Page 91 of Burning Justice

The trail his fingers made as he skimmed his hands over her breasts lit a fire in her soul, a craving only he could satisfy, one that left her flushed and writhing in his arms.

Brett gathered her naked body and carried her into the bedroom. “Blaze, stay,” he called out over his shoulder. The dog made a soft woof but remained in front of the sofa.

As Brett laid her gently on the mattress, he buried his hands in her hair, still being careful of her sutures, controlling her head, the angle of the kiss, demanding more. And she gave it. Willingly.

He gazed down at her with raw emotions flaring in his eyes. Emotions she couldn’t name, couldn’t identify. Except for the fierce, desperate need that echoed her own. His body melded to hers, his kisses leaving her breathless and aching for him.

Uncontrollable shivers rippled through her as his big hands again skimmed down her breasts, rubbing against her nipples, then down her belly to between her legs. His fingers slipped inside, and she groaned.

“I need to be inside you. Now.” He flicked his finger at her sensitive nub, and she trembled.

She wanted to be there for him, to give him the physical release he so obviously needed and that only she could provide.

Brett reached for the second condom she’d tossed on the mattress the other day, tore off the wrapper, and rolled it on. He nudged her legs apart with his knees, pushing inside, stretching her, filling her with every emotion he couldn’t voice. She clung to him, trying to absorb his pain into her body and knowing she never could.

He clasped her hips, holding her steady as he slid in and out, rocking into her until her entire body was a jumble of sensations. He captured her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside as he pistoned faster.

Tremors ripped through her. Sparks flashed behind her eyes. Tearing her mouth from his, she arched her back, her breasts pressing against his chest as a loud, throaty cry tore from her mouth.

His chest heaved as he watched her from hooded eyes, searching her face and leaving her feeling bare, exposed, and wondering if he could read her mind. Then his body stiffened, and he threw his head back and groaned.

The force of what they’d just done, the implications, left her shaking. She was in love with him, but Brett was a wounded warrior, inside and out. Much as she wished otherwise, she could never be enough to heal him. Only he could do that.

He rested his forehead against hers, as if he could no longer bear the look in her eyes or he didn’t want her to see the one in his.

Gemma’s heart began cracking right down the center. It started slowly, as a thin fissure at first, then it tore into two jagged, painful pieces. She hoped she was wrong, because their lovemaking had felt like goodbye.

“I know you,” Brett said as he lifted his head and opened his eyes. Gone was the raw emotion, the desperation she’d glimpsed earlier. In its place was a warning. “If you do this, call in backup. If not the ATF, call your people. The police. Anybody. But don’t try to do this alone.”

Gemma didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. She’d continue to operate the way she always had pre–Brett Tanner.

Alone.

…

The teenagers on the second floor screamed. Brett’s heart pounded faster. One more second and he could reach them. He was so close.

A thick coil of flame snaked up the banister like a giant boa constrictor. The snake opened its mouth, roaring as it morphed into his nemesis—a giant black dragon, screeching, then spreading its wings and spewing flames onto the walls, the ceiling, and everything else in its path.

Coughing, Brett hit the stairs at a dead run. Smoke curled all around him, clouding his vision until he could barely see. An ear-splitting crack rent the air. Pounds of sheetrock and burning timbers slammed onto his back, pinning him to the stairs. Pain blasted his entire upper body.

He tried hauling himself from beneath the burning timbers but couldn’t move. That was when it started. Sharp stinging, then intense burning as flames licked at his arm and back. He twisted to shove the debris away, only to find the black dragon sitting on his back, shrieking louder as it brought more searing pain to his burning flesh.

Through the thickening smoke, the figures barely visible at the top of the stairs weren’t the two teens. It was Ryan and Cody. Their faces twisted with fear. Smoke billowed around them, then they screamed. Their faces rippled, morphing back into the two teenagers. One of them—Tammy had been her name—reached for him. Only it wasn’t Tammy. The tortured face staring down at him…

Was Gemma.

No!

His heart beat faster than he thought possible. He gritted his teeth as he tried pushing up from the stairs. Every muscle in his body screamed in agony, but he couldn’t free himself of the debris pinning him down.

He looked up. With every passing second, the flames licked closer to Gemma. He had to get to her before it was too late.

Again, he opened his mouth, screaming her name: Gemma! Gemma! But no words came.

Powerless to move, he watched in horror as her thick, beautiful hair caught fire. She threw back her head and cried out.

Brett woke, his chest heaving and his heart pounding, as he searched the darkened bedroom. Gemma lay on her side, facing away from him and breathing softly. Apparently, she really was a heavy sleeper. His dog wasn’t.