by Sue Wilder
He pulled my nipple in greedily, using teeth, his tongue, arousing to a feverish heat. I tugged at his head, held him, crying out as his mouth moved wetly from one tender breast to the other. His carnality emboldened me. The sound of our breathing was harsh. Beneath his skilled hands, I grew wet and swollen. My eyes closed, and in the darkness, each exquisite stroke broke me until soft pleas fell from my lips.
“Grip the couch arm behind your head,” he ordered roughly. “Turn your hands and don’t let go.”
The position left me open and submissive. Although I’d never trusted a man enough to allow bondage, the way Garrett positioned me was a different kind of restraint, one that relied on my willing participation.
Submission became so sexually arousing, my body quivered like a tight bow. Each sensation rocked through me. The dip of the couch as he moved. The rasping breath in my throat.
Beneath my fingers, I felt the give of the cushioning as he stripped the silk trousers from my legs, leaving me bare. Cool air added a shivering sensitivity as his hands slid down my thighs, stroking, spreading me until my entire body felt erotically exposed.
“God, you’re beautiful. Wet and waiting for me.” He rocked back and yanked a soft blanket from the back of the couch, rolled it, and I wasn’t sure what he was doing when he told me to lift my hips. Then I felt the material slide beneath me, and my muscles clenched in anticipation. I was so wet I could feel it, and my wild thought was—oh God, he wants to protect the couch—which faded quickly when I realized he’d elevated my hips. His hands closed around my ankles and he pushed them toward my butt with hard pressure. “Can you hold this position?”
“I…” My knees were falling open, my arms stretched above my head, and already, I was so close to an orgasm I could feel the first seizing. Because this hot, angry, dominant man was giving orders that made my heart race on the heels of a dark desire he knew I needed. A release.
My body shook like I’d been hit with electric shocks. My skin dewed as my eyes closed. “Yes…”
“Look at me,” he ordered.
When I opened my eyes, the intensity of his gaze shattered, inflamed. His hands slid up my legs to my knees. He used gentle pressure to force my legs farther apart, and every ounce of self-control went into remaining still. Holding his gaze.
This need to be seduced, to please him, was so foreign to me, my eyes stung, and the first touch of his fingers sent me over the edge. I shuddered, floating and lost in sensation as he fingered me, the slow, aggressive pressure rousing the kind of exquisite need where your back arches like it wants to break and you can’t breathe through it.
“Tell me when you’ve had enough, trouble.”
“I can never get enough,” I confessed, shameless as my hips lifted and my head tossed against the cushions. My fingers ached from the grip I held on the cushions. My heels dug in against the fabric. “Oh, God—Garrett!”
I gasped his name as the climax tore through me, ignited only by this man’s hands.
He withdrew his fingers, braced his palm against the couch to hold his weight. With his other hand, he held my hip while he slid his body downward.
White light dazzled behind my eyes when his mouth closed around my clit, his tongue teasing, his lips sealing in the sucking pressure. I grew dizzy and my thoughts disappeared beneath the decadent torrent of sensation.
Pulsing eroticism became a wild tease. I was shifting, seeking relief, trembling when he released my hip and pushed in with two fingers, the rhythmic thrusting matching the tug of his mouth as he increased the suction, relentless, until I whimpered. My feet slipped, and, without thinking, I let go of the cushion above my head, grasped my ankles with both hands. My mind betrayed me, forming images of black silk ties, my grip twisting tighter as I writhed.
The muscles in my throat ached from holding back, from panting, unable to keep the air in my lungs. Surrender was total when I couldn’t stop the second orgasm that left me boneless and in total collapse.
Garrett rose to his feet. “Upstairs.”
My legs were too unsteady to stand. He reached down, clasped my hand and tugged until I was on my feet and stumbling after him. The bedroom I used was shadowed, scented with roses. Moonlight flooded through the window. The faint, restless surging of the ocean filled the air with a sizzling anticipation. I refused to look away from his sculpted body, the way his hands flexed when he tugged the drawstring holding his cotton pants in place. White material softened to a bruised purple as it fell from his hips to the shadows at his feet.
He stepped free. His erection curved upward, heavy, with raised veins and a bead of moisture forming, and I remembered what it felt like, both in my palm and in my body. He was inflaming every abandoned hunger I had, and silent, we came together. Clashed, turned, backed toward the bed. When he fell, I followed, straddled his hard hips and gripped his wrists. As I rose on all fours, I kissed his mouth, plunged with my tongue. I had no idea how to turn off the craving I felt, but what I experienced now had always been there.
I’d deluded myself, believed I could be with other men, with Brand—and maybe the failure of our marriage had been as much on me as it was on him. Because it had always been Garrett who I searched for, in every male touch that left me wanting—because it wasn’t Garrett’s hand. Garrett’s body.
He rolled me to my back. Pressed my body into the soft linen. Moved his hips over mine and spread my legs with his knee, cupped me with his hand. His fingers penetrated, slow and easy with the seduction. His mouth was hot, wet on mine, while his cock pressed heavily against my thigh.
When he finally entered me, it was the slow, exquisite stretching that I felt, the slight tugging resistance, even though I was wet and ready. He withdrew, pressed in again, and the stretching turned into the kind of ache that could easily remain unsatisfied with the wrong man.
My mouth opened without sound. Garrett braced his weight with one hand on the bed. With the other, he lifted my leg and plunged deeper, harder, his thrusts gaining strength and ferocity, never easing the tempo even when I hooked my heel against his hip.
When I wrapped my other leg, he braced with both hands, the concentration in his eyes dark and dangerously focused. His thrusts pounded. The mattress dipped with the force and my head thrashed, hair catching across my eyes.
The pleading sounds rising in my throat were unknown to me. I knew only the driving, untamed mastery as he filled me, obliterated sane thoughts and took me to places where I’d never gone.
With this man.
Only. With this man.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I curled beneath the blanket, languid and uncertain about the time. Beside me, Garrett sprawled on his stomach, his body dark against the light sheets, and I realized how safe I felt, waking up next to him. Listening to him breathe.
With guilty pleasure, I turned to study his face, the strong cheekbones and the lush fringe of his eyelashes. The firm male lips. I longed to rasp my fingers against the sexy stubble I could still feel against my skin. His guard was down when he slept. The warmth radiating from his skin made me want to snuggle in, and when his hand fisted, I watched, curious at the way his arm muscles bunched.
I thought he was dreaming. Tension rippled across his back, and I placed my hand lightly against his shoulder. His skin was moist beneath my palm. He called out, a broken sound, and I pressed my lips against his shoulder. “Garrett.”
He rolled with breathless speed, the weight of his body suffocating as I sank into the bedding. I pushed at his chest. He was oblivious, his hands clenching around my arms, and with a twisting aggression, he dragged us both from the bed to the floor.
I landed on top, sprawled with my body tangled against his, and Garrett scissored his legs around my calves, twisted us again until I was flat on my back beneath him.
Fear sizzled with a debilitating impact. The last time a man attacked me, I’d been too frightened to react. Now, I clawed blindly at the arms restraining me. I bucked my hips. Garrett heaved his body upward. His eye
s were open but unfocused, and when I breathed in, the sweaty male pheromones that once turned me on pierced deep into my lungs. I struggled to hold on to that trace of Garrett when I dug my fingernails into his skin, whimpering when blood pooled in little crescents. I thought wildly—more scars to mark his sins. And I put them there.
“Garrett—stop!”
His jaw clenched. When he jerked his head to the side, I thought he searched for other enemies, but then his eyes cleared. His hands relaxed, and I twisted free before he could recover. With my bare feet slipping on the floor, my hands searching, I scooted backward on my butt until I was braced in the corner with my knees drawn up, while his expression darkened into panic.
“Shit! I hurt you.”
The hoarse sound of his voice had my muscles quivering as if he’d hit me with an electrical force. “You were dreaming.”
“I shouldn’t have stayed. You’re not safe when I’m dreaming.” The self-loathing on his face hurt more than anything he’d done. He rose from his crouch and snatched a blanket from the bed. His hands shook as he settled it gently around my shoulders.
“Let me look… please. I have to know if I hurt you.”
“I’m fine.” I wiped my eyes. “It’s okay.”
But the raw anger in his voice emptied me out, and I tipped my head while he examined my throat, shoulders. Each arm. His touch, as he manipulated my fingers, remained unsteady, and I searched for something to say that would ease his mind.
“It was a nightmare and I touched you when I knew better, because I used to sleepwalk. And Luna told me—when you’re dreaming like that, if someone touches you, it screws up reality, like you don’t realize what’s real. It’s better to… to just…”
My rambling didn’t help. Garrett left me to drag on his clothes, disappearing through the door before I could get to my feet. I snatched what I could from the closet, hopping on one foot to pull on cotton drawstring pants. I was still dragging a fresh tee over my head as I followed him, my bare feet silent on the stairs.
In the kitchen, I rattled a pan, found milk in the refrigerator.
“When I was little,” I said, keeping up a running commentary that sounded normal. “I would have dreams—giant rabbits hiding in my closet, with beady red eyes. Luna never dreamed. She was far too sensible, but my mother had this foolproof remedy. She’d make us hot chocolate, just my mom and me, and we’d sit on the couch sipping until I felt better.”
I had milk in the pan, and bending, I checked the level of the flame. Long ago, I’d decided gas stoves let me pretend I was a real chef, and not just a hack who knew how to use a microwave.
Behind me, Garrett re-buttoned his shirt, making me worry about being alone. Even though he’d warned his security team, that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his mind about spending the night, and I forced the tremors from my hand. Spooned chocolate powder into the warming milk.
“I’m making it worse, aren’t I?” I heard him walk to the fireplace. “I’m usually not nervous after second sex. Like—it’s really routine for me, but if this is awkward—”
“Soleil.” My name. Not trouble, and I was stiff when his hands slid over my shoulders. “It’s not you. I usually sleep alone, and when you touched me, I… over-reacted.”
“You have instincts.” I laughed hoarsely. “I almost said killer, then frightening, and now I’m deciding no stupid word choices.”
He pulled me back, circled his arms until I was solid against him. “I’m sorry.” He pressed a kiss against the top of my head. “And your milk is boiling over.”
“Oh.” I turned the control off and lifted the pan. “I did that once. Nearly ruined the stove.”
Garrett steadied my hand as I poured hot chocolate into the two mugs we’d started using. His and mine. While I’d been babbling, he’d stirred up the embers in the fireplace and added a small split log.
I focused on the dancing ruby flames. Get a grip, Soleil. Hit your mark. Say your lines.
“If talking is easier in the dark, we can leave the lights off. Other than the one above the stove.” I cupped the mug and wandered toward the couch. With one leg beneath me, I settled in, letting Garrett choose where he wanted to sit.
If he wanted to sit.
“Lights might alarm the security team,” I threw in, an afterthought, as I blew gently against the chocolate-scented steam rising from my mug. Garrett took a seat on the other end of the couch, and I stared at the glowing fire.
“With everything that just happened, I feel…”
“Confused?” His lips firmed. “Frightened?”
I looked at him. “I’m not frightened, Garrett. Despite all the excuses, I’m here because of you. Life felt irrational, but you made me feel safe. There were days when I would get in my car, determined to drive away, but I didn’t, because I’d be driving away from you.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, because that’s not me. I don’t rely on men, and I don’t think you understand what it’s like to be safe with someone. To know they’ll understand, no matter how you feel or what you say. You have valid reasons for going after Brand,” I told him. “They have nothing to do with me, and I respect that. But my reasons for going after him are valid, too, and I… want to still feel safe with you.”
I tasted the chocolate on my tongue and tried to swallow. “Max said we needed each other, that we fought the same battles. I’m not sure what you’re fighting, but I told you that Connor has a reason to hate me. It’s more than just Elle, having an affair with her husband and hurting her. It has to do with Luna, too.”
In the silence that followed, I listened to the random popping of burning wood. “I’d planned this secret getaway with Michael, but I had a publicity event the same weekend. I thought it would be brilliant to ask Luna to pretend to be me. No one could tell the difference. She’d fit into my dress. Everyone would wear masks, and it was scary, how believable she could be, right down to the Soleil St. Clair signature hair flick. That’s when she met Connor. Only he thought she was me.”
I brushed at my hair, quick and unsteady. “He was there because he thought—his idea was to have a one-night stand with Soleil St. Clair, then show the evidence to Michael. Discourage him. Probably threaten him, knowing Connor. Get him to end what he was doing to Elle, cheating on her.”
Garrett’s expression didn’t change. The hot chocolate was untouched, but he held it braced against his thigh while one finger stroked against the rim.
The gesture reminded me of the bar and the way he drank whiskey.
“Connor got his evidence,” I continued. “Only it was Luna, not me. And the same night, Michael was driving home. He died in a car accident, and everything Connor did was for nothing. Then I wrote that book. Elle thought my affair with Michael would be included, and… after she died, he blamed me. But he blamed Luna more.”
The burn in my eyes was too familiar. “I hurt Elle. I hurt Luna, but in this weird way, they both saved me. Made me realize what I’d become, and how I had to change. And Luna? Connor? They found love because of Elle.”
I sipped the hot chocolate before I looked at Garrett. “I think we both struggle with guilt. The emotions are genuine, regret over what we can’t change. But we change, Garrett. Become different people, and if there’s any purpose beyond the pain, then we have to find it. Believe in it. That’s why I need to go after Brand.”
“You don’t,” he protested. “I hear what you’re saying—”
“I don’t think you understand. I know you want to, and you’re so used to protecting others, maybe it feels odd, letting me protect you.”
“I’m not weak, trouble.”
“I know that. But Brand acts like losing that film is the end of his career when it’s not. My ex likes his possessions, and it isn’t that he wants me back. He can’t stand the thought of someone else having me. It hits his ego too hard, and this really is all about me, Garrett. Only me.”
Shadows filled the corners of the room.
My vision blurred. “I know why you asked me not to go after Brand. I don’t want to hurt you by not doing what you ask, but I hope you can understand why I have to do it. Brand will try to ruin you—and that’s something I can change. I don’t want to regret it if I don’t.”
Garrett leaned forward and set his mug on a side table.
“I didn’t want your ex glorifying my failure in that film,” he said without inflection. “Because everything about it is a lie.”
I set aside my mug. Crawled toward him. He stretched out his arm and pulled me close to his side.
“There was a woman. The daughter of a diplomat, bored, I guess, because she decided photojournalism would be fun. Used her daddy’s connections. Got herself on a plane to Morocco, and after that, she got herself kidnapped.”
My stomach dropped.
“The government refused to send a seal team. Didn’t want an international incident because of some negotiations, so they contacted Ibiza. I had assets in the area. Years back, Max and I were on a joint military team, hostage rescue, so it made sense for me to go. And that guilt is on me.”
The way he stroked my hair was soothing, but I felt the muscles tighten in his arm.
“In war,” he said, “you train yourself not to see people. Just the mission, because if you see people, you can’t do what has to be done. You lose parts of yourself each time, but the goal is always there. The purpose, and you tell yourself it makes sense.”
His voice emptied into detachment.
“Intel gave us a location. Terrorist camp, the northern desert. We planned a night operation. Go in, bring her out. I led the team. Five men, all skilled. Three were with me, two stayed, guarding the chopper.”
He inhaled, exhaled with effort. When his thumb brushed against my shoulder, I reached up, took his hand. Offering reassurance through physical contact.
“We made the extraction,” he said, sitting still for a long moment. “Both the woman and her interpreter. Set explosives to cover the escape. We’re at the camp perimeter and she freaks out. Needs her camera case because that’s where she’s hidden the photo memory card. Claimed she’d documented some illegal arms transaction—probably what got her snatched—and I made a decision when every instinct told me it was wrong. I went back.”
