Fatal Truth: Shadow Force International

by Misty Evans

Coldplay had been her rock, her touchstone. After the past few hours, however, even his presence was messing with her. He made her feel young and happy again, yet, he continued to hold himself back. While he might find her attractive and he’d agreed they were friends, he wasn’t committed to crossing the line of no return. She’d told him a casual hookup was all she wanted just to get him in bed. It wasn’t true—she wanted more, much more—but even that hadn’t been enough to get him into bed.

  As the shower ran, the water heating up, she considered traipsing back downstairs with nothing on and draping herself in front of that damn laptop. That would get his attention.

  Hurt feelings had no place in this scenario, yet a small emptiness filled her chest at having him dismiss her so easily. For a little bit, she’d seen the man underneath the armor. They’d had a break from reality for a few hours. He’d made her forget it was Parker’s birthday, and made her remember what it was like to laugh and have fun.

  She hadn’t done that in a long time.

  She hadn’t jumped a man’s bones in a long time either. And it was as much her fault as his that she’d jumped off him and acted all uncomfortable when they’d gotten caught making out.

  A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. Poor Coldplay. She had to quit attacking him.

  Of course, he’d kissed her over pancakes.

  Not that she’d minded.

  She touched her slightly swollen lips. The flush in her cheeks matched their color. Man, the guy could kiss. The way his lips had worked hers over, the way his tongue had swept her mouth, teasing her until she’d thought she’d die…

  A shiver snaked down her spine and heated the spot between her legs. He was hot and cold, but when he was hot…

  Well, when he was hot, he was the best damn kisser she’d ever encountered.

  Imagine what he’d be like in bed.

  Her nipples pebbled at the nagging thought. The pulse at the base of her throat tapped faster. Stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the shower and started scrubbing. Damn him for not ignoring his job and taking her right there on the sunroom couch.

  The memory of his hands on her sent her already aroused body into overdrive. Her skin felt too sensitive under the spray of water, her thoughts conjuring plenty of fantasies.

  And then the guilt hit.

  Here she was in a beautiful house with a sexy man, building snowmen and drinking hot cocoa like she was on vacation. Meanwhile, her sister was who-knows-where, fighting for her life on her birthday. Would it be her last?

  No. I won’t let it. I will find Parker and put an end to this awful situation.

  The shampoo was a designer brand; not hers but nice. The body scrub was fruity and made her smell like a pina colada. She wondered if Coldplay liked coconut.

  Damn it. She had to stop this—fantasizing about him. That only led to thoughts about the future and they had no future. Her life was complicated, and from what little he’d said, his was even more so.

  Hell, her life wasn’t just complicated, it was beyond fucked up.

  The time out in the snow with him, the moments in the sunroom watching the sunrise, had all rebooted her brain. Whatever Parker had left on that USB was big. Something she wanted Savanna to take to the news outlets, otherwise, why leave it with her? If Parker was an agent—and she seemed to be a damn fine one—she could’ve given plenty of people in the government that info to blackmail Linc Norman. But she’d left it in Savanna’s apartment and led her to it.

  What was it? What was on that USB that Parker had encrypted so thoroughly?

  Savanna dried off and wrapped a plush ivory towel around her body. Could she trust Coldplay and the Rock Star team with that level of top-secret information? She sure hoped so, because whatever it was, Savanna planned to use it to her advantage.

  She found a comb in one of the drawers and started pulling it through her hair. She had no choice anyway. She couldn’t decrypt anything. Parker knew that.

  And Savanna certainly didn’t know how to protect herself from assassins.

  But Coldplay did.

  The comb snagged on a knot. She hadn’t felt this type of connection to anyone before. Not male, anyway. All these years, she’d been holding herself back, afraid to get too close to any man, even Brady. She might share her body, but always held back the rest. Her mind, her true emotions. Afraid of what a man could do to her heart as well as her body.

  She was a grown adult, not the fourteen-year-old girl she’d been, but that girl still existed inside her. That fear was still tucked deep down inside her very core.

  Coldplay had listened to her story and not judged her. She’d never told anyone else what had happened, the guilt she carried over Nora’s death.

  It wasn’t just his physical presence. It was his emotional presence that reassured her. She’d seen it in his eyes; he’d wanted to kill Coach Watson for hurting her. And wasn’t that ironic? At first, she’d been sure he didn’t have emotions.

  A wave of relief swept over her, so intense, it bent her at the waist and she had to cover her mouth to hold in her whimper. He hadn’t judged her for not telling someone what had happened. He hadn’t defended her mother or changed the subject because it was an uncomfortable one.

  Moisture seeped out under her eyelashes and Savanna wiped it away, straightened, and went back to work on the knot in her hair. She’d told her awful secret and he hadn’t ran. He’d done the opposite.

  The burden was gone. She felt freer, lighter. She wouldn’t let Parker down. Whatever was on that USB needed to be told to the world, Savanna was sure of it.

  No more secrets. No more keeping her mouth shut. She might have lost her platform, but she hadn’t lost her voice.

  In fact, I may have just found it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  _____________________

  ______________________________________________________

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER, Savanna was on a rug on the second floor where Coldplay had brought her to show her the deer, stretching her stiff muscles and wishing she could rewind to the previous day. DC had received another four inches of snow, the snowmen army she and Coldplay had built was now half-buried in the backyard.

  Her nerves were half-buried too. She and Coldplay had moved around each other, ate together, worked out in the downstairs gym, and he’d even sat in the library reading books and playing chess with her, but very little meaningful conversation had flowed between them. No more scorching hot kisses, either.

  Savanna had dozens of questions she wanted to ask him, but he was cool, aloof, focused. He would sneak off and make phone calls, and spend hours on the house’s computer searching the internet. Was he searching for Parker or something else?

  The USB wasn’t giving up its secrets. Coldplay had discussed trying something else with Rory, but the computer expert insisted that his program would decrypt the USB if given enough time.

  The sun was bright, reflecting off the snow, and Savanna shifted the rug to a slice of sunlight. The warmth on her face felt good.

  Her workout seemed off today, her body lacking its normal grace. The bulletproof glass protected her, but nothing—not even Coldplay—could keep the harsh reality of what was waiting for her at bay for long.

  She was slogging through her sixth sun salutation when the back of her neck prickled in warning. Gazing down into the back yard and garden, she searched for any sign of human life.

  It wasn’t in the garden. It was behind her. Coldplay was in the doorway watching her, the laptop in one hand.

  “Don’t stop,” he said, his crystal blue eyes boring into her. “I love to watch you move.”

  “Is everything okay? Did something happen? The USB?”

  A few days of beard growth covered his jaws and neck. His eyes were tired. He wasn’t sleeping, she could see that, but he’d never truly seemed tired until right now. “Nothing happened. You’re safe. I’m tired of staring at security video and this laptop.”

  He paced toward her. Gl
ided, really.

  Like a panther on the hunt.

  Savanna almost took a step back. Nothing had happened, perhaps, but it was about to from the look in his eyes.

  She swallowed the sudden nervousness in her throat. “Want to stretch with me?”

  He sunk into a nearby chair, his gaze roaming over her yoga pants and sports bra as he set the laptop, open, on the floor. “I want to watch you stretch.”

  The look in his eyes did strange things to her. Heat shot straight to the spot between her legs. What was going on here? Had he changed his mind? Was he simply bored?

  Whatever. She was intrigued. The heavy weight of his gaze followed her as she continued her sun salutations, each movement taking on new importance. The flow became easier even though she felt unnaturally self-conscious about everything from her stomach and her foot placement to her backside. The light brush of her ponytail across her shoulders tickled her skin. She found her breath seemed stuck inside her ribs.

  Coldplay noticed too. “Breathe,” he reminded her and she caught his eye as she inhaled deeply.

  What she saw there nearly took that oh-so-mindful breath away.

  Hunger. Pure, raw, seductive. He wanted her and he was going to have her.

  Libido fully engaged again, she decided to drag it out, make him suffer the way he had made her suffer the last two days. She flowed back and forward, extending her legs and using her body to communicate to him that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  The flow of poses was like a dance, and the old routine once more became easy, graceful. She was so involved in the concentrated movements, she didn’t realize he’d moved behind her. His hands touched her hips, causing her to jump, and then he ran them lightly up her sides to the underside of her breasts.

  She leaned back into him, wanting him so much she ached again.

  He nuzzled her ear, her neck. “I need to tell you something,” he murmured. “About me.”

  A thrill went through her. Was he finally going to answer some of her questions about who he was? “I’m listening.”

  He cupped her breasts, gently, running a thumb over each nipple and making her suck in a breath. “In a minute. First, I want to enjoy this.”

  One hand slipped down to her pelvis, the heat of his fingers leaving a trail as he cupped her through the stretchy material between her legs. Pressing into his big hand, she arched her butt back and felt his erection, full and demanding.

  Oh, yeah. This was definitely happening. After two days of torture, she was finally going to get what she wanted.

  His teeth nibbled at her exposed shoulder, teasing the strap of her bra off and baring the top of her right breast. He brushed his fingers over the sensitive skin, his hot breath lingering on her shoulder as he slipped his hand inside the fabric and lifted her breast out of the bra cup.

  The other hand, still between her legs, kneaded and built a rhythm. She moaned low and deep as he pinched her exposed nipple and murmured in her ear. “I want you so bad.”

  Oh, God, she wanted him too. “Then take me. Screw the contract and whatever you’re hiding from me. I need this. Need you.”

  His erection pressed into her harder. “This is wrong. You’re going to hate me.”

  Reaching up, she touched his face. Her breath came in fast gasps. “I could never hate you.”

  His low growl made goose bumps break out over her skin. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

  She placed her hands over his, forcing him to grip her breast and her pelvis harder. “I want you too.” Now, now, now. “Please.”

  Dust motes danced in the air around them. In her ear, Coldplay’s breathing was as ragged as hers. Outside, the snow sparkled in the bright sunlight and Savanna tilted her head to the side, allowing his lips more access to her sensitive skin.

  “I need more,” he said, his voice vibrating against her skin. “I need my mouth on your breasts, between your legs.”

  Scorching need tingled from her head to her toes. Brady had never talked during sex. An earlier lover had, but used explicit language that sometimes was more turnoff than turn-on. She liked how Coldplay told her exactly what he wanted—needed—without degrading terms that made her feel like a porn star.

  She’d never seen Coldplay’s hands shake, but his fingers did as they worked her sports bra off. She didn’t help him, enjoying the concentration on his face as he worked the one-piece bra over her breasts and up and off her arms. Cool air made her already puckered nipples tighten more.

  The bra hit the floor and Coldplay stood, not touching her, only looking. His gaze was so intense, she nearly covered herself. Instead, she reached out and removed his T-shirt, going up on her toes to get it over his head, letting her heavy breasts brush against his ribs. He helped, chucking the shirt on the floor next to her bra.

  It was her turn to stare. The tattoos. The scars. She’d seen them already, but in the sunlight, they hit her all over again. Whatever this man had been through, whatever he’d done in his life, his history was there on his skin.

  Reaching out, she traced the outline of an angel holding a clock. The hands were nearing midnight. She was about to ask what it meant when Coldplay stayed her hand, brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed them.

  She dropped her hand to his waistband and unbuttoned his jeans. The ridge inside them was huge and she licked her lips with anticipation. Unzipped, his erection popped free—no underwear to hold it back—and her eyes widened at the length. She took him in her hand, his hips jutting at the contact and another growl parting his lips as he closed his eyes briefly. Using her other hand, she pushed his jeans down to bare his muscled legs.

  He grabbed her hand once again and pulled it away. “You look at me that way, touch me like that, and this will be over before I get my hands on you.”

  His thighs were thick and powerful looking. He stood there, proud and defiant, letting her look but not touch.

  Not fair.

  Seeming to read her mind, he stepped out of his jeans. Then he knelt in front of her, his fingers tracing the edge of her yoga pants. His touch lingered on her hipbones before peeling the material inch by slow inch down her legs. His lips followed the progress, kissing each hip, then thigh, making her nearly swoon with desire.

  A moment later, she stood in nothing but her panties, his face at their level. He slipped a finger under the satin and she shuddered at the decadent touch as he teased her with expert care.

  He kissed her through the material of her panties, holding her in place as he parted his lips and tongued her through the satin.

  Her knees gave out and he guided her to the floor. She parted her legs, accepting him as he hovered above her, his mouth now finding her breast, his hands ripping the panties off. She heard material tear but didn’t care.

  And then her breast was feeling cool air again. He reached over and pulled a foil packet from his jean pocket, opened it, and rolled it on.

  Her mouth watered watching him work the thin sheath up the length and breadth of him.

  She shifted again, spreading her legs wider, looking forward to finally being filled, satisfied.

  “Savanna?”

  Tearing her gaze away from his erection, she met his eyes. Saw the worry there. The concern.

  Reaching out, she grabbed him and wrapped her legs around his hips. Guiding, guiding…

  He came down, fast and hard, ramming himself into her as she arched to meet him.

  Sweet Jesus. Cradling him, she felt him holding his breath, his massive shoulders pinning her to the floor as he held her in place, not letting her move. Dragging out the moment, he buried himself deep inside her.

  She felt the fat length of him pulse. Just a little flick, creating a friction she’d never felt before.

  He did it again. Sensation exploded between her legs. She arched her hips and whimpered, her nails digging into his back. “Please,” she ground out, rocking under him.

  He chuckled in her ear and started to move, match
ing her rhythm.

  The chuckle completely unraveled her. Not the fact he was naked and glorious and taking her close to the edge. No, it was the fact that she could make him laugh, even in the midst of sex.

  Savanna let herself go. Let herself be like the yoga instructors were always teaching. No thinking, only feeling. Total focused mindfulness enveloped her as Coldplay kissed and caressed and stroked into her over and over again. She was spinning and spinning and it felt so damn good. For a few minutes, her bodyguard could indeed keep the real world at bay.

  “You’re perfect,” he said, his lips against her neck.

  She came, breaking apart, not from his words, but from the sheer power he exuded. The sheer conviction in what he was doing. Her legs tightened around him and she lifted her hips, digging her heels into his buttocks and pulling him deeper.

  His hands locked on to her hips and held them up, giving her what she wanted as he sunk in to the hilt. As she spun out, coming completely undone, she felt him tighten in response.

  “Savanna,” he cried out as he crashed into her. She felt him pulse again, this time with his own release.

  She drifted, feeling his heart pounding against hers. Heard his breath coming in gasps, just like hers. He wrapped his arms around her, supporting himself on his elbows so he didn’t crush her, and rested a cheek against her temple. He kissed her there, softly, as his breathing came back into balance.

  Delicious. There was no other word for it. She could stay this way forever.

  Far off, she heard music. A soft pairing of notes that drifted with her, repeating over and over.

  “Coldplay?” A voice vibrated on the edge of her consciousness and suddenly the strong arms wrapped around her released her.

  “Coldplay?” the voice said again. It sounded small and tinny. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

  He was up and gone before she could open her eyes. She blinked and followed his quick movement across the floor to the abandoned laptop, condom gone and jeans halfway up his legs.

  He zipped and buttoned in one swift movement, then grabbed the laptop and scanned the screen.