Free Savage Hunger: Savage, Book 1 by Shelli Stevens

wasn’t a bad idea.
    “You will tomorrow though.” It wasn’t a request.
    “Of course.”
    “All right.” Larson nodded. “You’re a damn good agent, Donovan. Just make sure your priorities stay in place. Your first concern is for those guys in the barn, not some chick you want to tag.”
    Hot anger simmered in Warrick’s gut. His fingers curled into his palms, the nails digging into his flesh. He gave himself a few seconds to calm himself.
    Even that wasn’t enough to keep him from grating out, “I’ve never put a woman above my job. It’s kind of fucked up that you’d imply otherwise.”
    “I’m not implying anything and you know it. We already had this conversation, Warrick. My comment was a reminder that you’d better damn well heed. I’m not stupid. I see the way you look at her.”
    Was he that fucking obvious? Dammit.
    Warrick forced a small nod, knowing he’d gotten off easy with Larson’s terse response. Had they been around the other agents he’d have gotten an ass reaming for his blatant insubordination. But they were alone, and he knew this conversation wasn’t meant as a dressing-down by his superior. It was Larson talking to him as a friend, reminding him not to screw up.
    “Go to bed.” Larson gripped his shoulder and gave a hard squeeze, before turning back toward the house. “We’ll figure out the rest of the shit in the morning. You’re going to need some sleep.”
    The porch creaked again as Larson left.
    A moment later, Warrick turned and slipped silently back into the house as well.
     
     
    Those birds need to shut the hell up .
    Sienna groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. Every muscle ached and her head was pounding something fierce. Sleep tugged at her consciousness trying to suck her back into oblivion and away from the light pouring through her curtains.
    She needed to get up and make coffee. That always helped wake her— shit .
    Bolting upright, Sienna gripped the sheet and made a gurgle of dismay. Reality had hit her with all the grace of a sumo wrestler doing ballet.
    A quick glance beside her showed she was alone in bed. Where was Warrick?
    Biting her lip, she scooted out from the sheets and tugged the T-shirt she was wearing farther down her legs.
    On her hands and knees, she crawled as quietly as possible toward the end of the bed to peek over the edge.
    “Morning.”
    Crap!
    Scurrying backward and away from Warrick’s amused gaze, she grabbed the sheet and wrapped it over her naked legs.
    Oh God. How on earth had she forgotten everything that had happened last night? She closed her eyes, but it was all there. All the little details from the moment she’d snuck away from the gala, to the point where Warrick had banished her back to the bedroom like she was a toddler.
    “You hungry?”
    His question wasn’t exactly sexy, but something about the hint of sleepiness in Warrick’s slow drawl, combined with that deep timber, sent a shiver of awareness through her.
    “I’m…a little I suppose.” What time was it? There wasn’t a clock anywhere nearby, so she glanced toward the window and found it bright and sunny beyond the lace curtains.
    “We probably should get up. Got a busy day ahead of us.”
    There was shuffling on the ground before his tall frame unfurled from the floor at the end of the bed. She swallowed hard at the sight of his naked torso—the way the muscles in his shoulders bunched when he stretched his arms above his head and yawned.
    She had the ridiculous urge to shuffle to the end of the bed and rise on her knees, wrap her arms around his waist and bury her face against his chest. Press her cheek to those ripped pectoral muscles and breathe in the scent of him. Of Warrick.
    She knew exactly how he’d smell. That spicy soap he used…or cologne. Whichever it was, Warrick was a creature of habit. He’d been wearing the same scent last night when he’d tackled her that he’d worn the night of her prom. She’d never forgotten the way