Walker (In the Company of Snipers Book 21)

by Irish Winters

  Frantic now, Persia’s head snapped to her left and—oh, good. Thank God. There it was, right where Hotrod said. Still in its holster. On her nightstand.

  She had to know. “Did it get wet when we… I mean, in the shower?”

  “No, ma’am. It must’ve fallen out of your, umm, suit, when I dropped my bag.” The twinkle in his eye told her he knew there was no way that handgun had been hidden in her bikini bottoms. She’d had a good hold on it before she’d kissed him. But then… she hadn’t.

  Persia vaguely remembered two thumps before he’d stepped into that shower. But the smile that cracked his lips now was so damned sweet and tender, she wanted to cry. He’d taken care of her. She swallowed hard. Gulped was more like it. That explained why she hadn’t missed her pistol until now. She’d been so intent on how he’d made her feel. So focused on all the wrong things. On him. On what he was doing to her.

  “I… I don’t usually do stupid stuff like this,” she murmured, swallowing again before she apologized. Silly women always did that. They apologized for the weather, come sunshine or rain, as if everything was their fault. Not her. Only now…

  She’d just committed the worst mortal sin in spec ops history. She’d lost track of her weapon. This was all her fault. She should’ve told Hotrod to take a shower and a hike. To drop dead. Anything but let him inside her life and handle her like a pro.

  “No worries. It happens,” he said quietly.

  See? He’d done it again. He’d given her a way out.

  “Not to me, it doesn’t. Where’s yours, huh? Have you ever lost track of your weapons? Even for one second?” She knew damned well he hadn’t, because his bag was sitting on the floor in her bedroom, wasn’t it? True, she hadn’t seen a weapon in his hands, but she honestly couldn’t remember him hauling that bag inside along with her horny, naked ass, either.

  “What makes you think I have any?” he asked, his lying eyes sincere and sweet and so damned believable.

  “Because that bag of yours is not standard issue Walmart,” she snapped. “You’re an operator like me, aren’t you?”

  The strangest thing was happening. She was lying flat on her back in her bed, but falling into those handsome eyes. They were more tender than she deserved, and she couldn’t catch herself. Didn’t know why she should even try. He seemed so honest. Which was her undoing. Hotrod was the epitome of a strong, silent male. Ever standing guard. Ever faithful. Ever… everything.

  Instead of answering, his mouth descended over hers with slick, wet heat that lit her internal fuse again. The one that led from her lips to her core, both as willing as the other. Just that fast. She growled, needing him deep inside. All the way, honey. Here. Now!

  Chapter Three

  With his forearms alongside Persia’s head, Hotrod pumped into her. The light from some outside source filtered through the window above her bed. His swim trunks were now on the floor, and he was on his way to being a happy man. At least, on his way to being happier. That swim had done him in. His energy flagged. So had everything else.

  As stern and unyielding as this woman had seemed at first, she was everything but that now. Persia got him on some intrinsic level he’d never experienced before. Maybe her losing track of that handgun had something to do with what was happening now. She obviously understood him. That was why she’d challenged him about his gear. They were cut from the same cloth, both working for Uncle Sam. Both career operators in their own ways. It was as if their souls had recognized each other at first sight. The only problem was she didn’t have to leave, but Walker did. And he would. As soon as the time was right.

  Her hips bumped up off the bed into his, drawing his mind back to the enticing task at hand. Oh, yeah. He definitely intended to make her scream again. And smile. The exotic woman beneath him was utterly beautiful when she smiled. But those deep-brown almond eyes fringed with thick black lashes, and the rich, warm caramel of her skin? The way she blinked and her breath hitched when he’d first touched her? The tip of her delicious tongue when she’d moistened those rose-red lips? Downright intoxicating. Alluring.

  One of her parents or grandparents must’ve hailed from some Mideastern country he couldn’t name with complete confidence. Iraq maybe? Iran? Saudi Arabia? India? Not like her ethnicity mattered. He’d met many exotic beauties during his travels across the world, but he’d never loved one. Not like this. If this were love. Which it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Not this soon and not this fast. Hell, he didn’t even really know her. That had always been his problem. He gave his heart away too quickly. Not this time.

  At the end of the day, love didn’t matter anyway, because convicted Navy SEALs didn’t have time to get that kind of lucky. As he’d already learned the hard way, they had to keep one step ahead of the hounds snapping at their heels. He’d just fled a firefight on a tiny sandbar that the last hurricane had choked up east of northern Brazil. Like Cuba, he’d swum away from that one, too. Then, he’d wandered the eastern coast of South America, traveling north from town to town. Keeping to the shadows and shallows. Stealing a fishing boat or canoe here and there.

  Like a moron, he’d always left a few American twenties to pay for his thefts. The way he saw it, they weren’t really thefts, more like long-term borrows. But the poor fisherman left without anything to fish in at the start of their day, were better off come sunset. Hotrod made sure they had enough American dollars to live on for months, maybe years. He knew the cost of poverty, and many of the people he’d encountered had been unbearably kind, despite their lack of reais and centavos. American dollars would make them rich—for a little while.

  Persia’s naked body writhed beneath him. Her hips lifted and she ground herself into him, inciting his need to mark her. To possess her. She was a beauty like no other, a sinuous combination of dark and milk chocolates. Her hair, once loosely braided behind her back, had come undone. It lay like a shimmering ebony fan on her cream-colored pillow. It was as if her entire bungalow had been decorated to enhance her exquisite beauty. The whole place was working together, pulling him in like a moth to her sensual flame.

  Yet Walker held back from sucking raspberries up her neck. She didn’t need his brand or his mark. She wasn’t a cow, not this smart, savvy, willing woman coming undone again in his hands. He dipped down and took her open mouth just as she’d stiffened her legs straight and hard. She was so responsive and wet. For him.

  And yet, damn. His body struggled. Getting nowhere fast, while, with a hiss and a growl, she exploded in his arms again. That should have made him crow. The aftershocks rippling through her should’ve made him damned proud he was a man.

  Instead, a tear glimmered at the corner of his eye, reminding him that he was nothing in this great land of liberty. The rush of his much anticipated, but not going to happen release, died in the awfulness of that bitter truth. How embarrassing, to be able to get it up, only to lose it the moment she needed it most.

  What was worse, he’d been so caught up in her fierce possession of his body, that he’d neglected to use protection. Not like she was going to need it. Still, he was the gentleman here. He should’ve taken better care of this passionate woman. It was time to leave. Before he couldn’t.

  “Hey,” Persia asked huskily, her dark eyes bright and her slender fingers combing over his hard Navy head. “I thought we were in this together, honey. Where’d you go?”

  Affection warmed her words and he liked that she called him honey. Walker wished he could say he was right there with her, but he wasn’t, and she was smart. She already knew.

  “I’m still here,” he growled, poking her with his one and only pointer before it completely deflated. “Can’t you feel me inside you?”

  That earned him the rarest, sweetest smile. Persia, at least, was satisfied. That was what he’d wanted most, to keep that lazy smile on her lush lips and the sparkle in her eyes.

  “Before we go any further, I sure as hell hope you’re on the pill or something.” Be
cause for damned sure there were no condoms in his bag.

  “Implant,” she breathed. “No worries. It’s good for three years. I’m safe. Are you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied honestly. It had been a long time since he’d thought about sex or intimacy. He was so damned safe, pathetically safe, especially after his ex’s very public exposé about their love life on every damned, sensation-seeking late-night propaganda show in America. A guy didn’t stand a chance once a station turned their character assassination machines on.

  She cupped his cheeks, both palms warm and gentle. Almost caring. And he was lost inside those pretty melted chocolate eyes. Everything about this woman drew him like a magnet. Her lovely, elegant brows arched with genuine concern. Her thick butterfly-wing lashes. Those lush, wet lips. Like a sweet, intoxicating vintage wine. A woman shouldn’t taste so rare nor so fine. But she did.

  To conceal what was left of his heart and his manhood, Hotrod closed the distance between Persia and himself. Since he’d lost his drive, he took her mouth, savoring every nip and nibble of what he’d soon have to live without. That was the problem with chance encounters in the big wide world of runaway convicts. A guy never knew what he’d find or who he’d have to leave behind.

  She eased away from him, sinking her head farther into her pillow, her hands again on his head, her thumbs on his cheekbones. “But you didn’t” —her hips arched into him— “you know. Come.”

  He gave her that. “Guess you wore me out, princess.”

  “More like swimming from Cuba wore you out. That’s what you just did, right?”

  “Yes,” he admitted quietly. She didn’t need to know why.

  “That’s what? A good hundred miles? How fast did you swim that, Hotrod?”

  And now they were on a pseudo-first-name basis. Hotrod and Princess. Somehow that just made everything—sadder.

  He scratched the back of his head. Every inch of his skin itched, and it would for days. That was what happened to idiots who spent too much time in saltwater. “Just under forty-eight hours. Next time, I’ll do better.”

  “Next time? You have got to be kidding. Forty-eight hours? With no one on your six? No relief boat following along in case you ran into trouble? How’d you eat or drink or… or sleep? How’d you manage out there all alone?”

  He shrugged, loving the glint of worry in her eyes. Persia might sound and act tough, but there was a nurturing side to her as well. “Swim a little. Roll over and rest on my back when necessary. Puppy paddle when I could. Snag a protein bar or bottled water once in a while. No big deal.”

  “No big deal, my ass. Weren’t you worried? What if you hadn’t made it? What would you have done then?”

  That earned her another shrug, but telling her he would’ve drowned didn’t seem like the smart thing to say after they’d just made love.

  “I’m serious. I’m surprised you can keep on going after that swim. Aren’t you exhausted? Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

  Grinning, he cocked his head playfully at her.

  “No, no, no, not me, you crazy man,” she said pointedly. Lovingly. Was that affection in her voice he wondered as her fingers smoothed back over his head and into his hair. “I meant how about a hot-turkey sandwich? I’ve got gravy and leftovers from the breast I roasted yesterday. Or breakfast. I’ve got wine and whiskey, too. Name your poison.”

  “Breast?” he asked. Of course, that was the only word he’d heard. He let his gaze shift from her pretty face to those succulent pillows mashed against his chest. And suddenly, he was hungry again. Starved. But not for turkey. “Later, princess. I’m working here,” he whispered as he tipped his face between those breasts and breathed. Just breathed in her feminine bouquet.

  A hard man had to take whatever comfort he found along the way. Only this wasn’t just comfort. This woman’s plush, warm body truly was heaven.

  Chapter Four

  Persia didn’t want to feel anything for this man. This was a one-night stand. Nothing more. Her life was too busy for dating, too unpredictable to get tied down, even with some military guy who obviously knew what working for Uncle Sam entailed. As in no life of your own, possibly no future with anyone but your handler. Definitely no cutesy four-bedroom house with two and a half kids, a poodle, and a family van, in quaint little Somewhere Suburbia.

  She couldn’t deny that this tough guy had awakened something in the softer side of her, though. He seemed so—lost. Or hurt or damaged or… something. There were shadows lurking in those brooding blue eyes. Exhaustion bracketed them. She recognized the lingering ghosts of one too many operations gone wrong. Or just one too many operations.

  Uncle Sam seemed to forget that his best-in-the-world armed-forces consisted of flesh-and-blood men and women. He just kept ordering deployments, undercover operations, all while expecting more, more, more. Too often, he expected more done with a helluva lot less to do it with. Which explained the current suicide epidemic among the military, emergency responders, police… hell, anyone who had to deal with man’s inhumanity to man. Nurses and doctors, too. Ambulance drivers. Dispatch operators. They’d all seen and done too much. They suffered in ways most US citizens would never understand, not until they needed a first-on the-scene hero.

  But that didn’t mean she and Hotrod couldn’t explore a few moments of private normalcy. That was all this chance encounter was about. A break. Downtime. An interlude of quiet relaxation in each other’s arms.

  Gently, she eased his head up from between her breasts. “Hey, did you fall asleep on me?”

  He blinked down at her. No smile. No pithy comeback. Just a glazed stare. He’d fallen asleep all right. This guy was running on empty, but those eyes. Even in the dim glow of her outdoor security light coming through her window, Persia could see enough. Hotrod was like her. He kept his guard up. He didn’t let anyone in.

  “I knew it. You were asleep, weren’t you?”

  “No. Just…” He sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, yeah. I might’ve dozed off, but I’m ready for more. Are you?”

  “Shower?” she asked coyly, wishing he’d let her inside the force field that surrounded him. “I mean, after swimming through all that salt water, I know you need a shower with real soap and…” And tender loving care… In case he might decline, she tempted him with, “I might even join you.”

  He lifted up on his hands and knees. “Let’s get this party started.”

  And it was a party. She’d no more than bolted off the bed and ran for the bathroom, when he was on his feet, running after her. She’d made it to her ivory-tiled shower stall when he snapped her ass with the hand towel from the counter.

  “Ouch!” she squealed, rubbing her backside, but secretly loving Hotrod’s playful side. “If you keep that up, I’m going to have to—”

  Ooomph. He had her back against the cold tile wall, her hair fisted in his hand, and making love to her mouth while he palmed the faucet on and—

  “Br-r-r-r! That’s c-c-cold!” she giggled around his prehensile lips. The beginnings of his beard brushed whisker burns over her mouth and chin. Persia took this amazing man’s head between her palms. Breathing his breaths. Sharing his space. Loving the way his harder body scrubbed over her breasts and belly.

  His knee shifted between her legs. He ducked, and instantly, the ice water steaming over her taut nipples didn’t seem so cold anymore. He had her now, and it was divine, his mouth opened wide, swallowing her breast, the tip of his tongue flicking her nipple. Driving her crazy. Urgent messages jolted like shocks between her breasts and her core.

  Tipping her head to the tiles behind her, she basked in the skilled hands of a man who knew what he was doing. Instinctively, one knee cocked. His hand slipped under that knee, and with one smooth tug, she was off her feet, her body angled into the tiled corner, and both her legs around his waist.

  Like before, he was ready for action, the tip of him positioned at her starting line, the pulse
in his neck beating “yes, yes, yes.” But there he stopped. The poor guy’s knees were bent and his feet were spread to support her weight. He’d hunched down to her level, yet he tipped back enough to peer at her. “I see you, princess,” he murmured, his voice a husky mix of whiskey and smoke. “You think you’ve got it in you for one more time?”

  That shouldn’t have made her smile, but a giggle bubbled up from her heart at his inadvertent insinuation. Persia reached between their bodies and took him in hand. “Not yet, Hotrod, but I’m ready to get it back in me if you are.”

  And he was big. Hard and dripping wet and perfect.

  One thrust. One whispered, “Yesssss….” And he was right where she needed him. Sheathed deep inside her clenching body. To the hilt. The dance started then, a steady rhythm that seduced and inspired. And it was happening again. With each push of his hips into her, her needy body responded in kind, until they were slamming together. Gasping for more. Clawing each other.

  Sparks flew. His fingernails dug into the cheeks of her ass. She intertwined her fingers around his neck. Holding him while he held her. He angled his head, licking her lips as he took her mouth. Drops of water drizzled between them, creating tiny streams that pooled in her eyes.

  “Look down, princess. See what we’re doing,” he murmured into her mouth.

  Persia bowed her head next to his to see. Him, all male, driving into her, all female. They were Adam and Eve, and this was paradise. With just that one hurried glimpse of their joined bodies, white-hot lightning speared her.

  “Gah! Yesssss!” she hissed. Damn. He’d done that on purpose. He’d known precisely what she’d needed to hit her mark.

  Persia lost track of Hotrod’s hands on her backside for a split second. She couldn’t breathe. Didn’t need to. Her world had exploded into slippery wet fireworks and smoking, falling stars. Drifting sparks that fell over her and into her. She was hanging on for the ride of her life. This! This man! Him! Only him and now and…