Must Love Hellhounds

her thigh, thumb stroking the insanely sensitive inner surface. She cried out in the back of her throat . . . and twisted out of his hold to sit up on her knees.
    A flicker of surprise, followed by a smile, slow and sure. “Fast and sleek, and pretty.” He bent to run his lips along her neck as she pulled out his belt and threw it to the floor, then started on the buttons on his fly. “Mmm.” A sound of pure male appreciation.
    Pushing his pants down just enough, she closed her hands around him. His big frame shook. “Sara.” And then he was pressing her onto her back, tugging off her hands and sliding into her in one solid push.
    Her entire body arched up off the bed. Wow, she thought, seconds before her sanity fractured, Deacon was built exactly in proportion.
     
     
     
    Body tingling from the aftereffects of the best orgasm of her life, Sara stared at the hotel ceiling. “I knew we had chemistry, but that was unnatural.”
    The arm across her waist squeezed a little. “I live to please.”
    Sexy, uninhibited as hell when you got past the control, and he had a sense of humor. “I don’t suppose you’re in the market for a long-term relationship?”
    She’d expected shocked silence, but he answered straight away. “I wouldn’t make a very good lover for the director.”
    “Don’t like the spotlight, do you.” It wasn’t a question, because she knew the answer. And part of her wished she didn’t. Because she liked Deacon, more than liked him. Each time he revealed some new facet of his personality, she found it complemented hers on the deepest level. There was promise here. And it wasn’t just about sex. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”
    “Being alone’s never been a problem for me.” His fingers played over the curve of her hip. “You’re going to accept, aren’t you?”
    “Yes.” She’d always known it would come to this. “The Guild is important. It needs to have someone at the reins who cares enough to make sure it remains strong, that hunters are protected from vampires and angels both.”
    “What about the hunting?”
    She stroked her hand along his forearm. “I’ll miss it. But . . . not as much as some. My best friend, Ellie, she’d go stir-crazy within a week.”
    “Elena Deveraux? Hunter-born?”
    “You’ve met her?” She turned to him. Face relaxed with pleasure, hair all mussed, and green eyes lazy, he looked like a big cat sprawled beside her. A big, dangerous cat.
    “Heard about her,” he said. “They call her the best.”
    “She is.” Sara was damn proud of Ellie, considered her more sister than friend. “I worry about her.”
    “You worry about all hunters.”
    And it was true. She did. “I guess I was meant to be director.” Her sense of responsibility was part of who she was. She could no more walk away and leave the Guild in weaker hands than she could force Deacon to change his lifestyle to accommodate hers. “How did you end up the Slayer?”
    “The Guild keeps an eye on possibles. I was approached by the last Slayer and offered the position.”
    He’d accepted, Sara knew, for the same reason she would. “Someone has to do the job.” But it was also a calling of sorts—she knew she’d love being director, that it would challenge and excite her in ways normal hunting couldn’t hope to match.
    “And that someone might as well be the best.”
    She smiled and shifted to face him fully, his hand on her hip, her own under her head. “Have you ever met an archangel?” The tiny hairs on her arms rose at the very idea.
    “No. But you probably will.”
    She gave in to the shivers. “I hope it’s not for a long, long time.” Angels she could deal with, but archangels were a whole different story. They simply didn’t think like human beings in any way, shape, or form.
    Deacon’s lips curved. “I think you’ll handle it when the time comes.” Reaching out, he brushed her hair off her face.
    The tenderness of the gesture did her in. Again, she felt that promise. That tug that this could be so much more. “Right now I just want to handle you.” And she did.
     
     
     
    An hour later, and despite her lack of sleep, she couldn’t turn off, too revved up by pleasure. Deacon could do amazing things with his tongue, she thought, happily buzzed. Maybe the en dorphins lit up the right areas of her brain because she sat bolt upright and leaned over to pick up the PDA.
    “What?” Deacon asked, one arm heavy around her waist.
    She turned it on