Cora shuddered out a breath and slid down on him, gasped when he grabbed her hips and surged inside.

"God," they both said. He filled her.

A muscle twitched near his jaw and she leaned over to kiss it.

Rogan groaned. She was so damn tight, so freaking hot he'd loose it in a few strokes.

Reaching between them, he played her against him, smiling when she shuddered in his arms. Wanting more, he laid her back on the seat again and took her breast in his mouth. Buried deep inside her, he moaned as she tightened around him. Still he played her until she was writhing, panting.

"Please, please, Rogan."

He suckled her harder, pinched the bundle of nerves between his fingers and felt her clamp down on him like a vise.

Her scream filled the night.

Coyotes barked in the distance.

He stroked once, twice more and the world fell away around him as his blood thickened, surged through his body and burst into a mind numbing orgasm. He shook, a groan ripping from his throat. All he felt was her heat, saw her staring up at him.

Spent, he stared down at her, and saw a satisfied smile on her face.

Rogan sat back, pulled her into his arms and ran his hands up and down her back. For a long moment, he could only hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears, feel her heart slamming against her chest.

"Wow," she whispered, licking his neck. "I always knew I wanted a ride on a Harley."

He slapped her naked ass. "And you got one."

Chapter Fourteen.

He looked at the ceiling, blowing out a lazy stream of smoke. Where was she? What was she doing?

Music drifted from the speakers and he hummed softly to the classical piece, dark as it was.

He imagined her in her room, in her bed, alone and asleep. Sleeping beauty, like an angel.

Her eyes were so damn perfect. It was stupid he'd wasted so much time on others. He should have just taken her first thing and been done with it, moved on.

He glanced over to the armoire and wondered what he should do. Today? Tomorrow? Next week?

He'd have to plan carefully.

After all, this was a local, lots of people loved her, liked her and she'd be easily missed.

Not like the other. Not saying the other one, or any, hadn't been missed. But he hadn't been there. Well, with the exception of one. He'd been there, but no one had known. They'd all thought he was dead.

Idiots.

Now, though. Now, he found her again and he wanted her. Wanted to see her look at him with those eyes. Wanted to feel her skin under his.

He knew she smelled of warm vanilla. He'd seen her, smelled her, been in her shop enough to know she wore what she sold.

He'd heard she was really psychic. He had to admit it added to the spice of things. Did she know?

Did she suspect? He hoped she did. It added to it. Upped the stakes so to speak.

He'd seen her talking to the cops.

What did she know?

The game was even better with the added danger of being found out and caught. Yes, he liked the danger. And this time it was so much closer to him than ever before. Before, it had been so easy. This added a bit of spice.

The suspense.

Would he win?

Or would the cops?

Cops, he'd learned, only found what he left, and even then they only found something that shouldn't be found.

Games were so much fun. Not that he did it for the game.

He did it for him.

For the excitement.

To have them.

They had to be his.

His angels.

He stood and flicked the cigarette into the ashtray. He'd have to get rid of it, it was rather trashy and a habit he no longer let rule his life but indulged in from time to time.

But he'd felt the need for something calming. And yoga was out currently. He couldn't sit still long enough. Couldn't think of anything but her. He'd only find solace in the meditative plane after he had her.

The need to have, to possess, hadn't ridden him this hard in a long, long time.

He walked to the armoire and opened it. The shelves gleamed at him. Dust free and carefully catalogued.

Alphabetically, of course. Chronologically was nice, but he had the dates listed on little stickers on the shelves. Name, date, location. Always good to be organized.

There was Analise, Ballena, Bettie, Candice, Daniella, Ginger...

He pulled out the pen he kept in the empty jar to the side. On a clean white sticker he wrote his next angel.

C-o-r-a.

He smiled. She would make a wonderful addition. He closed his eyes and imagined the fear, the anger, the hope in those perfectly pale blue eyes of hers. He knew what they'd look like in his jar, on his shelf.

Opening his eyes, he pulled the sticker off and made room on the shelf for her. He had to rearrange things of course, but that was okay. He made new labels for the others, which were then shifted and moved. Maybe he should put the labels on the jars?

No. That would mar their view of him, and he of them.

He ran his finger over her label.

"Won't be long now, Angel Eyes."

He smiled and traced the letters of her name.

C-o-r-a.

Cora bolted and screamed, fighting the demons of sleep.

"Hey. Hey." Hands reached for her.

She jerked and stumbled from the bed, dizzy and cold.

"Cora?" A light flipped on.

She blinked and leaned against the wall, watching the man sitting in her bed...

A man in her bed...

...smoke...jars...C-o-r-a...

She froze and stared at him as he frowned.

Rogan! Cora took a deep breath and tried to relax. Looking at him, now swinging his legs to the side of the bed, her sheets rumpled, her quilt half off the bed. "Cora?"

"I-I-I'm sorry," she whispered.

He stood and led her back to bed. "You're cold, freezing." Her knees buckled when she hit the edge of the bed. His warm hands rubbed up and down her arms, over her shoulders. "What is it? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

The look on his face was so...serious. His dark eyes were narrowed in concern. "Cora, talk to me."

She licked her lips and opened her mouth to tell him... What? What in the world did she tell him?

"You want some water?" His hands continued to rub along her arms to briskly rub her hands.

She shook her head.

Rogan crawled into bed with her, leaning against the headboard and pulling her to him. She nestled up against him, his warmth seeping slowly into her, heating away the cold of the dream. His presence keeping the terror at bay.

"What is it, baby?" He kissed the top of her head, his hands rubbing up and down her back, as her arms were trapped between them.

"He has my name," she whispered.

"Who does? What are you talking about?" He stopped rubbing her back and allowed a bit of space between them.

She immediately missed his warmth. Cora opened her mouth to tell him, but then closed it.

"Tell me," he whispered, staring into her eyes, his dark and intense.

She licked her lips. "Sometimes I-I see things."

He continued staring at her, but his hands once again rubbed up and down her back. "Since I was little, I've had dreams. Dreams that turned out to be true."

A slight frown creased his brow.

"When I was six I dreamed my grandpa died. We were miles away and it was around nine at night. But I was asleep and dreamed it, woke up crying and screaming." She shook her head, remembering. "My mom freaked, dad was just telling me it was a dream, that they'd call. But I think my mother knew. My grandmother is the same way." She shrugged again with one shoulder. "He'd gone out onto the porch, apparently walked down the lane a bit. It was warm that night. He had a heart attack."

He raised up on an elbow and looked down at her. "Okay, so you're gifted. So what did you dream tonight?"

She blew out a breath, rolled onto her back and looked up at him. His hand, warm, brushed the hair off her forehead. She didn't want to go into it.

"Will I see any of this printed up tomorrow morning?"

The skin tightened over his face and something changed in his eyes. "Is that what you think?"

Cora reached up and cupped his cheek. "I don't know what to think anymore. No, I don't think you'll make some story out of me, plaster my secrets in the Enquirer, but then I don't really know you, do I?"

Did she? The answer, she already knew, yet for some reason, her stomach still twisted at the thought she'd slept with a man several times and knew very little about him.

"You know my favorite foods, color, where I'm from, what I do."

She just looked at him. "You know what I meant." Rubbing her forehead, she muttered, "I never do stuff like this. Never."

"Talk to yourself? Or talk to someone else? Or talk to a naked man in your bed."

She grinned, she couldn't help it. "The last two, most definitely the last."

"Yeah, well, I can say the same. So you tell me your secret, and I'll tell you mine."

Cora tapped his chin before he lay again beside her. "You have a secret? They always do. Sleep today, gone tomorrow."

He snorted. "I don't remember getting much sleep. Now quit changing the subject."