Every night that he watched over her sleeping form, his urge to protect and take care of her grew. And those weren't the only urges. When she'd throw back the blanket and bare her long legs, it was all he could do not to kneel at her feet, kiss her slim ankles, and slip his hands up her smooth thighs.
Kos had different tastes. He was on the lookout for that Midwestern housewife attending a conference with her husband. There was usually at least one in the hotel bar. She was always seated in a corner drinking a cocktail and pretending to read a novel while her husband was off doing manly things. Kos knew something Mason didn't—stewardesses partied in every port, but housewives were still waiting for the party.
Up close, Lucas's scent hit him differently. His smell had cloyed and taunted, lingering in rooms where Lucas had been. But now it was the real, male smell of skin and soap, sweat and breath. And his distinctive Hunter scent was so much more delicious for all the ways it blended with Lucas's own human essence.