by Addison Fox
“What’s—” The question died on her lips as she realized what he was staring at. Several round bruises that had turned a mottled yellow and green stood out on her pale skin, just beneath the line of her bra.
“I should have killed him.” The words were spoken so softly Violet barely heard them, yet their lethal edges were unmistakable.
“Max. I’m fine. It’s fine.”
Her protests seemed to have no effect as he knelt before her, his hands roaming over her stomach in gentle, probing motions. “Does this hurt?”
She settled her hands on his shoulders for lack of any other place to put them, intent on using the position to pull him back up to standing. To return them to the light-hearted teasing and sexual promise that awaited them at the end of their walk to the bedroom.
Instead, her position only telegraphed her pain when he indented her flesh with the tender press of his fingers. She fought a wince but couldn’t stop the instinctive reflex of her fingers against his shoulders. “It’s fine.”
He only shot her a dark look as he continued his inspection, moving his hands to the other, more prominent bruise, low on her right rib cage. The ache still lingered, but something else rushed in to take its place at the supreme gentleness of his touch.
She’d have thought the marring of her body and the remembered violence would intrude on their moments together. Instead, sharing it with Max helped to put it in its proper place.
“I really am fine.” She ran her fingers through the military-short cut of his hair, the strands soft against her skin. He read the implicit request in her motions and lifted his head once more, his attention fully focused on her. “And I’d like you to stand up.”
His blue eyes darkened like a winter’s day before the snow came—a brilliant shade shot through with the impending storm. “I can’t get past it. You have to understand what it does to me to see these marks on you.”
She thought she’d understood, but now, faced with his smoldering anger, she realized just how far she’d underestimated his emotion.
“You rescued me, Max. You stopped them and made sure they couldn’t do anything else to me. We need to focus on that.” She bent her head, pressing a kiss to the soft swirl of hair at the crown of his head. “We need to celebrate that.”
He finally stood but left his hands on her waist. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me.”
“There are marks on you, Violet. You can’t tell me they don’t hurt.”
“Until you decided to focus on them, I hadn’t given them much thought.”
“Stubborn woman.”
The petulance in his tone matched hers, and she couldn’t help but smile at the pair they made. “I’m tougher than I look. And I’ll be really pissed if Lange manages to ruin this, too.”
Indecision wrapped around those storm clouds in his eyes as the gentleman he was did battle with the sexual desire that had haunted them both for nearly a year.
Determined to force the innate gentleman to take a backseat, she lifted up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his ear. “Please.”
She nearly had him, the widening of his pupils a dead giveaway to the needs of his body. Since his T-shirt had vanished along the journey from living room to bedroom, Violet used every tool in her arsenal to gain victory.
She ran her hands over the broad expanse of his chest before working her way toward the button of his jeans. Heat radiated off his stomach muscles, and she traced the thin line of hair that slid beneath the waist of his briefs before taking him fully in her palm.
The hard breath that whooshed past her ears had Violet smiling, and she couldn’t resist massaging the hard line of his erection, anxious to draw the same response again.
He cupped her face in his hands, the liquid blue of his eyes lit with a fierce passion. “What do you do to me?”
She’d meant to keep things light—she’d had every intention of breezing through sex with Max—but the repetition of the same question he’d asked earlier stopped her.
Was it the raw honesty she saw reflected in his gaze? Or the gentleness of his touch, even as his muscles practically quivered with need?
Or the realization that he had her as deeply in his thrall as she seemed to hold him.
What do you do to me, Max Baldwin?
A pithy retort sprang to her lips, but she held it back. Somehow saying anything during such a momentous moment seemed wrong.
He grazed his thumb over her cheekbone before speaking once more, his voice husky. “What have you done to me?”
The only answer lay in the needs of her body. That culmination of the sensual dance their souls had understood long before either of their minds had processed the inevitable.
So without thinking of what she didn’t have to offer Max, Violet focused on what she did have.
Herself.
With the long months of endless aching finally at an end, she continued her ministrations, the solid length of him still cupped in her palm. He gritted his teeth and covered her hand with his, halting her motions. “I think we’re both wearing too much.”
“You’re sure this isn’t some plot to put you in the driver’s seat?” With aching slowness, she stroked the length of his erection. She was rewarded with the dropping of his eyelids and the hard clench of his throat as he fought for control. When he finally spoke his voice was hoarse, strained to the breaking point. “I’m a very good driver.”
Before she took another breath, Max had her in his arms, his movements sure as he strode to the bed. She wanted to argue—was she actually being carried to bed?—but the sensation was so sweet and sexy she didn’t have the heart to say anything that might ruin the moment.
Max laid her down, then followed with his body. He created a cage with his arms as he settled his hips between her thighs. The same erection she’d so recently cradled in her hands pressed against the apex of her thighs, and Violet saw stars as she adjusted to his weight.
“Happy to see me, Mr. Baldwin?”
His wolfish grin was his only answer before he bent his head and began to nibble his way down her body. Her bra went first, sacrificed to his clever fingers, followed quickly by her shorts. When his hand slipped beneath the silky material of her panties, Violet nearly came off the bed.
“Max!”
He maintained his silence, his only acknowledgment he even heard her the increased pressure from his fingers and the slide of silk down her legs, which he managed with his free hand. On a hard moan, Violet gave up any attempt to speak. Instead, she closed her eyes and let the long drafts of pleasure wash over her.
The fear of the past few days faded, along with the loneliness she’d increasingly accepted as a part of her life. She gave herself up to the moment. To the need and the fire and Max.
Sweet, wonderful, surly, amazing Max.
And then there were no adjectives—no thoughts at all—except for the raw pleasure that suffused her body in bright, warm waves. Violet took the moment, clutching Max’s shoulders tightly even as she allowed her body to go hurtling through the heavens.
But it was only on her descent back to earth that she registered the soft words, crooned in her ear over and over.
How magnificent she was.
And how beautiful.
And amazing.
Tender words that praised and adored in equal measure.
Abstractly, she realized that she hadn’t stopped touching him, her hands roaming a steady arc over his shoulders, down his chest, around to his back. There was power here, Violet thought. Raw power, barely leashed.
Max lifted up onto his forearms again. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, still shimmering with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her hands splayed across his thick muscles.
&n
bsp; “Good. I’m good.” And then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “You’re so big.”
His eyebrows rose for the briefest moment before her words registered more fully, and he moved off her. “I’m sorry. I’m crushing you.”
“No.” She was quick to pull at his shoulders to hold him still, but he’d already moved to stretch out beside her.
Damn, why did she keep fumbling with him? The man had just given her the best orgasm of her life, and she’d managed to insult him before the afterglow had even left her body.
“You weren’t crushing me. At all. I just can’t get over how big you are. I mean, I know you’re a solid man, but you’re like a rock.”
“I’m not lean and graceful like Buchanan. Never have been, even as a kid.” He snaked out a hand, tracing a line from her collarbone down over her breast. Her already sensitized body stirred under the soft touch, her nipple growing even harder as the pad of his finger brushed over the tip before continuing to her rib cage. “Don’t think he doesn’t know it, too. The bastard beats me every time we go for a run.”
“Is that why you make him run alone?”
“I make him run alone because he’s fond of the crack of dawn. Staying home to avoid getting my ass kicked is just a side benefit. Of course, paybacks are hell if he bothers to come with me to the gym after work.”
The gym wasn’t a surprise in the least. While she knew he hadn’t been on active duty in a few years, he maintained the solid physique of a man used to operating in his prime. His visits to job sites for their firm’s architectural work also ensured he needed to remain nimble and strong.
“I like your body. You’re big and broad and sort of raw-boned, like a prize fighter.” Violet traced the line of his collarbone, then down his chest, mirroring the same path he’d traveled over her own body. “It’s sexy.” She pressed a kiss to his lips. “So sexy.”
The ebb and flow of desire reached out and grabbed them both once more. Like a roller coaster beginning its ascent to the next thrill, their touches grew more urgent, their breathing more ragged.
Max removed his jeans and briefs and in moments had a foil packet out of the bedside drawer. She expected him to resettle himself over her body, but he again defied expectation. He pressed a line of kisses over the same trail his finger had traced previously, stopping to linger over her breast. The unfulfilled urgency that drove them both only added to the pleasure, his teeth and tongue drawing sensation after sensation as he lingered, tormenting her with his mouth.
Restless with need—with the completion that would come only from the joining of their bodies—she pulled him close, guiding him back to her in welcome. He hesitated for the briefest moment, his eyes once again upon her.
Neither of them said a word, but she heard his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken and knew her answer had to be as obvious.
We can’t go back.
I don’t want to go back.
And then there wasn’t a choice. She gripped his hips, lifting to meet him as he thrust, taking her fully. A harsh moan of pleasure filled her throat and spilled over in a soft cry as he embedded himself once more, then again. She matched his movements, quickly slipping into an urgent, elemental rhythm that imprisoned them both.
Violet held on to that large body, reveling in the elemental—and the essential—as they made love. Rapturous pleasure filled her even as fulfillment hovered just out of reach, growing closer...closer...
And then she fell, her hands tight on the curve of his buttocks as she sought to fill herself with him.
With Max.
Rich moments of pleasure suffused her limbs, a delicious elixir poured from the simple act of giving and sharing pleasure.
As her heart raced and her mind whirled in the simple joy of the moment, she knew she’d been given everything.
* * *
Max hovered in that delightful state between dreaming and waking, when he still had control of his thoughts but didn’t much care where they went. He had Violet in his arms, her warm body and soft scent only adding to the contented drift.
“I’ve been thinking about Knox St. Germain.”
Max’s eyes popped open at her words. “What?”
“The MI5 agent. What do you think he wants?”
“We just did that—” he shifted up onto an elbow “—and you’re thinking about another man?”
“I wasn’t thinking about having sex with him.”
“You just had sex with me. There should be a no-fly zone for at least an hour before another man can even enter your thoughts.”
“If it weren’t for St. Germain, I wouldn’t have gone to my office in a huff. Which meant you wouldn’t have followed me. Which means we wouldn’t have ended up here. You should be thanking the man.”
“We’d have ended up here sooner or later.”
She tickled a hand over his ribs, her smile broad. “Yes, but you have to admit you liked ending up here sooner instead of later.”
“No argument there.”
She’d neatly boxed him in, with both words and gestures, but he wasn’t quite content to let the subject go. “It’s still a hit to a man’s ego to share his bed with a beautiful woman and a ghost. A male ghost at that.”
“So noted for next time. In the meantime, I am thinking about him, and I want your opinion.”
Resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to let the matter drop—and pleased at the idea of a next time—Max bunched a pillow behind his back and leaned against the headboard, pulling her beneath his arm. “What about our British friend has captured your attention?”
“He got here awfully fast.”
“So, there’s this invention. It’s called an airplane.”
She swatted at his stomach, her giggle punctuating the moment. “I know that. But Reed just put in a call the other day to that friend of his at MI5. And we had a weekend in there slowing things down. Yet here comes a British officer, plain as day, all prepared to discuss the stones and their rightful return to the British government.”
“You got that subtext, too?”
“Beneath the whole ‘I want to help you get rid of the stones that can only cause you problems’?” She nodded. “Came through loud and clear that the real end game is returning the rubies to England.”
“We can ask Mrs. B. again what her father’s agreement was when he removed the rubies from British soil. He was a renowned enough jeweler to make pieces for the Royal Family. He had to have maintained the provenance on the gems. From her initial retelling to us, they belong to him, and by extension, to her, fair and square.”
“Have you talked to your grandfather?”
“I’ve talked to him almost every day. I had Tucker contact him on Sunday while we were—” The comment faded, the memory of her extraction and their subsequent race across the Texas countryside still raw.
Whether it was insistence on making her point or a simple unwillingness to go back to the dark place that had nearly derailed their lovemaking, Violet gently shifted their conversation back to his grandfather. “So he’s due for a call. We can check in on him and then ask Mrs. B. how her father ultimately handled the removal of the gems.”
“It’s been a long time. We may be asking an awful lot for her to remember.”
“Maybe.” She traced a repeating infinity loop over his stomach, fast causing him to lose his train of thought. “But none of it explains how St. Germain has gotten on this so quickly.”
“I hate to work against your theories, Sherlock, but the government can mobilize awfully quickly when they want something. The normal laws of time, space and general slowness are irrelevant when you have a fleet of high-end planes at your disposal and an endless supply of money.”
“But it still doesn’t make sense why they’d mobilize at all. The rubies aren’t
theirs to want. They were given away to Mrs. Beauregard’s father. Or whatever deal was struck that made the man more than willing to spirit priceless gems across the Atlantic.”
“It’s all moot, Violet. All someone needs to do is claim that the decision was made in the haze of wartime and, Bob’s your uncle, the government gets involved.”
“For future reference, British slang doesn’t work all that well with a Texas twang.”
He pressed a kiss to her head, smiling in spite of himself. “Just working on my Knox St. Germain impression.”
Violet lifted her head from where it was pillowed against his chest. “I don’t recall him saying anything so silly and old-fashioned.”
“He did in my head.”
“Why?”
“Because if he sounds like an old man, I might be less inclined to beat him up.”
“You know, you’re sort of bloodthirsty.” She shifted up to meet his gaze head-on, staring deep into his eyes. Max was tempted to shrink from the perusal, but he could only be who he was. “I like it.”
He released a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “If it makes you feel better, we can consider it an occupational hazard.”
“Why? It would be tantamount to hiding your light under a bushel basket.”
“Geez, Violet. I don’t go around drinking the blood of innocent virgins.”
“I’m not suggesting you do. But you’re a man who’s comfortable with the power in his body and comfortable with unleashing that where necessary. Why are you getting so prickly?”
Did he dare tell her? Or did he leave the truth buried the way he always did? Hell, even Tucker didn’t know the full story, and the idea he was even contemplating saying anything was an indication of just how far gone he was.
Sex with Violet was amazing, but he’d be damned if he was going to imagine it into something more.
Willing their conversation back onto more comfortable ground, he pushed more cheek into his voice. “I’m not getting prickly. But I do find it odd you seem so enamored with my ability to destroy things. For a woman accustomed to helping others build things, it’s an odd juxtaposition.”
