Taking Fire

by Radclyffe

  Max would have stayed as she was forever, but Rachel pushed at her shoulder, the other hand tangled in her hair. “Enough. God. I’m done. I’m finished.”

  Max rested her cheek on the inside of Rachel’s leg, smiling as she caught her breath. “Temporarily.”

  Rachel’s fingers tugged feebly at her hair. “Like temporarily for a week. I can’t believe what you do to me.”

  Max kissed the soft skin on the inside of Rachel’s thigh and sat up next to her. She caressed her breast, cupped her warm fullness. “I’m not done.”

  Rachel stroked her face, her eyes hazy and satisfied. “Good.”

  Max stretched out beside her and drew Rachel’s head to her shoulder. Rachel kissed her breast, fingers playing over her chest and down her belly. Max jerked and Rachel laughed, a predatory sound that sent Max’s heart thundering in her chest.

  “No, not done at all,” Rachel said.

  Rachel’s fingers slipped between Max’s thighs and her vision blurred. All the need she’d set aside, intent on pleasing Rachel, came roaring back. She rocketed toward the peak. “Fuck, wait.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Rachel murmured.

  Fingers closed around Max’s clit and her muscles turned to jelly. Her breath heaved from her chest and her legs went tight as iron bands. Rachel’s mouth was at her breast, her throat, and all the while she was stroking and stroking, and Max could only groan.

  Rachel’s lips skimmed over her ear. “I love your body. I love touching you.”

  Max struggled to focus on her face. She was helpless and Rachel was there.

  “You’re beautiful.” Rachel circled and stroked and squeezed.

  Max exploded with an astonished cry, gripping the sheets and shaking with the blast. Rachel slid on top of her, still stroking, and rocked against her thigh, coming again as the last tremors coursed through Max’s body.

  Rachel collapsed on top of her, still inside her. Max held her close and pulled the sheet over them. She closed her eyes, her mind completely blank, and knew she would not dream.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Rachel woke naked with Max’s arm circling her waist, a hand cupping her breast, and warm breath wafting softly against the back of her neck. The sheets were tangled around her feet and a faint breeze blew through the open window. Max must’ve gotten up to open it sometime after Rachel had fallen asleep. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been asleep, but it felt like a long time. Outside the street noises were a jumble of car engines, horns, and muted voices. By the feel of the air, it was late afternoon—the air carried the moist, warm thickness of summer in the city, so different from the punishing dryness of the desert. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless, or if she’d dreamed, she couldn’t remember.

  She lay still, absorbing the happiness stirred by Max’s nearness. She’d always wanted to live her life on her own terms and prided herself on charting her own course, certain of what she wanted—and didn’t want. She’d made her own way without games, without pretense or politics, and had created a life with purpose, with a goal that had meaning beyond her own gain or ego. Most of those she helped never even knew her name. Her work satisfied her, and she’d relegated relationships to a distant part of her psyche and her soul. She socialized with women, she had sex with women, she moved within the world they had in common—the society they’d been born to—and she kept what mattered most private. She hadn’t needed or wanted more.

  Lying in the afternoon sun, her body still flushed from passion and pleasure, she revisited the images of the past hours. Desire like a hunger she’d never imagined, excitement so sharp she feared she might die from it, satisfaction so sweet she could never have enough. She covered Max’s hand where it covered her breast, and Max’s fingers slid through hers. She’d been content before, but she wanted more now. Much, much more.

  Rachel lifted Max’s hand and kissed her palm.

  Max’s lips moved over her neck.

  “Hi,” Rachel whispered.

  “Hey.”

  Max’s voice was throaty, heavy with sleep and languorous with satisfaction. Rachel recognized the sound of a woman well-pleasured but had never been so pleased to hear it. Max was always so well defended, so strong and self-sufficient, she seemed always in control. To feel Max open to her hands and her mouth and give herself so completely was a gift Rachel feared she didn’t deserve and wanted over and over. She wanted her now with an ache in her bones. Her loins were heavy and full and pounding. Her nipples tightened and she pressed Max’s fingers to her breast again.

  “Do you need to go to work or—”

  “No,” Max said.

  “I don’t think I’m nearly finished yet.”

  Max made a low growling sound in her throat and pressed her hips against Rachel’s ass. Rachel pushed back, ready for Max’s fingers. For her mouth.

  “I could go on like this forever,” Rachel murmured.

  “Done.”

  Rachel’s heart soared but she knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The past stood between them as much as it united them. She turned onto her back to say what she needed to say to Max’s face before her body ran away with her brain. Max gave a protesting grumble but shifted onto her elbow, leaned over Rachel, and kissed her.

  “You look beautiful,” Max said.

  Rachel laughed in protest, feeling shy when she never had been before. “I couldn’t possibly be. I think I fell asleep without even combing my hair.”

  “You did. I like the tangled look.” Max grinned, a satisfied glint in her eyes. “And I promised to feed you, and I still haven’t done that.”

  Rachel gripped Max’s hand before she could move away. “Don’t go.”

  Max’s eyes darkened and she kissed her again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  But she might, Rachel knew. In a few minutes, a few hours, tomorrow.

  “There were things I needed to say back in Djibouti. I should have said them earlier.” Rachel faltered. What if Max didn’t want the woman she really was—here in this world?

  “Rachel,” Max said, “whatever you need to say, say it. There’s nothing you can tell me that will erase what we’ve shared.”

  “I know.” Rachel took a breath. “I’m more afraid about the future.”

  “Tell me about Christie.”

  “I would have sooner, if I’d thought there was anything to tell. Tommy blindsided me, but it was hardly his fault,” Rachel said, equal parts relief and anxiety rushing through her. “Christie is Tommy’s sister. I was seeing her for about six months before I left for Africa.”

  Max’s expression never changed, her gaze never wavered. She waited and watched. She was good at that. Good at confronting whatever needed taking care of head-on. Her hand on Rachel’s belly was warm and possessive, and Rachel loved the way it felt.

  “No promises were made,” Rachel said, “and before I left for Somalia, we both agreed there were no restrictions on either of us.”

  “Benedict didn’t get the memo.”

  Rachel sighed. “Yes, well, our families have known each other for a long time. Tommy and I were in school together. Christie is a few years younger. Our fathers are colleagues, our mothers are friends. Everyone thinks it’s a wonderful match.”

  “Is it?”

  Rachel laughed. “No. For a million reasons, the most important one being I don’t love her. She doesn’t love me either, but I don’t think that matters quite as much to her.”

  “I can’t see you agreeing to something just to please your family.” Max’s brows drew down. “And I can’t see you settling for anything.”

  Rachel caressed Max’s forearm, tracing the taut muscles down to Max’s hand on her belly. No, she wouldn’t settle. Not when she knew what she wanted. What she’d always wanted but been afraid to admit. “Christie might think we’ll just pick up where we left off when I get home. We won’t.”

  Max’s eyes darkened, and she slowly leaned down and nipped Rachel’s lower lip. “Good. Anything else?”


  “Where to start?” Rachel closed her eyes, wishing she could just begin her life with the day she met Max, but she couldn’t. “I’m only telling you because sometimes it’s hard to keep one’s private life private.”

  “For the daughter of the Secretary of State?”

  Rachel’s face grew hot. “That and the fact that my family is…well-known in some circles.”

  Max’s eyebrow rose. “Meaning it’s news if you get a parking ticket?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Is that why you don’t use your full name?”

  Rachel had known when she’d asked Tommy to file his article Max would see it sooner or later. She’d planned to explain everything after the interview, but Max was gone. She hadn’t wanted her to find out the things she’d kept from her that way, even though when they’d been together none of it seemed important. Not what her father did, not who her family was, not Christie and their relationship—none of it had mattered out there where life was minute to minute. Out there, she was Rachel Winslow, Red Cross worker, just as right here in this small, quiet apartment, she was only Rachel, stripped of everything except what truly mattered—what was in her heart.

  “I love my family,” Rachel said, “but they can be—stifling. I’ve always struggled not to get pulled under, not to get caught up in the plans other people made for me. For that and other reasons…security”—she grimaced—“it’s been easier to use my middle name.”

  “I like it,” Max said. “Winslow.”

  Rachel laughed. “Me too.”

  Max didn’t care about Rachel’s high-profile family or her past girlfriends, but she was happy to listen if Rachel needed to tell her, especially when the shadows began to leave Rachel’s eyes. Rachel’s laughter was like a light turning on in the dark, illuminating passages long forgotten, igniting hope as fears retreated. A day ago Max had never expected to see her again, and now she held her. A fierce urge to protect her, to possess her, to keep her, made her shudder with its force. She caressed Rachel’s face. “Your trust means everything. I hope you always feel safe telling me what matters to you. But none of this changes anything.” Max pulled her close. “None of this changes what happened out there between us.”

  “What about here, Max? It will change things here.”

  Max shrugged. “I don’t see how.”

  “It’s my fault Carmody went after you.”

  “How so?” Max narrowed her gaze. “Are you a secret CIA agent?”

  “Would that be a deal breaker?”

  “I’d rather you be FBI.”

  Rachel laughed again and pressed a kiss to Max’s throat. “Sorry. I don’t have any other secret lives.”

  “So how is it you’re responsible for Carmody?”

  “That would be because I’m my father’s daughter. My being at the aid camp brought your whole operation to the attention of a lot of important people.”

  “Important, or powerful?”

  “Yes. Well. People who could send Carmody to Wichita apparently, or so my father explained it.”

  “Your being at the aid camp was why we were there at all,” Max said.

  “I hope that’s not true,” Rachel said, her voice uncertain. “I hope you would have been sent to help no matter who was out there.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “Some.” Rachel snorted softly. “I browbeat my father into telling me what he could. Or what he wanted. I told him I wouldn’t go with him on his tour if he didn’t explain what was going on.”

  “Is Carmody his man?”

  “He says no. The two he sent to accompany me—Kennedy and Smith—were, though. Part of his advance team from State. That’s how they got to me so fast.”

  “Did you know your father was coming?”

  “No. His visit really was supposed to be a surprise trip.” Rachel sat up against the pillows. Max shifted and slid an arm around her shoulders.

  “Advance intelligence got wind of a pending raid on the camp, and he was advised. He called me—he wanted to be sure I didn’t resist leaving.”

  Max rubbed her arm. “He seems to know you.”

  “Ha-ha.” Rachel nuzzled Max’s neck. “I probably would have argued against leaving, especially if you just showed up the way you did and couldn’t take everyone.”

  “Why were you—or the camp—a target to begin with? I don’t get it. You’re a humanitarian group.”

  “Enter Carmody.” Rachel made a disgusted sound. “He was running an operative in our camp, one of our Somali guards who had infiltrated the rebel organization. As part of the guard’s cover, he was arranging for weapons to be smuggled in along with the supplies we were receiving.”

  “The transport trucks,” Max said.

  “Yes.”

  Rage simmered in Max’s belly. “Carmody was helping to arm the rebels so his operative could gather intelligence?”

  “Yes. I guess he figured the trade-off was worth it.”

  Max thought of Grif nearly dying from a bullet Carmody might have put into the hands of the enemy. If she’d known, she would have gone through with her fantasy of choking Carmody to death. “Prick.”

  “Comes with the territory.”

  “Yeah,” Max said. “So when the operation went south, Carmody had to answer to someone, and he was looking to shift the blame.”

  “Getting anything out of my father was not easy, but apparently Carmody’s operative was compromised somehow and Carmody either didn’t know or didn’t act fast enough to pull him out. He lost his man, his link to the rebels, and I was almost killed or captured. His ass was on the line.”

  “I wish I could have seen his face when Benedict’s story hit the wire.”

  Rachel grinned. “Me too.”

  “What made you call Benedict?”

  “I had to do something,” Rachel said. “I had to get Carmody away from you, and I couldn’t shoot him.”

  Max kissed her. “Thank you for that. For not shooting him, and for getting him off my back.”

  “I knew Tommy was embedded, and I thought if the public knew what you and the others did out there, Carmody couldn’t railroad you into anything.”

  “You got me fast-tracked home because Carmody didn’t want Tommy or someone else digging around.”

  “I hadn’t planned on them shipping you out so soon.” Rachel took Max’s hand. “I didn’t want…”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t want to lose you.”

  Max’s throat closed. She hadn’t been afraid of dying in the jungle. She hadn’t thought she’d had all that much to lose. Now she did. “You couldn’t have.”

  Rachel braced her hands on Max’s shoulders. Her face was very near, so near Max got lost in the green of her eyes. “I don’t want this afternoon to be the end.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if we never left this room, if we never saw anyone else again.” Rachel sighed. “But I don’t think either one of us can walk away from our lives.”

  “No, and I don’t think you want to.” Max let herself imagine a life with Rachel in it. The possibility was almost as terrifying as the idea of endless days without her. “You know where I live. There’s no one in my life. There won’t be.”

  Rachel studied her, a small frown line appearing between her brows. “Is that what you think? That I want to stop in from time to time, between trips?”

  “I don’t think anything. I think I want to see you again.”

  “Our relationship won’t be completely private,” Rachel warned.

  “Because the Benedicts of the world are always looking for a story?”

  “Worse, I’m afraid. Tommy is a serious journalist who was willing to put his life in danger to tell the truth. I respect him for that.”

  “Yes, so do I.”

  “There are reporters, a lot of them, who would rather sell copy that’s a little more popular, and celebrity sells.”

  “Listen,” Max said, “there’s n
othing reporters can do or say that would mean anything to me after the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen. The things I’ve done.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Totally.”

  Rachel smiled. “Then how do you feel about a trip to DC? My father mentioned he wants to meet you, and I’d like the rest of my family to meet you too.”

  Max stared. “Is that because of Somalia? Or something else?”

  Rachel’s smile faded. “Everyone loves good press—including the State Department. I can’t promise there won’t be a reporter or two around.”

  Max swung out of bed and crossed to the kitchen to give herself time to regroup. Everything was coming at her so fast. Rachel couldn’t know what she was getting into. “I’m not relationship material, Rachel—not the meet-the-family kind.”

  “Oh?” Rachel said from close behind her. “What kind of relationship material are you, then? Just good for sex now and then?”

  “I’m not…I’m not what you’re looking for.”

  “You were perfectly willing to keep seeing me a few minutes ago.”

  “I thought—”

  “You thought we’d just bump into each other now and then and fuck?” Rachel’s voice was calm. “I understand.”

  Max spun around. Rachel was searching on the floor for her clothes. “Where are you going?”

  “You must have things to do.”

  “Damn it.” Max had fucked up.

  Chapter Thirty

  Rachel picked up her suitcase from where Max had left it just inside the door and let herself out, being careful not to slam the door. She wasn’t angry, at least not at Max. None of this was Max’s fault. She’d shown up with no warning, had made assumptions, or maybe just wishes, that Max felt what she felt. Max had every right to want nothing more than an as-long-as-we’re-having-fun relationship. She’d had more than a few of those herself.

  But not this time. She knew how she felt about Max, and for the first time in her life, she knew what she wanted with a woman, what she wanted for herself beyond her job and obligations. She couldn’t have the kind of affair with Max she’d had with every other woman she’d been with. She couldn’t pretend that being with Max didn’t touch her on every level, that she didn’t want Max in every part of her life. In every part of her. If Max didn’t feel the same, at least she was honest enough to say so.