by Karen Rock
He stilled on top of her, unmoving, just holding himself inside her. He felt perfect, as if he were made to be right where he was now. She closed her eyes and held her breath, savoring every part of him—how he felt, how he smelled, how he tasted, how his breathing sounded. He was incredible. Never had she felt this way with any else.
Brushing her hair aside with his hand and cupping her cheek, he kissed her face softly.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” he whispered between kisses. “I’m going to make you soar.”
“Ryan…”
He moved in and out of her slowly, giving her muscles time to adjust…to relax…making sure she felt every hard inch of him as he spread and stretched her wide and deep. Everything about him felt big and powerful; he was solid muscle and had incredible control of his body and movements. Their joining was deliciously familiar, a homecoming, and she’d been away far too long.
How she’d missed this….
His hips rolled in a wide circular motion, grinding against her in perfect rhythm. Sighing with pleasure, she wrapped her legs around his waist and slid her hands down his body to grab his ass. He kissed her more deeply, and she opened her eyes to find his golden ones staring into hers.
“You feel so fucking good,” he panted, leaning his forehead against hers.
“So do you.” She glided her hands up his back, damp with sweat, and gripped his wide shoulders. Her hips gyrated against him. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. Another orgasm teased her, just out of reach, as his hips pumped deep.
“Not a chance.” His voice was low and strained, his eyes brilliant and intense as she watched him drive into her. Just the visual of him above her sent a thrill throughout her body. Watching his abs, thighs, chest, and shoulder muscles contract and flex as he made love to her was remarkable. The tips of his hair were damp and sticking to his gorgeous face. Full, wet lips parted to expel his rapid-fire breaths. He. Was. Beautiful.
And hers.
His gaze latched on to hers, and he grinned. “Like what you see?” His voice was sensual and playful. God. How she loved this animated, open side of him that only revealed itself during sex, as though his body had permission to express the feelings his heart did not.
She wound her hand around his neck and pulled his lips to hers again. “I love what I see.”
“Me, too, sweetheart. Want more?”
She nodded and found his lips. “Yes…” she purred.
He leaned back, grabbed her knees and spread her legs wide, pounding into her hard and fast.
Holy hell.
He was pummeling her into next week. Then, when she wasn’t sure how much she could take, he slowed, tantalizing her. He pulled out and used his hand to rub his tip up and down her sensitized flesh, then slammed deep inside her again.
The wicked torture continued, giving her no quarter, until she was writhing, begging and struggling to catch her breath. He breathed air into her lungs, then thrust deeper still, resuming his frenzied speed until they parted with the need for oxygen. With the next hard thrust, his teeth clenched, and her nails dug into his back as they both grabbed and groped for leverage. Their hips rocked, bodies slick, as release tore through them. Their eyes caught and held, and they spiraled over the edge together.
Always together.
And Ryan was right; she was soaring. Her mind and body reveled in how exquisite he felt. Everything else disappeared until the world narrowed down to just them. Joined. One.
What if it could always be this way?
She wanted to explore their chemistry while Ryan was in Dallas. But did he have a point about heeding possible consequences? She’d been heartbroken and devastated when they’d broken up before. Could she have a physical-only affair with Ryan, satisfy the craving for him building inside, and shield her heart from future hurt?
* * * *
Ryan loved the sound of Erica’s labored breathing as she tried to calm down from their lovemaking. He loved that he had that effect on her—they had that effect on each other.
He came up on one elbow, and she smiled up at him. He loved her mouth, her eyes, the softness of her skin.
He loved…
His heart stumbled. Why did Erica affect him so much?
Somehow, she’d snuck in around the edges. He might not get how she had managed to do it, but he couldn’t deny she always had. And that simple fact scared the shit out of him.
He need to keep his focus on Jabhat al-Nusra. This morning, when Erica tapped into his fear of nearly losing her, he’d wanted to hold her. To wrap himself around her, to bury himself deep inside her and assure himself she was whole and safe. They weren’t getting back together, though; they both knew that.
But he was in Dallas now…and Erica was soft and warm in his arms. He traced lazy circles around her belly button, and the way she snuggled close filled him with deep satisfaction. Would it be wrong to indulge in a physical-only affair while he was here? Ignoring his desire drove him crazy. Sated as he was, it’d only be a matter of hours, minutes even, before he’d want her again.
A gray cat leapt nimbly between them.
“Earl. Hey, baby,” Erica cooed. The way she rubbed her face against the grizzled cat’s whiskers filled Ryan with envy.
He was jealous of a goddamn cat.
Erica brought out a possessive, emotional side of him, a weakness he’d been indoctrinated to suppress. Indulging his feelings meant loss of control, shame and weakness, the reason he didn’t get involved emotionally. It was too messy. Too complicated. Trying to build a relationship at the same time he built his career risked failure on both counts. His job demanded every bit of him. He didn’t have enough to spare for anyone or anything else.
Yet Erica’s openness drew him. She was unafraid to be emotional, and she was strong, stronger than any woman—no—any person he knew. She alone tempted him to step outside his walls. This morning’s intimacy, the sense of rightness he’d felt holding her, making love with her, only increased his growing feelings for her.
Did she feel the same? And if she did, did he want to know?
A loaded question. His world revolved around information, and he’d learned just how dangerous even a little could be.
A rough tongue dragged across Ryan’s cheek.
“He likes you.” Erica’s eyes were summer sky blue as she smiled at him.
Ryan skimmed a hand along Earl’s arching back. “What happened to his tail?”
“Not sure. The vet said he’s a feral cat which makes it odd that he even approached me since he’s fended for himself for so long. He just showed up on my doorstep. Like…like…” She buried her head in his furry side. “Like he knew how much I needed him.”
And didn’t that remind Ryan of every reason he had for not messing with Erica’s heart again? She wanted redemption, a chance to finally capture Al Monitor and end Jabhat al-Nusra’s reign of terror. He’d do everything in his power to give her the redemption she deserved if the elusive leader lurked in Dallas. His heart, however, was a grenade without a pin, one he wouldn’t hand to anyone, let alone a woman whom he cared for deeply.
He cleared his throat. “Erica,” he began.
Her hand paused, mid-stroke, on a purring Earl’s back. “I already don’t like the sound of that.”
“Your name?”
“The way you said it. It sounded like a warning.”
“You said we’d talk later.”
She swallowed hard and nodded, eyes averted. “Right.”
“This”—he gestured between them—“was incredible, but—”
“Can’t happen again. I get it.”
His mouth opened and closed. His brow furrowed. He’d wanted her to agree, but not so damn readily. And how fucked-up was that? “It’s just that—”
“We’re on a case and need to be professional.” Erica sat up and pulled the sheet
over her breasts. With her red hair tumbling around her smooth shoulders, the color high in her flushed face, she’d never looked more beautiful. His groin stirred, and he itched to pull her close again.
“Not to mention neither of us forgives the other for what happened in Amman. Oh—and I don’t deal well with fear and you’re an emotional scaredy-cat.” Erica kissed Earl’s nose. “No insult to you, sweetie.” Her long lashes lifted, and her eyes blazed into his. “Does that sound about right?”
He shoved upright. “Yes. Except about the scaredy-cat part.”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured, skeptical. When she made to slide off the bed, his hands shot out and gripped her arms, halting her. Her startled gaze flew to his.
“I don’t want you to be upset.”
“Who’s upset?” she ground out.
“Hurt.”
Her lower lip jutted. “Don’t go projecting your shit on me.”
“Dammit, Erica, I care about you.”
She whirled, the sheets twisting around her like a Grecian statue. “So?”
“So?”
“What good does that do me if you won’t act on it?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he fired back, defensive.
“Physically. Emotionally, you’re MIA.” Erica tossed her red mane, and her eyes sparked fire. “And you still haven’t apologized for not defending me in Amman. For not having faith in me.”
“Do you regret jeopardizing our mission?” His throat felt like he’d swallowed a hairball. “Causing an international crisis that almost cost me my job, too? And—”
You, he added silently. His fingers indented the mattress, and he breathed through the storm of emotion roiling inside him. Loss and guilt, longing and shame.
And deepest of all, the truth. He was still mad she’d ruined the only good thing in his life, a physical relationship that had affected him more than he’d admitted. It’d transformed him into someone else, a man not of his father’s making but of his own. An explorer of uncharted territory—terrifying and exhilarating. His untapped heart.
Erica didn’t respond. Her gaze flickered over him, brows knitted. The study was so intense he fidgeted.
“I can’t give you what I don’t have. Or don’t know how to give,” he admitted when the silence became too much.
As soon as the words poured out, he wanted to drag them back. Shame stung him, a dozen tentacles wrapping around his closed-off heart. Why the hell had he exposed himself?
She shoved him in the chest, hard, the surprise move toppling him backwards, Erica landing on his chest.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Sometimes you just piss me off.”
“Violence is never the answer,” he intoned and was gratified when her frown wobbled, then gave way to a smile.
“God, you’re a fool.” She dropped her head to his chest, and his hand came up to cup it.
“A fool for you.” His fingers slid through the long, silky strands of her hair. The citrus and floral blend of her shampoo tickled his nose.
She lifted her head to peer at him. “Don’t try and sweet-talk me, Arnell. You forget, I know you.”
“You might be the only one who does.”
Before she could respond, his cell phone buzzed on Erica’s nightstand. Recognizing the number, he hit the speaker button when he answered. “Arnell.”
“Heard about last night’s excitement.”
Erica sat up straighter at hearing Terrance, their CIA deputy.
“It’s been eventful.” His gaze swerved to Erica and caught her blush.
“Jamal al-Harbi in Dallas. First time we’ve known a ranking member of al-Nusra to be on US soil.”
“Erica and I consider it an important development in our investigation.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and a pleased smile played on her lovely mouth as she stroked the cat purring in her lap. Was she surprised he’d called the investigation “theirs”? Strange, since that’s how he saw it. A partnership. Could one work between them outside of this mission?
“Has the FBI identified any more members?” While Erica had been getting stitched up, he’d requested the FBI’s counterintelligence unit surveil the weapons traffickers’ former apartment, as well as the industrial complex, to see who else might be frequenting it.
“No one’s gone in or out since they set up. Nothing at the industrial complex either. Hold on, Arnell. I have another call.”
“We need to raid it. Now.” Erica’s hand stilled on Earl.
Ryan grabbed for the wristwatch he’d set on her nightstand and slid it on. “No.”
A fierce frown scrunched her features. “Every minute we wait means we’re losing valuable intel.”
“And if we act too hastily, we’ll tip them off and lose the chance to grab the entire group—maybe even Al Monitor.”
Erica gave a brief, grudging nod. “I still don’t like waiting.”
“Arnell?” Terrance’s voice snagged Ryan’s attention again. “What are your theories about al-Nusra in Dallas?”
Ryan filled the deputy in, finishing with his and Erica’s intention to visit the Speaker of the House and warn him about his aide’s association with al-Nusra.
“I’ll arrange the meeting for this afternoon,” Terrance said. “Time is of the essence. A large-scale attack may be in the works. I don’t need to remind you of the consequences when we fail to act quickly.”
The deputy’s warning was a ligature, wrapping around his tight throat. Erica’s gaze collided with his.
“No, sir.”
“Hundreds, thousands of lives may be on the line, Arnell. Don’t screw it up,” Terrance growled, then clicked off.
Ryan stared at the phone clenched in his hand.
“Hey.” His head snapped up at Erica’s soft voice. “We’ve got this.”
“Such faith.” He arched an eyebrow, struggling against the rising tide of regret swamping him since the Amman bombing.
Erica pried his fingers from the phone and clasped them. “I believe in us. At least when it comes to the job.” She pursed her lips and jerked her chin at him, trying—and failing—to look tough despite how fucking sexy she was wearing nothing but a sheet. A slipping one at that. “Those guys don’t stand a chance.”
And despite his trepidation, he returned her cheeky grin because damn if she wasn’t swaying him, turning his best intentions on his head so he was starting to believe in them, too.
Chapter 9
“Mr. Hatcher will see you now.”
At the secretary’s voice, Erica shoved out of the plush chair in the Speaker of the House’s Dallas office and smoothed damp palms down her dress slacks. Would the politician heed her and Ryan’s warning or dismiss their claims? She caught Ryan’s firm, no-nonsense nod and returned it. It tipped up her jaw and shoved back her shoulders. Not to mention it left her a little bit breathless. In a fitted gray suit hugging his broad chest and trim waist, he looked impossibly tall, handsome, and imposing. He radiated strength and confidence.
As for her… She needed to remain steady and not fly off the handle, swooping through every office and cubicle to locate traitorous Greg Pullman, no matter how tempted.
And she was sorely tempted.
Ryan wanted her to learn patience, to think ahead, and last night’s impetuous, near-fatal apartment recon underscored his point. She hated admitting when she was wrong, but she’d almost gotten herself and Ryan killed. Also, she’d begun questioning her actions in Amman. She’d gained valuable intel, but in the process, lost her job and Ryan.
Why insist on living only in the “now” if the “now” sucked?
Maybe there were things she should be afraid of…like a future without the man she was falling for again. The thought drew her up short. She’d be a damn fool to forgive and forget his role in her firing, how he’d defend
ed protocol rather than her. Until he learned to follow his heart rather than his head, she’d never trust him not to hurt her again.
“Right this way.” A young man wearing a loose white dress shirt and an overlong tie directed them down a short hall. Central air hummed from overhead vents, stirring her hair. Floral-scented air fresheners drew a sneeze from her.
“Bless you.” Ryan’s large, firm hand settled on the small of her back.
Was he being gentlemanly or preparing to restrain her if Pullman appeared? Her money was on the latter, but either reason irritated her. She didn’t need a gentleman or a minder; she wanted an equal partner.
But it went both ways. She wanted him to act on his feelings, and he wanted her to think before she acted. Could they find middle ground before he returned to Syria? A part of her—a very big part—hoped so, and she sort of wanted to punch her foolish self in the face for it.
They turned into a lavish office with crammed, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and tasteful furniture grouped on an antique Oriental rug. Waiting for them behind a mahogany desk was a tall, fine-boned man, probably in his late forties. His eyes were alive with a sort of agitated intelligence. He had weathered skin, slicked-back hair just beginning to recede at the temples, and a wide grin revealing lower teeth that overlapped like a hand of cards.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Keely.” Richard Hatcher slid a rough hand in hers. Tennis trophies in a glass curio revealed the source of his calluses. At her nod, the Speaker turned Ryan’s way. “And Agent Arnell. I’ve heard great things.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ryan sat in the chair the Speaker indicated, and Erica followed suit in the neighboring chair, wondering what “great things” he’d been told about her…
Everything about the Speaker, right down to his expensive black suit and Italian loafers, seemed designed to intimidate, yet he spoke in a voice with an underlying sweetness. It was perfectly masculine but somehow gentler or softer than the average man’s. It made her relax.
His office door clicked shut. A moment later, he settled in behind his desk, dropped his elbows onto the gleaming surface, and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I understand you have matters of national security to discuss.”
