by Zoe Dawson
“Was that Sarah? Is she visiting?”
“Uh, no. I haven’t spoken to Sarah in a while. That’s…Scarlett. She’s the woman I told you had leased my parents’ land.”
“Right. You’re taking your landlord responsibilities seriously.”
“She’s either in trouble or up to something. I’ll find out in the morning. She’s British and a freaking mystery.”
There was something going on here that was more than Scarecrow trying to get intel out of woman. First off, he didn’t do that kind of manipulative thing, which was another reason he didn’t belong in the CIA. Another was the man had integrity coming out of his pores.
“You seem distracted by her. What’s really going on?”
He heard the sound of bristles crackling over the line. Scarecrow was scrubbing a hand along his jaw. He released a frustrated sigh. “It’s complicated. She’s…complicated.”
“Oh, hell, man, that sounds bad.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
A grin curved Wicked’s face, the bruised skin and muscle protesting. “Judging by that miserable sound of your voice, I’m betting some woman has finally tied you up in knots.”
“Intricate and tight knots, yeah. She’s a daring, headstrong pain in the ass.”
“Sounds right up your alley.”
There was silence except for the night sounds. Finally Scarecrow asked, “How are you doing?”
“Nothing a night of punching and drinking can’t cure.”
“What a load of bull, Rion. The guys buy that?” When Wicked grunted, Scarecrow chuckled. “Typical. I assume you’re all nursing cuts and bruises. Sorry I missed it.”
“I fed them. We’re drinking again.”
“The only easy day was yesterday,” Scarecrow said.
That said it all.
Scarecrow disconnected the call aware that Wicked wasn’t talking about what was really bothering him. He was convinced that Kat Harrington was a great source of distress for him but getting anything out of Wicked was like getting blood from a stone.
Okay, he was legitimately troubled about Scarecrow leaving the SEALs and joining the CIA. Again, he wondered if it would be the right job for him.
His biggest concern was his mom. Could he even consider something that would keep him traveling?
He opened the door and went back into the house, making his way silently to Scarlett’s feminine and amazing scented bedroom. God, he loved the way she smelled. It got under his skin and deep into his lungs.
Ever since he’d met her at the airport he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, and, in fact, had spent the time since dissecting Scarlett’s dual personalities—the shameless, brazen spitfire and the uncertain, vulnerable woman he’d glimpsed in her unguarded drunken dance party for one.
He’d made a career of analyzing people and their actions. After spending too many hours reflecting on Scarlett’s behavior he’d come to the conclusion that there was so much more to her than he’d originally assumed and what she obviously wanted him, and everyone else, to believe—because he’d been privy to the emotional depth she tried to hide beneath her seductive attitude and brazen personality. A vulnerability he never thought her capable of showing because of the strong, rebellious façade she wore around her like an impenetrable cloak.
It was all an act, he’d come to realize, and a damn good one at that because he’d fallen for it—hook, line, and sinker. And obviously, so had everyone else, his cousin included. They all accepted her as Scarlett, and her reckless and outrageous conduct had become an expected thing.
But there was one question that kept tumbling through Scarecrow’s mind, one he didn’t have an answer for but that had kept him up some nights trying to figure it out. Who was the real Scarlett and what kind of emotional secrets were lurking behind that seductive smile and those smart-ass remarks she tossed his way to keep him at a distance?
And why the hell did he even care?
He slid into bed with her and without waking she instinctively moved toward him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
He fell asleep with her soft body against him and half-awake aware he’d been sleeping for a while, he rolled over. He got his nose full of Scarlett’s fragrant hair. Last night they had both been unable to talk, so there had been no discussion. He was determined there would be one this morning.
“Darlin’?” He kissed her neck and she stirred. “Time for that talk.”
She mumbled something and nestled her backside against his morning wood. He closed his eyes, trying to hold onto his control. “C’mon, sugar. Wake up.”
She rolled over and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then, when he thought she was going to say something, she made a soft snore.
He grinned. He hadn’t felt this light in years, maybe never. Damn if she wasn’t the sassiest, cutest woman he’d ever met. “Scarlett?”
No answer.
This was a call for action, and his mission was clear. Operation: Wake Up Scarlett. He scooted out of her now lax grasp and walked around the bed. Slipping his hands under her, he gathered her up in his arms.
Walking across the bedroom, he went into the bathroom, his dick twitching with the memory of how many times they’d done it last night. He couldn’t get enough of her.
He set her down amidst her protests at being jostled. Turning on the shower, he manhandled her exquisitely naked body into the stall. When the water hit her, she cried out and held her hands up.
“You half-wit wank!” she said. She brought her head back down, and her water-spiked lashes lifted, revealing her heartbreaking violet eyes that were far more lucid than they’d been ten minutes ago. Her face was flushed with warmth, and she met his gaze with a mouth that was incredibly sweet with temper.
“Not a morning person.”
“No. I like to wake up slowly, then have breakfast in bed. You so don’t know me.”
“No, not yet,” he said, and her eyes brightened a bit. As they stood beneath the pelting spray, a slow, seductive awareness gradually took hold. He could feel the subtle change in Scarlett from pissed to aroused in how she shifted against him and the way her flattened palms slid around his waist and up the slope of his spine. He watched as she licked droplets of water from her bottom lip and felt himself respond to the desire darkening her eyes. His cock throbbed and ached against her.
“Arlo…” she whispered, the one word filled with a wealth of emotion that struck a chord deep within him, too. Eyes closing, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Her mouth was soft and yielding, a heavenly temptation he couldn’t resist, so he gave up trying. Her lips parted, and he accepted the invitation to deepen the connection, to slide his tongue inside and curl around hers, dragging her into a hunger so dark and hot he burned with the intensity of it.
He kissed her with a fierce urgency borne of knowing that she was going to tell him everything, hold nothing back because she couldn’t resist him either. Kissed her with an abundance of relief and gratitude and something else far more profound that echoed in the farthest recesses of his soul—an emotional, intimate bond that rocked the foundation of the solitary man he’d made himself become.
For the sake of Uncle Sam.
Driven by pure sensation, encouraged by the uninhibited way her fingers dug into the muscles bisecting his back and the arch of her hips against his, Scarecrow backed her up against the shower stall, pressed the length of his body along her lush curves, and ravished her mouth with an overwhelming amount of passion and heat. His craving for her blazed through him like an out-of-control wildfire—a reckless, insatiable need he could no longer deny.
More. He needed more of Scarlett. Needed to touch and taste and savor every nuance that was uniquely hers.
With only that thought in mind, he tore his mouth from hers and trailed his lips along her jaw, licked his way down to the base of her throat where her pulse beat strong and steady. She moaned softly and dragged her hands over his wet hair, pressing hard fingers t
o his scalp and guiding his mouth lower to the firm swells of her breasts. He followed willingly, giving her what she wanted and what he so desperately needed.
He drew a taut nipple into his mouth, flicked the rigid tip with his tongue, and sucked her deep and hard. With his hand he squeezed and kneaded her other breast, traced lazy circles around her areola with his thumb before lightly pinching and rolling the firm, aroused nipple between his fingers. She gave a helpless, impatient demand, the restless sound urging him to taste her with his tongue. With his large hands, he traced the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips, then dragged his thumbs over her belly before sliding his hands around to the base of her spine and down her perfect ass to the backs of her thighs. The feel of her smooth, sleek skin against his palms was a luxury he’d denied himself for too long, and he memorized every sensual curve of her body along with the sweet, uninhibited sighs that accompanied his bold exploration. If he thought touching her was pure bliss, then allowing his mouth to follow in the same direction as his hands and tasting her warm, wet skin was like experiencing a slice of heaven. He licked and gently bit his way down to her stomach and dipped and swirled his tongue in her navel.
Another erotic moan echoed in the shower stall, and the slender fingers still wrapped in his hair tugged him lower still. Instinctively, he dropped to his knees in front of her, his heart racing a mile a minute as a heady surge of desire tore through him. Knowing what she wanted, what she needed, he took one of her hands and wrapped her fingers around the small metal bar built into the shower to help keep herself steady and balanced, then draped one of her legs over his shoulder to give him better access to her. The water poured down on both of them, and curls of steam immersed them in a sultry warmth as he leaned forward and laved the inside of her thighs, slowly, leisurely, until he reached the very heart of her femininity. Her sex was soft and swollen, and he parted the plump folds of flesh with a slick caress of his tongue that had her arching her hips against his mouth, seeking and silently begging for release.
He closed his eyes and groaned, doubling his efforts to give her exactly that. He drew her clit into his mouth, used his tongue to stroke and caress and increase her pleasure. Her fingers pressed tighter to his scalp and a soft breath of sound escaped her lips. In response, his balls drew up hard and his dick jutted painfully toward his belly, aching with the need to be buried to the hilt inside her, to feel her convulse around him as she came.
He entered her with his tongue. Deeply. Relentlessly. With heat and possessive intent. She inhaled sharply, jolted against him in shock, then gave herself over to his erotic assault. Before long, he felt her thighs quiver, felt her legs buckle as her orgasm crested, heard her fierce moan as she tumbled headlong into that powerful rush of sensation rippling through her. He kept her from completely collapsing with a strong hand pressed to her stomach, and when he was certain he’d given her every last bit of pleasure he could, he stood back up and braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head. He was harder than granite, and there wasn’t much left of his self-control.
He lifted his head and looked into her face, expecting to see a languid, sated expression. Instead, her eyes were bright with a desire that said all he needed her to say. The way she slid her hands around to his backside, grasped his buttocks and pulled his hips to hers so that his aching erection nestled right at the crux of her thighs was as bold as she was. Right where she was hot and slick and ready for him. She leaned into his chest and pressed her lips against the side of his neck.
“Arlo,” she whispered as she twined one leg around his, aligning them even more intimately. “I want you inside of me.” There was so much longing in her voice, the kind that sent all the thoughts in his head into oblivion. He curled his hands into tight fists against the wall.
“Scarlett—” Whatever he’d been about to say went up in smoke as her fingers followed his waist back to the front, then dipped and wrapped around his erection.
She stroked once, twice, and glided her thumb over the swollen head of his dick. His heart hammered in his chest, and the muscles in his stomach clenched as he resisted the urge to thrust into her snug grasp. “We need to talk.”
“Please,” she said huskily, her gaze soft and imploring. “I need to feel pleasure. I promise I’ll talk…later. I need you.” She needed him, God, and it was that thought that made him want to do whatever possible to chase away those awful memories for her.
He groaned as her tenacious grip on his dick and the sluice of warm water created a slick, suctioning sensation that made him desperate to come. With her. In her. Done resisting what he wanted so badly, he gave up the fight. Pushing his fingers into her wet hair, he crushed his mouth to hers. There was nothing slow and sweet about the way he kissed her. Greedy and ravenous, he tilted her head for a better fit and released all the pent-up hunger, need, and lust clawing at him. Now he took without hesitation or reserve, then took some more, and she was right there with him, giving him her mouth, her tongue, and soon, her soft, willing body. A sense of urgency and impatience built between them, hotter and more vital than anything he’d ever experienced. It made his head spin and his erection throb and pulse. He could have easily taken her right there, in the shower, pushed up against the tiled wall with her thighs riding his hips, but he wanted her beneath him. Wanted leverage to get as deep inside her as he could get. With that in mind, he blindly reached out to shut off the shower and started to pull back, but she resisted and clung to him. Undoubtedly, she believed he was going to end things, and he sought to reassure her.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m not done with you yet.” He was beginning to wonder if he ever would be. He silenced the answer to that question with another aggressive, soul-searing kiss and maneuvered them both out of the glass enclosure. The bed was much too far away, and he pushed her down to the thick, plush rug laid out on the floor. He quickly joined her. Nudging her legs wide apart, he settled between her sleek thighs and slid up and over her wet body. She splayed her palms on his chest, glided them up to his shoulders and around his neck as she arched against him and hooked her calves against the back of his thighs, urging him to complete the act.
He drove into her in a seemingly endless stroke and growled deep in his throat as she took every hard, solid inch of him until he didn’t know where he ended and she began. The pleasure of being inside Scarlett was so intense, so surreal, that he shuddered and tried to absorb the moment, how agonizingly perfect, how incredibly right, she felt beneath him.
Hot, slick, tight. Bracing his forearms by her shoulders, he framed her face in his hands, grazed her plump bottom lip with his thumb, and watched as her gaze darkened with need. Then she closed her eyes, whispered his name, and rolled her hips sinuously against his, beckoning him to finish what he’d started.
He wanted this to last. Wanted to linger and savor and watch her as she came again. His cock, however, refused to take the slow, leisurely route, and because his overly aroused body demanded he do so, he withdrew and surged back into her, again and again, long, hard strokes that increased in power and strength and depth.
She met him thrust for thrust, moving in perfect rhythm with him as he pumped into her. She slid her hands down the slope of his back, her fingers digging into muscle and flesh as she tried to drag him closer, deeper, with every fluid stroke. She bit his shoulder and writhed against him in wild, reckless abandon. Their mating was raw and primitive, a culmination of every desire they’d suppressed, every seductive tease between them, every erotic fantasy he’d had of possessing her just like this. It didn’t take long for the heat coiling low in his belly to spiral down to his groin. As if in sync with his body’s impending release, her lashes fluttered back open, and she met his gaze, moaning helplessly as she started to convulse around him.
Her orgasm triggered his own, and he followed her right over the edge with a rough, guttural groan. His climax was scorching hot, an unbridled surrender of body and soul that left him
shaken and stretched across her limp, sated form, his face pressed against her damp neck as he struggled to come back to his senses. And when he did, it was with the realization that if this one night was all he had of her, it would be enough. It would have to be.
Once back in bed, once she had fallen asleep, he sat up and saw that he’d missed two calls from his mom. She’d taken a trip over to her friend Susan’s house to enjoy her weekly bridge game. He figured he would check in with her. Later on today, he was going to get things started, talk to her about moving, clear out the attic and talk to a real estate agent about selling the house.
He ran his hand over his close-cropped hair, the sun streaming through the window. So many things were changing in his life. He looked down at the fair-haired beauty, flushed pink and pretty beside him.
Taking the moment, he slid down and wrapped his arm around her, nuzzling his face into her fragrant hair. A few more winks, then he’d face everything.
10
Scarlett woke up, her body heavy with lethargy, trying to shake off the last bits of sleep. After a few seconds, she was acutely aware of the warmth and hardness of a male rib cage against her back, her own breathing synchronized to the even rise and fall of his chest.
By touch alone, she figured out Scarecrow was sprawled on his stomach.
She absorbed the feel of him against her and the rhythm of his breathing for a moment; then, careful not to disturb him, she eased up on one elbow.
She flipped her hair back from her face and gazed down at his handsome face in profile. He was lying with the sheet shoved down to his waist, one arm sprawled above his head, the other resting along the edge of the bed, his palm up and open. It was the most vulnerable she’d ever seen him without his customary wall of alpha male armor. The morning light angled across his exposed back, defining the hard ridge of muscles across his shoulders and up his torso, casting his deeply tanned skin in a patina of bronze.
