She tightened herself around him and he groaned, dropping his mouth to her neck and biting.

The erotic nip sent her over, and she cried out, an orgasm blowing through her stronger than any force of nature. She tightened her entire body, strengthening her hold, whispering his name. Waves upon waves rippled through her, exploding again in her center and spinning her through the universe.

He groaned against her, his body jerking with his own climax.

Panting, she released his chest, wincing at the nail marks she’d left. Her mind fuzzed over. Her body went limp.

He still held her, breathing wildly. Then he leaned back, still inside her. “You okay?” His hair was damp and curled beneath his ears, making him look like a sleepy lion.

“Yes.” Her voice was soft and her eyelids heavy. “I, ah, I should . . .”

“You’re staying the night.” He turned and made his way to the bedroom, his hands on her butt, his chest warm against hers. “The storm is worse outside, and you have to be exhausted.”

She settled her face against his neck, holding on and for the first time in her life, trusting a man. “All right.”

* * *

Laurel stretched awake in the big bed by herself with the cozy flannel bedspread, her mind relaxed and her body sore. Wonderfully sore. She blinked several times and turned on her side to see snow falling onto the river outside the sliding glass door. She felt better than she had in weeks; her mind had cleared. Oh, she was still terrified about Walter and could feel the clock ticking down on the killer’s next victim, but her brain had kicked back into full gear.

Last time she’d awakened in Huck’s bed, he’d told her it was a one-off and that he didn’t want a relationship with anybody. Yet she’d driven to his house of her own accord the previous night, and she didn’t regret a second, not even the fight. She’d read about angry sex.

She liked it. Of course, she felt safe with Huck, so that probably helped.

Slipping from the bed, she used the master bathroom and then looked for her clothing. It was in the other room. Rare indecision kept her motionless for a moment before she opened a drawer in a worn dresser and tugged out a faded marines T-shirt to pull over her head. The material fell to just above her knees, so she was at least covered enough to fetch her clothing.

Her feet chilling from the wooden floor, she padded out to the living room, where her clothing had been placed on the sofa. Her bra strap was broken.