“No. I was thinking she could charm the pants off the old bastard no matter what costume she wore,” Murphy focused on Shea. “Face it, Eric. Shea can accomplish what neither you nor I can. While Carlson’s distracted by her, shall we say, feminine persuasion, one of us relieves him of Jordan, and we all hightail it out of there.”
Shivers skittered up Shea’s back. Murphy almost made it sound doable, all except for that feminine persuasion part. Carlson hadn’t made a good impression the last time she’d seen him. How could she fake flirting with him? What if he was like Bagani, or worse. Her heart thundered. What if he was the murderer in the black robes? That almost felt—right.
“No.” The cords in Eric’s neck were tight, his jaw set, and Shea was beginning to agree with him. This was too scary for someone like her. “I won’t allow it. She’s not a narc or a merc, and she’s not one of us. You’re asking for trouble sending a novice into a black op, Murph. Besides, she’s been through hell. You’re asking too much. No.”
“But she is good looking,” Murphy said thoughtfully, “and, if I understand what went on during the last twenty-four hours, she had the nerve and the notion to outwit Abdul-Mutaal in the middle of a slaughterhouse. Most folks would’ve been too scared to move, but she one-upped the guy. And she managed to protect and smuggle out of Amsterdam the invention everyone’s hot and bothered over. By the way, where is it?”
Eric jerked his head at the backpack resting on the floor by the desk, anger swallowing the glow in his eyes. “She’s still not going.”
Shea lowered her lashes. Now that Murphy had reminded her of the last gruesome twenty-four hours, she wished she hadn’t brought the masquerade ball up. “Never mind. I can’t do it. Eric’s right. The last time I fooled anyone, I wasn’t myself. I was some guy in a fat suit, not a fancy dress. Besides, what if Abdul-Mutaal is there? I’d never recognize him behind a mask.” I might get everyone killed.
Murphy pitched forward, his elbows to his knees. “Exactly, Shea. Everyone’s still looking for the bumbling oaf in the fat suit, not a gorgeous woman in red sequins. It’s the perfect solution. Distract Carlson. Give him what he thinks he wants. Trust me. I know what happens when Moira slides into anything red. I have to fight off every guy in sight. They’ve all got their tongues hanging out. Funny thing, she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s like you. Single-minded. Eyes on one man and one man only.”
Eric dropped to one knee beside her chair. “No, Shea,” he said quietly. “It’s not because I don’t think you can do it. I know damned well you could. You’ve already proven you’re smart. It’s not you; it’s me. I wouldn’t... I couldn’t survive if anything happened to you. Not now.”
She cupped his jaw, touched at his blatant declaration of love. With all her heart, she yearned to prove to him that she was his single-minded woman again.
“Then it’s settled.” Murphy slapped his hands to his knees. “We do it your way. I’ll stay here with Shea and keep her safe. You go get Jordan.”
Eric pushed off the floor with a growl. He huffed. Pursed his lips. Chewed the inside of his cheek. He turned in a full, tight circle until—finally, he drew in a deep breath and snorted through both nostrils. “Oh, hell, fine. You’re both coming with me.”
Shea peered at him, not sure she’d heard right. “We are?”
He nodded at Murphy. “Shea might be scared, but she’s smart, and she’s right. Nothing dangerous, though. I want you standing close by, but not in play, so we all leave together once we get Jordan. That’s all. No damned masquerade party and no damned red dress.”
“Okay,” she agreed, barely able to breathe again. Being separated from Eric was the last thing she’d wanted.
“Then times a-wasting. Let’s get back on the road,” Murphy said with authority as he got to his feet. “We’ve got three hours of driving ahead of us.”
Eric pulled Shea out of her chair and into his arm. “Not until we shower. Where’s the head? A new set of clean clothes wouldn’t hurt, either, and Shea needs shoes. She’s been barefoot all day. You got any extras around here?”
Murphy scrolled his eyeballs up and down Shea, a gentle smile breaking over his fatherly face. “Right, I should have thought. You kids must be hungry. I’ll fix some soup and sandwiches while you take your showers, and I’ll check Moira’s closet to see what I can come up with.”
Shea’s heart set to beating. Food would be wonderful. A hot shower would be heavenly, but a shower with Eric? Perfect.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Eric tugged Shea into the head with him, his skin crawling to be next to hers. To feel her slippery heat at the tips of his fingers. The taste of her honey-sweet mouth on his tongue. The bathroom door had no more than closed, when she attacked, climbing up his body and hooking her legs over his hips, the heat of her core against his belly. “I want you,” she growled, deep and needy, her breath in his face.
Taking a step backward, he shifted both hands to her backside, clutching her ass while their mouths collided. His lady definitely had computer skills—and others, if those frantic fingers scraping his dirty shirt out of her way meant anything.
Gripping his head between her clenched fingers, she ravaged his mouth, swirling her tongue over his lips, and groaning. Devouring. Nipping. As if she couldn’t get enough. As if she’d been starved and needed to feed. Right. Damned. Now.
The shirt flew. She ducked her head, her lips sucking a sweet trail of pure pleasure over his chin, down his neck to his chest. His head fell back as he wormed out of his jeans. He’d already left his dirty boots at Murphy’s back door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a mission countdown had commenced, but he couldn’t remember what it was for.
His boxers went next. Need lifted its pulsing head, thick and heavy, coursing with blood and passion. Backing her to the counter, he set her at the edge. Her shirt and pants hit the floor, and they were skin to skin, both lost in a frenzy of searching hands and probing fingers, grabbing and tugging. God, he loved that she’d gone commando.
Eric met the intense stare of the guy in the mirror behind Shea, a damned happy man with his hands full. His gaze drifted down the reflection of her elegant bare back. The curve of her hips. The jut of her hipbones and the possessive grip of his darkly tanned fingers against the creamy cheeks of her naked ass. The delightful crack in that ass that never failed to inspire every last masculine impulse in his body. He groaned. No way was there enough time in the world for what he wanted to do with his wife.
Shea seemed bound and determined to have it her way. Lead on, baby.
With one clenching grip of her delicate hand, she’d reached between them. “Now, Eric,” she whimpered, pulling him erect, her fingertips teasing the heat right up and out of him. Arching, she impaled herself with one stroke.
Already primed and on the verge of detonating, it didn’t take much to close the deal. With one quick grunt, they came together. Hard. Fast. Steam covered the mirror, and he stopped watching.
“Oh, God. Oh, God, Eric,” she whispered, her fingernails raking his shoulders, pulling him closer. Frantically, she slapped both palms to the counter, supporting her weight just enough to lift one leg over his shoulder.
Ever the gentleman, he lifted the other shapely leg and secured her foot next to his ear. The sight of her body opened wide for him ignited every last damned male instinct to claim his woman. He went deeper, matching her voracious appetite groan for groan. Thrust for thrust.
Her head fell back, her lovely neck exposed and her breasts bobbing. Closing her eyes, she demanded a fervent, “Now! More! Now!”
Ah, he loved it when she turned into a bossy dominatrix. Eric thrust forward as aftershocks rippled through her, eliciting tiny, sexy noises that seemed to come from her toes. He couldn’t hold back if he’d wanted to. They came together in white-hot heat that obliterated every last thought or worry. Caution. Common sense. Decency.
Wrung out from the best damned sex he’d had in years, Shea collapsed, the top of her head t
o his chest. But holy hell, his legs were about to give out. Lifting her off the counter, he sank to the floor with her, thankful for the cold tiles on his bare ass, but not ready to let his lady go. Mind-blowing sex wasn’t the best start to any covert mission, but He. Did. Not. Care.
Not one bit.
Whatever God in heaven had protected Shea these past years had also brought her home where she belonged. He knew it the minute he’d seen her in Rosie’s kitchen. Shea was killing him with her love, taking one slice of his soul at a time, winding like the tendrils of a tenacious vine into the chambers of his heart. There was no life without her in it. No sense in trying.
Eric swallowed hard, still breathing heavy. He bowed his nose to the top of Shea’s head. “I love you, baby,” he murmured.
There was no better feeling in the world than a thoroughly loved woman in a man’s arms. Nothing. All this unprotected sex might have repercussions down the road, ones he’d gladly embrace if the day came that Shea was pregnant. But what a way to make a baby. Our baby.
The particulars of Operation Find Finn came back to mind. Eric had no strength to rise, but rise he did. Setting Shea’s feet to the floor, he kept an arm around her waist for support. She had to be exhausted after the day they’d had. “I didn’t mean to go all caveman on you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Shea lifted her chin, her just-kissed lips swollen and pink. Wet. Inviting him. She grunted a soft kind of a grunt, almost sarcastic, if that were possible. “You’ve never hurt me.”
Threading his fingers through her short locks, he closed the space between them and tasted her mouth, mumbling, “I hope Murphy found some clean clothes for us, because baby, I can’t resist you when you’re naked like this.”
The corners of her lips lifted, and his sun came out. Shea lit up the whole room. “I’ve missed making love with you,” she said, her hands on his chest, “and I’ve missed loving you. We’re good together.”
Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her palm, so damned glad that poor guy with the wart on his chin had asked for Eric.
Finally, they got down to scrubbing. Shea snuggled into Eric’s wet body, the dark hairs on the arms wrapped around her perfectly combed by the water. She thanked the Lord for honorable men, especially the naked one filling this four-by-four space with his handsome body.
Muscled from head to toe, he’d always been her version of pure porn. The sexy smattering of dark hairs over his pecs and trailing down his lower abdomen to below, mimicked his short-cropped inky black hair. Eric had manly hands, wide and capable of fixing everything from cars that wouldn’t start in the morning, to removing miniscule slivers from a little girl’s dainty fingertips.
Thick-necked from carrying mega-loads of gear when he was active duty, he’d grown more chiseled than she remembered. The six-pack was more defined. His biceps bulged. He had thicker thighs. And that back. Eric’s wide shoulders coiled with strength that narrowed to a trim, athletic waist, but the strong wall between? Pure manpower.
She wanted her hands on him again.
Other women used to ogle him. Shea knew they did. She’d caught them staring at his butt in the grocery store. Fanning themselves when he walked by them at the pool. Everywhere and anywhere they’d gone together, Shea’s green-eyed monster had lifted its head, thinking, Back off sisters. Keep your fingers to yourselves. He’s all mine.
He seemed not to know he was glorious to look at though, probably because he’d never stopped long enough to see himself. Just others. Their pain. Their broken parts. Why he now worked for a company of snipers was a mystery, him being a medic and all. Yet this career choice seemed to fit him.
“Why’d you start working for Alex?” she asked, her hands behind her so she wouldn’t be tempted to grab onto his wonderfully clean male parts and get sidetracked once more. You’d think all their lovemaking in the middle of that ancient Irish castle would’ve been enough. Guess not.
One brown eye peered down at her while he rinsed his head, then turned the water off. His heated gaze mellowed with a sigh. “It’s like this, baby. The last two years were hard for me, too. Then one day Alex called with a good job offer, thanks to that old fart in the other room.”
“Murphy?”
“Yes, Finnegan got it in his head that I’d be a perfect fit for The TEAM. Go figure. He said he saw something in me when we’d first met, I don’t know what. Anyway, the job pays good, but meeting Harley probably helped me the most at that precise time.”
“Harley?” Shea asked. “Is he another agent?”
“Yeah. Harley Mortimer. Believe it or not, he’s a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. Ex-Army K-9 handler. One of the best. Anyway…” Eric blew out a deep sigh. “He’d been out visiting the Seattle office, and we got to talking. Somehow, he knew I was struggling. The day he flew home, he dropped a Bible on my desk and told me to read it once in a while. So I did. I think the book was his own personal copy, because lots of verses were underlined or highlighted. The pages were dog-eared. Anyway, I started reading it, and then I started going to this little chapel in downtown Seattle. It helped. I’ll take you there sometime.” He shook his head, spraying her with the cast-off water. One brow lifted with devilish mischief. “Who knows? We might get some of that old-time religion.”
Blam. A jolt of lust shot straight through her. Her hands went to his chest. Then her lips. Beginning with a kiss on his sternum, she nibbled her way up to his neck before his soapy hands slid down to her ass. Old time religion sounded very good, especially if it started now. With a baptism. Followed immediately with sex.
He chuckled hoarsely, “Hold on, baby. We keep jumping each other’s bones like this, and Murphy’s going to come and roust us out of his shower. Come on. Jordan’s waiting. Let’s go save him and Rosie, okay?”
Shea sighed. She gave him one last kiss before she opened the shower door.
Playtime was over. For now.
Eric wrapped a towel around his waist and peered into the hall. Sure enough, Murphy had left several packages on hangars on the bathroom doorknob. Scooping them up, Eric ducked back behind closed doors. Shea too had a towel tucked around her, but he needed her dressed before he climbed her bones again.
“Moira is my size. And look. Underwear. Still packaged.” Shea dropped her towel and dressed, smiling all the way because, well, Eric didn’t have a polite bone in his body at the moment. He couldn’t make his eyes move off her. Didn’t even try. Just grinned at her naked body while she slipped the red bikini panties up her bare legs and pulled the black T-shirt over her head. Sweetest picture ever.
“It feels good to be myself,” Shea murmured, stepping into the jeans and tugging them up over her hips. She hopped, pulling the skinny jeans up higher until she could manage the zipper.
“I like you better this way,” Eric agreed. Messy wet hair. Long-legged. Nipples on high alert beneath the cotton tee. Perfect. With a sigh, he dressed. The denim jeans were worn and a tad loose, and the gray T-shirt was one size too large, but he made do instead of doing his wife.
Murphy smirked the second they returned to his living room. “Took you two long enough.”
Eric ignored the jibe. “You wouldn’t have a pair of boots around here for Shea? Socks would be nice too if you’ve got extras.”
Murphy pointed to the ensemble on the floor. Various boots, running shoes, sneakers. “Moira likes to shop. Help yourselves. I’ve got more unopened boxes and merchandise than I have space to put them.” He chuckled, his gaze skating over Shea. “I see the jeans fit.”
A prickly wave of cave-mannish need to knock Murphy out cold slithered up Eric’s spine at his friend’s open appreciation, but he stifled it. Yeah, Shea looked good. Men are gonna look at her. Get used to it.
She’d dropped to her knees to examine a pair of hiking boots. “May I try these on?”
“You bet. Socks are on the chair over there, too. I figured Moira’s things would fit you. See what else I figured?” He pointed to the wooden closet on th
e other side of the room where a red sequined evening gown hung. Two ornate face masks. A tux.
“Not on your life,” Eric growled. “I’m going in alone. You’ll hang back and keep Shea safe. That’s the deal. No ifs, ands, or buts.”
“You ever think we might need a back-up plan?”
“We won’t.” Eric dropped to the couch and watched Shea try on a couple pairs of boots before she decided what she liked. Kneeling, he laced them for her, fighting the urge to smack Murphy for keeping this masquerade ball idea alive.
Murphy didn’t argue. “I’ll drive,” the old guy announced, his hands to his knees, and the masquerade idea seemingly forgotten. “You two kids ride in the back and get some sleep. You both look like two sheets in the wind.”
Eric snagged his gear bag and the laptop. “What do you think? Leave it here?”
“Sure. I’ll lock it up while we’re gone.” Murphy opened the side door and ushered them outside, his brows knitted. “Let’s make this quick.”
Eric followed to the garage, Shea’s hand in his. “What’s up? You see anyone?”
“Not yet.” Once inside, Murphy locked the garage door behind them. One deadbolt. One galvanized steel horizontal bar bolted into the concrete walls as opposed to the wooden doorjambs. And a panic bar that Murphy jammed beneath the Master Lock doorknob. “My security system hasn’t given me any indication we’ve got company. I just like to be prepared in all things.”
Eric knew the feeling, but he had no idea how prepared Murphy was until, with a flip of a switch, a metal floor panel slid open. Just as Murphy flipped a light switch to brighten the hidden bunker, Eric grinned. “You’ve got an armory, don’t you?”
Murphy just grunted as he set a boot to the narrow wooden staircase. Eric held Shea’s hand while they descended. There were shelves lined with canned foods and batteries. Cables ran the length of the ceiling. Twenty-gallon jugs lined the far wall. A portable generator. A small safe. He even had a television set next to a ham radio set-up. “Are you one of those doomsday-preppers?”
Eric (In the Company of Snipers Book 15) Page 17
