But she also never hid the truth. Not about things like this.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she said.
“I’m right here.”
Gamble took her hands, which were trembling despite her efforts to steady them, and placed them on his shoulders, reaching around her waist to pull her close. “I’m right here, right now, and I’m not going to leave you. If this is what you need”—he moved closer still, so their bodies were flush, his chest against hers, his heart on her heart—“then take it.”
He dipped his head to kiss her, and her whole body pulsed with awareness and need. Kennedy wanted to screenshot the moment, to take hours to marvel at the way the kiss could feel so soft while Gamble’s lips were so steady and firm. She wanted to memorize the press of his mouth on hers and the slide of his tongue as he parted her lips with ease to intensify their contact. Her breath rose in a honeyed exhale, and Gamble captured it fully, pushing into her mouth to kiss and swirl and stroke her lips and tongue until she felt nearly drunk with how much she wanted him.
But as consuming as it was, this kiss, this need, wasn’t urgent. Its depth expanded in her belly on an endless rolling wave.
Kennedy wanted him slowly. Fully.
Forever.
Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Gamble’s muscles grew taut under her touch, the play of those strong lines and hard angles jumping beneath her fingertips. She explored each one as if she were touching him for the first time, biceps, shoulders, back. Her hands coasted higher to cup the back of his neck, as if she could hold them both right here in this moment, with him close and her anchored tightly to him, locked in the slow intensity of this kiss.
“Kennedy.” Gamble pulled back, his eyes dark and glittering. He didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. But he seemed to hear her clearly enough—or maybe he read the desire in her eyes and saw the magnitude of her need—because then he was picking her up, his arms unyielding around her as he carried her to her room.
I’m right here. Right now. And I’m not going to leave you.
Gamble crossed the threshold into her bedroom, lowering her to her feet when he reached her bedside. Kennedy’s room, which had never been anything fancier than cream-colored walls, a pair of black dressers with a darkly framed mirror to match, and a queen-sized bed that went unmade ninety-nine percent of the time, was illuminated only by the ambient city light filtering past the curtains from eight stories below and the light of the full moon, which hung low in the skyline. Without saying a word, Gamble’s hands found her waist, grasping her solidly for just a moment before moving lower. He lowered his gaze, watching carefully as he hooked his fingers beneath the hem of her tank top and lifted it slowly over her head.
Kennedy’s nipples hardened and peaked, but not from any sort of contact; in fact, Gamble wasn’t even touching her now. But his eyes moved over her body, as tangible as a touch. Her heart pounded, filling her ears like the wild thump-thump-thump of an express train on a steep downhill grade, and catching in her throat when he reached out to free the button on her jeans. Kennedy let him undress her further, offering a small amount of assistance with her boots, then straightening to return the favor until the only thing between them was her bra and panties and his boxer briefs. She took a minute to simply look her fill, her breath catching at the sight of his massive, beautiful body backlit by the moon. The feelings of dread she’d been able to keep temporarily at bay resurfaced, reminding her how fleeting this might be even though it felt so steady and constant, and Gamble caught her chin with two fingers, guiding her up until their eyes met and held.
“I’m right here,” he reminded her. “And I’m going to show you until you know it by heart.”
Putting his hands on her shoulders, he walked her back to the bed until the edge of the mattress gently met the back of her legs. Kennedy grabbed the corded muscles at his waist to bring him down to the bed with her, opening her thighs to accommodate his frame, sliding back against the tangle of covers until they were both in the center of the bed. She arched up to kiss him, and even though the move started out sweet and slow like before, greedy need quickly pushed her for more.
“I’m here,” Gamble grated against her mouth, the vibration of his voice humming across the sensitive skin of her lips. He proceeded to show her just how present he was, kissing and licking and taking her mouth so thoroughly, that by the time they finally came up for air, her exhales had turned into ragged gasps.
Gamble got the message. Sliding a string of kisses over her cheek and down her neck, he murmured into her shoulder, “I’m here, too.”
“Ian,” she pleaded, a ribbon of something both needful and proprietary uncurling between her hips at the way he tightened his grip on her in response.
“Don’t stop,” Kennedy said. “I need you everywhere.”
As if a switch had flipped in some deep, dark place inside of him, Gamble’s demeanor shifted. The seriousness he wore like a second skin grew so sharp, it was fierce, and his hands moved with clear intention to her breasts. He twisted the fabric nestled in the V of her cleavage to free the front clasp of her bra, sweeping the lacy halves aside and sending a rush of wetness between her thighs at the anticipation of being touched.
He did so much more than touch her. Skimming the straps from her shoulders, Gamble claimed her with his mouth. He kissed every inch of her, from the places Kennedy would’ve never thought erotic to her throbbing nipples. He cupped her firmly, each touch reminding her exactly where he was, as he worked her with his mouth.
“Oh, God. Wait, I—”
A wicked orgasm crashed into her with barely any warning, her achingly empty pussy clenching in intense pleasure. But Gamble didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow. He rode her through the climax, only to take off her panties and bury his tongue in her sex over and over until she had another one.
“I’m right here,” he murmured, pushing back over her. But Kennedy wanted him, too. Not just in the heat of a sexy moment, but to really have him like he’d had her—deeply and completely—so she switched their positions on the bed and straddled his waist.
“I’m here with you, too,” she whispered. Sliding down Gamble’s body, she took his boxer briefs along for the ride, tugging them over his muscular thighs until he was fully naked. The arousal he’d just taken the edge off of rebuilt in her blood at the sight of his cock, thick and fully erect against his lower belly, and Kennedy didn’t wait to prove her words. Wrapping her fingers around him, she parted her lips over his cock and began to move in a slow glide, up, then down, then again and again.
A sound came out of him that was half pleading, all dirty need. “Ah, God. Your mouth feels so fucking good, baby.”
Not wanting to stop, she hummed her approval, which only made Gamble drop a hand to the back of her head and hiss. She sucked him in long, deep strokes, taking him as far into her mouth as she could before reversing each movement over and over. His breathing grew strained, his fingers knotting harder in the hair at the nape of her neck, and he switched his grip to lift her higher over his body in a rush that took her by surprise.
“Another time,” he ground out, reaching quickly for the bedside table drawer where he knew from experience Kennedy kept a stash of condoms. “And believe me, I intend to collect. But tonight I want to come inside of you. I want to fuck you so sweet and so deep, you’ll always feel me with you.”
Gamble put on the condom and edged his way back between her legs. She opened without thinking, knowing she was wet and ready, proving it as he pressed forward to fill her with ease. His cock stretched her with provocative pleasure, her inner muscles squeezing until he was seated all the way inside her pussy. He angled his hips so the base of his dick was in direct contact with her clit, and the slight brush shot sparks across her vision.
“Ohhhhh.” The moan tore from Kennedy’s throat.
“I’m here.”
Gamble cupped her shoulders with his huge palms
, spreading his fingers wide to hold her into place on the bed as he started to move. He withdrew only far enough to push home again, changing the speed and depth of his ministrations, but not the angle of his body. The slight brush against her highly sensitized clit became a hot, slippery connection, his thrusts growing harder and faster.
“Kennedy.” He bit down on his bottom lip. Kennedy realized then that he was holding back, and she didn’t think. Just opened her mouth.
“Ian, please. Be here. Be with me.” His cock slid in deep, and oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, there. There. “Come with me,” she begged.
Gamble’s body went utterly still at the same time hers shattered. Her orgasm rocked her so thoroughly that all she could do was arch up and take it, letting her body pulse in wave after wave as he clearly did the same. A few seconds later, Gamble shuddered, his grip on her shoulders slackening by just a degree. Then he folded over her, taking care not to crush her with his weight, but taking even more care to hold her close.
“I’m here. I promise,” he whispered.
It was the moment she knew she couldn’t live without him.
28
Gamble sat inside the stuffy confines of a utility van parked across from the Rosemont Building, trying to concentrate on the floor plan schematic in front of him even though his brain and his heart were a million miles away. He needed to get his shit together immediately, if not sooner, he knew. Only twenty minutes remained between now and midnight, when Rusty had told Xander they’d meet in North Point. After that, another thirty would pass while the two of them made the drive into the south side of the city to the second-biggest high rise under construction in Remington, where—oh, by the way—Gamble’s ass and the van serving as their surveillance center were both currently parked. It sounded like ages, but Gamble knew all too well how the regular laws of time and motion didn’t really apply to things like ops.
This is not an op, he reminded himself, cutting off any unnecessary adrenaline expenditure at the knees. He’d gone through this in the beginning with fire calls, too; hell, on occasion, a really bad one could still throw him for a rope-a-dope. True, Gamble couldn’t deny that there was no small measure of danger here. Kennedy hadn’t been wrong last night when she’d said Rusty could plant a bomb or do any number of other diabolically nasty things that proved he had a total lack of a conscience or a soul.
But when he’d left her at The Crooked Angel an hour ago, he’d reassured her again that he’d do everything in his power to come back to her safely, and to bring Xander with him. This wasn’t an op. It wasn’t going to end like that.
They were all going out.
And this time, they were all coming back home.
Trying to clear his mind, Gamble shifted back on the bench seat too narrow for his frame and reviewed the facts. After some digging and some more intel from Xander, the intelligence unit had come up with seventeen buildings that had fit the bill as possibilities for Rusty’s hit list, all under various stages of construction or renovation. McCory already owned or had stake in eight of them, so they’d crossed those off the list. Then, three had popped up as buildings he’d recently bid on and lost, and—what do you know—the developers who had purchased them had all gone with the same electrical contractor for their renovations.
Bingo.
Gamble visualized the building Capelli had parked the van in front of, since the only windows the vehicle owned were in the front and the tech guru had blocked that off with a partition about four seconds after he’d cut the engine and he and Gamble had climbed into the back to set up coms. The Rosemont Building’s seven-story stature didn’t fool Gamble. What the place lacked in height, it made up for in sheer sprawl, marking it as a definite contender for all those other high rises dotted across downtown Remington. The Rosemont had been an aging beauty, for sure, but the future plans to turn it into a family-friendly apartment complex, complete with an on-site childcare facility, a market boasting fresh, affordable food along with a café for casual dining or quick takeout, and a fitness center with activities for all ages were pretty progressive, not to mention a pretty freaking cool option for people with families who wanted to remain in the city.
While Rusty hadn’t gone into a huge amount of detail after Xander had reassured him he’d been at The Crooked Angel scoping out intel on the RPD, he had told Xander that his plan was to go in to the Rosemont Building and strategically plant remote ignition devices on each floor, then trigger them before moving on to the next building farther downtown. He hadn’t specified exactly which building would follow the Rosemont—not that it mattered, because they’d have his ass behind a shit-ton of brick and steel before he could even think about setting the thing on fire—but they had enough of the plan to know they were going to nail him with the incendiary devices in-hand and his intent flying like a flag in the wind. All he had to do was set those devices up and try to kick them off, and bam.
They’d have him once and for fucking all.
“Okay,” Capelli said from the seat in front of the bank of monitors that had been set up along the wall of the van opposite Gamble. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Gamble refocused with a single blink. “Copy that.”
Capelli handed him a wireless headset, then grabbed a matching one for himself and slipped it on, adjusting the piece that held the microphone around the arm of his glasses. “Test, test. Sarge, you want to call the ball?”
“Copy.” Sinclair’s sandpaper voice filtered over the wire from the unmarked Dodge Charger he’d parked in an alley at the opposite end of the block. “Moreno, you and Hollister in position?”
“Copy that,” Isabella said in Gamble’s ear. “We have a visual on the east entrance to the building.”
Gamble re-visualized the street, adding Moreno and Hollister’s position a half a block away from the van to his mental diagram. Garza, Maxwell, and Hale all checked in with their positions—Garza’s in his own unmarked car a block away and Maxwell and Hale’s on foot between him and the van—around the perimeter of the building. Gamble had to admit, Sinclair knew how to run a tight op. They had every base covered, every exit strategy planned for.
This is not an op.
“Okay, last up,” Capelli said, completing the chess board of players in Gamble’s head. “Xander, you there? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, I can hear you,” came Xander’s voice from his waiting spot in North Point, and damn these coms were hi-test and a half. “This earpiece thing is weird, though.”
“I know,” Capelli replied, so matter-of-factly that Gamble had to wonder if the guy had any other settings. “But it’s the most high-tech piece of equipment the department’s got. If Rusty so much as burps within fifteen feet of you, I should be able to hear it. And trust me. That’s a good thing.”
“If you say so. Anyway”—Xander took the lead from all the intelligence detectives—“I’m all set. Sitting in my car at the meeting place, just waiting on Rusty to show at midnight, like his text said.”
“Copy that,” Capelli said, clacking away on the keyboard in front of him. “We have you on GPS via your phone and the device in the button on your jeans, and all audio is a go on coms. Now, all we’ve got to do is get cozy and wait for Rusty to show.”
After a beat of silence that suggested everyone was going to spend that time contemplating deep thoughts, Gamble looked across the van at his partner for the night.
“Hey, Capelli, can you give me and Xander a minute?”
The tech’s brows winged up toward his light brown hairline. “Ah,” he said, only continuing after Sinclair had given a grunt of approval over the wire. “Sure. I can cut your coms over to a private channel for a minute. Whatever you guys say will still get recorded, though.”
Gamble nodded. “Understood.” He waited for Capelli to work his technological judo, then point at him in a nonverbal you’re a go before continuing. “Xander?”
“Yeah?” he asked back suspiciously, and man, he and Kenned
y were cut from the same fierce-ass cloth.
“Do me a favor,” Gamble said, making sure his tone didn’t leave any wiggle room for the guy to cough up a negative in reply. “If you think this is going to go tango uniform at any point tonight, just be sure you cover your ass, okay?”
Xander exhaled audibly, proving Capelli’s point about how sensitive the coms were. “You promised her you’d keep me safe, didn’t you?”
Shit. “Just be smart, would you?”
“Way to shoot straight from the hip, big man,” Xander said with just the slightest hint of a smile layered over his sarcasm, and fuck it. The guy deserved the truth.
“All right, fine. I didn’t promise her everything would be perfect and we’d all go skipping off into the sunset for ice cream and hugs.” Gamble knew better than to swear on things he couldn’t guarantee, and anyway, he’d rather strong-arm most people than even think about hugging them. “But I told her I’d do everything I possibly could to make sure we both come home safe. So, yeah. Don’t go all yippe-ki-yay and make me a liar, or I’ll be forced to make sure we all save your ass just so I can kick it. You got me?”
A second passed, then another, before Xander said, “Huh. Guess you’re pretty straight-up, after all. But as much as I want to put Rusty away, I don’t have a death wish. We’re straight.”
“Good.” Gamble exhaled the breath that had been spackled to his lungs.
But then Xander added, “Look, if something happens to me in spite of that—”
“It won’t,” Gamble said, low and scalpel-sharp.
“If it does,” Xander pushed, “you’ve got her back, right?”
In the same way Gamble had needed the promise that Xander wouldn’t do anything unnecessary to put himself in harm’s way, he knew Xander needed this in return. So he told Xander the truth.
Down Deep Page 29
