by Kylie Brant
The memory had a ribbon of satisfaction curling through her. “I prefer her expression when I started repeating Stillions’ questions for her in Chinese.” Twice the woman had lunged across the table at her, venomous curses spewing from her lips. Each time she’d been restrained by a second agent in the room. “Unfortunately, she didn’t reveal much of interest before she stopped talking altogether.” And no amount of probing from the federal agents had changed that.
“Stillions said the information you got from Khalid, the attendant at the desk, and Shuang’s men, Amin, Taufik and Harris, is more than enough to build a solid case against the woman.”
She nodded. The men at least had been all too willing to talk, even though their stories had been told painting themselves as victims. “But none of them can shed any light on what Shuang was planning for Royce Raiker. And our inability to discover that, along with the disappearance of Malsovic and Zupan feels like a failure.”
He took her hand and gave a tug, tumbling her off her perch and into his lap. Then looked entirely too pleased with himself for her to believe he hadn’t had success with the move. “We still have their computers to look at. Stillions said the evidence was all being expedited by Raiker’s labs. We didn’t fail. We just haven’t finished yet.”
Somehow her position on Declan’s lap, the subtle pressure from the arm he’d looped around her waist, seemed far more dangerous than any of the activities they’d been engaged in for the past twenty-four hours. And still she couldn’t find the will to move. Her body melted, just a fraction, against his. “I don’t want to be finished until Royce is safe. And I want to see the case of the women through to its conclusions. I don’t get to do that enough. My job…” She stopped then, years of reticence about her career ingrained in her. Then shocked herself by going on. “You were wrong about what I do. I’m not a member of the Intelligence Community at DOS. As a language specialist I do provide translation and interpretation for…high ranking members of the government.”
She was discreet enough not to reveal how closely she worked with the White House and the Secretary of State. “But because of my familiarity with a wide array of languages, I’m sometimes loaned out for special assignments, by the request of a number of agencies.” CIA, NSA, FBI and DEA had all made such requests in the past couple of years. And the covert assignments she’d taken part in had been far more exhilarating than interpreting for a sensitive trade agreement or translating during the brokering of a ceasefire between war-torn countries. “I blame my staid upbringing for my taste for excitement.” Her gaze met his and her heart stuttered a bit in her chest. Something she couldn’t identify held her there, much too close to him, when every shred of logic urged her to move away.
His fingers brushed a strand of hair back from her face. A slight smile curved his lips. “I knew there was more to you than met the eye, Evie. You’re freaking brilliant. Surely you realize that.”
Her heart did a slow lazy spin in her chest. Brilliant. It wasn’t true—not even close—but he could make her feel that way when he looked at her like this. He could make her feel…too much.
“My parents never used pet names or nicknames,” she murmured. There was something about the glint in his eye that made it difficult to look away. “Which made the nickname I got stuck with even more incongruous. I can’t tell you how much better I like the your name for me.”
His eyes went to smoke. “I thought of it the first time I saw you first thing in the morning. Before you showered and tamed your hair, when it’s a mass of wild ringlets around your face. The rest of the world sees Eve, the mask you don, but Evie…that’s the part you try to hide from the world.”
She tried to catch her breath. He looked too deeply. Saw too much. And that was just a fraction of the danger the man represented. Declan Gallagher had heartbreak written all over him. And that was one risk she’d always scrupulously managed to avoid. But there was temptation here, in the intensity of his expression. The firm wall of his chest, and the way his hand moved to rest possessively on her hip. She looked at his mouth, remembering the feel of it on hers. Hot. Devastating. Just a bit wicked. And Eve was reminded that some risks were worth taking.
She closed the distance between them, brushed his lips gently with hers. The softness there always surprised her; it was at odds with the innate toughness that was so much a part of him. His eyes went to slits, and she saw the evidence of his desire in his expression. But although his lips moved beneath hers, he appeared content to allow her to set the pace. The freedom was more than a little heady.
Hooking her arm behind his neck Eve closed her eyes and gave herself over to the moment. There was so much to learn about a man from his kiss, she thought, a little dreamily. The nuances of touch and taste. The gradual shift of pressure and increasing hunger until the kiss became a prelude to something more.
She’d dated her share of men, had slept with a select few. With none of them had a mere kiss elicited this rollicking in her pulse, this instant steamy rise of emotion. The danger that Declan Gallagher exuded drew her as the moon drew the tide. But it was what she’d learned about the man himself that him irresistible.
She shifted in his lap. Found him hard and ready against her hip. His arms looped loosely around her waist, but she could feel the steely hardness of bunched muscles. The tight rein of control. And she wondered what it would take to make him lose that leash of restraint. To make him want and shake and need.
Deliberately, without breaking contact, she moved to straddle him, her hands going to thread through his hair as she slicked her tongue over the seam of his mouth. For a moment he was still. Then that leash slipped.
One arm banded around her and he pulled her closer, his mouth eating at hers, pressing her lips apart so his tongue could sweep in, staking a claim. And she couldn’t resist reveling in the torrent she’d unharnessed.
There was a basic carnal pleasure to be had in the mingling of breath, the clash of lips and teeth. But the ease with which sensation kick-started need caused a belated flicker of alarm. It would be a mistake to feel too much. Want too much. Eve recognized that. Just as she realized it was much too late to back pedal now. Thought fragmented as he nipped at her lip. Re-formed as he soothed it with the tip of his tongue. She had a sense of adventure that she kept hidden from the world. But she wondered now if Declan represented the biggest gamble she’d ever undertaken.
His hand slid beneath her sweater, and she jerked a little at the contact. His fingers spread against her skin, each digit an individual brand. Her palms itched with the need to reciprocate.
She unfastened the buttons on his shirt with fingers that had gone just a little unsteady. Then let her hand glide over his skin, one smooth stroke, and smiled against his lips when she felt his stomach jump and clench beneath her touch. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of spare flesh on him. Just smooth padded muscle, punctuated by intriguing peaks and hollows where bone met sinew.
His palm crept upward to cup her breast encased in the fabric of her bra, and Eve’s nipple tightened as he brushed it deliberately with his thumb. Senses heightened unbearably. Every nerve ending quivered in anticipation of a deeper contact. He drew her bottom lip into his mouth, and nipped not quite gently. The dual assault sent little pinwheels of desire swirling through her veins.
Their mouths twisted together and conscious thought receded. There was only the taste of him, dark and faintly primitive. His clever fingers knew just how to tease and tantalize until she strained against him, desperate for more. And then his hand slipped inside her bra to cover her breast, and excitement thrummed through her system.
Her movements lacked finesse as she spread his shirt wide to skate both hands over his chest. Pent up need was pumping through her, lending a sense of urgency.
She wasn’t aware that he’d unhooked her bra until it was loose. And then it was swept away with her sweater and he brought her closer, the breat
h hissing from between his teeth at the sensation. There was an intoxicating pleasure to be had pressed against him like this. Breasts against his chest. Flesh to flesh. To feel the leap of his heart when she scraped his nipple lightly with her nail. To hear his breathing lose its steady rhythm and go just a bit choppy. And to feel. God, to feel. His fingers rolled her nipples to taut knots of nerves that sent shocks of desire straight to her womb.
She’d known passion before, but not this longing that was like a fever in her blood. A yearning that could only be quenched by one man. Desperation sizzled in her, a lit match to a fuse. The strength of it had her squirming on his lap in a way that had him groaning.
There was a ferocious hunger evident now as his mouth ate at hers. His arms wrapped around her, a tight band that fitted her more tightly against him. She felt him rise, cradling her in his arms as he strode from the room. By the time she had her eyes open to half mast she already felt the mattress beneath her shoulders. Then he was following her down on it
There was no teasing in his touch now. Just unvarnished need sheened with desperation. And that fanned the flames of her own desire to a scorching level. Their mouths twisted together as their kiss became deeper. Wet. Frankly carnal. Hands battled to undo buttons and zippers.
She wasn’t used to this fierce compulsion to strip a man bare, to press so close that there wouldn’t even be a whisper of air between them. To explore every hard inch of his body and lose herself in a journey of discovery that she didn’t want to end.
He released her mouth to drag her jeans down her thighs and stripped off his own clothes before stretching out beside her on the bed. She arched her back, moaning a little at the kiss of flesh wherever they touched. Heat, a quick stabbing spear of it, arrowed up her spine. She couldn’t get enough of him as she ran her palms over his arms, over his strong shoulders. She pressed her lips to his chest, ran her hands over his belly where the muscles quivered beneath her touch. And lost her breath in the next moment when his hands cupped her breasts, stroking and squeezing lightly in turn.
She nipped at his bicep in a savage need for flesh. Her fingers closed around his heavy sex and it pulsed in her grasp, hard and ready. Straining for release. Her fingers glided down the shaft and back once, twice and again. Then faltered in their rhythm when he bent to reclaim her nipples.
Colors fragmented behind her eyelids. And when his teeth scraped flesh, an edgy blade of need nicked over nerve endings already unbearably sensitized. His fingers, those clever wicked fingers, traced the seam of her leg teasingly before delving inside her panties, cupping her where she was damp and heated.
Her head lolled, her breath coming in short ragged pants. He took advantage of the position to raise his head and cruise his mouth along her throat, nipping at the sensitive cord there. And when his hand slipped inside her panties to part her folds, dipping one finger inside her, Eve’s limbs went to water.
Sensation after sensation battered at her. Even as he explored her, his thumb pressed and released against her clitoris in a manner designed to drive her to madness. It was a journey she was determined not to take alone.
She stroked him, alternating between a lighter touch and the firmer one his hunger would demand. He thrust against her hand demandingly, and her lips curved in a moment of pure feminine satisfaction. Heat was licking up her spine. Her back bowed as sensation after sensation battered at her. A moment later her climax ripped through her, graying her vision and startling a cry from her.
“Evie.” She shivered at the sound of the nickname on his lips, the guttural tone of his voice as he uttered it. “More. Again.”
She shook her head weakly. It was too much. Too soon. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t claw through the fog of release to climb the slippery slope of desire once again. But he proved her a liar in the next instant. His touch deft and insistent he had pleasure building again in long lush waves. Helplessly her hands climbed to his shoulders. Clutched there as her body quaked and followed him up and up to a peak he was relentlessly driving her toward.
Then he pushed her over it. Ruthlessly using hands and lips and teeth to intensify sensation from a thousand individual pulse points so the implosion went on and on until she was a weak shuddering mass.
Eve felt him move away, reached out a protesting hand. Her body still shook with the eddies of her release but still it called for the feel of him, hot and hard pressed against hers. And then she heard the rustle of his clothes, knew he was digging in the pocket of his jeans. It was long moments before she felt the mattress dip beneath the weight of his knee. She curled her arm around his neck to draw him down to her. His heart was hammering against hers, his muscles quivering and jumping wherever she touched him. Anticipation pooled in the pit of her stomach. Because she was going to do her level best to fray his last thread of control.
Releasing him after a brief kiss, she hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties and shimmied out of them, taking far longer than the act would usually require. Then caught his gaze on hers. Heavy lidded and intent. And impossibly the blood in her veins went molten again.
He stretched out on top of her, his weight on his elbows. And when he entered her in one smooth stroke, she lost her breath. Both of them stilled, bodies quivering. Eve was a little stunned. A bit panicked. He filled her with a completeness that bordered on discomfort. She shifted slightly, feeling surrounded by the breadth of him. Then stopped as she felt the delicate throb of his penis. Felt herself soften as a fist of need clutched in her belly.
She opened her eyes. Found him watching. And her breath strangled in his lungs. His eyes were the color of night fog. And in that moment she knew he thought of nothing but her. Saw nothing but her.
Eve arched her hips a silent invitation that he met with a long slow thrust. His hand crept between their bodies to cup her breast, while the other slipped under her hips. She could read his urgency in the way the skin pulled tightly across his cheekbones. In his clenched jaw. But still he held back, keeping his movements controlled.
In the face of her earlier mind-shattering pleasure it seemed only fair to torch his effort at control. She smiled into his eyes. Reached down to touch him where their bodies were joined. And felt his body quake as his restraint abruptly snapped.
Declan surged against her against her over and over and this time Eve met him stroke for stroke. Tiny balls of heat were firing through her veins. Her vision was hazing. The night rushed in crowding their bodies on the bed. She could see nothing but him. Hear only the rasp of her breathing. The slap of flesh against flesh. The beat of her blood roaring through her veins. Hammering in her ears.
Her legs climbed his. She was wrapped around him and still it wasn’t close enough. His hips pounded against hers in a primal frantic pace until he surged wildly, and she felt the last little bit of sanity wing away as the climax flung her over the precipice.
And when he followed her into madness, it was with her name on his lips.
Chapter 11
Eve felt as though she was swimming to the top of a deep pool, an anchor on each ankle. Each time she nearly broke the surface she was weighted down again to be pulled into a deep slumberous warmth. One that tempted her to burrow deeper into it.
Then the weights were removed. The warmth disappeared. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to wake. A light slap on her bottom completed the process. She rolled and bolted upright in bed. Glared at the offender.
Then blinked. Declan was next to her. Not on her bed, but in it. He was leaned over her, reaching for something on the nightstand. The blankets were trapped beneath his hips, and she yanked at the sheet to have at least a modicum of cover. Memories from this morning came flooding back and suffused her with heat. They’d fallen asleep wrapped around each other, his leg pinning both of hers. Eve tiptoed through her feelings about that, like searching through an emotional minefield. She couldn’t find a single ounce of regr
et.
“Raiker.” He mouthed the word at her. She straightened abruptly as he thumbed on the speakerphone.
“I’m told you were involved in the raid last night,” the man began without preamble.
“We had a small part. Just returned from the interviews a few hours ago.”
“Which is why I let you sleep in.” The man actually sounded serious. But then, he always did. “I have your next assignment. Get back to me on video chat.” The call ended with the abruptness Eve was beginning to associate with the man.
Declan disconnected and sent her a slow smile. “Lucky he didn’t have video on now.”
“Video.” Her eyes went wide and she pushed at his bare chest. “We have to get dressed!”
“He’d probably appreciate that.” Declan scratched his cheek. He’d shaved before they’d left to meet Stillions last night, but his jaw was again shadowed with whiskers. She just might get addicted to the look of him unshaven. “And he couldn’t know that although we got home at nine AM, we didn’t spend all the intervening time sleeping.”
The flush his words elicited seemed to spread from the inside out. Eve didn’t have vast experience in morning afters, and certainly none recently. But she knew it was ridiculous to feel embarrassed to slip from the bed nude, after the hours he’d spent mapping every inch of her body with his hands. And mouth.
Heat bloomed inside her, slow and insidious. “So…” She tried for a matter-of-fact tone. “Your clothes are in the other room.”
“They are, aren’t they?” His smoke colored eyes were laughing at her. And he didn’t make a move from the bed.
She gave him a nudge with her shoulder. “Go put them on.”
“Trying to get rid of me so I won’t see you naked?” He leaned forward then to brush his mouth over hers. “An odd response for a woman who spent a few spectacular hours under me. Over me, too, in a few instances.”
