Gabriel was aware with half his brain that he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing, but he ignored the voice of reason and continued feeling, touching, tasting Sara’s mouth. She was delicious, warm and soft, and small, yet strong, confident, kissing him back with passion and fervor, and when he slid his tongue inside her, she opened for him without hesitation. Their tongues intertwined and her fingers dug into his forearm, and it was a damn good thing he was holding a bag of Chinese food or he would have pushed her against the wall, ground his aching erection against her, yanked down her T-shirt and sucked her breasts.

It would be very, very easy to lose control with her, to go from kissing to touching to their bodies naked and sweaty as he thrust inside her. He wanted that. Wanted to take it. Knew he could.

But a kiss would have to be enough, so Gabriel ravaged her mouth, pressed and licked and sucked, plunging his tongue deeper inside her until Sara stumbled backward, losing her balance under his urgent pursuit and breaking their connection. She blinked up at him, lips shiny and wet, as they both panted. Her fists opened and closed at her sides, and her nipples were clearly visible, taut against her shirt. There was a piece of hair stuck to her bottom lip and she didn’t bother to pull it away. He could read the capitulation on her face, could see that one word and they could be upstairs in his bed, yanking off denim and cotton and enjoying each other’s flesh, and he wanted it. Bad.

The only thing he wanted more was freedom. Because he couldn’t make love to Sara. Rochelle was a reminder of that. He didn’t want to see Sara grow desperate with the illogical and demon-driven urge to be possessed by him, over and over. He couldn’t live with himself if he took Sara, then had to watch her lose herself in a debilitating addiction to him, who wasn’t worthy of any sort of devotion.

He had only touched Rochelle once, brushing an ant off her arm when she had handed him his change, and look what that had done, what that had created in Rochelle.

There was no choice to be made. Gabriel had to stay strong, so he wiped his mouth, regretting his actions. It was going to be harder to resist what he had already tasted. But he would. Especially knowing that he was keeping truths from her. Knowing that she was going to hate him if she ever learned any of those truths, especially if Rafe really was her mother’s killer.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, readjusting the bag of food into both hands.

“What?” she said, blinking like a baby owl. Then she took a deep breath, tugging at the hem of her T-shirt. “Right. Dinner. Great. Thanks.”

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve