“I like that. Nice attention to detail, without being too elaborate.”
“Why did I agree to fulfill your granny’s wish on my one and only honeymoon?”
“I promised you a five-star hotel in Istanbul. And a Turkish bath. And to satisfy you in every way.”
Her breath hitched. “That would do it.” She squeezed his hand as they drew nearer the camp. “So. Am I mad at you for our predicament, or too infatuated to care?”
“With me as your husband? Infatuated. Obviously.”
He glanced sideways and caught her eye roll.
“I’m pretty sure it’s your fault,” he added. “You wanted to go off-road.”
“Please. A woman who wants a five-star hotel and sex isn’t going to beg to ride off-road on terrain likely to make you a soprano.”
“Sweetheart, there’s no need to worry in that department.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I can’t wait.”
Her throaty chuckle sent a jolt of desire straight to his groin. In the midst of the most messed-up op ever, he was…enjoying himself. Huh. That was a first.
They approached the camp. Ian cradled her hand in both of his as he hailed the nomadic shepherds in their language and said a silent prayer that these people were exactly who they appeared to be.
He was sick to death of surprises and betrayal.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cressida’s heart pounded as they entered the camp. It was late. Dark. Four men sat around the fire. One held a drum, another a sitar—or something like it, Cressida wasn’t sure—and the soft music came to an abrupt stop when Ian hailed them.
She had no clue what Ian said, but his manner was congenial—very John, if she were to analyze him—and his tone upbeat. The men smiled and ate his John act up. Cressida was whisked off to join the women. As far as she could tell, this was a group of four or five families. The cluster of tents was more permanent than an overnight camp, but, as Ian had said, no electricity. No modern conveniences.
The women spoke rapidly, and Cressida couldn’t understand a word. But a plate of food was set before her, and after hours of walking, her appetite had returned. She thanked the women profusely for the warm, spicy meal. A few of the dishes were similar to foods she had tried in Van when she had dinner with John—a lifetime ago.
After the meal, the women presented her with a basin of heated water, and she realized they were offering her a bath. A cloth soaked with perfumed water was the most heavenly thing she’d ever smelled—until she was handed a homemade bar of soap with inclusions that looked like flower petals and herbs. Never in her life had she enjoyed the spicy, warm scent of soap as much as she did at that moment.
The women left her alone with hot water and the most precious bar of soap in the world, which she used to scrub her skin and work lather through her hair. When the women returned, they dressed her in a peasant blouse and skirt. Embroidered in the local custom, the cloth had to be valuable, and she protested. But the women didn’t understand, and she didn’t want to insult them. So she donned the clothing, tying the laces across the bodice. The cotton garments were clean, soft, and comfortable.
Fed, clean, and clothed, she was led to another tent—this one slightly farther from the others, and from their knowing glances and occasional giggles, she had a feeling she and Ian were being given special accommodations because they were on their honeymoon.
Unlike the goat-hair tent where she’d been fed and bathed, her new tent had tapestry walls. The main piece of furniture in the square room was a futon-like pallet. Beside it sat a low table surrounded by pillows. The floors were covered with elaborately woven kilims.
Beautiful and exotic on a normal occasion, after days on the run, the tent represented paradise. And she’d be sharing it with her…husband. They had stopped running, even if only for one night.
Now it was time for her to stop running and take what she wanted. It was time to pause and enjoy a moment of pleasure with Ian. After all, they could die tomorrow.
The women left her, and she sat on the pillows by the table and poured herself a cup of tea. Ian would join her soon. Her body heated at the thought of acting on the sexual current that had pushed her toward him from the moment she met his gaze across a crowded airport terminal. Of finally reaching the release that had coiled in her since they’d almost made love in the shower in Siirt.
She sipped her tea and waited.
And waited.
The tea turned cold. The music outside the tent continued. An hour passed. She stretched out on the futon. Her eyes felt heavy, and she couldn’t keep them open.
The music stopped sometime while she dozed. She woke up to silence and wondered where Ian was.
He wasn’t coming.
Maybe he’d left her. Maybe he’d tucked her safely away with these people she couldn’t communicate with. Maybe he was gone. He’d abandoned her…
Hurt and fear rocked her to the core.
How humiliating to be abandoned by her fake husband on her fake honeymoon, right before they were about to do some very real consummating.
The canvas curtain door shifted, and Ian entered the tent. Relief flooded her but didn’t eclipse the fear of abandonment that had struck with shocking speed. “Damn you!” she growled as she launched herself at him. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him to her, pressing against the chest she’d feared she’d never get to touch again.
“Did you miss me?” he asked.
She released his shirt. “No. Why would I?”
He smiled a devilish, carnal smile. “Because you want me.”
“Maybe I did, before you left me alone—for hours.”
He moved closer. “I was ingratiating myself with our host.” He shrugged. “Working. Protecting your ass.” He smiled and reached for the named body part.
She stepped out of his reach. “The music ended a while ago.”
“Ten minutes isn’t a while. And I took a walk.” His voice lowered. “So I could get you something.”
She eyed the hand he’d tucked behind his back, as if he reached for his pistol. What kind of game was he playing? “I already have a gun.”
His smile deepened as he produced a fistful of wildflowers. “For you.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. A ragged bunch of flowers had never looked prettier. She took them from him and held them to her face, breathing in their fresh scent. “You were picking wildflowers?”
He nodded. “I can’t wine and dine you, but I could at least get you flowers.”
In the middle of this crazy, scary nightmare, Ian had gone off into the night to gather flowers? She clutched the handful of blossoms even tighter in her fist.
He took a step toward her. “I’m used to being alone. It’s how I’ve always been. Now, my world has exploded. I’ve been burned. Yet all I want is you. I don’t want to be alone when I can be with you.”
Cressida’s breath caught.
“Sooooo…you want to finish what you started in Siirt?” he asked.
She laughed at his quick emotional retreat and set the flowers on the table. She planted herself before him. “You didn’t need the flowers. All you had to do was step inside the tent.”
He stroked her cheek. “Yeah, but I wanted to see you smile when I gave you the flowers. Because your smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
* * *
Ian caught Cressida up against him and took in her sexy, sweet scent. They were safe, and would remain so for at least a day. During this respite, he planned to explore Cressida Porter. Thoroughly.
She slid her hands around his neck. “Tell me one thing, Ian. One thing to make me believe in you.”
“In Antalya, I wanted to break cover when I realized you were Hejan’s pigeon. Something about you…struck me. I didn’t want you caught up in this mess. But all I could do was hold you back when the fight broke out, to keep you from getting hurt.”
Her eyes widened. “That was you?”
&
nbsp; “Yes.”
Her voice turned husky. “If I’d met you that night…things might have gone differently.”
He shook his head. “You would have met John.”
“That’s too bad, then,” she whispered in a throaty voice, “because I’m not interested in John. I want Ian.”
“John isn’t here. Poor bastard was killed in an apartment in Siirt.” Ian’s heart pounded, and he wondered why. This was just a joining of bodies. A respite. One he desperately wanted, but not vital.
Yet somehow, this moment felt vital. Like he was baring his soul, not just his body. It was crazy, but still, he felt it, the pounding heart, the windup of increasing tension. He was coiled tight, ready to spring. Ready to touch. Taste. Own.
Cressida reached for his shirt and pulled it up, over his head. She purred softly and stroked his pecs and biceps. He couldn’t help but flex and flash a smile. “Yours. All yours.”
“What do you want in return?”
He tugged at the ties on her peasant blouse. “You. All of you.”
“You aren’t asking much.”
“I’m giving everything and asking for the same.”
“Okay, then.”
He undid the bow above her breasts to open the embroidered top. She didn’t wear a bra, so the split blouse exposed her high, round breasts and nipples waiting to be tasted. He cradled her breasts, rubbing his thumbs across the tight peaks, while his lips trailed down her neck, across her soft cleavage, finally stopping to suck one nipple into his mouth, then the other.
Her fingers threaded through his hair as she let out soft panting breaths. He raised his head and kissed her deeply. They had all night, and he intended to enjoy every minute.
Starting with tasting all of her. He pulled the blouse over her head and tossed it aside, then dropped to his knees. His hands skimmed her flat belly, then tugged down the full skirt that hid the part of her he ached for. From her scent, he knew she was aroused and ready. A sweetness that was pure, sexy Cressida. He almost felt a buzz as all the blood in his body surged to his cock. Lightheaded and hard, he reached for her sexy lace panties and slid them down her smooth thighs.
“You’re beautiful,” he said with all the reverence he felt.
“You already know you’re getting laid. You don’t need to lay it on so thick.”
He sat back on his heels and looked up at her. She was serious. More than serious. She was…self-conscious. How could she be? She was perfect. Stunning. Every fantasy he’d ever had—on steroids.
He stroked between her thighs, touching the slick heat he couldn’t wait to taste. She let out a soft moan, but he sensed she was still nervous, not relaxed enough to enjoy the invasion of his tongue. “I’m telling you the truth. You’re beautiful. Perfect. Sexy.” He stood and took her hand, leading it to his thick cock trapped in his now very uncomfortable jeans. “See what you do to me?”
“Even a perfect Delta Force spy will get hard when presented with a naked woman.”
“Not like this—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and followed orders. He opened his mouth and explored hers with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of her. Even more arousing was her response. Sexy heat and soft sounds. The mewing noise she made in the back of her throat only made him harder. “Touch me,” he said against her lips.
Her hands slid down his bare chest and cupped his erection through his jeans. Why was he still wearing jeans? He murmured hot promises in her ear, what he intended to do to her, but mostly, how he intended to make her feel.
She purred and sucked on his tongue as she opened the buttons of his fly. Then her soft hand pulled him free and stroked the length of him, while her other hand shifted to cradle his balls. Intense pleasure pulled a low growl from his throat.
She pushed him toward the pallet and he realized he was not the one in charge of this encounter. Cressida had always been in charge. And now she was proving it. She could do anything. Demand anything. And he’d give it to her. Hell, he’d probably even break cover if she asked.
She’d bewitched him with her amazing mix of innocence and sexy. And he was ready to finally have a taste. He pulled back from her touch and nudged her to the bed. “No. I’m seducing you.” He followed her onto the low futon. “And you’re going to scream my name—my real name—before I enter you.”
“Who are you again?” she asked and let out a naughty laugh.
He narrowed his gaze. “You’ll pay for that, missy.” He placed his hand between her thighs, sliding his fingers along her slick opening and stopping on her clit. Humor left her as she let out a soft pant. “Ian,” she said.
“More,” he demanded.
“Ian Boyd.”
“What do you want?”
“I want Ian Boyd.” She sucked in a sharp breath as his finger flicked across her clit. “Inside me.” He stroked again. “Now.”
He smiled. Damn, Cressida Porter was the hottest, sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He scooted lower and slid his tongue over her clit. She bucked upward, against his mouth. He licked her soft folds, savoring the sweetness and slick peach texture, as he pressed his tongue inside her.
She groaned and clenched against him. He could come just from the taste, the feel of her pleasure. This was Cressida, splayed out before him. The woman he’d seen from afar and wanted to protect. The woman he’d discounted. The woman who’d turned his world upside down.
According to his orders and training, he should have gone after the microchip and left her unprotected by the train. But he’d stayed with Cressida and let his target slip away. Wanton. Scared. Beautiful. Cressida had ruined his mission, and all he wanted was to lose himself inside her sweet heat and forget the bullshit mission from hell.
Forget that his life as he knew it was over. Forget that his cover was blown. That he’d been betrayed by two men he’d considered friends.
He nudged her thighs wider and licked again. He grazed her swollen clit with his teeth, and she bucked against him. He purred with his own satisfaction and slipped his tongue inside her, repeatedly. So hot. So wet. So ready.
He stood and kicked off his shoes and finally shucked his jeans. He was barely naked before she reached out and stroked his cock and made a soft sound of want. He met her gaze. Those big, brown eyes were wide open and full of hunger. “Open your mouth.”
She did, without hesitation, and he slid inside. Damn that felt good. Better than anything he’d ever felt before in his life.
Ever since she’d stepped into his shower in Siirt, he’d wanted this. Her. He’d wanted until his balls ached. And the reality was even better than he’d imagined.
She rocked back, then sucked him in, deeper than before, opening her throat. The woman was a suck goddess. She wrapped her hand around the base and stroked as she controlled the slide of his cock in and out of her hot mouth. She swirled her tongue around the tip, then let him go. “Condoms,” she demanded.
He turned and grabbed the box from her backpack. He sheathed himself, then spread her thighs wide and stroked her clit with the tip of his cock.
“Yes. That. Now.”
He slid inside her with one smooth stroke. She closed around him, so tight the pressure and friction was enough to make him forget his own name. He stopped, seated to the hilt, and took her breast into his mouth.
“Ian,” she said with a pant.
He grinned and pulled out, thrusting faster, harder, the second time. “More.”
“Ian Boyd,” she said. “Ian Boyd.”
“What do you want, Cressida?” His lips trailed up her neck and he nipped at her ear.
“You. Ian. This. Ian. All of you.”
He braced himself on one hand and slid the other between their bodies to stroke her clit. “How about this? Do you want this?”
“Yessssss.”
He laughed. He stroked. He fucked. And through it all, she cradled him, tightening on his cock as she edg
ed closer to orgasm. He kissed her neck, her breasts, her mouth. And he thrust, pumping into her, feeling so damn good with every deep slide.
Beneath him, she arced her back and let out a shuddering gasp. “Ian. Yesss. Ian.” His name was melodic on her tongue. EEEeee-an. She came. And she came. His body coiled tight, his own orgasm building to a blinding intensity. He crested, and thrust into her as he came hard. Long. Intense. He growled with his release as he came inside her sweet, tight body.
Spent, he grabbed her around the waist and rolled to his side, keeping her against him, still deep within her perfect body. He kissed her, his tongue delving into her mouth in a thorough exploration that expressed more than words how much he enjoyed being inside her.
As his heartbeat slowed, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. Beautiful. Brown. And right now, sexy and satiated.
His heart tripped. This was no mindless sex romp. He cared about her. To prevent himself from saying something foolish, he took her breast into his mouth and sucked. He blew cool breath over the wet peak and watched as her nipple tightened. Then he played with her other breast.
When was the last time he’d shared an intimate moment—beyond sex?
His life in the Army had been dangerous, and he hadn’t invited relationships. And his life in the Middle East, a secret life, had made intimacy impossible. But Cressida knew exactly what he was, who he was. He didn’t have to hold back from her. He could trust her.
This could be real. He, Ian Boyd, wanted for murder and espionage in the Middle East, was having a quiet, thoroughly enjoyable postcoital moment, because he trusted someone. The evil eye pendant rested between her breasts, and he found it sexy that it was the only thing she wore. With his tongue, he traced the chain down the valley.
At last, he was eye to eye with the necklace and stopped. The pendant was like a million others, but…different.
And he’d seen this particular evil eye pendant before.
Dangerous To Love Page 271
