whitney came up with his latest brilliant program.”

“What do you do when you have time off?”

“In the evenings? I like to read and listen to music. I love music.”

“What about vacation time? Did you travel?”

“We didn’t have vacation time. And the only traveling we’re allowed is when we’re on a mission.” Mari pressed against his hand. The sensations drifted through her like lazy smoke, until sexual awareness smoldered throughout her entire body. His fingers took the aches and pains and turned them into something altogether different. “Of course now, since he started his breeding program, all the women are virtually prisoners.”

“You grew up with these women? You were all raised in the barracks by Whitney since you were infants?”

“Yes. They’re my family. I consider them sisters. Cami’s tough, she’ll get out no problem, and the others will follow our lead, but I have one sister who suspects she is already pregnant. We have to get her out of there before he runs his weekly tests on us and actually gets the results. She’s terrified Whitney will find out.”

“We’ll get her out.” Ken didn’t ask which one of the women was pregnant. Mari was already regretting telling him that much information; he could see it on her face and he didn’t blame her. He slid his body down, just a little bit, just enough that she could rest her chin on the top of his head and his face was opposite her beautiful br**sts. Her breath hitched.

Moonbeams from the skylight overhead spilled across her body, illuminating her skin, turning it to cream. He pushed her shirt up further, slowly exposing her br**sts to the cool night air—and his hot gaze. His own breath left his lungs in a heated rush. This woman brought him something no one else had ever done. It wasn’t the combination of lust and need, or even his body springing back to hard, vivid life; it was simple happiness. He felt different when he was with her. Lighter. The memories of the scent and sight of blood, of dark sweat, the sound of his own screams, the rage that never left him, that consumed him until he thought his world was only one of complete darkness, devoid of anything good—she forced it all to retreat, just by her presence. Whitney—the son of a bitch—couldn’t have made that happen with his meddling—it was all too real.

Mari brought up her hands, brushing her fingers through his thick wavy hair. Her body nearly vibrated with the need to feel his hands—and mouth—on her. Her body felt as if it was melting, so soft and pliant he could shape her into anything. Her br**sts tingled when the cool air hit her ni**les like the flick of a tongue, teasing them into twin, upright peaks.

Her fingers fisted in his hair when he shifted again, and she felt the dark five o’clock shadow rasp across her ni**les, sending little jagged streaks of lightning through her bloodstream. “Ken.”

She said his name in a breathy little voice that threatened to shatter his rigid control. Ken thought he had his desire well in hand, but he hadn’t counted on the way her body responded to his. Her bare br**sts were laid out in front of him like a feast, and he drank in the sight of her lush flesh, swollen and flushed with desire, rising and falling with every breath, luring him closer to the tight, pink buds that stood up to beckon him. She wanted him—no, needed him—and that was the biggest aphrodisiac of all.

She didn’t seem to see the scars on his face or body. She touched him, skimmed her mouth down his scarred flesh, as if he was whole. She seemed as ravenous for him as he was for her.

“You’re incredibly beautiful, Mari,” he whispered. “This isn’t Whitney’s pheromones talking. This is me, wanting you so bad I’m almost afraid to touch you.”

“Almost” wasn’t true—he was afraid. If he knew what paradise felt like, could he go back to the barren world of the desert? He stroked his hand between her br**sts, back down her body to her flat belly. Firm muscles played beneath soft skin. He rested his hand over her stomach possessively, fingers splayed wide to take in every inch of her that he could. Beneath his palm, the muscles of her stomach clenched.

She didn’t know home or family. He’d had foster homes and Jack. Hell, they’d been kicked out of a dozen places, run away from more, and yet he was fairly certain he’d had it better than Mari. Briony had been taken from her when they were been small children, and she’d been raised in a brutal, disciplined world. His world had been brutal and disciplined, but he’d had Jack. He’d always had his brother.

He moved the pads of his fingers over her skin, tracing her sexy little belly button. No piercings for Mari. No jewels or fancy clothes. She didn’t have evening gowns or expensive perfume. She had soldier-issue boots and routine camouflage clothing.

With every stroke of his finger, he felt the ripple of response in her stomach, her muscles clenching beneath the small caresses. He could barely breathe with the intensity of his desire. The roar in his ears grew louder. He shuddered with the effort to keep his mind away from the thought of her na**d under him. He might need it, and he sure as hell could make her need it as well, but hot sex wasn’t what was best for her, not right at that moment.

There was a part of him that detested the way lust intruded, so sharp and terrible that he could taste her on his tongue. He was beginning to crave her like a drug he was addicted to. He wanted to comfort and soothe her, to talk about things that mattered to her, but his c**k throbbed and burned for her, stretched to the bursting point, an urgent reminder that he was alive and was more than an infinitely normal man.

Maybe it was the need to show her that beneath the mask he wasn’t all monster—that for her he could push aside his baser animalistic instincts and be a better man. She had nearly died. Technically, although he didn’t think of her as a prisoner, she was one, and that made her vulnerable. He wanted to think about that—had to think about it, in order to keep from climbing on top of her and f**king the brains out of both of them. Once he started, he wasn’t altogether certain he’d ever stop.