by Juno Rushdan
It was a relief for someone to know the truth, see the real him. And still want him.
“I haven’t been with anyone since my physical, but we can’t risk you getting pregnant.”
Her face brightened. “Ivy got me an IUD when I was seventeen after Michael Dutton tried to force himself on me. I get it replaced every five years. I’m not due again until next year.”
His heart clenched, and he wanted to pulverize a dude named Michael. “What? Did he hurt you?” Once they cleared her name, he’d pay this Dutton a visit. Gideon had never killed a civilian or enjoyed torturing others, but there was a first time for everything.
“Yes, but…” She shook her head. “It was in college. He was a lot older and got really rough. I gave him a black eye, and he left me alone.”
Lucky for Michael Dutton.
“I want to be with someone I’m crazy-attracted to. Someone who makes my body come alive, who makes me feel safe. That’s you, Gideon.”
She moved her thigh, inadvertently brushing his groin. He nearly shot out of his skin. There was no angle at which he could shift now to keep his erection from pressing against her.
With the staples in his side and sheer exhaustion, maybe he could be gentle. Maybe it was possible to have her and maintain a grip on the situation, if there were firm rules.
Or maybe he was being foolish and reckless.
One thing he knew for certain—the woman made him a reckless fool.
“We need to establish rules first.”
“I love rules. They keep me from making mistakes.”
“If we do this, it has to be like Vegas. What happens on the boat stays on the boat. I can’t promise anything more. And don’t confuse lust with another four-letter word.”
There he went, turning yellow-bellied, couldn’t even say it. Love. As if to utter the single syllable meant one or both of them might catch it like a disease.
“Is that all?”
He was probably forgetting something important, but how was he expected to think straight in this position? “Yes.”
Willow kissed him with a startling urgency that was a shock to his nerve endings. Her ravenous tongue and the sweet taste of her mouth unhinged him. No one had ever kissed him like this, with impatient need and desperate satisfaction, with the kind of undeniable hunger that matched his own.
She tugged his shirt over his head, and he lifted his arms in sublime submission. That was what this slip of a woman did, backed him into corners from which he had no desire to escape.
He yanked the oversized tee off her in return, revealing soft skin and feminine lines. Her curves molded to him as though the pair of them were two pieces of a puzzle yearning to form a complete picture.
The subtle scent of her arousal permeated the air and desire shuddered through him. She slid her bare, centerfold-perfect body up close against him, leveling the last vestiges of his defenses, and something inside him snapped.
29
Atlantic Ocean
Sunday, July 7, 5:20 a.m. EDT
Gideon kissed her unrestrained, and Willow gloried in it. His mouth was wet and hot and so demanding that it made her woozy, but she met his tongue with deep, hungry strokes of her own.
They groped and caressed, wrapping themselves around each other, wild as caged animals unloosed. Heat throbbed between her legs, liquid need rushing through her.
He didn’t have to care for her in the same way she did him. He protected her, and he desired her. And that was everything.
Rolling onto his back, making a sound that was half growl and half groan, he brought her on top of him. He grabbed her hips and, as he broke their kiss, arranged her so she straddled him.
On his face.
The stubble of his cheeks scraped her inner thighs. Butterflies overtook her stomach and her insides trembled with anticipation. Then his mouth was on her in a full-fledged French kiss.
Gideon Stone—the sexiest man she’d ever seen, the only one she’d fantasized about—was French kissing her there. She never thought so much tongue could feel so good.
“Oh God.” She pressed her knees into the mattress, her whole body growing weak at the charged rush of sensation.
The next deep drag of his tongue over her folds sent a thrill shooting through her. And when he slid a finger into her, Willow’s vision blurred and she clawed at the wall like a feral cat. She gritted her teeth against the staggering pleasure, but failed to silence the embarrassing noises rising in her throat.
This was ten times better than what those Cosmopolitan articles described.
He kept doing things with his tongue and fingers, obscene things, his touch skilled and gentle, and she never wanted him to stop. Her arousal built until she couldn’t control herself, her body taut as an overwound watch, aching for release.
“Willow, you taste so good.” He took her into his mouth again with such ravening intensity, tightness coiled inside her to the brink of pain.
“More. I need more.” Words failed her.
It was intense and incredible. She undulated on him, chasing the deep, feverish ache.
A sharp release cracked through her like a thousand twigs snapping all at once, and her stomach muscles clenched into her diaphragm, stealing her breath.
But he didn’t stop. He kept feeding on her with a relentless rhythm. His mouth sucked harder, his tongue licked faster, his fingers plunged deeper.
Another wave of wonder seized her in hard, wrenching spasms. She shattered into tiny pieces, so scattered and submerged in sensation, nothing would put her back together again.
Gideon eased out from underneath her. She melted down onto the bed, exhilarated and disappointed. Guys were usually interested in taking, but Gideon had given her so much. The pleasure had been all hers. This was supposed to be about sharing.
“We should’ve started with something mutually beneficial. You didn’t get anything out of that.”
His laugh was husky. “I got plenty out of that.” He unzipped his jeans and kicked them off. “I enjoyed it, and now I’m so turned on, I can’t wait to be inside you.”
That was good to know.
Kissing her thighs, he prowled up her body, his pale-blue eyes on fire. She ran her hands over his chest that was solid with muscle, loving the strength of him. His hands closed over her breasts, the tip of his tongue teasing a peaked nipple before he drew it into his mouth and suckled.
A shiver of anticipation of what was to come went through her.
“You’re trembling. Are you scared?” Bracing over her on his elbows, his powerful body gleamed in the light of the breaking dawn.
Her gaze darted to his erection, prodding at her sex. Perfection, like the rest of him.
She gulped and clenched with nerves.
He was experienced, had been with lots of women who knew exactly what to do and how to satisfy him. She didn’t want to do the wrong thing and be memorable only for having been utterly disappointing.
“I won’t be any good at this. Sorry. But I’m a fast learner. You just have to teach me.”
His mouth closed on hers. She welcomed his tongue and the taste of her passion mixed with his need. He nudged the blunt tip inside her, stretching her. She arched, her throat thick with longing.
On the second press into her, he swore something indecipherable, the tension in her muscles mirrored on his face. She gasped at the enormous pressure, digging her heels into the mattress.
“Relax. Don’t tense.” He kissed her, softly, sweetly, his tongue coaxing her to soften. “You’re so tight. Let me ease in.” His voice strained with an edge like he was in pain as he drove inch by inch into the clasp of her body, withdrew and slid deeper. “I need to have you more than I need to breathe. But if it hurts too much, I’ll stop. Even if it kills me.”
And knowing that he would soothed and excited her.
> She didn’t want to run from him. She wanted to crash into what she craved.
“Don’t stop. Unless you’re in too much pain.”
“I’m fine. Taking it easy.”
He pushed into her harder and held still for a suspended moment of delicious agony. She hovered on the brink, rocking her hips, desperate for motion.
Taking her face in his hands, he licked her lips and then kissed her, deep and tender and sensuous, stealing her heart, and she was lost.
Each slow thrust had her inner muscles loosening and becoming more slippery. She clenched around him, relishing the intense friction, the torturous pleasure.
“Touch me.” His ragged words were low, rough. “I love the way you touch me.”
His voice filled her ears, his hard flesh filled her most intimate place, and her heart was full too. She let go of the bedspread tangled in her fists. Clumsy with desire, she ran her hands along his sleek, honed body. His mouth seized hers again, and the rest of their bottled-up need overflowed in frenzied kisses.
They found a rhythm, an escalating tempo toward something fierce and breathless. An excruciating push and an aching pull.
Making love with him exceeded her wildest hopes, but not in the manner she’d expected.
This was the first time that sex had been intimate. He peered down at her with an intense look she’d never seen from him before. The tide of emotion rising in her chest and swelling between them was overwhelming.
Unbearable tension spooled low in her belly. Arousal and desire were like wire threads gathering and knotting in her core. Holding her gaze, he quickened his strokes, driving the thick breadth of him impossibly deep, to the center of her soul.
It was as if she was dissolving in sweet sensation. White-hot ecstasy stormed through her, pounding harder and faster than the rainfall beating the boat. Her body squeezed and twisted, but she surrendered to the awe-inspiring wave of pleasure that swept her away.
With a guttural roar, he jerked into her one last time. He kissed the hollow of her throat and caressed her as though she were something precious. Emotion clogged her throat, rendering her unable to speak or think straight.
He rolled to the side, retreating from the bed, and left the room.
She reeled at the striking emptiness. Shutting her eyes, she tried to hang on to the fleeting sensations, wanting to memorize them.
The mattress sank as Gideon returned, sitting beside her. The heat from his body encouraged her to open her eyes. She was groggy from the high, her heartbeat still a wild flutter.
“Are you okay? Was I too rough?” He wiped the junction of her thighs with a washcloth.
“Don’t. I love the feel of you inside me.” So erotic.
“Too late.”
She sighed, missing the slippery warmth of him. “I guess we’ll have to do it again.”
“We can do whatever you want, as many times as you want. While we’re on the boat.”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Vegas.”
No promises of anything more. At least she wasn’t a for-one-night-only girl, and she planned to make the most of the little time they’d have together.
He got back into the bed and held her. Wrapped in Gideon Stone’s arms, her body was languorous and replete. Satisfied. Closing her eyes, she drifted to sleep with a man for the very first time.
30
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Sunday, July 7, 12:31 p.m. EDT
The hall was quiet as Sanborn strode to his office, keen to ditch his suit. His body ached for exercise, craving the surge of endorphins.
The compounded stress of hunting for the mole while trying to protect Willow and Gideon was getting to him. Restless energy thrummed in his veins, and his joints were tight.
Rounding the corner, he stopped short and then ducked behind the wall.
Janet stood in the next corridor, embroiled in a heated argument with Sybil Parker’s right-hand man, Ricky Olsen. He was tall and leggy, equally as dogged and territorial as Janet.
What was he doing sniffing around outside Sanborn’s office?
She had her hands planted on her full hips, jaw clenched, head held high. The two snapped back and forth at each other, neither backing down. Ricky shook his head and stepped around her to walk away, but she caught his arm and spun him around, not letting him skulk off.
Janet wasn’t simply Sanborn’s gatekeeper. She was his freaking stormtrooper. No one set foot inside his office without her permission.
Pride spread across his face in a smile and fell just as quickly. Ricky pressed his palm to Janet’s cheek, her body instantly, visibly, softening in response.
A chill ran through Sanborn, like someone had walked over his grave.
Ricky leaned in as if to kiss her, but Sanborn strode around the corner into plain view. The two shot apart with deadpan expressions. Not a hint of surprise or guilt on either face.
Whatever was going on between those two, it had been happening for a while. They had grown accustomed to hiding, pretending, coming so close to being caught that their reactions were well-practiced.
Ricky hurried past Sanborn with his eyes lowered.
Janet handed him a stack of phone messages without batting a lash, sparking anger inside him. “The top two should be returned while you’re on the treadmill or out for a run.”
He glanced at the papers. The director of national intelligence and the aide to the president. POTUS must’ve gotten wind of this fiasco and wanted to ensure this mess wouldn’t blow back on him.
“Not in your office,” she added. “I found Olsen nosing around when I got back.”
Now the walls officially had eyes and ears. Sanborn had given Sybil too much credit, assuming she’d already bugged his office in the same manner he had hers. He’d used a set of her own threat monitor equipment that been cleared by the director of national intelligence to use in the facility.
“Where were you?”
“Doing what you asked.”
Stalling Ms. Sybil Parker away from her office by any means necessary. Only three computers in the Gray Box had active USB ports for uploading external data: his, Willow’s, and Sybil’s. Sanborn used the distraction to copy Sybil’s computer on the flash drive that was burning a hole in his pocket. But if Parker’s techie had been in Sanborn’s office at the same time, exactly who had been the one stalling whom?
Didn’t matter. With the cloned drive, he’d ascertain what Sybil was up to. It was a violation of ethics, not to mention the law, to spy on the insider threat monitor, but the only way Sanborn fought was dirty.
“Care to explain about you and Ricky Olsen?” he asked, his fury over their charade rising.
She tensed. “I told you. I caught him in your office and read him the riot act.”
He lifted a brow and waited.
A flush crept into her cheeks as she started fast talking. “I never told you because it’s embarrassing. The whole May-December thing. I’m much too old for him, by fifteen years.”
That was what embarrassed her? Sanborn was no ageist and no hypocrite. The age gap was bigger between him and Doc. But some desires simply couldn’t be indulged if it made you a liability.
And now he had to examine under a microscope of suspicion someone outside black ops he had trusted implicitly, who’d been with him since his Agency days—Janet.
He’d all but ruled out his own people as the traitor. He knew the fiber of their characters, what made them tick. They would never betray him for money, ideology, or out of arrogance. But after what he’d witnessed in the hall, he was painfully aware that it was possible someone had gotten close to one of his people, inside or outside the office, and had found a way to compromise and coerce them. Fear was a powerful motivator for the weak and would prevent someone from coming to him for help.
But the
fact remained that Sybil would do anything to cover her ass. Perhaps she’d go so far as to lead the witch hunt on Willow while protecting a leak in her own department.
What he wouldn’t give to have Knox by his side at such a time, but his second-in-command was deployed for a good reason, and recalling him wasn’t an option.
Doc, Amanda, and Daniel came down the hall, Castle following close behind.
Scratch his workout time. What bomb was going to drop next?
“You and I need to have a chat,” he said to Janet before the others were within earshot.
Her eyes grew wide, and she nodded.
Entering his office, he removed his suit jacket. Janet swiped it from his hand, throwing it on a hanger and hook in the corner. She insisted the bespoke Savile Row garment shouldn’t be slung on the back of his chair. After his divorce, it mattered little to him where he hung the handmade suits his silver-spoon ex-wife had purchased.
The smell of strawberries and cream wafted into the room along with Doc, giving him a jolt of energy. With her beatnik, flower child charisma, he always expected her to smell like patchouli.
Thankfully, she didn’t.
“Coffee?” Janet asked him.
He shook his head and sat.
Doc’s gaze met his as she claimed a chair in front of his desk with a smile. Her bright baby-blues reeled him in, her coppery-blond hair falling in soft curls. She was some kind of beautiful.
He forced his thoughts to realign, reminding himself—everyone’s motives were suspect.
“What’s up?”
“Time for the situational report,” Amanda said. “I’m still trying to help Doc run down the origin of our smallpox weapon.” With Amanda’s DEA background, she was an expert at picking up trails and tracking things down. “Whoever modified and weaponized the strain had to get an original sample from somewhere. So far, I’ve hit lots of dead ends.”
