by Edie Harris
That potent smile of his flashed bright before he shifted his firm hold to her nape and bent to speak against her lips. “You love me,” he repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
“I do.” Lifting onto her toes, she clutched at his lapels and sealed her mouth to his. His taste sizzled like lightning on her lips, smoky and electric as the tip of her tongue teased him with a hunger he gifted back to her in spades. He feasted on her mouth, ravenous and thorough, teeth and lips and tongue meeting again and again in uncalculated abandon.
More words tripped in her throat, spilled out as she lowered onto her heels and kissed along the sharp line of his smooth jaw. “I want to belong to you. I want to be yours. I want you to own me again, because you already do.” Breathing ragged, she leaned her forehead against his chest, knuckles white where she fisted his jacket. “Claim me, Toby.”
Without warning, the long fingers clasping her nape tightened their hold, using his grip to spin her away from his chest. “Walk.”
Immediately her senses went on high alert, her gaze darting around the ballroom to discern whatever threat he must have noticed. “What’s wrong?” she murmured as they rushed through the crowd toward the southern edge of the ballroom, noting nothing that might warrant his obvious tension.
Instead of answering, he held out his free hand. “Give me your comm.” When she placed it in his palm, he thumbed the microphone on and lifted the tiny in-ear unit near his mouth. “Freya, I’m removing Chandler from this operation for the time being. Keir came with me tonight—bring him up to speed, have him fill in.” Then he crushed the comm in his fist and dropped the mangled bit of tech into his inside jacket pocket. Breaching the grand, double-doored entrance to the room, he turned them left, then right, steering her down a hallway empty of guests or Fadel House security.
The heat of his palm never left her skin as he tested a closed door. It swung inward, and he led her inside the darkened room, its shadows long from the tall windows opposite the door. As her eyes adjusted, a desk took shape, chairs and bookshelves, too, but her attention remained fixed on Tobias closing and locking the door behind them, turning her so her back was to the expanse of damask wallpaper that would be hidden when the door stood ajar.
A gentle shove forced her against the wall, each breath, each pulse an opportunity to test her strength against his, but this time she didn’t want to fight him, not even for the rush she’d get out of her own eventual surrender. So when his hands cupped her head, his fingers delving roughly into her hair, she simply gripped his wrists and lifted her face to his.
The contrast between his possessive hold and the tender, featherlight brush of his mouth across hers had Chandler shaking deep inside. He kissed her as though she were as delicate as the spun filaments of lace adorning her gown and, leaning into him, she felt every last ounce of fear and tension and uncertainty fall away. She was nothing but certain with this man.
“You left me,” he whispered, harsh against her lips. “At the airstrip, you left me.”
After he’d asked her in his perfect, plainspoken manner to stay with him. The ache in her chest returned before fading again, overshadowed by the shining, shimmering brightness of what she felt for him. “I won’t ever leave you.” She hoped he heard the vow in her voice.
He must have done. “I know, now.” Deepening the kiss, he ran his hands down her throat and over her bare shoulders. “But I warn you. Try to leave me again, and you’ll find yourself pursued by every asset at Faraday Industries’ disposal.” The pads of his thumbs scraped over her hardened nipples, the layer of silk providing scant protection from the intensity of his caress. “I will pursue you.” His mouth drifted to the pulse pounding beneath her ear, latched onto it with his teeth. “And when I catch you—because we both know I’ll catch you—I’m going to lock us both in the Underground detention facility for a week and teach you what happens to a woman who runs away from the man who can’t live without her.”
Her lower body melted at the fierce need in his voice. “Oh? What happens?”
“You want a preview?” His palms covered her breasts, his hold unyielding.
A thrill rushed through her, and her head fell back against the wall as his lips skated over her collarbone, licking at her skin, tasting her. “I want a warning.”
“Fine. Spread your legs.” A tug at her hip as he grasped the lace overlay stitched into the satin.
She hesitated only a moment as she remembered that this gown wasn’t hers, but Pip’s. “You’ll ruin my dress.”
“How would you say it, Chandler? Ah. I don’t bloody care.” The gold netting disintegrated under his hands, and warm fingers slipped beneath the slit along her thigh and shifted the material out of his way. Unerringly, his touch found the seam of her sex through her thong. “You’ve made a mess of your panties, sweetheart.” He pushed aside the gusset and cupped her, stroked her, his fingertip toying with her entrance until she writhed against the wall. “When we go home tonight, I’m going to use my tongue on you. Right here.”
Home? But before she could question him, in slid one finger, then another, and she was full but still teased and tormented, and—”I need...” She gasped, clutching his shoulders.
“Tell me.” He pumped in and out, slowly, wetly. “Tell me what you need.”
“You. Toby, I need you.” His lips coasted down the side of her throat, brushing over pulse points before skimming his teeth over her bared collarbone, and she sucked in a harsh breath. “Stop torturing us both and fuck me already.”
“What did I say about that dirty mouth of yours, back at our inn?” With a sharp jerk, he ripped her panties off, stuffing them in his pocket, then closed any remaining distance between them as he unzipped his trousers.
“You said to never stop telling you exactly what I want, and how I want it.” Her fingers curved around his erection, his hardness in her palm a shiver-inducing sensation, just as it had been the first time she held him. She pumped her fist, had the pleasure of hearing him bite back a groan. “You like my dirty mouth just fine, yeah?”
His teeth dug into his bottom lip as he stared down between them, watching her jack him above the open placket of his trousers. “I love every word that passes your lips.” He bent slightly, hooking one hand behind her knee, and she knew what he silently demanded.
On a breath, she released his cock and jumped, wrapping both legs around his waist, shoulders firmly braced against the wall at her back. Fingernails digging into shoulders as she looped her arms around his neck, she tightened the grip of her thighs and waited while he braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head. Waited for his words.
Tobias didn’t disappoint. “You want my claim, Chandler? Consider this it.” The length of him filled her so perfectly as he thrust into her wet, willing body, and they both gasped. “It’s your fault, you know. You made me need this.” Another thrust, his hands moving from the wall to her hips. “You made it so I’ll die without having you every single day. And don’t try to tell me it would be the same with anyone else, because we both know damn well it won’t. It’s you.” His grip bruised her, and she loved it, loved him. “It’s only you, sweetheart. Will only ever be you.”
Eyes stinging as emotion overwhelmed her, she let her lashes flutter shut, her forehead pressed to his. Sweat beaded at her temples, at his, and she clutched him tighter as he worked his gorgeous cock in and out of her slick sheath. “Toby.”
“I love you, Chandler.”
The tears escaped. “Fuck. Toby...” Her body clenched around him as release flitted closer. “You can’t just say things like that to me.”
One hand snuck between them, his fingertips brushing purposefully over her clit. “I can, and I will. Every day for the rest of our lives, because you’re going to say yes to me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Yes to what? But it didn’t matter because she wa
s going to come—”Yes. Yes, baby, yes.” The orgasm ripped through her, tearing her apart at the seams. She cried out, and his lips snared her in a hungry, desperate kiss, muting her noises and his own feral groan as he came deep inside her. Wet heat branded her with his mark, indelible proof that she was well and truly claimed. No warning necessary.
They parted slowly, reluctantly. His touch as he helped fix her attire was careful and controlled, but every brush of skin against skin sent awareness zinging through them both. Breaths caught, eyes met and knowing smiles flirted back and forth. A quick zip of his trousers and his jacket rebuttoned, and they were mostly set to rights.
She stared in dismay at the crumpled ball of gold netting Tobias tossed into the short paper-waste bin next to the desk. “My gown—”
“You’re stunning.” She didn’t have a response to his brusque honesty, and it seemed to her Toby didn’t expect one. Straightening his bow tie, which had somehow miraculously stayed intact during their hot little fuck against the study wall, he arched a brow at her. “Shall we return?” he asked before offering his arm.
Nodding, she let him lead her out of the room, down the hall and through the double doors into the ballroom once more. When they reached the edge of the buzzing crowd of partygoers, she disengaged and turned toward him, her words for his ears alone. “You said ‘home.’ What did you mean by that?”
His hand rested casually at the small of her back, agile fingers flattened possessively along her spine. “I found a flat here in London, and I had your sister decorate it this afternoon.” He ignored her gasp. “If you don’t like it, we’ll just buy another one, but you’re going to move in with me. I’ve been informed that’s what engaged couples do, if my sister is to be believed.” Fingertips flexing, he bent his head toward hers to say quietly, “The place I have now is in South Kensington. Only one bedroom, however, should you decide to...protest.”
She blinked, struggling to process his words. Wonderful words, like engaged and buying a flat and one bedroom, and engaged all over again. Did he know how wonderful he and his words were? It seemed unlikely, so she decided she would tell him, later. When they were home. “Pip—” that little sneak “—moved into mine while you and I were in Moscow, anyway. Tight living, with two of us in that tiny space.”
He nodded solemnly. “Then you really are coming home with me tonight.” His lips quirked in faint amusement. “Which is a relief, since Pippa will probably have finished moving all your belongings in by the time we’re done here. Think of the hassle of moving them back out.”
She didn’t have the time or the will to argue with the high-handed, domineering man she loved. Keir brushed past them, appearing out of nowhere and muttering something unintelligible that, somehow, Tobias managed to understand, because a moment later, he angled her body into his and held his hand between them, palm up, to reveal two small, clear-coated devices. When she nodded, he slipped the first into his own ear, murmuring low, “Motion-sensitive comm. Courtesy of Faraday Industries and linked to the same channel as Freya and Dare.” Under the guise of cupping her jaw in one hand, his agile fingers slipped the second tiny piece of tech into her ear. “So we can finish tonight’s assignment precisely as planned.”
Warmth spread through her, honey-smooth in her veins. “We?”
“It’s always a ‘we’ now, sweetheart. I claimed you, remember?” He smiled when she blushed, bending to brand her with a brief, hard kiss. “That claim goes both ways, Chandler. I’m yours, until my heart stops beating.” After tucking a loosened lock of hair behind her ear, the new comm unit crackled to life. “Ready?” he asked, brilliant eyes soft and smiling on her.
She grinned up at him. “As ever, Toby.” Linking her fingers with his, she led her man into the crowd.
Epilogue
Two weeks later
He was going to get druuuuuuunk tonight, Adam Faraday decided as he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and locked his Jeep where he’d parked it at the curb. The guys were already at the Red Letter pub a few blocks over, waiting for him to arrive and get the weekend started. Probably already three drinks in, too, given that he was the only one of them with an actual full-time job.
His boys would shit themselves if they knew what he did for a living.
It was better if they thought he was Adam Abtan, working help-desk support for Boston-based energy giant Harper International, as they had since graduating four years ago. He’d taken his mother’s maiden name when he first enrolled at MIT and kept the alias alive when he realized he’d made friends he wanted to chill with even after being subsumed back into the family business.
College had been kind of a joke, anyway—he’d gone for the experience, not the education. Hacking the Pentagon at age twelve had been the tip of the iceberg, and by the time he was eighteen and managing most of the secure data for Faraday Industries, all he could think of were the parts of life he was missing out on: girls, dudes, parties, fun. So he’d applied, gotten accepted and written a check for four years of freedom from the Faraday compound, and lo, Adam Abtan was born.
The fun hadn’t stopped just because he was now an adult—or something close to it—as evidenced by the Friday nights he continued to spend just as he would tonight. His frat brothers, neck deep in doctoral programs and barista gigs, tore up the town together, and when they all eventually split off in the early hours of the morning, it was to tear up the sheets with a hook-up or two.
Adam lived for these Friday nights.
Before he could mentally check out for the evening, however, he had a call to make. He punched in the name as he wandered deeper into the historic heart of Boston, ever closer to his regularly scheduled night of revelry.
His cousin answered on the first ring, her smoky Irish lilt filtering through his earbuds. “Did you change my ringtone to ‘Hey Mickey’?” demanded Della Quinn.
Adam grinned. “When I dropped you off at the airport this morning. Like it?”
“You’re a fecking sadist.” Then Della laughed, and he knew his prank was forgiven. “Checking in on me, boyo?”
“I’m assuming you arrived at O’Hare in one piece.” Della was—or rather, had been—his second-in-command at the compound. Where Adam excelled in deconstructing firewalls and exploiting security weaknesses, the youngest Quinn sibling crafted code as easily as breathing, and that skill made her the obvious choice to head the new Faraday office in Chicago. “Did Beth get you settled?”
“She offered to pick me up, but I know she’s busy dealing with...things.” He could almost hear Della’s shrug, knew she was likely running an agitated hand through her hair. “I cabbed it to a hotel.”
Adam sighed. “You’re supposed to stay with her until you find your own place.” He paused at a crosswalk, glancing at the after-happy-hour crowd spilling onto the sidewalks now that the sun had set. The streetlamps gradually lit to life as he watched. “Do we pay you enough to stay at a hotel indefinitely?”
A snorting laugh. “Only because I gave myself a raise when I accepted this position.”
“I hope it was a nice raise.”
“Oh, it was. I think my annual salary is now something like point-zero-zero-zero-zero-three percent of your entire asset portfolio, believe it or not.”
He would miss working with his smartass cousin every day, that much was certain, but he knew Chicago would be a good change for her. Della deserved to have her talents and business acumen recognized, or Faraday Industries risked losing her. Amusement faded as he considered loss and risk of another sort. “Hey, I know we talked this morning, but I need you to look into something for me.” A niggling in the back of his brain that he couldn’t affor
d to pursue himself, not when he was stretched thin managing the fallout from Tobias’s jaunt in Moscow and Gillian’s upcoming exhibition at WeaponTek in September.
“Anything.”
And that was what he loved about Della. She might be a snarky little brat on occasion, and she never failed to whup his ass at Call of Duty, but she never said no when he needed her. “Beth’s got Gavin Bok staying with her right now.”
Tension crept into her voice. “Yeah, I know.”
Adam hated what he was about to say, but Tobias had asked, and it wasn’t the sort of thing, niggling though it may be, to be swept under the rug. Willful ignorance had never been a hallmark of Adam’s personality. “I need you to review satellite footage from the Kabul Girls’ School bombing.”
“What am I looking for?”
“A helicopter.”
“And when I find the helicopter?”
When, not if. “You tell me, and only me. I want images, time stamps, any identifying details about the chopper and its pilot. See if you can chart its course both before and after the explosion.”
Her frown was audible. “What does this have to do with Bok?”
“This goes no further than me, okay?” Adam turned the corner, the cobbled streets shadowed in the glow of early nightfall. The nearer he drew to the pub, the fewer Bostonians streamed past him, and he glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t say what, precisely, had him looking around, but the back of his neck tightened in warning. “But Gavin went dark during Beth’s sitch, and the helicopter is why, evidently. So once you find it, you need to...ask him about it.”
There was a pause on Della’s end. “Are you saying I need to interrogate him? Because I don’t do that crazy spy shit, boyo. Especially not on our own people.”
“Best judgment, Adella Mae, that’s all.” A warning flared as something moved in his peripheral vision, and he began to jog, pulling the phone from his sweatshirt pocket. “Listen, I gotta jet, but hey—I appreciate this, okay? You’re a peach.” Without waiting for Della’s goodbye, he ended the first call and tapped at the screen to place a second, tension snaking down his spine.
