Edge of Hunger. Rhyannon Byrd

Molly Stratton had said that afternoon.

      â€œJesus, give me a goddamn minute!” he called out when the knocking grew louder, impatient and strong. Hitching his jeans up over his hips, he closed a few but tons as he reached for the door, pulling it open.

      And there she was. Little Miss Molly.

      Holy shit. What had been a serious hard-on turned into a burning lead pipe in his jeans, curving high to his left, so that the partly closed denim only just managed to keep him from flashing her his goods.

      She still wore her jeans, but the white shirt had been replaced with a soft sage-colored T-shirt. Her braless nipples pressed against the thin cotton, thick and tempting, like hard little berries that he wanted to roll around on his tongue. Ian stared, unable to believe his eyes, wondering for a moment if he was still somehow trapped within the dream.

      The silence stretched out, punctuated only by their soughing breaths, until he finally took a step forward. His brain justified moving closer to her as an intimidation tactic, but his cock knew better. He just wanted to be near her. Wanted to watch the soft flush bloom across her fair complexion. Wanted that warm honey scent of her skin in his head. She blinked up at him, pulling that full lower lip through her small white teeth, and his patience snapped. “How the hell did you find me?”

      â€œI asked around.” He struggled to focus on her words and not the husky sound of her voice that seemed to roll down his spine, or the sleep-rumpled look on her freshly washed face—but it was impossible. “A teenager down at the gas station told me you were staying here while you finish your house.”

      He ripped his gaze away from the curve of her mouth to glare into those big brown eyes, hazy and soft beneath the glowing moonlight. “Parker needs to learn to keep his mouth shut,” he muttered in a quiet rasp.

      Her mouth twisted. “I think he thought I was in trouble, so please don’t be angry with him.”

      His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

      She blinked, startled by his tone. “What?”

      â€œWhy did he think you were in trouble?”

      â€œOh.” Her gaze slid away from his, focusing on his chest, which was bare. He watched, seeing the moment when she realized where she was staring…and the heat crept back up across that flawless skin. But she didn’t look away, and the heat spread into her eyes, the smoldering burn there slamming down into his already aching erection, making him wince. He wanted to rearrange himself, but didn’t want to draw that luminous gaze any lower. That’d be too much.

      â€œMolly!” he snapped, the harshness of his tone making her jump. He snagged that startled gaze as it flew up and growled, “Why did Parker think you were in trouble?”

      â€œOh, sorry,” she mumbled. This time she didn’t look away from his face, keeping her eyes above his broad shoulders, and he almost grinned. “I was…um, upset, when I talked to him a little while ago. But I’m okay now.”

      â€œUpset how?” he demanded, grabbing her chin. He tilted her face into the soft stream of light barely reaching them from the streetlight down on the corner, and could see the sticky trail of tears that had dried on her skin. “You were crying,” he said in an odd monotone. “Did someone hurt you?”

      â€œNo,” she whispered, shaking her head, the soft, silken ends of her hair brushing against his wrist. “I was just…emotional. But I’m not hurt.”

      He curved his hand around the back of her skull, and made a fist in her hair, pulling her head back so that he could stare down into those deep brown eyes. Her hair was soft, so damn soft. He just wanted to rub his face in it. Feel it on his skin, on his body. Wanted it wrapped around his fist as he made her do things good girls like her never did; which was why he always steered clear of them. He’d realized long ago that he couldn’t do the pretty when it came to sex. His urges ran too dark, too raw, too primitive for the likes of soft women. Hell, just look at the sick stuff he’d been fantasizing about in his sleep!

      She claimed she wasn’t hurt, but he refused to think about how he’d been…hurting her in his dream. Fucking her to within an inch of her life on the hard forest floor, sinking his goddamn teeth into the fragile column of her throat.

      Drinking her blood.

      Hunger clawed at his insides with vicious insistence while he slowly looked her over, feature by feature, and he knew the time for retreat when it came. “If nothing’s wrong, then why the hell are you here?” he grated.

      She trembled, and he didn’t know if it was from his look or the harsh sound of his voice. “I’m sorry for barging in on you, but I wanted to…to check on you. I was…worried.”

      She’d been worried about him? Something scary and soft shivered through his insides at her strange words, and he let go of her, refusing to acknowledge the pleasure he got out of just touching her, feeling her warm curls sift through his fingers as he pulled away. “Why would you be worried about me?”

      She rolled her lips inward, brown gaze zinging from his face, to the hard bulge of his biceps, and back to his chest again, the smooth curve of her cheeks turning red. Her arms wrapped around her middle, as though she was holding herself together. “Because I felt it.”

      Leaning against the doorjamb, Ian crossed his own arms and glared at her. “Felt what?”

      Her lids lowered, shielding her gaze from him. “Your dream,” she said thickly.

      Something inside his gut clenched so hard, he felt the tremor slam through his body like a physical blow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

      Her gaze flicked up to his. “You…you did something to me.”

      Shock gripped him and he uncrossed his arms, his hands fisting at his sides. For a long, tense moment, he stared her down. The energy in him was pumping, making him feel wired, on edge, crawling up his spine, curling around the backs of his ears. He tried to keep it together, but hell, he was creeping himself out. No wonder she was looking at him as if he was some sort of monster from the deep, dark lagoon.

      Hell, for all he knew, he was.

      Ian worked his jaw, aware that he had to scrape the words out of his throat. “What did you say?”

      â€œYou did something to me. In…the dream.” She wet her lips, her blush visible even in the hazy moonlight coming from above, shining around the pale wash of her hair like a halo, making her glow. She looked…soft, like something warm and sweet that you just wanted to wrap yourself around; that you wanted to feel melt over you like a warm summer rain. A sweet piece of candy that you left on your tongue to savor, to enjoy as its flavor trickled down your throat. All sunshine and smiles. Things he didn’t want—things he sure as hell didn’t deserve.

      She looked ethereal, surreal…something too good for him to touch, even if she was out of her goddamn mind.

      Yeah, and you’re so together, Buchanan. A rock. Just a grounded kind of guy.

      He ignored the sarcastic asshole living in his head, and tried to get his mind around what she was saying. Another scam? That had to be it. She was messing with his mind, though God only knew why. What could she want from him? He had nothing to give. Nothing but a screwed-up past and a questionable future. If it was a con, he couldn’t imagine what she hoped to get from it.

      As if reading his thoughts, she whispered, “I’m not making this up. And this time, I can prove it to you, Ian.”

      He knew he was trying to intimidate her, knew it made him an ass, but he did it anyway. “And what was I doing in your dream, baby? Did I have you tied to my bed, making you beg for it?” He gave a gruff laugh,