She was soft beneath him, and Blake’s mouth came down on hers, his tongue caressing hers with desperate, hungry strokes, drinking her in, drowning the past in the present. He hated the past, hated the memories and the way they sideswiped him, controlled him. The past was controlling him now, and in a big way.

One minute he’d been with Ignacio, the next walking away, reliving Whitney bloody and dead in his arms. He’d made it to the truck without being overcome with the acid burn of hate and hurt that memory produced, but it hadn’t been easy. And when Kara had touched him and that image of Whitney had transformed, becoming her instead, it had been like a premonition that he was going to get her killed, too. Like she was going to matter to him and he was going to fail her, as he had Whitney. And damn it to hell, he didn’t want her to matter. He didn’t want to care about Kara or anyone else ever again. He wouldn’t let it happen. Kara was a tool for revenge, to get to Alvarez, and hot sex along the way. Which was exactly why he was going to fuck her right here in the truck, in the garage.

Blake curved his hand under her hips, shifting his hips to fit into the V of her body, nestling his cock against her. She moaned and arched into him, so freaking soft on the outside, curvy beneath him, the floral scent of her delicate, and yet she was hard, tough, war-ready in a way he’d never suspected the first night in Denver.

Blake licked into her mouth, drank in the sweet honey flavor of her passion, of his passion mixed with hers, feeling the burn of insane need for a woman he barely knew driving him wild. He needed her, and he needed this right now. This was an escape from the rage going on inside him, the certainty he’d gotten Whitney killed, and that he was on the verge of getting Kara killed when he was only trying to save her. An image of Kara lying in his arms as Whitney had flashed in his head again. Damn it to hell, why was he thinking about this again? Why was he thinking at all?

He tried to deepen the kiss, to forget again, but it was too late. He was back into the acid burn of the past, the fear it would become the present. He didn’t trust Kara, but he trusted himself even less. Damn it, he was pissed. At himself. At her. At his inability to control what he was feeling and thinking.