He loved the sounds she made of pure pleasure. No coy protests, no timidity. Kenzie enjoyed making love and had no qualms about letting him know.

Bowman appreciated that. He knew that if he pressed his fingers there, she’d jump and hum in pleasure. If he licked there, the hum would turn to a sharp cry. If he thrust his tongue into her like that, she’d go crazy, her hands in his hair, begging him for more.

“Love,” she gasped. “Love you.”

Fire flowed with the words, erasing every restraint Bowman put on himself. He licked and suckled her, playing with her as she lifted to him, her coming sweet.

He was wearing too many clothes. Bowman yanked off his shirt and jeans, hearing something tear, but he didn’t care. He threw the clothes from him and pressed Kenzie back down as she started to rise from the table.

His cock was thick and hard, hot with wanting. Kenzie glanced down at it and sent him a tiny smile.

Bowman lost his last shred of control. He lifted Kenzie’s hips, pulling them off the table, positioned himself, and slid swiftly inside her. All the way. Kenzie’s eyes widened, and she rose on her elbows.

She was used to him, and yet she watched him in wonder, as though this was their first time together. The same joyful discovery, the same burst of mating need.

Kenzie was tight, wonderfully tight, but she knew how to take him, how to rise to him so they fit perfectly. She clung to his arms, his skin slick with sweat, the cold of the winter evening nothing. Her cries of joy and the sound of their bodies against the table wound him into white-hot pleasure.

She was his. Only his. Not Gil’s or whoever the hell he was. Kenzie belonged to Bowman. Always.

“Love you,” he said, the words hoarse. He found it difficult to speak when they made love—he always struggled to put his profoundest emotions into words. But this was a dream, and he could let the words pour forth. “Loved you from the first day I saw you. It doesn’t matter about the mate bond, or the Goddess, or any of that shit.”

Kenzie’s eyes widened, the gold of them glinting in the dim light.

“It’s you and me that matter, Kenz,” he went on. “You’re my mate, the love of my life . . . My everything.”

“Bowman . . .” she whispered.

Kenzie reached for him. Bowman’s climax grabbed him at the same time, his coming twisting him like a tornado wind. He threw his head back, groaning, shouting words—no idea what he said, but mate, mine, love were all in there somewhere.

When he looked down at Kenzie again, his breath coming fast, she tucked one arm behind her head and smiled at him. “We are good together,” she said softly.

“Yes,” Bowman answered. “Damn it. Yes.”

Then the dream rushed away—Kenzie, the table, the kitchen, and the light swirling like watercolors on oil—and all was darkness.

* * *

Bowman opened his eyes. He was lying on his side on the bed in their bedroom, still in his clothes. His eyes were sandy, his mouth parched.

He rolled himself off to land on his feet, then sat quickly back down, his head spinning. He put his hands to it, groaning.

Time had passed. The room was dark, the clock on the nightstand telling him it was nine P.M. Damn it. He was supposed to have met Cade and Jamie at seven to compare notes and discuss what Bowman and Cristian had found up in the woods.

Kenzie opened the door and walked in. She was in a sweatshirt and jeans, but she looked as good as she had in that slinky black dress—though maybe her standing in only the panties had been a little better. She carried a big glass of water, which she wordlessly handed to him.

Bowman took it, a tingle running through his fingers as their hands brushed. He gulped the water, eying Kenzie over the glass. She watched him, a little smile on her face.

“Why’d you tranq me?” he asked when he’d finished, his voice a croak.

“You’d been running on adrenaline and no food. You looked terrible.” She wrinkled her nose as she took the empty glass. “You don’t smell that good either.”

Bowman ran his hand through his hair. It did feel dusty and lank. “Thanks.”

“If you want the truth, there was hardly any tranq in the stew I gave you. A couple drops, that’s it.”

“Wait.” Bowman rubbed his hair again, trying to clear his head. “You said you stuck it in my thigh with a needle.”

“I fibbed. Shows you how far gone you were. You believed you hadn’t felt the needle stick, and you believed me when I told you an untruth. You never let me lie.”

“Kenzie, you’re a—”

“Total bitch, I know. But I’m your mate. I take care of you, bitchy or not.”

“I was going to say a pain in my ass.” I was going to say you’re an amazing woman, and I love you.

Kenzie’s smile widened. “How about a shower?”

Bowman’s need jumped to life, the dream lingering. His imaginings hadn’t sated him, not physically.

“Take one with me?” he asked, voice going low.

She put her hand on her hip, the sassy Kenzie returning. “You know how to wash yourself.”

Bowman came off the bed, his strength returning. He ended up next to Kenzie, in her personal space, which was pretty small for Shifters. “Why are you so chirpy all the sudden?”

“Because Gil is a fraud,” Kenzie said, eyes sparkling. “He tricked me into thinking I was forming a mate bond with him. He lied. He was trying to drive a wedge between you and me—I get that now. When I see him, I’m going to kill him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Bowman gave her a grin, then sobered as he laid his hand on her chest. “But you felt something, right?”

“I told you, heartburn.”

Bowman shook his head. “You really believed you felt it. You know you did.”

Kenzie lost her smile. “It was a trick of Gil’s. Must have been.”

She didn’t believe it had been, not exactly, Bowman could tell. He read uncertainty in her.

He leaned to her and kissed her neck. “Come wash my back,” he whispered.

Kenzie flushed. “I’ll think about it.”

She’d say no more than that. Bowman stepped back from her, peeled off his clothes, and left them in a heap by the bed. He watched Kenzie’s gaze rove from his bare shoulders to the hard-on he couldn’t dampen down. Not with Kenzie in the room, looking at him like that.