These characters belong to the brilliant Karen Marie Moning.

This is the final chapter of The Object of His Desire. It's been a pleasure to write even when my muses were not as cooperative as I would have liked. But that's what I get for trying to poke around in Mac and Barrons' heads…

I couldn't have done this without the help of my wonderful betas – Indigobuni and Tradermare. These lovely ladies are both talented writers – make sure you check out their fics!

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story. I've really enjoyed getting to know some of you and have loved all of the feedback!

Large, strong fingers caressed my body. I looked down to see dark hooded eyes looking back at me hungrily. He moved up my body slowly like a predator regarding his prey. At that moment I didn't know if he was going to eat me or kiss me. Either would have been fine.

His hands moved over my calves and up my legs, kneading, touching. As he got to my thighs he slid them apart, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The smile on his face was feral. My body shuddered as his tongue licked a burning path through the wetness. I arched in response and a deep growl sounded in the air.

He stalked up my body slowly, torturing me in the most delicious way with nips and licks everywhere and anywhere he wanted. My breasts plumped, nipples tight and aching. He had captured his prey, and now he was like a great beast toying with it before it was devoured. I only hoped I survived.

Suddenly, his face loomed over mine. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but he captured my hands, pinning my arms over my head. He regarded me for a moment, then a low, seductive laugh erupted from those perfect lips.

"What?" Did I have something in my teeth? Was there something on my face? Maybe he wanted to stop?

"Mac." He shook his head.

"Yes?" It came out breathier than I'd expected.

"Such an odd name for you."

Normally I would have responded with anger and defiance at his mocking my name, but he chose that minute to thrust his cock deep inside of me, stretching me to fit him.

"Why's that?" I finally managed to breathe out. I really didn't care what he called me, as long as he continued what he was doing.

He was going painstakingly slow. I didn't want slow. I wanted fast and hard and heated. He must have sensed my needs and instead of giving me what I wanted, he stopped and traced my face with one long finger.

"Because you're far too beautiful for a name like Mac."

He leaned down and kissed me. Long, slow, take my breath away kisses. Breathing was overrated. He stretched my body taught beneath him. I was completely consumed by this man.

"Jericho." I moaned.

He stopped again and looked in my eyes as if he was searching for something.

"Mac." He rolled his hips over and over, hitting that sweet spot deep inside.

Faster, harder. I was so close to tumbling over the edge when he started to move back down my body.

"Wait." Suddenly I was panicked that he was going to leave.

"I'll never leave you Mac. Ever."

It sounded like a promise, a vow.

He knelt between my thighs and gathered me to him, curling those thick, muscular arms around me and fusing our bodies together. Burying his face in my neck, he murmured promises of never leaving me, among other things I didn't understand. His lips trailed kisses over my throat, my chin and jaw, finally reaching my lips. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift as a wave of bliss washed over me carrying my worries away.

When I woke again later, the first thing I noticed was his scent. Spice and musk and male hung thick in the air. I stretched and inhaled deeply. I would never tire of this man. He had challenged me in ways I hadn't thought possible, mentally and physically.

"Jericho?"

"Ah, Ms. Lane. Back amongst us?"

"Ms. Lane? Isn't that a little formal after all we've—" I opened my eyes and immediately swallowed the rest of that sentence. I was no longer in a giant four poster bed. Sitting up, I blinked a few times, trying to make sense of my surroundings. And Jericho, or was it Barrons, was standing on the other side of the room by a window leaning against the wall, his thickly corded arms crossed in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. He looked utterly sinful — and deadly — in his repose.

"Where … oh wait, I'm back in my room?"

"Your room? Of course. Where else would you be?"

"Well, I thought that..."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Biting my lip, I stammered. "Um..." I was so not going to tell him that.

The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying to suppress a smile. At least I thought I saw it. It was gone in an instant.

"Ms. Lane, you had a terrible fever and have been out of it for the last day or so."

"I have? What day is today?"

"Tuesday. Do you remember falling off the couch?"

"Kind of?" Crap. What had happened? I could have sworn that Barrons and I had... but that was impossible, right? I looked up at him. He had a very satisfied look on his face.

"Have you been here the whole time?"

"For the most part, yes. I couldn't exactly leave you in the condition you were in."

"Condition?" If that was all a dream, a really incredibly vivid dream, had I said anything out loud? Wincing and clearing my throat, I found the courage to ask.

"So, um, did I talk while I was out of it?"

His smile turned devilish. Oh god. Kill me now.

"You spoke a little, yes. There was lots of moaning at one point and I wondered if you were in pain, but clearly you seemed to be... enjoying something."

I hid my face in my hands. This was too much. How was I ever going to look him in the eye again let alone-

"Who is Kyle, Ms. Lane?"

"Huh?" I spread my fingers slightly and peeked out at him.

"Kyle. You kept calling his name, while you moaned."

Kyle? Oh my god, it was all a dream. I quickly lifted the covers to see what I was wearing. It was the white t-shirt and my favorite pink sweatpants that I had been wearing just before I, uh, passed out? I shook my head, tried to piece things together. I'd been on the couch. Barrons had brought me something to eat. He was being his usual pompous self and then I... fell? Why couldn't I remember what happened after that? Although I do remember what happened later. But Jericho Barrons certainly didn't look like a man who had just screwed me into nirvana.

"Maybe you meant Kyle, Siobhan's son. She sent over more stew. She was worried about you. Mentioned something about hitting you in the back of the head with a door?"

Slowly I reached up and felt the back of my head. Siobhan. Stew. Kyle. Oh! The woman who ran the pastry shop, she hit me with the door. "But that doesn't explain..."

"Explain what Ms. Lane?"

I gulped as he came and sat next to me, turning my head to examine it. His hands were large, soft and warm.

"I don't see or feel anything, but I suppose it could have affected you. A bump to the head coupled with a fever might have contributed to some intense dreams."

He released my head and I turned back to look at him. Obsidian eyes bored into mine. What was he looking for? I wanted to turn away but I couldn't. Was it really just a dream?

"Was what a dream, Ms. Lane?"

"Oh come on, I know I didn't say that out loud."

"As I've told you many times Ms. Lane, you think all over your face."

I tried my best to make my face as impassive as possible, crossed my arms over my chest and thought straight at him.

"What am I thinking now Barrons?"

"You're wondering if it was really a dream, and if it was, exactly how much of it did I hear."

"And?"

"And what?"

"How much did you hear?"

He smirked. "Should I be expecting late night visits to my store from Kyle?"

I looked away. I couldn't help it. These wordless conversations were something I needed to get better at and fast. Add it to the list. Closing my eyes, I prayed he really thought all that moaning was because I'd been sick, or had something to do with Kyle.

He leaned in close, and I could feel his breath on my cheek. "Or maybe it was someone else who made you moan like that."

I blew out an exasperated breath and moved away from him. "So, I've been out of it for two days and you've been taking care of me?"

He sat back. Smug. "Naturally. I can't have you going and dying on me."

"Right, because you care so much about me." I uncrossed and recrossed my arms and glared at him. This man made me insane.

His eyes didn't say, "There are things you don't know about me little girl."

And I didn't say, "I'm not a little girl, in case you didn't notice."

His gaze shifted slowly down my face to my chest and lingered there. "Yes, I'm exceedingly aware that you are not a little girl."

I followed the path of his gaze and realized my arms were under my breasts, practically pushing them up at him. Was that a growl I just heard? I uncrossed my arms and was just about to say something when he waved me off.

"I suggest you get some rest, Ms. Lane. As soon as you're well—we have work to do."

"Hunting?"

He smiled. It went all the way to his eyes. His face was truly beautiful when he smiled.

"Yes, Ms. Lane, hunting." He got up and headed for the door.

"Barrons?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

She smiled at me sheepishly. I stared at her for a moment, then nodded and left.

The human brain was capable of remarkable things. Like protecting itself from emotional trauma by not remembering. Or putting things into a safe context, like a dream.

She wasn't ready to have that kind of relationship with me. I wasn't sure I was ready either. But we were under each other's skins. In each other's heads. A part of her lived inside of me now and always would. But now wasn't the time. We had too much to do still and she couldn't afford to be sidetracked. Neither could I. Although, now that I had tasted her, I'd never be able to let her go.