A Shot at Love

by Peggy Jaeger

  As his tongue and fingers did a wicked dance over her face, down her torso and belly to weave and claim the hottest and most wanting part of her, all Gemma could think was how happy she felt.

  It wasn’t lost on her how ridiculous that sounded. Pursued by a crazy mobster hell-bent on finding and killing her; her normal, perfectly sculpted life in shambles; missing her sisters so much she ached. All those things should have given her pause. And they did. But wrapped in Ky’s arms, with him whispering words to her she longed to know the meaning of, all she could do was admit this man who’d come into her life for all the wrong reasons, had somehow managed to make her feel alive and vital for the first time she could remember.

  So she did something she never thought she would: she simply enjoyed the moment and gave herself up to him.

  His mouth, persistent and hard, continued its fevered pace on her.

  “You need to start speaking in English. I want to know what you’re saying while you do that,” she chastised when he whispered against her thigh.

  She could feel his smile against her skin right before he sucked at her inner folds.

  “Oh, dear Lord!” Gemma arched, pushing herself closer into his mouth. “Forget it! Forget the words. Just keep…doing…that!”

  * * *

  How, how could a woman make him bleed with need, make him question every pledge he’d ever made to his job and country, make him want with such a powerful ache that he was defenseless against it, and still make him laugh?

  Thank all that’s holy Bannerman had told him about the condoms. He and Gemma still would have wound up in this exact spot, but now that he could be assured of protecting her in every sense of the word, he could explore this thing between them without worry.

  And there was something between them. It wasn’t just attraction, although that was powerful enough. No. In the span of time they’d been forced together and learned about one another, he knew it was much more than a sexual itch for either of them. Daily, hourly, Gemma came to trust him more and more, something everyone kept telling him she rarely did. If she could trust him with her life, she could trust him with her heart.

  But right now he was happy she was trusting him with her body, because he really liked that.

  He dipped his tongue inside her, deep, deeper, his breath catching when she almost arched off the bed to pull him even deeper. The words he murmured in the language of his ancestors told her what he was feeling. She might not understand them, but she certainly understood their intent.

  “I think it’s better if I show you what they mean,” he told her, sitting back on his knees and reaching down to the floor.

  She yanked the condom from his hand, tore the wrapper with her teeth and took it into her mouth. Ky almost embarrassed himself by letting go right then and there.

  She shoved up on her elbows again, then pulled to her knees. With one cheeky slant of her eyes, she reached for him and then lowered her mouth. When she pulled up, the condom covered him.

  When Ky let fly with his favorite oath, she sat back, grinned and said, “I know what that word means.”

  The grin died on her lips in the next moment when he shoved her back down and laid over her body. Knowing he wouldn’t last long if he barreled through this, Ky recited an old geometry theorem in his head while he slowly, slowly slipped into her.

  Her eyes went wide then slammed closed when she let out a groan that sailed right through him.

  “Open your eyes,” he commanded. When she did, he ground out, “We’ll do it your way first.” He shoved into her, pulled out, than dove home again. The sound of their flesh slapping bounced around the room. “Hard and fast, because I can’t wait.” He drove faster. “But next time, Gemma,” his breath came in spurts and gasps now, his words distinct through each thrust, “next time we do it my way…slow and…mind-blowingly.” With one final thrust he emptied into her, calling her name as he did.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She must be immortal.

  However else to explain how she could have died from ecstasy and still be breathing?

  Two hundred pounds of hardened muscle and satisfied male was on top of her, covering her from neck to toe in one warm and sated line. His lips a whisper from her neck, his rapid breaths fanning over her, his hips nestled against her own, all felt like heaven.

  Gemma mindlessly scraped her nails up and down his back. Being immortal was going to be a blast if this was how she got to spend the rest of eternity.

  Her sleepy contentment was disturbed when he propped up on his elbows, placed a swift kiss to her cheek and then slid out of her and went into the bathroom.

  Gemma missed him immediately. She reached down for the sheets to cover herself, then became vaguely aware they were damp from their shower-slicked bodies.

  A ridiculous joke about a wet spot sailed through her head and a laugh burst from inside her before she could stop it.

  Ky materialized at the bathroom door, a filled water glass in his hand, and a frown on his forehead.

  “You find something funny?” He bent a knee to the bed and handed her the glass.

  Not even realizing how thirsty she was, she gulped it down, the chilly, clean taste refreshing her.

  “I just thought of a really bad joke.” She handed the glass back to him.

  His left eyebrow arched. After placing the glass on the bedside table, he slipped in beside her. His hand fanned the bed around her. “These sheets are wet.”

  “I know. That’s what the joke was about.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. He rose and said, “Let’s strip these so we won’t be uncomfortable. We can wash them later.”

  They quickly remade the bed with the spare, dry set they found in the bedroom’s closet. That done, Gemma’s gaze slipped to her camera. She flexed her fingers a few times, the need to use it intense. Ky got into bed and reached out his hand for her.

  “Gemma?”

  She bit down on the inside of her cheek and couldn’t for the life of her understand why she was nervous about asking him something she asked people every day of her life.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  She stared across the bed at him. “C-Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  She sat on the edge and twisted her hands in front of her. When Ky separated them and brought one to his lips, she practically melted from the inside out. He didn’t push, just waited, patiently.

  “Would you consider, I mean…would you let me...Oh, hell.”

  With a gentle yank, he pulled her closer and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just, well, I want to photograph you. Like this.” She waved her other hand in the direction of his body.

  His eyes went wide. He looked down at his naked form and Gemma realized he was already more than half aroused again.

  “Like this? As in naked?” His mouth tripped down a little at the corners, the expression in his eyes, wary.

  She nodded. “You have such a perfect body. It’s made for being photographed.”

  He shook his head and glanced down at himself. “My ego is saying thanks, but my common sense is telling me this isn’t a good idea.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Gemma, I’m a federal agent. I can’t have naked pictures of me,” he swiped his hand in the air, “lying around. Or worse, published.”

  Gemma pulled up her knees and crawled closer to him. “No, they wouldn’t be. I promise that. I just want to capture you on film. Just for me.”

  His eyes went half closed at the same time Gemma noticed his erection grow. She licked her lips, swallowed, and edged nearer to him.

  “You’ve seen my photographs.”

  He nodded, his body staying still.

  “You’ve even said they’re
good.”

  “What I said was they’re amazing. Good doesn’t do your talent any kind of justice.”

  She couldn’t have prevented the pleased smile from forming if she tried. Gemma knew she was talented, but hearing the praise come from Ky’s lips sent a battalion of excited butterflies roaring through her stomach.

  “I won’t show the pictures to anyone, only you, so you don’t have to worry about them being seen.”

  “Pictures? Plural? I thought you only wanted one.”

  She cocked her head and winked an eye closed. With her bottom lip between her teeth, she regarded him. “I think I told you when we first met that to get the shot you truly want, a photographer needs to take many along a continuum.”

  He nodded. “Facial expressions change by the moment. I remember.”

  “So, that’s why I say pictures instead of picture.”

  What she didn’t add was the thought that even just one photograph of him in this state of undress and—gulp—arousal, would be perfect.

  She waited for his answer, hoping it was the one she wanted to hear.

  With a confused shake of his head, he finally said, “Okay. But I want your word no one sees what you do except for me.”

  “You have it.”

  She grabbed her camera and adjusted the settings.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked. “Pose? Or just lie here?”

  “Just lay back. Perfect. Look at me and think about something that makes you happy.”

  Through the viewfinder she saw his eyes go half closed, the same uber-sexy and hot twist of his lips that sent her pulse bounding, form across his mouth. She could feel the desire coursing from within him through the lens.

  In rapid succession she fired off a dozen shots of his face and torso. From this angle, he looked like a statue, carved to perfection from polished marble, the muscles in his chest and abs cut and perfectly aligned. She reached out once to rearrange his St. Michael’s medallion. Before she could pull her hand back, Ky grabbed it and kissed her knuckles.

  The gesture, sweet and unexpected, shot a bullet of emotions through her.

  “You almost done?” he asked, letting her hand go.

  “One more.”

  She pressed down on the shutter button.

  “That was six more,” he said when she placed the camera back on the bedside table. She’d look at the photographs all in sequence later. But she already knew each and every one of them was perfect.

  Her quick grin died when he yanked her flat on the bed and crawled over her. He was at full arousal now, throbbing against her as he nudged her legs open.

  “I didn’t think you could get any sexier.” He skimmed her jaw and collarbone with wet lips. “But watching you work just now? That was hotter than anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’re saying that because I did it naked.” She chuckled and fanned her fingers across his shoulders. “I’m usually clothed when I work. Nothing sexy about that.”

  “I disagree.” He kissed her once, twice; fast. “Naked or not, there’s something stimulating about watching you work.” This time he took his time with the kiss. “Your mind goes someplace else. You’re incredibly focused and in control. Totally in control. That’s beyond arousing in ways I can’t even put words to.”

  “Speaking of arousing.” She pushed up against him.

  His breath caught. “I’m trying to pay you a compliment here, woman.”

  “I don’t need compliments.”

  Ky’s gaze bore into hers in a way that, if she thought about it, would have made her uncomfortable with its scrutiny. Too many times in the past few days he’d looked at her the same way, as if trying to get to her core, see into her soul; determine what made her tick.

  “What do you need?” he asked in that growl that turned her insides to quivering mush.

  “This.” She ground her pelvis into his. “You. Now.”

  Right before his lips covered hers he told her, “You’ve got me.”

  * * *

  After a quick nap that they both needed, they rose and, without showering again, dressed. Then, it was Ky’s turn to make dinner. Kandy had sent several proteins with Rick, so he opted to make a chicken dish of his mother’s he thought Gemma would like.

  With a dish towel tucked into his pants, he set about cooking while Gemma uploaded her pictures to the secure computer Bannerman had brought for her.

  “Again,” she set her fork down next to her plate, sat back in the chair and closed her eyes, “you’re gonna need to give this recipe to my sister. This chicken tastes insane.”

  “I’m sure my mother won’t mind giving it to someone not in the family, since it’ll be to her favorite chef-lebrity.”

  Gemma took a large sip from her soda glass. “Do all the people in your family cook?”

  Ky nodded. “Two of my older brothers run a restaurant together, their wives included. My uncle is the head chef. My father grew up in the food industry so he’s as good a cook as my mom and YiaYia.”

  “I love that word,” Gemma said with a smile.

  His stomach muscles tightened at the expression on her face. Forget the dinner in front of him. He could live off that smile and never know hunger. “What? YiaYia?”

  “Yeah. It sounds so, I don’t know…like someone who’s cherished and adored.”

  Ky considered that, then nodded again. “She is. Both. Her ninety-fourth birthday is in a few weeks. My parents have a huge celebration planned.”

  “Did you grow up with her in the house?”

  “Yes. She’s been living with my parents since before I was born. She came over from Greece when my grandfather died. My dad’s the oldest, so naturally, she came to him.”

  “Why naturally?”

  “In our culture, the oldest child assumes the adult responsibilities of a widowed parent.” He shrugged. “She’s been with us for almost forty years.”

  “She never remarried, or found someone else to be with?”

  Ky laughed out loud at the notion of his grandmother hooking up with any other man. “No. Like swans, Greeks tend to mate for life.”

  Gemma sighed and glanced down at her plate.

  “That doesn’t sound like a very happy sigh,” he said, lifting his water glass to his lips.

  “No. It’s okay. I’m okay. Just…I don’t know.” She took a swig of her soda then laid her elbows down on the table, hands clasped in front of her.

  Ky stretched across the table and wrapped his hands around hers. “What? Tell me.”

  She lifted her eyes to meet his and he saw the sadness flitting in them. Worrying her knuckles with the pads of his fingers, he squeezed her hands and said again, “Tell me.”

  Her lips dipped at the edges as her gaze shifted to their joined hands. “That mating for life thing. I’ve only seen it happen once in my family, with my grandma Sophie and my grandpa.”

  “Your parents?”

  She shook her head. “Dad bolted. After seven kids, all girls, he left.”

  “That’s hard. Really hard. Did he keep in contact at all?”

  “No. He cut off all ties.”

  “And he never came back? You never tried to locate him?”

  “No. Kandy and I talked about it a few times when she was getting married and then again when she got pregnant. I’m sure Josh could find him in a heartbeat, but—” She shrugged. “I just don’t think it’s worth it at this point.”

  He squeezed her hands.

  “I wonder, sometimes, if my life would have been different, if all my sister’s lives would be different, if my father hadn’t left us like he did.”

  “What do you mean? How did he leave?”

  Gemma pulled back her hands and reached for her soda. After taking a long chug, she answered.

  “They always fought, my parents.
Loud, vicious arguments. Lots of name calling. Lots of tears from Mom. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I found out what the fights were about.”

  She stopped, glanced up at him, and then back down. Ky didn’t push, realizing she needed to trust him enough to share. He couldn’t force it out of her, no matter how much he wanted to.

  With a shrug he knew wasn’t as carefree as she intended it be, she said, “My father was a cheater. A serial cheater, according to Kandy. There were a lot of women over the years. Every time he’d cheat and Mom found out, he swore it was the last time, they’d…make up.”

  Ky’s breath caught when a red flush spread up her neck and cheeks.

  “Nine months later I’d have another sister. It went on for years until finally Mom’d had enough.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was right after my tenth birthday, a party he missed because he was out with another new woman. When he came home two days later, drunk and mean, Mom told him to make a choice. His family or his girlfriends. He couldn’t have both anymore.”

  She stood with her plate and brought it to the kitchen, Ky following. He pulled the dishtowel he’d tucked into his pants out and laid it across the sink counter.

  Gemma ran hot water into the sink, added dish soap. While it bubbled, she continued. “He packed a single bag and left. He never said goodbye to any of us. Kandy, my sister Abby, and I were huddled together at the door to our bedroom, listening. The front door slammed and then we heard Mom go into her bedroom and close the door quietly.” She took his dish from him and put it into the water with hers. “A millisecond later we heard her crying. Kandy went to her, since she was the oldest. Abby and I went to the others and told them Daddy left.”

  Ky didn’t even think she realized she was washing the dishes while she spoke. She ran a soap sponge over the plates and utensils, rinsed them under a running water stream, and then laid them down on the towel he’d spread out. Ky leaned back against the counter, arms crossed in front of his chest, just listening.

  “I always wondered, if he’d stayed, if we’d been raised with two parents who loved and supported one another, and us, would I or any of my sisters, have turned out differently.”