Over the Edge

by Suzanne Brockmann

  For one wild second, Stan considered calling her bluff. He considered throwing down his towel and striding toward her and picking her up and carrying her to his bed.

  What would she do then?

  Beg him not to stop, never to stop.

  Jesus, he tried not to look at her long, gorgeous legs, her stomach with its perfect belly button and . . . He cleared his throat, made himself look into her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d really want me,” he admitted.

  “Yeah, well, you were wrong.”

  Oh, God. “It’s a bad idea. You know it.” When did his voice get so hoarse, his mouth so damn dry?

  “You’re wrong about that, too.” She took a step toward him.

  He took a step back.

  And she took off her bra.

  Teri caught sight of herself in the mirror that hung on the wall of Stan’s hotel room.

  For an instant, she flashed hot and then cold. She was standing in only her underpants in the senior chief’s room, having just told him that she wanted to have sex with him.

  Oh, God, maybe coming here like this wasn’t such a good idea.

  What on earth was she doing?

  Pretend you’re in your helo—that you’ve got that kind of control of this situation, that kind of confidence.

  She’d come up here angry as hell at this man. Intensely, passionately, furiously angry. She’d wanted to yell at him. She’d wanted to lash out at him, to kick him where he’d feel it, to bring him to his knees.

  She also wanted to make love to him.

  And maybe that was what she was the angriest about.

  She wanted him. She’d done everything but tell him so in plain English. And he’d done everything in return to keep his distance.

  But the truth was, he wanted her, too.

  She knew that now for a fact.

  How could you not be head over heels in love with this woman? She’s incredible, Muldoon. She’s got a body to die for, a face like an angel. Her eyes are . . . Have you even looked into her eyes? She has eyes that make you just want to, I don’t know, Christ, die for her if she asked you to. . . .

  Those weren’t just words of hype, meant to spark Mike Muldoon’s interest. Those words were straight from Stan’s heart. She would bet her life on it.

  Her life, and her pride.

  Yeah, Teri was betting her pride that he wanted her, but for some reason she didn’t understand, he’d worked overtime to keep from getting too close.

  Even now he was standing there, trying not to look at her. Trying—and failing. His gaze skimmed her bare breasts, nearly as palpable as a touch before he forced himself to look up and into her eyes.

  He was breathing hard, as if he’d just run a mile at top speed. He was also hanging on to the towel he had wrapped around his waist with both hands.

  And Teri let herself look at him, really look at him.

  He was all hard, lean, artfully sculpted muscles—the kind that came from real hard work rather than machines in a gym. He had powerful-looking legs—one with a mean-looking scar on the knee—and big feet. Wide feet. Solid-looking, dependable feet. The kind that would keep him upright and standing tall forever, if need be. His shoulders looked broad enough to hold the weight of the entire world, his arms strong enough to carry the moon. He had a faded tattoo high on his left arm—a simple anchor, a sailor’s classic. Thick blond hair covered his chest, swirling down to nothing before it reached the perfect six-pack of tight muscles at his waist. He didn’t have an extra ounce of fat anywhere on his body—probably because he never had time to eat.

  There was a line of slightly darker hair that started at his belly button and disappeared beneath his towel. Teri followed it with her eyes, lingering a long time—way long enough for him to know without a doubt that she was thinking about what that towel was hiding.

  She was following Stan’s own advice—letting him know that she wanted him—that she pictured him naked, too.

  She knew he’d thought about her that way.

  The woman is fucking hot. He’d said that. About her. There’s not a single heterosexual man in the Troubleshooters Squad who hasn’t pictured her naked.

  Including—she was betting—Senior Chief Stan Wolchonok.

  With nothing left to lose, going for all or nothing—the way she would’ve if she were flying her helo—Teri pushed her panties down her legs. And then she knew he didn’t have to rely on his imagination anymore, because there she was. Naked.

  He gave up trying not to look, gave up trying to hide the heat in his eyes. But he still didn’t move toward her.

  “Come on, Stan,” she whispered, fighting the self-doubt that threatened to make her throw her clothes back on and run from the room. “How much of a green light do you need?”

  “I’m toast,” he admitted, which helped a great deal. But he still didn’t reach for her. “Damn, I was toast the minute you walked in here. If you’re going to leave, you’re going to have to do it yourself now because I am no longer capable of asking you to go. I mean, come on, Teri, put your clothes back on—see, I can say it, but not with any kind of real conviction.”

  She took a step toward him, and this time he didn’t back away. But she wanted more than that from him. She wanted him to reach for her. Only then would she really know that she’d won.

  “I’m dying to kiss you,” she told him.

  “Bad idea.” Stan moistened his lips. “But, you know, don’t let that stop you.”

  She did stop, though. Inches away from Stan. Close enough for him to feel her body heat. Tantalizingly close, yet still far enough away not to touch him.

  And he couldn’t resist. He was powerless. He watched himself reach out and touch her. Her hair. God, he loved her hair. Her cheek.

  Lightly, with just one or two fingers.

  The delicate bones at the base of her throat. Her breast.

  After days of resisting, Mike Muldoon had finally come to the realization that Teri was all he could possibly want in a woman. He’d called Stan, elated and terrified. You were right, Senior, she’s incredible. . . .

  And you, my friend, came to that conclusion too late.

  But Jesus, did Teri really know what she was getting into here? Did she have any clue at all? Stan was lousy relationship material. Couldn’t she see that?

  Apparently not.

  Apparently she wasn’t thinking clearly.

  “Bad idea,” he whispered again, but he didn’t pull his hand away. He couldn’t. To hell with Muldoon. To hell with everything.

  Because Teri was gazing up at him with such an expression on her face—as if he was everything she’d ever needed. How could that be? And yet . . .

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Stan didn’t know what she wanted, not precisely, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to try to give it to her.

  He moved to kiss her, but she was already there, her arms already around his neck, her mouth against his, her body soft against his chest.

  Skin on skin. It was a mind-blowing sensation, even more mind-blowing when his towel fell to the ground and the softness of her stomach was against him.

  He froze, suddenly uncertain. He was completely aroused—there was no way she could avoid knowing that. He was a big man, and that was a fact.

  For the first time in his life, Stan wished he were a little less well-endowed. He didn’t have a clue what was okay with her and what wasn’t. He pulled free from her kiss, tried to pull slightly back from her. “Teri—”

  But she pressed herself even more closely to him, shifting her hips to rub herself against him, moaning her approval as she kissed him again, as she ran her hands up his neck, raking her fingers through his hair.

  God damn, it felt too good. He skimmed his hands across her impossibly smooth skin, too, filling his palms with the soft weight of her breasts as he kissed her.

  Still, he had to ask. “Will you tell me if I do something you don’t like?”

  “I don’t like it when you stop ki
ssing me.”

  He had to laugh at that. “Teri, I’m serious.”

  “I am, too.” She pulled his head down and kissed him, sliding her hands down his back, across his buttocks, pulling him even more tightly against her.

  She was hot and deliciously spicy, and Stan kissed her deeper, longer, sweeping his tongue into her mouth as his hands explored her body, as her hands explored his. God, the way she touched him was amazing—like she couldn’t get enough of him either.

  Teri was exhilarated.

  It was working.

  She’d never dared to be so aggressive about sex before. She’d always hung back and waited for her lover to take charge.

  It had never occurred to her that a man might like to get pushed around a little bit. To be controlled. To be told, Do me, now. To be the one to be made love to for a change.

  It was something she’d overheard Mike Muldoon say to Stan. When I’m with a woman, I let her set the pace, the mood—it’s all up to her.

  And Stan had replied by saying he thought that was exactly what Teri needed right now.

  He’d been more right than he knew.

  Pretend you’re in your helo—that you’ve got that kind of control of this situation, that kind of confidence. He’d said that to her, too.

  Although she was pretty sure when he said it he didn’t dream she’d apply it to this particular situation.

  She could feel him against her, hard and male. She could feel his restraint, too, his worry that she was fragile, that she needed to be treated with extra care.

  Teri wanted that gone.

  She was strong, she was in control, and she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone—no holds barred.

  She tried to tell him all that with her kiss and by looping her leg around his, by boldly reaching between them to touch him. He was hot and heavy, so hard and smooth and utterly male and . . .

  Teri pulled back and found herself looking directly at Stan.

  He was still worried about her, damn it. She could see it in his eyes.

  So she smiled as she caressed him. “Oh, boy.”

  He smiled, intense pleasure on his face. But he couldn’t let his worries rest. “Look, Teri—”

  “What happened to me when I was eight wasn’t about sex,” she told him, trying to make him stop thinking about it once and for all. “It was about intimidation. It was about some sick pervert getting pleasure from a little girl’s pain and fear. It wasn’t about sex—the same way rape isn’t about sex—it’s about violence, you know? That was emotional violence. It has nothing at all to do with what we’re doing here. It’s not as if the sight of a penis makes me faint.” She looked pointedly down at him. “At least not usually.”

  He laughed at that. But try as she might, he wasn’t done being serious. “What are we doing here?”

  “We’re about to have the most incredible sex either one of us has ever had in our lives,” she told him. “That is, if you would stop talking and kiss me.”

  And still, he hesitated.

  “This whole thing is a bad idea,” she said. “Yes, I know. Screw it! I want you now. So kiss me.”

  Stan kissed her.

  With her fingers wrapped tightly around him and her tongue in his mouth, with her breast in one hand while his other held her close, he was having trouble remembering his own name, let alone the myriad of reasons he had for trying to slow her down.

  Teri was okay with this. She’d made that more than clear. She was smiling, she was laughing.

  She wanted him. Now.

  As if she could read his mind, as if to prove the point, she took his hand from her breast and brought it between her legs. It was the kind of invitation he didn’t need repeated. He touched her, lightly at first, then more deeply, more intimately. She was smooth and soft and utterly female. She was also wet and hot.

  For him. Because she wanted him.

  Now.

  She pulled him toward the bed and he hit the mattress with the backs of his legs. She pushed him down and he dragged her along. As his shoulders hit the bed, she landed on top of him.

  She laughed as he rolled her over, as he kissed and licked her throat, her collarbone, her neck. She was so unbelievably delicious, so outrageously perfect. He licked her nipple into his mouth and her laughter turned to a moan as she arched her back and opened her legs to him.

  He could feel her, hot and slick against him, and his entire world exploded out of control. In the blink of an eye—less—she reached down to guide him as she lifted her hips and then, with a burst of pleasure that was blindingly intense, he was buried inside of her, surrounded by her heat.

  Her legs were around him, and she kissed him as deliriously as he kissed her as he began to move, as she met him, matched him, set a pace that was wild.

  There was a reason he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew it—it was back there, lurking at the edges of the haze of pleasure. But he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but Teri and the incredibly sexy little sounds of desire she was making way back in her throat.

  He could feel the sharp bite of her fingernails on his shoulders as she gripped him as tightly as she possibly could. He could’ve written a book about the sweet sensation of her tongue against his, about the familiar scent of her hair, about the grip of her thighs or the softness of her breasts as he crushed her to him.

  She pulled her mouth away from him. “Stan, oh, God, don’t stop! I’m gonna . . .”

  “Come on, Teri,” he said. “Come on, I’m right behind you.”

  “Oh, my God,” she gasped. “Don’t we need a condom?”

  Condom. Shit! Stan pulled himself out of her, off of her so quickly, he fell off the bed.

  “Holy shit,” he said. “Holy, holy, holy shit. What the hell am I doing?”

  “Quick,” she said, scrambling off the bed and searching through the pockets of her pants. She slapped a foil wrapped little package into his hand.

  “You carry condoms?” he asked inanely, still stunned that he’d even been inside her without protection. Christ, he didn’t have to come inside of her to get her pregnant. They only had to do what they’d just done.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do. Are you going to put it on, or am I going to do it for you?”

  He ripped open the package, but he wasn’t fast enough for her. She snatched it out of his hand, pushing him back on the bed and straddling his legs.

  “God, is this even going to fit?”

  “Yeah.” He sat up to help. “Teri, Jesus, I might’ve already gotten you pregnant.”

  “Are you sure you want to talk about this now?” she asked. “I’m going to come in about five seconds whether you’re inside of me or not.”

  And with that stunning announcement, she finished covering him, shifted her weight, and slid down, directly on top of him.

  Yes, that was his voice crying out. Mr. Much Too Easily Distractible. He, who prided himself on never making mistakes, had just broken the biggest rule in the book. Sex without protection.

  But it suddenly didn’t matter because her breasts were in his face. He kissed her, suckled her—hard—and she moaned his name, moving on top of him as if she couldn’t get enough of him, as if she wanted more.

  The woman knew exactly what she wanted. She pushed his shoulders down, back toward the bed, so that he was lying flat. So that he was pressed fully inside of her, as deeply as he possibly could be.

  Time stopped for Stan as she held herself there, just looking down at him. The sight of her like that—dark curls tousled, full breasts tightly peaked, her skin slick with perspiration, pleasure shining in her beautiful brown eyes—was something he would carry with him to his grave.

  “I don’t want this to end,” she whispered. “But if I move, even just a little, I’m going to come.”

  He laughed in amazement. “If you keep saying things like that to me, I’m going to come. You won’t even have to move.”

  She smiled. “Really?”

  It was her
smile that did it. That beautiful, beautiful smile of pure delight lighting her incredible face . . .

  He had to move. He had to . . .

  “Teri,” he gasped.

  He bucked beneath her, and she moved, too. And she was right there, with him, true to her word. She fell forward to cling to him as she shattered, as his release rocketed through him in an explosion of color and light, sensation and sound.

  Teri’s sweet face. The taste of her mouth, the softness of her lips. Her voice, thick with pleasure, calling his name. Her storm of tears as he’d held her. His vision of her at eight years old. Her eyes filled with anger. With fear. With desire. With trust.

  With trust.

  Stan opened his eyes as Teri lay on top of him, breathing hard. He could feel her heart still pounding. His was still going at quadruple time, too.

  He was still inside of her and he didn’t want to move, even though he knew he had to. He wanted to stay like this, right here, forever. But used condoms could leak. He’d learned that back in Birth Control 101, in junior high school. And this one had already leaked in a very major way. Condoms were susceptible to that—particularly when you failed to put them on prior to penetration.

  Ah, Christ. Welcome back to reality.

  It was an ugly place to be right now—particularly after the sheer perfection of the place he’d just been.

  He gently lifted her off of him, tucking her alongside him, her head on his shoulder, under his chin, as he held her close.

  She sighed, running her fingers through the hair on his chest, intertwining their legs despite the heat.

  And making him want her again, already, despite the harshness of a reality in which she could be pregnant, a reality in which Muldoon, a kid who looked up to him, who trusted him, was definitely going to wind up hurt.

  Nineteen

  Maybe coffee would save her.

  Alyssa headed through the lobby, careful not to jar her head. She’d showered and changed and tried to lie down for a while, but failed to sleep.

  Her head was pounding and she couldn’t shake free from that image of Sam Starrett with his head bowed as he cried. It was haunting her even more than this infernal headache.