Hunger ratcheted in him like a vise. He was already dangerous with need, and now this other, mounting craving. He reeled back, even though every savage impulse within him bellowed with the desire to take this woman in every way that one of his kind could.
Forcing himself to dial things down before they got any further out of his control, he pulled out of her warmth and swung his legs over the edge of the bed on a ripe curse. The floor was cold beneath his feet, frigid against his enlivened, sweat-sheened skin. When Jenna's hand came to rest lightly on his back, her touch went through him like a flame.
"Brock, are you okay?"
"I gotta go," he said, gruff words that scraped over his tongue.
It was hard as hell to make his body move off the bed when Jenna was so near, naked and beautiful. Touching him with sweet, though unnecessary, concern.
This encounter--the sex he'd so benevolently offered, thinking he had everything so well under control--was supposed to be about her. At least, that's what he'd convinced himself of when he'd kissed her in the war room and realized how long she'd been alone, untouched. But it had been a selfish move on his part.
He'd wanted her, and he'd fully expected that all it would take to get her out of his head--out of his system--was having her in his bed. He'd expected her to be like any other of his pleasantly casual, deliberately uncomplicated dalliances with human women. He couldn't have been more wrong. Instead of dousing his attraction to Jenna, making love with her had only increased his desire for her. He still wanted her, now more fiercely than before.
"I can't stay." The muttered statement was more a reinforcement for himself than an explanation directed at her. Without looking at her, knowing he wouldn't be able to find the strength to leave if he did, he stood up. He reached down to pick up his jeans and hastily put them on. "Sundown is coming soon. I've got patrol orders to review, weapons and munitions to prepare--"
"It's all right, you don't have to give me excuses," she interjected from behind him. "I wasn't going to ask you for a cuddle or anything."
That made him turn around to face her. He was relieved to see there was no judgment or anger in her expression, nor in the steady gaze that locked onto his, but he didn't quite buy the careful set of her jaw. She probably expected it made her look tough, unflappable--the cool, practiced confidence that said she would never back down from any challenge.
If he had just met her, he might have believed that look. But all he saw in that moment was the fragile, secret vulnerability that hid behind the take-no-bullshit mask.
"Don't think this was a mistake, Jenna. I don't want you to regret what happened here."
She shrugged. "What's to regret? It was just sex."
Incredible, mind-blowing sex, he mentally corrected, but refrained from saying so when just the thought made him grow even harder. God, he was going to need to find a very cold shower and fast. Or maybe an ice bath.
For a week straight.
"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "I have to go now. If your leg bothers you, or if there's anything else you need ... anything I can do for you, let me know. All right?"
She nodded, but he could see from the defiant glint of her eyes and the slight, stubborn rise of her chin that she would never ask. She might have been reluctant to accept his help before, but now she'd be damned determined to refuse anything he might offer.
If he'd wondered whether this encounter had been a mistake, the answer was staring him full in the face now.
"I'll see you around," he said, feeling just as lame as he sounded.
He didn't wait for her to tell him not to hold his breath, or something even more succinct. He turned away from her and left the bedroom, grabbing his T-shirt on his way out, and cursing himself as a first-rate asshole as he closed the door behind him and headed up the empty corridor.
--------
With a self-loathing groan, Jenna let herself fall back onto the bed as the door in the other room closed behind Brock. She'd always had a knack for scaring men off, with or without a loaded weapon in her hand, but sending a formidable male like Brock--a vampire, for crissake--into a post-sex bolt out the door ought to win her some kind of prize.
He said he didn't want her to think getting naked with him had been a mistake. Didn't want her to regret it. Yet the expression on his face as he'd looked at her seemed to contradict all of that. And the way he'd hightailed it out of the place didn't leave a lot of room for doubt, either.
"It was just sex," she muttered under her breath. "Get over it."
She didn't know why she should feel stung and embarrassed. If nothing else, she should be grateful for the release of so much pent-up sexual frustration. Obviously, she'd needed it. She couldn't remember ever feeling so heated and out of control as she had been with Brock. As sated as she was, her body still vibrated. All of her senses seemed tuned to a higher frequency than normal. Her skin felt alive, tingling with hypersensitivity, too tight for her body.
And then there was the tangle of her emotions. She lay back, awash in confusion about the still-ripe curiosity that had made her bite Brock--so hard, she'd actually drawn blood. The strange, spicy-sweet taste of him lingered on her tongue, as exotic and enigmatic as the man himself.
She had the fleeting sense that she ought to be appalled at what she'd done--in fact, she had been horrified immediately afterward--but as she lay there now, alone in the bed that belonged to him, some dark, twisted part of her craved even more.
What the hell was she thinking? She must be losing her mind to entertain thoughts like that, let alone to have acted on the impulse.
Or maybe what was driving her was something even worse ...
"Oh, shit." Jenna sat up, a sudden, sick worry coming over her.