by Geri Krotow
“Full?” She turned to look at him.
“Yes.” The same hands that had been stroking her neck were at her lower back as he pulled her against him.
His head lowered and she closed her eyes, wanting to soak up every bit of their time together.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BRAD LOVED THE need in Joy’s kiss, hot and wet. He wanted to devour every inch of her.
Not yet.
He pulled back, and his erection became harder at the flush on her cheeks and her dilated pupils. All from a quick neck rub and one kiss. She’d be positively glowing after a climax...
“Have you eaten dinner?” he asked.
“I grabbed a burger on the way down. I didn’t want to waste any more time.”
That was as close to a confession of need or want he’d ever heard from Joy. “What’s making you so anxious?”
He didn’t wait for her answer, but grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen with him. He turned back when she stopped in her tracks.
“What?”
“This kitchen is incredible, Brad. I didn’t know you were a cook, too.” She gestured at the copper pots hanging on the wall.
“I like to keep my tools handy, whether it’s woodworking or cooking. Hanging the pots gave me more room in the cupboards. These old homes don’t have big kitchens like yours.”
“It looks like you’ve made the most of every inch of this place.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll give you the big tour in a few minutes. Red or white?” He pulled out a corkscrew.
“Do you have any open?”
“Nope. I’m usually a beer guy. Your choices are limited, but I do have a couple of nice bottles of each. They’re in the beverage cooler on the other side of the island. I don’t have high-quality glasses, though.”
“That’s okay.”
Watching her ass in her jeans as she walked around the butcher-block work surface was something he could get used to. Too used to.
“You have my favorite. Hey, it’s fate.”
She held up a bottle of Washington State Cabernet Sauvignon.
“I always aim to please the ladies.”
It was supposed to be an offhanded comment. But in typical fashion he’d shoved his big foot in his wayward mouth, judging by the lines of wariness that were back on Joy’s face.
“Joy, that’s just an expression.”
She blew a strand of her lovely hair off her forehead and handed him the bottle.
“It’s none of my business.”
He opened the wine and left the cork on the island.
“I’d like it to be your business. If you want it to be.”
The island was the only thing separating them. The obvious question was—how serious were they willing to make this?
“Why don’t you show me the rest of the house while the wine breathes?” He’d always respected Joy’s composure and grace under pressure. It was the same thing he found himself resenting now. He wanted to tear down every last inch of the wall she kept between herself and the outside world.
“Let’s start upstairs.”
* * *
HE ENJOYED WATCHING her expression, her reactions to each room as he opened the doors.
“I keep the doors closed so the house stays warmer this time of year. I open them in the summer.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t put in central air.”
“It’s coming. Much as I hate the thought of it, it’s a reality that our summers are getting warmer. The heat this last summer was insane.”
“Yes, it was. So we both were moving into our new homes at about the same time?” She ran her fingers over the ivory and cobalt subway tiles in the smallish bathroom. “Are these original?”
“No, I wanted them in the same style, but I couldn’t bear the Pepto-Bismol pink of the originals. Plus, a lot of them were cracked.”
“This is more masculine, for sure, but not too much. I like how clean and fresh it looks. Sometimes an old bathroom can make the entire house feel grungy.”
“True.”
“It’d be nice if this bathroom had a big tub.”
“I’m a shower person. I know the claw-foot is a big thing now, but I went all out on the shower. I did have help. Mike’s brother is a contractor in the city, and he took care of it.”
As she looked at the large shower with glass on three sides, all he could envision was her naked body pressed up against the steamed glass, with him behind her...
“I think the wine’s done breathing.”
She looked surprised. His tone was rough, but damn it, he only had so much control when he was around her, and he didn’t want to take her to bed until they’d had a chance to talk. Until they were clear on one thing—that they both wanted this.
* * *
“WE NEED TO TALK. About us.” Joy braced herself for his response, hoping he wouldn’t resist any attempt at communication that didn’t involve terrorists, felons or war.
“I agree.” He leaned over and poured more wine into their glasses. They’d had their first glass in his kitchen. She’d almost laughed at the way they’d danced around what she was really there for. How they looked at each other over the rim of the acrylic glasses, waiting to see what the other was going to do, to say.
“Mind if I go first?” He gave Joy her glass.
“No, not at all.” Did he see her hand shake when she took the glass from him? Did he have any idea that the tremor was caused by desire?
“Obviously, you’ll be staying the night. You’re having a second glass of wine and since it’s at least an hour since you’ve eaten, plus it’s a two-hour drive to Whidbey—well, it’s a done deal.”
Despite everything, defiance rose in her throat. “Slow down, Brad.”
“I’m not finished.” He sipped his wine and studied the red liquid in the plastic glass. “I need to get real glasses if you’re going to be here more often. But I digress.”
“I’m listening.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure you are. This is killing the lawyer in you, isn’t it? Having to listen to me first. What I want to tell you is that there’s nothing I want more than you staying the night, with me, in my bed. And you didn’t ask, but I’m telling you anyway. You’re the only woman who’s ever been in this house with me.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t have a long list of requirements for a relationship, Joy. I’m a simple man with a complicated job. Truth is, I’ve never looked for much of a relationship before. Marci was a disastrous exception.”
“This isn’t necessarily about a relationship, Brad. It’s about a closure of sorts. And it’s about exploration. Curiosity.” That sounded sophisticated and no-strings-attached, didn’t it?
“I’m waving the flag on that one, Joy.” She knew he was referring to the bullshit flag, common Navy parlance. “You and I have shared too much for anything between us to be free and easy. If we have sex, it’s going to be the start of a relationship. We’re on the same page, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Ah, the but. I guess it’s my turn to listen.”
“But we have choices at every stage of this, Brad. I’m not going to hold you emotionally hostage if it doesn’t work out for us. We might discover that we’re not compatible.”
“Seriously?”
His expression of incredulity forced a laugh from her.
“The anticipation is often much more exciting than the actual, um, follow-through.”
His fingers were on her cheek, her jaw, the side of her neck.
“Who hurt you, Joy? Who made you think that the follow-through wasn’t much to write home about?”
She swallowed. “It’s not any one person. I don’t have a long history of failed relationships or even a divorce. Just that my work has always proved more interesting than the effort it’d take to form a real relationship.” There. Finally, she’d voiced what she’d never told anyone else. That she didn’t believe any man could compare to the mental challenge and
satisfaction she got from practicing law.
“I agree with you.”
She knew she sounded shocked. “You do? That’s, that’s...wonderful?”
They both smiled, and he clinked his glass to hers. It was more of a clunk since the acrylic didn’t have the resonance of crystal or glass, but she felt the vibration. “Joy, we each have very interesting and exciting careers. Other than fantastic sex, which almost always becomes routine, what else could measure up to our work?”
She blinked. “Right. So we agree this will be closure. We’ll have no expectation of seeing each other at definite intervals, no holidays or weekends together.”
“Jeez, Joy, are you sure you even want to start this?”
“Yes! I mean, yes, I’m certain.” The flock of butterflies was back, and she felt fear crawl along her spine. Fear that she’d blown it and ruined any chance for her and Brad to get together at all.
Because if she didn’t experience what being with Brad was like, in the most complete way, she didn’t know if she’d ever have the nerve to attempt an intimate relationship with any other man.
Since she’d met Brad, there hadn’t been any other man.
That wasn’t something she was willing to share with him. Not yet.
Brad stared at the space in front of him as if he was working through a mission plan before its execution.
“What are you thinking now?” she asked.
After leaning over and placing his glass on the coffee table, he took her glass and did the same. His green eyes blazed with an emotion she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. “I’m thinking it’s time to stop talking and—what did you say earlier? Oh, yeah. Explore other means of communication. Like this.”
She closed her eyes, willing him to kiss her.
“Open your eyes, Joy.”
When she saw the desire in his expression, she thought she’d melt into the couch. He cupped her face before sliding his hands down to her shoulders, her waist and then back up to her breasts. He cupped them through her pullover and tank top, caressing and gently squeezing until her breath caught.
She reached up and caressed his face. His jaw was rough with stubble, contrasting with the smooth skin on his cheeks. He did his best to distract her with the play of his fingers over her breasts, but she gave as good as she got. His chest was hard, firm and entirely too heavily clothed.
Tugging his shirt out of his jeans, she reached up to lift it over his arms. Brad took advantage of her position and lifted off her top, leaving her in her tank and bra. They took turns stroking, nipping, sucking and teasing until they were both breathing in shallow gasps.
Yet only after she thought she couldn’t possibly wait any longer did Brad close the gap between them and cover her mouth with his.
The kiss went from seductive to possessive as Brad’s tongue dipped into her mouth.
Joy had always enjoyed kissing, but kissing Brad was elevated above any previous kiss. It was another level of intimacy she’d never experienced. As if they were talking to each other with their lips, their hands.
The cool leather of his sofa contrasted with her hot skin as he eased her back and lay above her. He supported his weight on his forearms, his hips above hers but not touching them. Was he afraid of hurting her?
She drew his hips down to hers until they were pelvis to pelvis, belly to belly. A sound that was more like a growl came from his throat, and pure female satisfaction made her senses even more aware of him.
This was what she’d longed for since they’d met.
* * *
JOY KNEW SOMEWHERE deep inside her that this was going to happen. She’d known it from the first moment he’d touched her, less than seventy-two hours ago, standing in her kitchen. She’d anticipated the feel of him since the very beginning—since that brief first glimpse in Gitmo and through the long days in Norfolk. Since the hours spent poring over his testimony and her defendant’s, breathing the same air in the close confines of the tiny office, where they’d studied the classified documents. Now, no vestiges of professional demeanor remained to keep them from acting on the chemistry between them. As they continued to kiss and caress, getting closer to a point of no return, she couldn’t help the fact that one part of her mind held back and tried to make sense of how she felt about Brad.
He’d always been different from other men. He didn’t ogle her, nor did he pretend that the sexual tension wasn’t there. While they worked together with such intensity on an extraordinary case, they’d never, in any way, addressed their attraction. The way he’d looked her in the eye as they discussed important parts of the case, the way he’d allowed her plenty of personal space—it all showed that he’d respected the need to abstain from any involvement beyond the professional.
She’d ignored her own reactions, too—at least when they were together. Back in her Virginia apartment, she’d list the reasons she didn’t make a habit of getting involved with colleagues, especially Navy shipmates. Too complicated. Too much baggage on both sides, especially if the affair started downrange and then they tried to take it back stateside. That rarely worked. Sex for escape was common during times of extreme duress.
Defending a man who’d been identified as working with the Taliban, with enough evidence to send him to prison for life, had been one of those times. Because if she was wrong, if they were wrong, she’d have to live with the fact that she’d helped free a terrorist.
Farid was innocent; she’d known it from Brad’s confidence, his acknowledgement that yes, Farid had looked like a ruthless terrorist on paper. But, according to Brad, Farid had saved his life and the lives of scores of other Americans.
Everything had hinged on Brad’s testimony.
They’d done it. They’d set Farid free, and then all parted ways.
She’d watched Brad walk away after that last day in court. His step was sure, his khaki uniform emphasizing the superb shape he kept himself in, even when he’d probably never serve in another SEAL mission. She’d blinked back tears. They’d accomplished a feat very few others had. And she’d never be able to share it with anyone else. The details of the case had to be sealed for the next few decades.
She’d refused to admit she’d fallen for Brad. How can you fall for someone you’ve never touched? Someone who’d had a fiancée, who’d never made a single move toward her.
And besides all that, he’d been an enlisted man, a man Navy regulations had forbidden her to have a relationship with.
Yet the quiet voice inside her heart told the truth—if they’d met elsewhere, at a different time, if they’d both been free, they might’ve become a couple. Might, by now, have been a couple for years. Now that he stood in front of her, so close to her, she heard that small voice again.
You’ve been waiting for this your whole life.
She pushed against his shoulders until he sat up, giving her space to stand.
“Brad, please tell me this isn’t your idea of a joke, or a quick tension reliever in the middle of...of battle.” Because they were in a battle. A battle that would decide whether they were willing to even consider changing their lives.
Her heart was at risk here.
He stood and took her hands. “I’m not joking, Joy. No playing around.”
His hands moved to her shoulders, and she closed her eyes as his lips touched the side of her throat. He applied a soft suction to her skin and she groaned.
“Don’t stop now, Brad.” She grasped his upper arms and reveled in the sheer strength under her fingertips. He hadn’t let his Bureau time soften his physique. She could hardly hear his breath over her pounding heart, but she felt their chests rise and fall in unison. She’d dreamed it would be like this with him.
His hands cradled her face. “You’re so beautiful.”
She opened her eyes to see the intensity in his gaze.
“I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you. This isn’t a way to get off at the end of a stressed-out op, Joy.”
“I hope not.”
> “I know not.”
He lowered his mouth to hers. And kept her waiting, wanting, ready to beg. “Brad, please.”
“No more words. Feel it. Do you feel it?”
He closed the gap between them, and with this kiss ended the months and years of waiting. The knowledge that their lovemaking was near and that it was going to be better than either of them had fantasized.
They fit together with an ease usually reserved for longer relationships. The lasting kind. The kiss deepened, and he pulled her up against his erection while his hands kneaded her buttocks.
She drew back and whispered, “Let’s go to your room.”
“Roger that.” He lifted her into his arms as if she were as light as the backpack he’d carried downrange and made his way toward the stairs at the back of the house.
“Wait—the candle.”
Still holding her, he walked to the coffee table and leaned over. “Grab it,” he said.
She took the votive from the table, intending to blow out the flame. It flickered between them as Brad straightened and walked back to his room. When he finally set her down next to his bed, she placed the candle on the nightstand.
“Leave it burning, Joy. I want to see you when I make love to you.”
* * *
BRAD WATCHED THE flush creep over her cheeks. The hair that tumbled across her forehead rose with each breath. He wanted to brush that lock of hair away and not stop until he held her head in his hand, his tongue touching hers.
She had to say yes. It had to be mutual. Because the insanity of the past few days, the reality that he was up against a wall until the unknown terrorist was apprehended—it all spelled disaster for a new relationship. He wanted to protect any chance they had.
“Do you want this, Joy?”
No blinks, no sighs, no biting her lower lip. Just her calm, steady stare. The slight tremor that made her shoulders shake a little. If he hadn’t been so close, he would’ve missed it.
“Hell, yes.”
His hands clasped her waist the same instant her lips met his. The firmness of her physique under his hands seemed at odds with the softness of her mouth. She still had a warrior’s body, still kept herself combat-ready. And it’d been over a year since she’d been on board a ship.
