Classified Baby

by Jessica Andersen

  The lights had come up when he’d passed the final layer of security. The soft glow highlighted how utterly, perfectly she fit into the wide space of the main room, which reeked of taste and class. The polished-wood furniture was piled deep with soft pillows and down comforters, though there was little need for the latter, as a gas fire flickered in the corner, providing both warmth and ambiance.

  Nic turned a full circle, and he saw her eyes light on the modern kitchen and the curving staircase that led to the loft-style upper level, which held the master suite and two guest rooms. When she finished her circuit and her eyes landed on him once again, her lips curved, this time all the way, and the laugh caught in her eyes. “With friends like these, who needs motels?”

  “Blake is a good guy,” Ethan said, the words seeming stiff and unnatural. “The shower upstairs is amazing, and he keeps a pretty decent collection of spare clothes on hand. Check the closet in the first guest room.” He waved to the left side of the loft. “Something should fit. You go get warm. I’ll make a few calls and pull some food together.”

  Her smile softened. “That sounds perfect. Thanks.”

  She turned and headed up the stairs, and the situation seemed so normal, so domestic, that for a moment he forgot who they were and what they were doing. He was halfway to the stairs before he realized that he’d moved. He forced himself to stop, to let her go up alone, but a part of him fought the hold, yearning to follow her and climb into the multi-jet shower, to continue what they’d begun ten weeks earlier.

  “Phone call,” he reminded himself. “Food.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he had a bare-bones meal thrown together from the staples in the cabinets and freezer, and he’d left Blake a heads-up that they were crashing in the cabin, but that was about all he’d managed. None of his calls had gone through to the PPS team in Spain, which worried the hell out of him. At the same time, he remained all too aware of what was going on overhead. It was too easy for him to picture Nicole naked in the shower, slick and wet and pink, soaping herself up, and—

  “Get a grip and be a man.” He punched the next string of numbers into his cell hard enough to make his index finger throb.

  After three rings, Angel answered. “Hey, boss. We’re here and all’s quiet, except for Jerry snoring.” She paused. “Oh, and the small detail that there’s twenty of us and only one bathroom? We’re either going to be very good friends or we’re going to hate each other when this is over.”

  Ethan actually managed to crack a smile at that, but the expression faded quickly as he said, “Have you heard from Madrid?”

  “Nothing. Damn. I was hoping Evangeline would’ve called you.”

  “They’re probably busy,” Ethan said, but he knew the excuse didn’t play for either of them. “You guys manage to get any sort of information feed going yet?”

  “The techs are working on it. We should have a secure Internet connection by morning.”

  “Good.” Ethan thought for a moment, considering and rejecting investigative options. Problem was, there were too many possibilities and not enough good ones, now that the helicopter lead had played out. Or had it? There was one last thread to pull, he realized. “Once you’re up and running, have the team concentrate on Rocky Mountain Sky helicopter tours. I want to know who’s running the operation, who’s funding it, who their five biggest clients are…Anything you think will help.”

  Even with the breach of the Vault and the subsequent chase, all they knew was that someone wanted Nic dead. They still didn’t know who, damn it.

  “I’m on it,” Angel said, and for the first time since he’d met her, Ethan actually believed that she was on it.

  “Call me if you hear from Madrid,” he said. “Or if you need anything.”

  “We’re fine,” Angel replied. “Take care of yourself.” She rang off, leaving Ethan standing in Blake’s kitchen, awash in a strange, baffled sort of pride at how PPS’s receptionist had stepped up, despite—or perhaps because of—the situation.

  Evangeline had always said Angel was just waiting for an excuse to grow up. Apparently, she’d found it.

  Upstairs in the loft, he heard the sound of movement, of doors opening and closing, and he forced himself not to imagine Nicole toweling herself off and getting dressed, forced himself not to picture helping her undress once again. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. He owed it to Nic—and to the child she carried—to step back, step away and let her find the right man, one who’d be kind and treat her right. One she could depend on.

  If he didn’t, if he acted on his impulses now, that’d make him no better than his father, who’d done the family a favor by leaving when Ethan was eight. Hell, the bastard had done the family a disservice by staying that long.

  The memory of his old man had Ethan clenching his fist and looking at it, seeing the similarities he’d tried so hard to avoid, and failing that, to outrun. He’d never considered himself a noble man, but maybe Angel wasn’t the only one of Evangeline’s projects who’d been looking for an excuse to grow up. Maybe he had been, too.

  So, when he heard Nicole’s footsteps, he told himself to be a man. Then he looked up and found her standing a few steps up the spiral staircase, wearing a thick fleece robe along with a pair of men’s wooly socks that bagged at her ankles. Her hair was a damp profusion of near-black curls, and the robe almost swallowed her up. She would’ve looked like a waif, like something small and fragile if it weren’t for her eyes. They were violet pools, warm and liquid and every bit those of the woman he’d met that night at Hitchin’s. The woman he’d had to have, and damn the consequences.

  It hadn’t been the loneliness that’d drawn him to her, Ethan finally acknowledged deep inside as he stood rooted to the kitchen floor. It hadn’t been the drink or the memories brought to the fore by a friend’s wedding, which he’d ducked out of just after the I do’s. Maybe all those things had been part of it, weakening his defenses just enough. But the loneliness and sorrow hadn’t been what attracted him.

  No, that had been the woman herself. That had been Nicole. Strong, elegant, self-possessed Nicole, who didn’t value herself nearly enough, who didn’t see what he saw.

  Or maybe she did, he realized as she took two more steps down, so their eyes were level across the space separating them. The gleam of utter conviction in her expression said she knew exactly what she was worth, and exactly what she wanted. But didn’t she realize that if she wanted him, the two were a contradiction?

  “This is a bad idea,” Ethan said finally, not bothering to pretend she’d come down for dinner. His words came out thick, forced through a throat that was suddenly clogged with emotion, with need and want crashing up against logic.

  “Probably,” she said with a fleeting smile that did strange things to his insides. “But at the moment I can’t say I care.” She paused. “You’ve made your position clear, as have I. But we’re adults, too, and given the situation, I think it’s only natural that we’ve gotten…close to each other, right?” She took a deep breath, and for the first time, he saw a hint of nerves in her eyes when she said, “So, what do you say? It’s not like I can get pregnant all over again, and I…” She exhaled and twined her fingers together beneath the voluminous sleeves of Blake’s robe. “I want this. I really do.” She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “Don’t you?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ethan was still for so long, Nic thought he’d turned to stone, or worse, that she’d misread the signals. The heat of a blush climbed her cheeks, and she was just about to back down and stammer an excuse when he moved.

  He crossed the distance between them, stopping at the base of the stairs. With her on the first step, they were eye level when he lifted his hands to frame her face and, without another word of protest, touched his lips to hers.

  Where their first time had been tinged with alcohol, desperation and a faint sting of shame even as the heat had flared between them, now there was only the sizzling flame
and the knowledge that they might not have a future, but they had one more night.

  She eased up a step, wordlessly urging him to follow her upstairs, where the master bedroom held a wide king-sized bed that was adrift in a forest-green comforter and scattered earth-toned pillows that had to have been a decorator’s doing.

  But instead of following her, Ethan eased away, caught the sash of her robe in one hand, and tugged her back down a step. Then another. Finally, he broke the kiss and, still without speaking, took her hand and led her to the main room, where the couches, thick-piled rugs and crackling fireplace offered another option for romance. He touched a wall unit in passing and brought the lights down, until the only illumination came from the firelight.

  The yellow luminance gleamed off the side of his face and throat as he turned to face her. Before, she’d thought him solitary. Lonely. Now, she knew that he was a man who claimed solitude, yet looked after the people he considered his own. He led but didn’t consider himself a leader, and he worked as a bodyguard, yet thought himself a failure as a protector.

  He cocked his head, eyes pensive. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “You?”

  Jonah-the-jerk would’ve answered the question with something glib and poetic and meaningless. She expected that Ethan would simply kiss her rather than risk the words. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips. “It’s been years since I’ve wanted anything as much as I want you right now.”

  Feeling the prick of tears at the sentiment, she let him draw her close, until they were standing face-to-face and the fire warmed one side of her. “I’m not half-drunk this time.”

  “Me neither.” His brows quirked slightly. “Do you think it’ll be as good as I remember?”

  “Let’s find out,” she whispered, and they moved as if with one mind, meeting halfway in a kiss that started out a chaste promise, but quickly blossomed into an openmouthed exploration of lips and tongue and teeth, of playful nips and long, soul-searching kisses.

  Nic moaned. Her head spun and her insides shimmered with hot, molten energy, a pulsing demand that had her crowding closer and lifting her hands to his clothing. The faintest hint of gasoline odor clung to him, a reminder of their harrowing motorcycle ride, and the heat that had ridden her since, the gut-wrenching physical awareness she could no longer deny. Working almost feverishly, she tugged at his shirt, laughing as he struggled to pull it off without breaking their kiss.

  She would have liked to step back and look, to see the hard, heavy muscles she could feel beneath her fingertips, and the fine furring of hair across his upper chest, narrowing to a point that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. But the urgency building between them—in their kisses and caresses, in the moans and whispered words of praise—in that heat, there was no time to step back and look.

  Their kisses turned hot and wet and full of intent. Ethan murmured something that sounded like her name, or maybe an endearment, and loosened the knot of her sash. She shivered as he ran his hands over her hips and up her lower back, and a shimmer of want followed his caress. The skin of her breasts tightened, crinkling her nipples into hard buds that ached with desire. She pressed closer to ease the ache, humming with pleasure at the feel of skin on skin.

  Ethan drew out his kisses until she felt as though she was floating a few inches off the floor, wrapped in a soft, sensual mist that concentrated every touch, every whisper, every slide of tongue or scrape of tooth in her center, where the heat coiled tight and greedy.

  There was no hesitation in him now, no questioning or reserve. There was only his potent male flavor and the sure stroke of his hand and the sound of his voice when he broke off the kiss, leaned his forehead against hers and said, “I looked for you.”

  She blinked up at him. “When?”

  “After that night. I went back to Hitchin’s, hoping someone knew you.”

  Foolish warmth curled through her. “That was a one-time thing. I’d never been there before, never since.” But it mattered that he’d tried.

  “Your number’s not listed.” He shrugged. “Didn’t seem like you wanted to be found.”

  She blinked against a suspicious hint of moisture, unwilling to admit how much his efforts, however small, had touched her. “Consider me found.”

  This time, she initiated the kiss, sinking into him and tugging him down. He pulled a comforter from one of the couches and followed her until they lay together on the blanket-covered rug. His hands found their way beneath her robe, then cupped her hip and urged her closer, and closer still, until he trailed his fingers up her torso, dancing across her ribs. She arched against him, offering more, demanding more.

  When he only stroked a long, lazy line between her breasts and across her belly, she growled in mock frustration and broke the kiss long enough to say, “Tease me, will you? We’ll see about that.”

  Her words surprised a chuckle out of him, but the laugh ended on a groan when she worked her own fingers down the taut muscles of his abdomen to his waistband, where she dipped her fingers just barely into the warmth beyond.

  There, she paused, tracing small circles in a tease of her own, one that had him pressing against her hand in silent entreaty. That gesture and the taste of him, along with the look of exquisite torture on his rough-hewn face, brought power welling up in her alongside heat.

  With Ethan, she felt sexy and adventurous in a way she never had with Jonah. With Ethan, she felt safe and protected in a way she never did alone.

  With Ethan, she didn’t feel alone at all, and therein lay danger.

  Not now, she told herself, shoving aside the faint threat of wistfulness and flinging herself into the moment, into the heat they made together.

  Where before there had been a hasty, alcohol-blurred race to strip and grapple together, now there was time for touching and tasting. More importantly, where before it had been all flash and flame laced with an edge of the forbidden, two strangers brought together by quick attraction and nothing else, now they knew each other. They were friends in a way, bound by shared experiences, by danger, and yes, by the child she carried.

  There was another level now, Nic realized as she undid the button of his jeans and slid the zipper down, baring him to her touch. They might not be making love or making a future, but this was way more than sex.

  It had to be, she thought, arching into his touch as his teasing fingers stroked up to cup her breast, his touch gentle yet sure. It had to be more, because that was the only way to explain the heavy pressure in her chest and her core, where heat met emotion and the two together formed a molten ball that was something more than need, something less than love.

  At least she hoped it wasn’t love. She’d been down that path before, and knew that wasn’t where she and Ethan were headed. They were headed only to where they were that moment.

  It would have to be enough.

  Humming with the feel of his clever fingers bringing her nipple to a peak, she reached inside his open jeans to touch the length of him, where iron hardness cloaked in warm, achingly soft skin jerked lightly beneath her fingers, with the beat of his heart.

  At that, he tore his mouth from hers and pressed his cheek against her temple, his breath quick and hot against her skin. “Nicole,” he said, with a faint hitch in his voice that made her heart take a long, lazy roll in her chest.

  “Ethan?” she said in return, and reached up to cup his jaw and press his face against hers.

  “I wish…” He trailed off, then said, “I want…” He inhaled a long breath, one that expanded his chest and pressed them closer together. “Aw, hell, sweetheart.” His voice was low and throbbed with emotion, and when she leaned back away from him so she could see into his eyes, she found that same emotion looking back at her. Desire mixed with something else, something warmer and far less sure.

  Its twin shimmered to life within her, love laced with a fear that had her shifting to touch a finger to his lips. “Hush. We�
�ll figure it out later.”

  When he closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her fingertips, she took it as agreement. Acceptance. There would be a later for them. There had to be. It was too good between them to walk away, whatever the difficulties.

  “There’s only one problem,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You’re wearing too many clothes.” She grinned and tugged at his jeans, and he rolled onto his back to fish out his wallet for a condom before he stripped off his pants. She lay still and watched him, loving how the firelight played across the taut muscles of his chest and arms, and how it warmed her face and the skin of her breasts and belly, which were bare where he’d parted the robe and pushed it aside.

  When he rolled back to her, gloriously naked, he paused lying on his side, facing her. Looking at her as she had looked at him.

  At any other point in her life, with any other man, Nic would have flushed and covered herself. But now, with him, she only smiled. “Like what you see?”

  He started to speak and broke off, shaking his head. When he spoke again, it was simply to say, “Yes.”

  Then he leaned down to her, angling himself atop her, and touched his lips to hers, nearly breaking her heart with the gentleness, with the sentiment he couldn’t express but they both felt. They came together on a shared sigh, a mingling of breath that became a kiss, a kiss that became an embrace, and an embrace that became even more as he finally slipped the robe from her shoulders, leaving it to pool beneath them, cushioning her hips as he came down atop her, aligning them heat to heat, center to center.

  She parted her legs to accept him, baring her most sensitive folds to the fire-warmed air and the good solid press of his hard flesh.

  Twined together, not sure where one left off and the other began, they kissed endlessly, tasting each other, learning each other until Nic could’ve sworn their hearts beat in time. Then he shifted and slid a hand between them, touching her intimately, rubbing the nub of her pleasure until everything tightened inside her, coalescing to a single knot of sensation. She cried out against his mouth as he kissed her in unison with his touch, his tongue mimicking the action of his clever fingers.