Too Hot to Hold

by Stephanie Tyler

  “I thought you said this pilot knew what he was doing?” she asked.

  “He does. Planes don’t always want to cooperate.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Whatever it is doesn’t sound good. What the fuck’s going on?” he yelled to the man piloting the Cessna.

  “Engine cut out. I can get us down, but it won’t be pretty.”

  “Fuck,” Chris muttered. Jamie was trying to get up but he shoved her back down into her seat, buckled her in even while she attempted to push him away. She knew that’s what panicked people did, knew she was slightly claustrophobic to begin with—and the thought of being strapped down now was making her fight.

  But Chris spoke calmly. “Jamie, listen to me, we’re going to crash land. You’ve got to be prepared.” He showed her the position, waited until she did what he wanted, and then he strapped himself into his seat in the same fashion.

  “You both ready?” the pilot called.

  “Get us on the ground, my man,” Chris called back, right before he started to pray.

  After hanging up with Roger, Kaylee went back to the car with Nick. Roger had agreed immediately to run the story—front page. He’d been concerned for her too, she could hear it in his gruff voice even as she assured him she’d be okay.

  And then Sarah had insisted that they eat—even though Kaylee’s stomach was in knots, it was also growling, an odd combination. Sarah had packed fried chicken pieces and hard-boiled eggs, plantains and bread she had calledkwanga . Kaylee had nibbled enough to keep her strength up and drank water to stay hydrated. She’d felt better.

  Now, a couple of hours later, she sat in the backseat of Sarah’s Land Rover and wrote out the facts about GOST that Clutch had revealed, to get them straight in her head. To make sure she hadn’t missed anything along the way.

  She didn’t want to kill the laptop’s battery with her note-taking—she’d type it all out once she had the skeleton of the story.

  Skeletonwas such a perfect term for this story—so many of them pushing out into the open, insisting on it. And yet, she still had so many unanswered questions running through her mind.

  If she broke the story open, would the government or whoever was responsible for Aaron’s death still come after her and Nick and Clutch and Sarah? Or would she take the wind out of their sails?

  She had to figure out what going public with this piece would actually mean, had to figure out exactly what the end goal was.

  She’d broken some stories concerning governmental abuses before, but none as big or far-reaching as this. Typically, she discovered that whatever government agency was responsible for the problem would quickly disavow any involvement and drop the project immediately, which typically corrected any abuses.

  Would this work the same way? The trump card was the order she’d heard on Clutch’s phone—if she had the balls to publish that, she had a feeling the government would disavow any involvement and it would stop the assassination. Furthermore, it would effectively out John Caspar.

  If only she could figure out who he was.

  She put the paper aside and stretched. The heat was relentless, brutal even—and it was still dark. The air was heavy, an impending storm on the horizon, and she’d stripped down to a tank top and yanked the pants legs up over her calves. She’d pulled her hair off her neck, was barefoot and still had the urge to stick herself in a freezer somewhere for a good, long time.

  Being in such close proximity to Nick didn’t help. She felt like her blood was on fire around him.

  She pressed her thighs together to ease the ache, but that only served to intensify the need. Staring at Nick’s broad back as he stood outside the car as if to guard her didn’t help—naked or clothed, he still got to her on a level she hadn’t known existed but had always hoped did.

  She let herself out of the car, found Nick in the process of pouring water over his head, letting it drip down his face and neck without bothering to wipe it from his eyes before he yanked his shirt off and tucked it partially into his back pocket. They were both full of dust and dirt.

  “You didn’t sleep at all,” he said.

  “I couldn’t—I had to work,” she said. “Where are Clutch and Sarah?”

  “They’re in his car, mapping out a route.”

  “What Clutch said, about not knowing who he was … it’s like he hasn’t had a real identity since he was young. How does he keep it all straight, pretending to be someone else?”

  She’d asked it in order to gauge Nick’s reaction. The small shrug and the way he gazed at her told her what she needed to know. His words told her even more.

  “He’s strong. You don’t ever lose that.”

  He wasn’t going to tell her—not now, maybe not ever. And as much as she understood why on one level, it still bothered her.

  Could she live with a man with so many secrets? If she hadn’t stumbled onto them, she never would have known. Eventually, there would be a wall up between them—an invisible one she would hardly even know she needed to penetrate.

  But she did know.

  “Today’s my birthday,” he said suddenly, stared off into the distance beyond the trees, toward something she couldn’t see in the dark, bringing her back to the dilemma she wished she could forget.

  “Oh, I thought—” Thankfully, she stopped herself short. She knew the sparse details of Cutter Winfield’s life like the back of her hand, knew his birthday was in February. But they were well past that date, and she wondered if he ever thought about that birthday at all, or if he’d acclimated to his new life so much that all of the Winfield past was a distant memory.

  She wanted to know how he was able to put that behind him so well, wanted to ask him to teach her how he did so. Wanted to tell him that she knew his biggest secret, and that it—and he—were safe with her.

  “What did you think, Kaylee?” His voice cut into her thoughts, deep and rough and oh-so-close, his warm breath fanning her ear. While she’d been lost in thought, he’d moved behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. Maybe he was just lonely, looking for the feeling of two bodies rubbing together, or maybe it was because of all that had happened, but the way he looked at her… she never wanted that to end.

  Instinctively, she covered his hands with hers, even as he dragged them over her belly. “Nothing. I’m just… glad you’re not alone on your birthday.”

  “Would you have called me if this hadn’t happened, would you have used my number?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He believed her. “When I’m with you, nothing else seems to fucking matter—not your job or this fucked-up situation.”

  “Then maybe it shouldn’t.”

  She realized just how close she was standing to him, how he was half-naked and they were alone again in the middle of nowhere and she was so damned attracted to him it hurt. And the rational side of her brain knew this was neither the time nor the place, that maybe it could never be the right time or place between them, but she quickly went with the other side, which liked stroking his hard biceps, feeling the flex of that muscle. The steam rose, the sounds and smells of the jungle echoed inside of her and every part of her felt raw. On edge.

  And somehow, in the dark, she was in his arms and against his bare chest and she was kissing him, or he was kissing her; however it had happened, she didn’t care because it was a hot and brutal kiss, one that threatened to take her past the point of no return in seconds flat.

  It would have too if she hadn’t pulled back. Here, in the jungle, where everything was already intensified, it was time to reveal it all. “There’s something I have to tell you. I hate to do it now—God, I wish I didn’t have to—but we’ve got another problem.”

  He gave a short laugh and looked up at the sky. “Well, hit me with it.”

  “I saw the meeting at your house,” she blurted out, and he stared at her like he was attempting to process what she’d said and coming up blank.

  “What meeting? What are yo
u talking about, Kaylee?”

  She took a deep breath to compose herself and started over. “Walter Winfield was at your house—I saw him there. I think I know who you really are, Nick.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, surveyed her almost casually, the mask of the man she’d met that first night firmly back in place. And then, “What do you know, beyond the fact that I know how to make you come?”

  She wasn’t sure of what to do, but it was either stand there, gaping openmouthed at him, or lunge at him.

  She chose the latter, but he was on her before she had a chance to get very far. Within seconds, he had her pinned under him, her back flat on the jungle floor. The weight of his body rested on her hips and thighs, and his knees held her arms pinned.

  “You think it’s fun to fuck with other people’s lives?” His voice was low, with barely couched anger. “You think you’re going to make a name for yourself by screwing me over?”

  With that, she had her answer. Nick Devane was really Cutter Winfield, and both their worlds had just changed forever.

  She didn’t bother struggling. It wouldn’t have done her any good. “That’s not what I was planning to do, not after I found out it was you.”

  “But you would’ve done it to someone else. Fucked with his life.”

  She couldn’t deny it—she would have, in the name of her job. She had done it before. “Nick, look…”

  But he was beyond listening. Instead, he was intent on bringing up her ruthless edge. “What about that piece you did on the presidential candidate last year? You know, when you ruined his entire life thanks to your source. Who the hell gave you that information?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “But you mentioned that the man’s wife begged you not to run the piece, his daughter too—but you refused to comply because of your journalistic integrity. You couldn’t hold back the truth about the man’s morality from the American public. They have a right to know—public figures can’t be public when they choose to be and private when they choose.” He repeated her own words back to her as if he’d memorized them recently. He’d done his research on her before they’d left for this country.

  “That’s different.” It had made her sit up nights with a bottle of Tums, wondering if she could really handle the business.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You didn’t choose your life as a Winfield.”

  “I chose to walk away from it—and you know all about it now. But if you’re expecting me to beg you not to run the story, don’t bother.”

  “You don’t have to do anything, I’m not running it.”

  “You haven’t run ityet . Maybe you’re waiting for just the right time. Getting closer to me for maximum impact. A blow when I least expect it, once I save your ass. And what’s to stop me from revealing your secrets, Kaylee? Putting your picture on the front page—show all those people you exposed where they can find you? How would you feel?”

  He leaned over her, his face inches from hers, daring her to do anything, to say anything. She was helpless under him and a small sob escaped her.

  His demeanor changed instantly—he lowered his head to her breasts, she felt his warm breath spread along the fabric of her tank top. “I’d never hurt you. Never. And I’d never expose you like that.” He raised his head after he spoke, his green eyes glowing with hurt and truth. His voice sounded rougher than it usually did, like he was having trouble pulling air.

  She took a deep breath. “Nick—”

  “Not another word about it, Kaylee. Not a single word.”

  “I’m not going to do anything with the story—I haven’t and I won’t. I owe you. After what you’ve agreed to do, the way you saved me… after what’s happening between us.”

  “There’s nothing more between us than danger—that’s what’s been making you so hot for me, nothing more.”

  “If you can make yourself believe that, then you’ve definitely got some great magic tricks.”

  “I haven’t been able to make you disappear yet,” he told her as he rolled off her, moved to help her up off the ground.

  She refused his hand, could only mumble, “I’m sorry,” didn’t know what she should do next.

  She ran. Barely able to see, she kept her legs moving as she stumbled along, eyes blinded by tears until she couldn’t run anymore, until she collapsed on the ground.

  And he was there, right there.

  “Kaylee, stop—you have no idea where you are, where you’re going…”

  “You’re right, I don’t have any idea about a lot of things.” She tried to control her breathing, but nausea and dizziness overtook her. She knelt where she’d fallen, her lungs pulling tight enough to make her eyes water, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Nick tugged at her pants—she realized he was searching for her inhaler. He found it and she took a hit and prayed it would work quickly.

  He rubbed her back, spoke to her in a low, controlled voice that made her somehow feel more in control of herself as well.

  “S’okay. Relax.” His voice was comforting in her ear. His strong hand rested on her thigh. “Please, Kaylee, relax. We’ll talk about it later. I’m not going to yell at you—I’ll listen. Please, just fuckingbreathe.”

  It took ten dreadful minutes for things to ease up. Nick knew, because Kaylee counted all the seconds softly and out loud to distract herself.

  “Are you guys all right?” Clutch called softly through the trees.

  “We’re fine. Leave us,” Nick told him.

  Kaylee’s breaths eventually grew softer. At some point, she’d actually crawled onto him. Her arms were around him, her face partially buried against his neck.

  “I didn’t want to know this, Nick,” she whispered finally, her voice slightly hoarse from crying, and then it was,“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again, murmured against his skin.

  And his worry turned to anger again, molten and red hot, and he was so conflicted. She knew. Everything. The first woman he actually cared about—as much as he liked being naked physically, he was more exposed now than he’d ever been in his life.

  The betrayal—however unintentional—kicked him in the chest and he didn’t know what the hell to say to her.

  He started when she kissed his neck—a soft touch of her lips that made him suck in a breath—and then the kisses grew harder, until she was nipping at his skin and he was yanking the tank top from her pants.

  This was all out of control—hewas out of control, and while he hated every second of that feeling, Kaylee’s body against his felt nothing if not right at this moment.

  She arched against him, hard, her fingers digging into him as he pushed his hand inside her pants, found her wet and willing for him.

  “What are you sorry for, Kaylee?” he murmured. “Sorry you met me?”

  “No.” She shook her head wildly on the ground as he took her with his fingers—one then two sliding deep inside of her. “I could never… be sorry… about that.”

  “What were you planning, Kaylee? Going to tell the world that you’d found Cutter, that you slept with him? Were you going to tell them that I made you feel good?”

  She tried to grab at his wrist, to stop him from stroking her, but he wasn’t having it. “I would never have betrayed you. I didn’t betray you.”

  She hadn’t. Not that he knew of anyway, and he figured that if she’d turned the story in he’d have heard about it by now. In the space when he stopped to consider that, she managed to get her hand between their bodies and began to stroke him through his pants.

  “Kaylee, Christ…”

  “I didn’t betray you. I wouldn’t. I won’t.” She timed her strokes to match his until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He flipped them, so she didn’t have to lie exposed on the jungle floor, pulled down his pants so she could straddle him.

  He steeled himself against her touch, was ready when her hand hit his skin. The jolt was palpable and he clenched his jaw to
keep from groaning, from taking her hand and pushing it down between his legs again … from asking her to put her mouth on him until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Right now, he needed to feel—the harder, the better.

  Her sex rubbed his cock—she was so wet for him,so fucking wet —and he grabbed her hips and pushed her down without finesse.

  For that moment, when she was first sheathed around him, there was total silence, almost reverence as she looked into his eyes. And she was making love to him as Nick and Cutter and all at once the two worlds melded and for just that moment, the burden lifted.

  All that was left to do was give up and give in. This wasn’t about power anymore. This was about them, that undeniable heat that rose up between them every single time they were together.

  “Go, Kaylee,” he murmured, and she did, rocked back and forth, her palms flat against his chest, eyes never leaving his. Her breasts rose and fell with the exertion and he wanted them in his mouth, wanted his face between her legs. Wanted to come deep inside of her. Mark her.

  The primal urge rose up inside him in a hot rush as he grabbed her hips and thrust up into her so hard all she could do was hold on to him.

  All he could do was breathe and pretend nothing else mattered.

  ———

  Are you sure they’re okay?” Sarah asked when Clutch came back to the car. She’d opened the back where they’d been sitting together—both had wanted to talk, but had been unable to do more than simply kiss.

  It was only Nick yelling for Kaylee to stop that had broken them apart.

  Now Clutch slid next to her, gathered her into his arms. “They’re safe. I don’t know if they’re okay.”

  She nodded, pushed herself more tightly against him.

  She and Clutch didn’t even have the safe part and she hated having to think about that now. She just wanted to tangle her body around his until neither of them could stand straight.

  “I didn’t want to leave you behind. It nearly killed me,” he whispered into her neck. His warm breath fanned her skin as she sat with her back to his chest, one of his hands between hers. She ran a thumb inside his palm, felt the calluses that she knew came from firing a weapon and thought about that last night they’d been together.