by Rita Henuber
She laughed. Men thought because her breasts were large they had to be implants. When they found out otherwise, they were appreciative, although none had been as vocal as Rico. He dipped his head and took a nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue and sucking.
“Finally.” She sighed and grasped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin. She closed her eyes and arched her back to give him better access.
Rico cupped her breasts in his big hands, gently kneading, moving from one to the other. Each swirl of his tongue and tug of his lips took her closer to crashing over the edge into a blinding pleasure. He raked his teeth over her hard sensitive tips and her body quivered. “How did—” she sucked in a loud breath, “—you know I like that?”
“Did it to me. Had to be something you liked.”
“More. I want more.”
“I can’t wait any longer. I have to be inside you.” The words were uttered in a low urgent tone.
She reached for a condom. “I want to.”
She covered him, then rose on her knees, took him in and lost her breath. They rocked together for a while, touching, kissing, looking. No words passed between them. They communicated in the language of lovers. The primal ooohs, aaahs and mmms resonating between their bodies. Olivia had always been a silent lover, thinking all the moaning and groaning was too porn flicky. Tonight she cried out in delight. Once, so loud Rico stopped his movements and grasped her hips.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She kissed his neck below the ear. “Feels incredibly good. Keep doing—” she took a breath, “—what you’re doing.” She pressed down, forcing him deep, and made a circular motion with her hips to give him pleasure.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
“Why do men say that when what they really want is to move faster?” she asked, repeating the movement.
In a quick motion Rico rolled them to their sides and withdrew. His hot, wet mouth left a trail of searing kisses from her lips to her breasts. A hand slipped between her legs, his long fingers parted then entered her.
“No.” She grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanked him away from a breast and attempted to pull his hand from her opening. “I’m too close.” What was this man doing to her? She could barely think, speak. She could only feel. Feel him.
He moved over her, kissed her hard and slid inside. He filled her completely. His strong thrusts hit a deep place never touched before. Somehow he sensed what she needed. There. Yes there. Right there, she thought—or had she said it out loud? Roughly he shoved her legs over his shoulders. In this position, he controlled their movements. He was far from a gentle lover. She didn’t care, he knew what he was doing and he was doing it well.
“Don’t stop. I’m…” She couldn’t finish.
Her vision blurred into swirls of color until an explosion separated her mind and body. The internal grasping of her orgasm continued as Rico stayed on task until her body began responding again. His hand went between them and he ground his thumb against her clitoris, making hard circles. She wanted to tell him she’d already come but couldn’t find her voice. Drained, she was powerless to stop him. Then she realized what he already knew: She was going to come again. She arched and wanted to scream. Maybe she was.
“Come,” he demanded, stroking harder.
Her body obeyed, quaking uncontrollably. A guttural sound escaped him and Rico’s body fractured with his own explosion. Long moments later her legs slid from his shoulders and he fell onto her, his chest heaving.
“Now that was wow,” he said into her hair.
“Am I dreaming?” she managed to ask.
“If you are, I am. And we just had one hell of a wet dream.”
He was heavy on her, but she reveled in his bulk, his heat and his scent. Drifting off to sleep the thought crossed her mind she might be crushed to death. If she was, she sure as hell was going to die happy.
Olivia woke on her side snuggled into him, their legs and arms tangled. She lay still until sure he was sleeping then carefully disentangled herself and edged off the bed.
Rico stirred and reached for her. “Come back,” he muttered, sounding more asleep than awake. She stood silently by the bed until his breathing was heavy, almost a snore.
He was quite possibly the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Rugged and masculine, not a pretty boy. His body muscular from work, not workouts, and deeply tanned. Even in the dim light she could see he was tanned all over. She fit into, against, his long arms and legs. The urge to run her hands over his body, to kiss him and make love again was strong.
What’s wrong with me? We’ve had sex twice and I’m thinking about more. Shaking her head to chase away the thought and lust attack, she padded to the bathroom. The shower took up the whole back of the huge room. Olivia let water from the half dozen showerheads wash over her. Feeling a rush of cold air, she knew without looking that Rico was there. Arms encircled her, and she melted into him, delighting in the feel of his body as they swayed together.
“Be still,” he whispered against her ear. A moment later his hand moved over her back, soaping her.
“Mmm.” She braced her hands on the tile wall and he crouched, washing the back of her legs. His lips brushed the small of her back and buttocks causing a minor earthquake to rumble through her. He paused occasionally to apply gentle pressure in spots, as if fine tuning her body like a master mechanic. He was successful. Her engine was purring and she was ready for him again.
They stood kissing under the rush of warm water, their bodies melded together. His arousal more obvious than hers.
“There’s a towel and robe on the counter for you. Get dried off,” he said, edging her toward the shower door.
She didn’t want to leave. “Don’t you want me to wash your back?”
“No. I’m good.” Grinning, he opened the door and bowed from the waist as a doorman would.
“But…” she protested.
“Go.” He patted her rear and muttered something as she exited.
She felt out of it. Was it because of sex endorphins? Turning toward the shower, she watched his hands wash his body, vividly remembering how they felt roaming over her. A major lust attack struck.
She had to get out of the room before he came out of the shower in all his naked glory. Snatching up the fat towel, she rubbed furiously, shrugged into the robe and headed for the bedroom balcony. A clear night and waning moon gave enough light to make sparkles dance over the Atlantic. Her mind drifted to being in her helicopter, flying low and fast across the water. The thought reminded her she was a military officer—with a high security clearance—who had just hopped into bed with a man she’d never seen before. Becoming involved with “unknowns” was exactly what Command warned against. A real and true danger.
Lust, desire, want and need vanished, replaced with duty, sanity and common sense. She cocked her head toward the bathroom door and listened. The water was still running. She should get her clothes on and leave before he came out.
Shedding the robe, she went to where Rico had pitched her clothes. She found a sandal, her dress, her bra, the other sandal. Where were her panties? She leaned to look under the bed and stopped. He’d made the bed. Olivia touched the sheets. Not only had he made the bed, he’d changed the sheets.
“Didn’t want you to have to lie on a wet spot.”
Fuck! So much for an undetected escape.
Rico pulled her to him, lightly running his hands over her naked back and rear. He bent, kissing and nibbling her neck and shoulder. Ah hell. She was in trouble. He was everything she wanted in a lover and he was dangerous, she was sure of it. Not to the country but to her. He had her body for sure and was working on her mind.
His lips brushed her forehead and trailed down her cheek. His fingers wrapped around the hand holding her sandals as he nuzzled her neck.
“Stay,” he said, his lips vibrating against her ear.
“I have to go.” She knew she wasn’t going anywhere. The
towel wrapped around his waist dropped to the floor, freeing his erection and sealing her surrender. Her sandals hit the floor and her dress pooled over her feet as she curled her arms around him.
Rico had fallen asleep, one warm arm cradling her, the other draped over her waist, his knee between her legs. Olivia relished the feeling of a man’s body against hers. In particular this man’s body that she fit against perfectly. She could get used to this.
Used to this? The portion of her brain not focused on sex took back the controls, demanding she get away from him, get dressed and go. She’d had her first one night stand—no more, no less. Regrettably it was time to leave this man who had made her feel alive and wanted again. She moved away and his arms reflexively tightened. It crossed her mind how good it would feel to wake up like this each morning.
Oh, no. This is not good. The engines weren’t responding to the controls. Her body betrayed her. The muscles in her back and legs tensed. A film of perspiration chilled her. Focus. Analyze the situation. Staying was not an option. Her primary mission goal was Danny. Finding his killer. She had no time to deal with a man. This man who had demanded so much of her tonight.
Crap. What if he came looking for her? Tracked her down, showed up on her doorstep or even worse showed up at the job. Think. Think. Think. Her mind ticked through the night’s events. What did he know about her? Her first name. No last name. That was good. He’d seen the Jeep, but she doubted he could find her that way. His attentions had been elsewhere—he’d have to be really good to remember the plate number.
Feeling some relief, she inched away from his body. Completely free, she lay still until sure he was asleep. Slipping off the bed she went to her hands and knees in search of her clothes, occasionally rising to make sure Rico still slept.
She found her bra, dress and both shoes. Her panties were MIA. Finally giving up the search, she eased into the main living area to dress. Wanting one last look, she returned to the bedroom. Rico lay sprawled on his back, arms and legs spread over the bed. She took a step toward him.
“Stop this,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Get the hell out.” At the door she hesitated again. She wanted to go back, but couldn’t. Maybe she could. No. This night had been about sex. Nothing else. Standing in a strange man’s condo arguing with herself as if she had a split personality was getting her no place. There is no going back. Her mind finally in control of her body, she pulled the door closed and ran for the elevator.
Inside the Jeep, Olivia looked through her purse for the keys. Her blood went cold. The envelope with the money was gone. In its place was a dirty napkin. Hands shaking, she lifted it out and read the single word. Silva.
Rico woke with the morning sun in his face. His mind instantly flashed back to the sex and he reached out. She wasn’t there.
“Shit.” He bolted up and listened. No sound. She wasn’t in the condo.
“Damn it.”
Rolling to the side of the bed, he put his feet on the floor and sat listening carefully for any sounds, making sure. Nothing. Christ. He’d fucked up. How could he have been so stupid? Slept so soundly he didn’t hear her leave? He let loose a string of profanities and snatched up his jeans. The wallet was still in his pocket. He quickly flipped through. His three grand and the envelope containing the grand he’d taken from her purse were there. It didn’t look as if she had touched it.
“Shit.” He slammed the wallet onto the bed and yanked on his jeans. Catching sight of something blue, he leaned to pick it up. For a long moment he stared at her panties, turning them over in his fingers, feeling the lace catch on the rough spots of his hand. His mouth twitched and his breath caught as he remembered how the lace felt when he’d run his fingers over her ass. He opened his hand and watched the blue silk flutter to the floor.
Rico stepped out on the balcony and stood staring at the water. Details of the night flooded his mind. How she felt in his arms when they danced. How she smelled. He dipped his head to his shoulder, inhaling deeply. Her scent still clung to him. He recalled the little sounds she made in response to his exploration of her body. How her hard nipples and naked belly pressed against him. He shuddered and blew out a loud breath.
What had gotten into him? Rico raked his fingers through his hair. Letting his guard down wasn’t only dangerous, it was insane. Damn it! She could have killed him. He grinned. She did almost kill him. The second time they’d gone at it she’d come twice and closed around his dick so hard he’d wanted to howl. The sex had been wild, draining him completely.
His cell vibrating on the dresser brought him back to reality and he stepped inside to grab it. Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror, he stopped and turned his head from side to side to get a better view of his face. He looked different, relaxed, almost like himself, not the person he pretended to be. The phone continued to chatter across the top of the dresser. He paid no attention. Could one night of sex have done this? No. It wasn’t just the sex. Couldn’t be. Rico stroked the faint stubble on his chin.
Maybe. There sure enough had been a wow factor. Wow. He remembered how she’d said the word. Damn it! Why the hell did she leave? He looked at his watch. After nine he could call…“Fuck.”
He hadn’t asked for a phone number or a last name. Getting them would be easy, but he’d have a hell of a time explaining how he’d tracked her down. He couldn’t use the contact number either.
“Get a grip,” he said to his reflection. She’s connected to this investigation. No way could he get involved with her. All he could do now was hope when she discovered the note she’d have enough sense to stop asking questions. Last night he’d made the first dangerous mistake of his career.
Never again would he be that careless.
Chapter Three
Olivia stood at the office window looking at the helicopter waiting for her on the flight deck. Her helicopter. She never tired of looking at the orange bird.
“Evening, ma’am.”
She turned to see Senior Chief Defoe. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’m your gunner tonight.”
“Where’s Turner?”
“Couldn’t make it. Sick or something.” Defoe shrugged.
“Bullshit.” She took a step toward him. “You conned him into taking his place didn’t you?” Defoe retired in a couple of weeks and she’d bet her last cent he bullied his way onto this detail to see some action one last time. She was ready to chew him up and spit him out when Turner came through the door.
“Ma’am, they’re ready for us in the briefing.”
She gave Defoe a deadly look.
“Four man crew tonight,” he grinned. “Whatever they want us for, it’s big.”
“Don’t do that to me again, Senior Chief,” she said angrily as she brushed past.
Defoe first flew with Olivia out of Barbers Point, Hawaii, on the Jayhawk recovery rescue helicopter. She’d been lucky enough to have him as her senior chief at three other duty stations and considered him and his family friends. She sure as hell didn’t want to see him injured with two weeks of active duty left.
“Yes, ma’am,” Defoe said, falling into step behind her.
Olivia entered the small, crowded conference room. “Evening, sir,” she greeted Captain Anderson and nodded to Crenshaw. Three men she didn’t know sat around the conference table. Anderson introduced her and the senior chief. She waited for the captain to introduce the three men. He shook his head slightly, indicating it wasn’t going to happen.
“These gentlemen are here from—” he paused, “—from other agencies that will not be named this evening.”
None of them moved or changed their expressions.
“Freaking undercovers,” Turner whispered. “It’s a wonder they aren’t wearing ski masks.”
Olivia shot him a keep quiet look. He dropped his gaze to the table and slouched in his chair.
Turner was right—these guys were undercovers. They fit the description: expressionless, emotionless and deadl
y. Coast Guard crews frequently worked with agents from the DEA, ATF, NIS and on occasion the Secret Service. It was anyone’s guess which agency they were from.
The oldest, a brawny guy who looked like he did some serious working out, watched her with hard gray eyes. The man to his left looked Hispanic, dark hair and eyes, heavy beard and deep tan. The third and youngest also sported a tan with sun bleached blond hair and icy blue eyes. The California surfer type only more serious. All in all a good-looking guy. In another situation she would be interested.
“Sit down, Olivia.” Captain Anderson gestured for her to take a seat. She preferred to stand—it gave her a feeling of control—but Anderson gave a commanding officer look and she sat.
“There is reliable information a large amount of drugs will be moved between Fernandina Beach and Melbourne tonight via a go-fast. The supplier is someone these gentlemen have been tracking a long time.”
“Then why haven’t these gentlemen already taken them in?” Olivia interrupted. Though excited about the prospect of taking more dealers and drugs off the street, she wanted to know why the Coast Guard was the primary agency tonight and therefore first in the line of fire.
The blond glared at her. She gave him a stony glare right back.
“Commander.” Anderson used a cautionary tone.
“Sir, I want to know why they—the agency they work for—hasn’t already stopped them.”
“We know there will be an exchange at sea,” the captain continued, ignoring her question. “There is no way to shadow a go-fast or a delivery boat without being picked up on radar. Coast Guard regular patrols will not be suspicious. In fact, they’ll think something is wrong if they don’t see you patrolling. That’s why you’re out there tonight.”
Gray Eyes, who Olivia pegged as the team leader, held his hand up to stop Anderson.
“Captain, I’ll take over.”
“It’s your show,” Anderson replied, settling into a chair.
The man sat silent for a long moment. Finally he leaned his elbows on the table, turned to Olivia and spoke.
