In Her Sights (Away From Keyboard Book 2)

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “‘Bout ninety percent. Loc8tion gave me a purpose. That, along with a couple of good friends and some kick-ass…err, highly talented therapists got me where I am today.”

  By now, we’ve reached the conference room once more, and Leo waves us back inside. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Go ahead and sign, Minerva. Mr. Nadiri, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to hearing Minerva’s impressions of Loc8tion.” With a quick, but firm handshake, Leo strides from the room.

  Once Minerva pens her flowing signature, I gesture to the chair across from me. “Okay. First thing I need is your phone.”

  7

  Inara

  At precisely seven, I pull my coupe into a parking space outside Hidden Agenda. “I missed you, baby,” I say as I pat her dashboard. “I’ll never cheat on you again.”

  Before I head inside, I grab a couple ibuprofen from the glovebox and wash them down with a swig from my water bottle. I really don’t want to go into the whole “almost hit by a car” thing before our training session tonight. Not that Ryker would go easy on me or anything. Dude’s a great leader. But he can be a real dick when he’s in a mood.

  As I slip through the door, I give West a mock-salute. He’s stretching next to the boxing ring with Graham hanging from the pull-up bar by his legs, powering through crunches. Both men are shirtless, and though I have nothing but platonic feelings for both of them, I stare for a brief second—I’m not dead after all, and they’re both cut like you wouldn’t believe.

  And then my mind wanders to what I think Royce might look like without a shirt, and something in my core flutters. Sure, the men I work with could be Men’s Health models, but they don’t do much of anything for me. Royce does.

  If Ryker allowed phones inside, I’d probably text Royce a shot of me in my sports bra right now. Maybe with my hand halfway down my tight running shorts.

  “Best of three in the ring?” West calls as he snags a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in the corner.

  “Need to loosen up first,” I say, gesturing to the climbing wall. “Race you to the top?” I toss a glance to Graham. “New guy. Let’s see those climbing skills!”

  West wins—of course—but I beat Graham, who loses his grip halfway up and lets the harness catch him.

  “How the hell do you guys manage to never miss a hold?” He’s panting when West and I drop to the ground, and I gesture to the wall.

  “Again. Follow my lead.”

  Ryker, who watched our race with a gleam of respect in his eyes, heads for the boxing ring with West while I take Graham through a difficult path up the wall. He follows, and once we’ve descended, I make him lead for round three. After ten feet, he stops. Glancing around wildly, he starts to panic.

  “Deep breaths. Focus, Peck. You’re better than this. Remember. The best path isn’t always up.” I hang five feet off the ground by one handhold and one foothold. My hip aches, but I’m powering through the pain.

  Graham scans the wall from side to side. I’m about to tell him to look down when he spies the outcropping he needs. Dropping his right hand ten inches, he scouts for a lower foothold. Soon, he’s moved three feet to the right and is steadily rising once more.

  At the top, I pause to give him a high-five before pushing off the wall and letting the belay line catch me. “Take ten—no peeking over here. I’m going to rearrange some of the holds, and you can try again.”

  Graham salutes before he runs over to the kitchen for an energy drink. Swinging over empty air, I blow out a deep breath. All night, my nerves have been on overdrive. I’m half-tempted to ping Royce when I’m done and see if he can help me spend this frenetic energy, but the last text I received said he was going to bed early after some big meeting he had downtown.

  Ryker climbs two feet up the wall and starts unlocking various hand and footholds, swapping them out with lightning speed. I mirror his movements from the top, and we meet a little over halfway up.

  “One to ten?” he asks.

  “Eight.” I’m sore, and I can’t shake the slight tremors in my fingers. But my hip isn’t giving me much trouble and being here helps center me.

  “I’m taking West on an in-and-out tomorrow. Intel retrieval. No live targets. Infiltration only.” Ryker glances over at me as I tighten the last handhold. “You want to hang here with ‘new guy’? He’s going to monitor our comms.”

  “Nope. I’m booked tomorrow night.” I try to hide my smile, but Ryker didn’t stay alive for close to two years in Hell without being one of the most observant men on the planet.

  He raises a brow. “So, you’re getting serious with the geek.”

  “Hey. He’s not…” The absurdity of my protest hits me, and I start to laugh. “Okay, fine. He’s a geek. But he ‘gets’ me.”

  Letting the belay line out slowly, I float to the ground. Ryker lands with a grunt next to me. “You and West both.” He shakes his head. “What we do… I’ll never count on growing old with someone.”

  “Ry—” I let my hand drop as he shoots me a look exposing the darkness that lives inside him. “We’re not that serious. Just having fun.” My verbal one-eighty feels all wrong, but Ryker nods, then turns on his heel and walks away. Fuck. Right about now, the no cell phone rule really chafes. Because all I want to do is call Royce.

  Not that serious? Who am I kidding? I’m falling for the guy.

  Right about now, my little coupe isn’t doing me any favors. After training last night, I collapsed onto my bed at 10:00 p.m. without the ice pack I knew I needed. Today, I’m hurting. Sitting at my desk was pure torture. Now, as I pull my sleek, little white convertible into a parking spot a block from Royce’s condo, I’m dreading getting out of the car.

  But the idea of dinner—and more—with Royce fortifies me against the momentary agony. Stupid, really. Had I taken the previous night off—actually told Ryker that I’d hurt myself—I’d probably feel a lot better today.

  My heartbeat quickens as I knock on Royce’s door. A date shouldn’t affect me like this, but it’s been so long since I spent the night with anyone other than my teammates, and all of those nights involved bugs, bullets, and blood.

  Oh God.

  Royce smiles as he stands in the open door, and something inside me melts a little. Or a lot. Dark denim hugs his hips. A blue Henley sets off his eyes, and though he’s not as bulky as West or Ryker, the shirt highlights his chest and his biceps nicely. The scents of rich tobacco, cloves, and cedar surround me as he pulls me in for a hug.

  When he reaches down to cup my ass, though, his fingers dig into the bruise on my hip, and I can’t stifle my whimper.

  “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t let me go but holds me at arm’s length, his gaze traveling up and down my body. “Are you in pain? Oh shit. When you fell yesterday? That’s still hurting you?”

  I try to slip by him, put a little distance between the two of us before I answer, and he lets me, but once he’s closed the door, he pins me against the wall. “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “No. Just trying to forget the answer. Wine?” I hold up the bottle, but he slides the Merlot from my hand and deposits it on a table next to the door.

  “Inara.”

  I splay my hands against his chest, relishing his warmth. “I didn’t exactly fall. More like slammed my whole body into an electrical box.”

  “Why?”

  “Trying to avoid a stupid drunk who didn’t care about sidewalks. Nothing’s broken.”

  Royce wraps his arm around my waist as he leads me into his living room and I swear he supports my weight as we sink down onto his black leather couch. He doesn’t let go as I tell him about the SUV, then pull down the waistband of my pants to show him the top of the bruise that covers my hip. “The cops can’t do anything. With only two digits of the license number, they’ll probably never find the guy.”

  “You were damn lucky.” He nudges my chin up, and his touch brands my skin. I can’t help but lean closer, and when our lips meet, I don’t ca
re how much it hurts. I want him. His breath whispers across my cheek. When he nibbles my lower lip, I shudder.

  Coming up for air, I whisper, “You’re the best pain reliever ever.” Already slick with need, I try to lift the Henley. “Fuck me, Royce.”

  “I could hurt you. And there’s dinner…soon.” He tries to pull away, but I’m relentless, and the shirt lands on the back of the couch.

  “You won’t. And unless you’re making a soufflé…”

  He stills my hands. “Inara…” A sigh almost deflates him. “I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” Uncertainty laces his tone, and when I meet his gaze, fear churns in the depths of his eyes.

  “Pretty sure the basics haven’t changed.”

  He doesn’t respond to my joke, and I dip my head to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. I trail my lips lower, across his collarbone. “I don’t know,” I say as I run my hands over his chest, the light sprinkling of dark hair tickling my fingers, “why anyone with a body like yours would be nervous.” Though he’s thin, he’s toned, wiry and cut, with a definite six pack I suspect will turn into eight once I get his pants off. And I will get his pants off.

  “Inara,” he groans as I palm his erection through his jeans. “Fuck.”

  “That’s the idea.” I tease his nipple with my teeth, and he pushes me back against the cushions, pinning my wrists over my head.

  “Are you sure?” His eyes flash dangerously now, his voice gritty and hoarse. “I…don’t do gentle.”

  “Neither do I.” Testing his grip, I find I can’t escape, and I grin as I wriggle my hips against his. There’s only a little pain now, endorphins taking over, and I part my legs, one of his firm thighs pressing against my mound. “There’s…a condom in my purse.”

  His eyebrows arch, and with his free hand, he extracts not one, but three foil packets from his back pocket. “I might be nervous, but I wasn’t going to be unprepared.”

  “My kind of man.”

  With a low rumble in his throat, he drops the packets on the floor, then palms my breast. My nipple rises under his touch, and I arch my back. The silk tank lets his thumb slide easily, and when he pinches—first a light tease, then with enough force to make me gasp—the pleasure zings directly to my clit.

  “Off with this,” he orders and pulls me up. The tank sails to the floor. “You didn’t strike me as a lace fan.” He fondles my nipple through my bra. “But I like it.” As he sucks and bites, words fail me. Pinning my hands on either side of my head, he covers me with his long, lean body. I didn’t even realize he’d unbuttoned my pants, but my wriggling has exposed my utterly soaked lace thong, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

  “Harder,” I gasp and try to get just a little more friction between us. Royce obliges, and when he grinds his hips into me and then switches his focus to my other breast, I implode, his name on my lips as waves of pleasure overtake me.

  When I can breathe again, he’s staring down at me with a slightly dazed look on his face. I probably should have warned the poor man how easily I get off. But my release only stoked my desire further, and I pull a hand free to pop open the top button of his jeans. “Don’t worry; I’m nowhere near done.”

  The challenge in my tone lights a fire in his gaze, and sparks of silver deepen in his blue eyes. I loosen another button. Royce captures my hand and brings my palm to his lips. “How good are you at following orders?”

  I shiver. “As long as I get what I want, pretty good, soldier. Which right now, is you. Naked.”

  He pushes to his feet, and the loss of his body heat raises gooseflesh on my bare skin. But when Royce toes off his shoes, then shoves his jeans down his hips to reveal a pair of black briefs, my desire burns so hot, I think I might catch fire.

  “Turn so you’re sitting with your feet on the floor, spread your legs, and hold on to the back of the couch, arms over your head. Then don’t move.” Royce towers over me, all six-foot-four inches of him coiled and ready to spring, hands on his hips as he ensures I follow his commands.

  The thrill of a man who understands my needs has me half-panting, and when he gently pulls my pants down my hips, the tenderness of his touch makes it hard to swallow over the lump in my throat.

  “Fuck, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  His gaze burns into my hip, and I only spare a single glance at the dark purple, black, and green bruise. “I can take a little pain.”

  As my dual meaning sinks in, he drops to his knees, his cock already standing at attention. My thong slides away next, and then—oh fuck. His tongue flicks my sensitive nub, and I dig my nails into the couch cushion, the leather smooth against my fingers.

  “God, Inara…you…” He dives in again, this time using his teeth, and pain and pleasure war with one another for dominance. “You’re so,” he thrusts two fingers inside of me, “fucking wet.”

  “More,” I manage, and try to push my hips closer. Royce slaps the inside of my thigh, the slight sting the only warning I need not to move again. “Please.”

  “Oh, you’ll get more.” He grabs my legs behind my knees, pulls until my ass is almost hanging off the couch. My arms stretch to their limit, and I try not to wriggle when he seals his lips over my clit. With a growl, he sucks, hard, and I can’t hold back.

  My second climax carries me higher than the first, and I buck against him, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood so I don’t end up screaming. He laps at my folds, drinking me in, and all I can think of is his cock inside me, his hands in my hair, and his lips on mine.

  The crinkle of foil barely registers as I try to ride the seemingly endless waves of my release. But then he nudges my entrance, and I force my eyes open. “Royce.”

  With a single move, he plunges deep, and unused to his girth, I cry out. He stills, watching my face for signs he’s hurt me, but I manage a single word. “Harder.”

  The couch starts to rock as he slams into me over and over, and when we’ve found our rhythm, his lips curve. “Grab my ass, baby.”

  I want to touch him, to run my hands along his corded arms, to feel his lips on mine. I start with his shoulders, scraping my short nails along his smooth skin, leaving faint red traces along his biceps, across his back, and finally, I squeeze his ass with everything I’ve got left. He claims my mouth, my release still on his lips and tongue. Our bodies in tune, another wave of pleasure swamps me just as his cock swells even more, and his abs start to quiver.

  “Oh God,” Royce groans, and I hold on for dear life as we fly over the edge together.

  Royce

  All day, I tried to talk myself out of this date. You’re too damaged. Too fucking thin. You’re shit at being gentle. This is a bad idea. You’re going to scare her.

  But now... Inara might be the perfect woman. Under me, she tries to catch her breath, and I come back to my senses.

  Get off her, you ass.

  “Sorry,” I murmur as I withdraw and pinch off the condom. “I’ll be right back.”

  Heading for my bathroom, the pins and needles in my left leg—the ones I live with every day, surge, but I manage to keep my gait steady. My knees burn; the rug probably took off at least two layers of skin, but I don’t care. Once I toss the condom, I run a cloth under hot water and then return to Inara. Lowering myself down next to her, I try for tender as I gently swipe the cloth over her thighs, wincing at the reddish finger marks I left.

  “Did I hurt you?” My hand hovers over her bruised hip, and she meets my gaze, an exhausted smile curving her lips.

  “I feel better than I have all day.” She slides her arm around my waist and pulls me down next to her. “Except, you were right. We should have eaten first.”

  She’s as sex-drunk as I am, and I chuckle. “The night’s still young.”

  “And I want to see your software and hear about the meeting you had yesterday.” With her head nestled on my shoulder, she swings her legs up over mine and quirks her brows. “Then, maybe later, we can have a hardware dem
onstration again.”

  “Where did you come from?” I rub her back, finding chilled skin, then shift to snag my shirt from the floor. “Put this on.”

  “Washington, D.C.,” she says as she tugs the shirt over her head. “Also, what were you worried about? That was…wow.”

  My cheeks flame, but my chest swells with pride. “I haven’t been with anyone in…three years. After a while, you start to worry you’ve lost your touch. And my preferences lie a little outside the vanilla realm.”

  “Women should be throwing themselves at you. Of course, now, I’d have to kick their asses if they tried.” Inara brushes a kiss to my jaw. “Why didn’t you date after your diagnosis?”

  “You remember those pills I dropped at Cam’s last week?”

  “Yes.” A wary edge creeps into her voice.

  I tip her chin up so I can hold her gaze. “I didn’t tell you everything the other night. I had my first seizure three years ago. Passed out, and when I came to, I couldn’t talk for twenty minutes. Scared the fuck out of me. I was alone. In the kitchen. Making dinner. I don’t know how I managed to set the knife down before I fell. Or how I missed cracking my head open on the cabinet.”

  Sympathy softens her features, and I rush to continue, unable to take the pity. “Had a whole bunch of tests, and one of the scans found the tumor. About the size of a grape at that point. ‘Probably benign,’ they said. The doctors were hoping they could keep me stable with some non-invasive options, so they put me on anti-seizure meds—and a mess of others.”

  If we’re going to spend any significant amount of time together, she has to know what she could be dealing with. “Grab my jeans?”

  Inara reaches for the crumpled denim next to her.

  I fish the pill case out of my pocket, then open the lid. “If I start to slur my words more than usual or can’t walk a straight line, I need one of the white pills. I can usually feel a seizure coming, and I’ll warn you. But I can be non-verbal for anywhere from five minutes to half an hour.”