by Tracy Brody
Tony’s voice carried to her as she headed toward the kitchen; a male voice answered. Crud. Well, Tony’s shirt hung to midthigh, so she didn’t bother going back to put on more clothes.
“I thought you already ate,” Tony’s voice grumbled as she neared.
“It wasn’t as good as pasta with your mom’s sauce,” another voice joined the mix.
In the kitchen, Tony and three of his teammates sat around the table, which had been pulled from the wall. Dominguez stood at the stove, ladling sauce over a plate of spaghetti. Goosebumps rose on her arms at the quaint, domestic scene. Genius-boy Grant cleared his throat when he spotted her. Tony swiveled in his seat. With five sets of eyes locked on her, a freezing bolt of lightning raced down her spine—and it wasn’t from her lack of pants.
Tony got to his feet in a flash. “Here,” he motioned for her to take his chair. “Let me get you a plate of pasta.”
The men dropped whatever they were talking about before she interrupted. Devin Grant slid a basket of bread and large bowl of salad toward her. Empty plates remained in front of AJ Rozanski and Kyle Liu. Both men gave her half-hearted smiles.
“You’re looking better than …”
“Than last time you saw me?” she finished when Rozanski broke off. “That’s probably not saying much.” She picked up a piece of crusty bread. Tony set a plate in front of her as she bit into the warm bread.
Dominguez tapped Liu on the shoulder. Liu looked up, huffed an exasperated breath, then relinquished his seat. Angela savored a bite of spaghetti while Dominguez twirled his fork, loading up a generous mouthful.
“So, the gang’s all here.” She eyed the men.
“I didn’t want to leave you alone, so I, uh, called Grant to make a grocery run,” Tony said.
“And we all wanted to see how you were doing,” Grant added.
“How sweet.” She didn’t buy it for a second. No one spoke, and the men avoided eye contact like she was naked instead of moderately covered by Tony’s shirt. “And did he tell you about D.C.?”
“Um …” Rozanski stammered.
“Would you hand me my phone? It’s in my purse.” She pointed behind Liu.
“Your friend at the Bureau called,” Tony fessed up. “I talked to her.”
The chill in her spine turned arctic. “And …?”
“Someone did break into your place.”
“What’d they find?” Her appetite dissipated.
“No fingerprints or other evidence.”
Dominguez forked in another mouthful while staring at his plate. Grant picked up empty dishes from the table and carried them to the sink.
“Give me my phone.” Maybe they thought her injuries made her an invalid, but she wasn’t putting up with this stonewalling crap.
Tony stepped between her and the counter with her purse. “They found an explosive planted in your condo.”
His statement sucked the air from her lungs. The little energy she had vanished and her arms fell limply to her sides. “What kind? Where?”
Tony swallowed and noisily exhaled. “A pressure-triggered device. Mounted between your mattresses.”
“Holy shit.” My bed? Talk about personal. She forgot how to breathe. Tony rubbed her shoulder. He could have been killed. What if he’d tossed her suitcase on the bed? Or they’d lain down together?
For years she’d taken the threat seriously, yet never quite believed anything would come of it. But now …?
“Was anyone hurt?” Dread rose as she contemplated their silence.
“No. They discovered it and sent a tech team to disarm it.”
That news allowed her to breathe.
“They’re going to send us the report when they finish analyzing it to determine its signature,” Tony continued.
“That’s not necessary. The Bureau can handle it. You guys have your own work to do.”
“We couldn’t have found the bomb in LA without you. And I kinda take this personally, too,” Tony stated in a don’t-mess-with-me tone.
“We’ve got your back,” Rozanski added.
She scanned the men’s determined faces, felt them closing ranks like a wall of muscled protectors. Maybe her defenses were down because the damn tears burned, and her throat closed. After all these years on her own, maybe the time had come to depend on someone else. She reached up and squeezed Tony’s hand.
“What are you guys planning?”
Twenty-Nine
Tony was in the middle of his third set of pulldowns when a scream penetrated through his heavy-metal playlist.
Angela!
He let go of the bar, and the weights crashed down as he surged up and into the hall.
“It’s okay.” He tried to calm both his cleaning lady as she backed out of his bedroom and Angela, who stood bent over and clutching her side. “Sorry. Rosie cleans for me. Oh, shit! You’re bleeding.” He rushed past Rosie to Angela as she sank onto the bed.
Blood seeped through the shirt she wore. He helped her lay back on the bed.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tony. I didn’t know you were home and had a guest. I came to strip the bed. She screamed when I came in, and I …”
“We got back last night. I forgot what day it was and didn’t hear you come in.” He lifted the shirt to check Angela’s side, then carefully pulled away the dressing’s tape. Fresh blood oozed from the wound. “Can you grab my phone from my weight room?”
Rosie disappeared.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not too bad.” Angela attempted a smile, but it looked more like a wince.
Rosie slipped in and handed him the phone, looking on nervously as he dialed up Doc.
“Shelly, it’s Tony Vincenti. Is Doc there?” He brushed the hair from Angela’s face. “Tell him I need him at my place—ASAP—and to bring his medical bag. Thanks.” He laid the phone on the nightstand. “Rosie, will you go let Doc Rivers in. He lives a few doors down and will be here in a minute.”
Rosie nodded and hurried off.
“What’d you do this time, Vincenti?” Doc stopped short once he glimpsed Angela lying on the bed.
“Not me.” Tony took a step back. “Rosie, sorry for the scare. Since I’ve been gone, there’s not anything for you to do. Why don’t you come back in two weeks?”
“You don’t need my help?” Rosie wrung her hands together.
“Thanks, but we’ve got it.”
Doc set his bag on the edge of the bed, then pressed two fingers over Angela’s wrist, checking her pulse. “What happened?” he asked after Rosie left.
“I got spooked and jumped out of bed too quickly.”
Tony shook his head and rolled his eyes. “She sustained two bullet wounds a week ago. They removed part of her liver,” he clarified.
Doc gently probed her side. “Looks like you ruptured some sutures.” He opened his bag and dug inside. He tore open a packet, then proceeded to clean the wound. “I’m going to put in a couple of stitches, but you should see your surgeon. He can make sure there’s no internal bleeding.”
“Surgeon was in New York. Can you …?” Tony asked.
“New York?” Doc shot him a questioning look and opened the suture kit. “Have them send her medical records to me, so I know what I’m dealing with.”
Tony gave Angela his hand to squeeze while Doc tugged the needle through her skin. “Uh, problem on the medical records …”
“You didn’t—”
“No! I didn’t shoot her! Jeez. We need to keep her presence here on the q.t. Transferring her records here could put her at risk.”
“We could have the hospital send the records to the Bureau,” Angela suggested. “They could forward them to keep it untraceable.”
“Bureau? FBI?” Doc finished and snipped the thread.
“Sorry, Doc. This is Special Agent Angela Hoffman. Ang, Doc Rivers. Badass Special Forces doctor.”
“And you’re here because …?”
“Long story.” Tony cut off further questions.
“Thanks, Doc,” Angela said.
“Your body experienced severe trauma. While I want you up and moving, don’t overdo it. You hear me, too, Vincenti?” Doc’s authoritative tone scored a direct hit—on him.
“Yes, sir.”
“That extends beyond working out to other strenuous activities.”
Heat flooded up Tony’s neck. God, did everyone think he was a manwhore? He chanced a glance at Angela. She didn’t look leery of him, but still, Doc’s insinuation hardly encouraged her to think of him as the commitment type, and she needed to trust his ability to be faithful.
Tony twisted the wrench to tighten the swivel connector on the new showerhead.
“What are you doing?” Angela asked, her voice throaty from sleep.
God, she looked sexy as hell in his shirt with her sleep-tousled hair. “Didn’t mean to disturb your nap.”
“All I’ve been doing since I got shot is sleep.”
“Thought this would make it easier for you to take a shower.” He stepped out before turning on the water to check for leaks.
“I’m able now—if you don’t mind helping since I can’t lift my arm high enough to wash my hair.”
“Now?” He could understand her wanting a real shower. This morning Doc told her she could shower as long as she was stable and the water didn’t hit her wounds. Still, he wavered. With her standing inches from him and a sultry smile playing on her tempting mouth, a shower wasn’t going to clean up his mind.
“Please,” she pleaded.
“Let me get one of the stools from the kitchen. Make it easier for you. Be right back.”
Vincenti, you’re supposed to show her you don’t have a one-track mind. A blind man would notice his erection. Maybe if he stayed behind her … The visions conjured by his brain overrode his good intentions of installing the new handheld sprayer.
He carried the bar stool back to the bathroom. Focus on the task—help her shower and wash her hair. When she recovered her strength, they could get adventurous in the shower. The kitchen. His workout room. Shit. Good intentions, my ass. So much for changing his thinking.
While she brushed her teeth, he positioned the stool and adjusted the spray of water. When he turned around, she’d unbuttoned the last button of his shirt she wore. She eased it and the sling off her shoulder.
He swallowed to keep from licking his lips.
“Your turn,” she prodded, using her right hand to tug the creamy lace fabric of the skimpy panties down her thighs until they dropped to the floor. The bandages covering the wounds to her shoulder and side didn’t detract from the perfection of her body.
He wanted to reach for her. Instead, he grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt and yanked it over his head. His gym shorts joined the pile of discarded clothes.
Her gaze fell to his boxer briefs. “I know you don’t wear those in the shower.”
That was the only encouragement he needed to shed them, too. It’s not as if they hid his aroused state. She stared long enough to flatter him.
“How hot do you want it?” He stuck his hand into the water, immediately aware of how his comment could be construed.
“Fairly hot.” Amusement played in her voice.
He lowered the temperature, then stepped inside. “That good?” he asked when she followed him and perched on the stool.
“Perfect.”
Her hair shone as the water matted it against her bare flesh. He poured shampoo into his hand, then worked it into her long, thick, silky hair.
She tilted her head back. “You have no idea how good that feels.”
Rather than say anything stupid, he kept his mouth shut. He took his time, the intimacy building, while he massaged her scalp, forming a rich lather. With him blocking the direct spray of water, her dark nipples puckered into peaks making his body harden with need. Fantasies played through his mind as he freed the handheld showerhead, then rinsed the suds from her hair.
She leaned back further to keep the water from running down her face.
He was damn near coming just from touching her hair and watching the water run in rivulets over her ample breasts. While he rinsed her hair, he replayed Doc’s warning in his head. He’d gone months without sex during deployments.
He could do this. He could do this. He. Could. Do. This.
Only a few days seemed like an eternity right now.
He lathered up the washcloth, then soaped her back. Give her the washcloth to do the rest. That’d be a safer option. He moved the cloth from the left to the right side of her neck.
She reached up, her fingers meeting his. Except, instead of taking the cloth, she guided his hand over her shoulder and down. “Here,” she said in a breathy whisper, leading his palm to cover her breast.
He gave up the fight and let the cloth drop. His left hand mimicked the right. Now each cupped a breast. Angela’s head lolled back against his chest, and her mouth opened when his thumbs and forefingers pinched her nipples.
“Yes.” She moaned in pleasure. “I like that.”
He continued to fondle her—harder when she bit her lower lip, her legs pressed together. She arched her body before settling back on the stool.
She took hold of his arm and guided him around to stand in front of her. “Hand me the soap.”
He complied, staring down into her eyes. She lathered her hand. Then her warm, slick fingers wrapped around him.
“Ang, I…” he started to protest, even though it felt like nirvana.
“Let me do this for you,” she stated, not a hint of hesitancy in her voice.
Her hand glided up and down his shaft. And here he hadn’t thought he could get any harder. He loved how she showed no fear of touching him. “Faster,” he said and braced his hands on either side of the shower.
Angela increased the tempo. He didn’t want this ecstasy to end, but damn, he couldn’t hold back much longer. She angled her face up, her tongue reaching to flick over his nipple. He spread his legs and leaned forward until his chest was at her mouth level. Her lips closed over his nipple, sucking firmly.
“Yes.” Don’t stop.
Her teeth bit lightly into his flesh. He desperately tried to prolong the pleasure. The water washed away the soap, providing more friction as she pumped him faster and harder. Her mouth moved to his other nipple. When she squeezed the sensitive tip of his dick, he succumbed to the inevitable. His hips bucked forward, and he came in a remarkable rush of release.
When he opened his eyes, Angela wore a generous smile as she stared up at him. “Thank you,” he managed.
“My pleasure.”
He snorted. Her pleasure? Damn, he’d give her some pleasure. Once she washed up, he grabbed the handheld showerhead again and rinsed her off, careful to avoid the bandaged areas.
He turned off the water, then tugged down the towels draped over the glass. On a mission, he wrapped one towel around her. He rubbed the excess water from her hair before drying himself. Droplets of water glistened on Angela’s skin, but he pushed open the shower door and extended a hand to her once she eased off the stool. Out of the confines of the shower, he dropped his towel to the floor and tugged hers away. He scooped her into his arms and carried her the short distance to his bed.
After placing her near the middle, he let her get situated to protect her injuries. A hungry need shone in her eyes. A need he had every intention of filling—in time.
He ran a hand up her arm and over her bare shoulder to the back of her damp neck, cradling her head. His mouth met hers. He started with brief, gentle kisses, moving his body closer to hers. The intensity of the kisses increased. Their tongues stroked and danced seductively. She smelled fresh, and her skin heated as their bodies brushed against each other and limbs intertwined.
It’d only been minutes since he’d come in the shower
, but already his body demanded more. Except this time, it wasn’t about him or his need.
He trailed his hand from her wet hair to her breast, kneading the soft flesh and teasing the pert nipple with his fingertips. A strained murmur escaped her. He could kiss her like this for hours, but when his hand went exploring, he was welcomed with her slick warmth. Her muscles constricted around his fingers.
She whimpered in protest when his mouth left hers. For a nanosecond, Doc’s voice pecked at his conscious, then Angela’s hand roamed over his chest to his biceps and silenced the voice in his head. Her fingertip traced over the scar from the through-and-through bullet wound he’d gotten in Colombia last year. She’d never mentioned it, though. She understood enough not to ask.
“Let me do the work,” he ordered.
“If you insist.” Her dark pupils made her eyes more erotic.
He yanked down a pillow, then lifted her to position it under her hips. Placing his hands on either side of her, he hovered over her. “This okay?”
“Almost.” Her hand slid to his lower back, pressing down until his hips made contact with hers.
He supported his upper body to avoid putting weight on her injuries. His mouth hungrily melded with hers again. How many times had he wondered what she tasted like? What her body would feel like if given a chance like this? Her skin was as silky smooth as he’d imagined. Her body was firm, yet supple and not bony.
There’d been times when he’d been with a woman and would close his eyes to pretend she was Angela. Now, he kept his eyes open. No more imagining.
When she turned her face to the side, it gave him more access to her neck. He pressed kisses to the spot where her pulse throbbed below her ear, enjoying her soft murmurs as he worked his way to her tender throat.
Sliding his body lower, he ran his tongue over her breast and drew her into his mouth to swirl his tongue over the peak. She arched back her shoulders, and he switched to her other breast, wanting to indulge every inch of her body.
Propped on an elbow, he played his fingers over her other nipple. Her fingernails raked lightly over his back, then up to his scalp, sending delicious shudders through his body from head to toe. She wrapped her calves around his legs so that her intimate heat pulsed with desire, further arousing him.
