Kenzie laughed in delight as Bowman crushed her between himself and the wall as he made love to her. In the early days, when he’d tried to gentle himself for her, she’d urged him on, goading him to master her, to give way to his most basic needs. They’d only grown more beautifully familiar with each other ever since.
Bowman’s seed found home in her, Kenzie slick, tight, and hot. She kissed his face as he dragged in harsh breaths, her own pleasure peaking. She tumbled his hair as the shower’s water poured over them, washing them clean.
“Better than the dream,” Bowman said, kissing her lips, her face, both of them shuddering with release. “I dreamed I was taking you on the kitchen table. This was better.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” Kenzie murmured.
Bowman lifted his head. “What?”
“You really came out and did that,” she said, her voice languid. “You were half asleep, but you did it. I told you, I didn’t tranq you that much.”
He stared at her, eyes tightening at the amusement on her face. “I woke up in my clothes.”
“You put them back on. I don’t know why.” She gave him a lazy smile. “Then you hauled yourself into the bedroom, fell facedown on the bed, and started snoring away.”
“So it was real?”
“Yes.” Her eyes darkened. “I haven’t decided whether that or this was better.”
“Kenzie, you little . . .”
She laughed, which moved her sleek and warm body against his. She laughed even more when Bowman snapped off the water, carried her swiftly back to the bedroom, and landed, dripping wet, with her on the bed.
The third time that night proved to be best of all.
* * *
When Kenzie opened her eyes again in the darkness, Bowman was gone. She dimly remembered him waking, pulling her close to kiss her face, neck, shoulder, before he slid from the bed and dressed. He had things to do; she understood that.
As she drowsed, her cell phone rang on the nightstand. She grabbed it, always worried about Ryan, though she knew her grandmother took good care of him. “Yeah?”
“Kenz?” Not Afina but Pierce, the Guardian. Kenzie let out a breath of relief. “Sorry,” Pierce said. “Were you asleep?”
Kenzie ran a hand through her hair, still damp from the impromptu shower. “Doesn’t matter. I need to haul my ass out of bed anyway. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Or . . . Maybe something. I think I found that Gil guy. Can you come over? Easier if I show you.”
“Sure.” Kenzie swung her legs over the edge of the bed, coming fully alert. “I’ll be right there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kenzie strode to Pierce’s in record time. On the way, she called her grandmother to make sure Ryan was all right, and was reassured. She heard Ryan in the background saying, “Is that my mom again?”
“Kiss him good night for me,” Kenzie said. “And give him my love.”
“Take care of yourself, Kenzie,” Afina said in her commanding tone, and she hung up.
Pierce was waiting for her. He ushered her into the house and shut the door against the chill of the night. Pierce was a definite bachelor, with the cluttered house to prove it. His abode was tiny, housing only himself, which was unusual, but Guardians were often treated differently from other Shifters.
“I went back over what you told me about Gil Ramirez and tried to match it to anyone with his description,” Pierce said, leading her to the corner where his computer was set up on a desk piled with papers, wires, router boxes, switches, and other bits of electronics Kenzie couldn’t identify.
“Like I said before, I didn’t find anyone who fit,” Pierce went on. “Then I had the idea of going back a few years, looking for his father or other family, or something. And I found him. Gil, I mean. The same guy, same name, different town.”
“Good,” Kenzie said, sitting down on the chair she’d occupied to watch Pierce’s first attempt to locate Gil. “Where’s he really from? Do you have an address, so I can go pound his face?”
“There’s a catch,” Pierce said, tapping keys. The screen split into several segments, rapidly opening photos and documents. “The guy I found lived in a little town called Fayboro, but a hundred years ago.”
As Kenzie’s mouth popped open, Pierce pointed out a photo.
It was Gil. Or at least a man who looked remarkably like him. He was dressed in the tight, muffling clothes of the mid-1800s, his face darkened by the sun and the rudimentary photography. But in spite of the stiff pose and fading photo, the face that looked out at her belonged to Gil Ramirez.
“Are you sure that’s him?” Kenzie asked. “I mean, I can see that it looks remarkably like him, but maybe Gil bears a striking resemblance to one of his ancestors.”
“Don’t know.” Pierce shrugged. “I saw him out at the arena, when we started building the pyre for the monster, but I didn’t memorize him. But would anyone look exactly like their great-great-great-whatever-great grandfather? Resemble them, sure, but a perfect copy?”