He removed the hand between her legs, pushed away slightly and started unbuttoning the front of her blouse.
“Stop!” Marissa whispered desperately, gripping both his hands in her half-hearted attempt at protest.
He took both her wrists in one hand, and with the other, yanked the front of her top open, sending buttons flying everywhere. His eyes smoldered as he took in the rise and fall of her breasts. An expert flick of his fingers later, her bra came undone, and his mouth immediately captured a breast, alternately sucking and swirling his tongue on her nipple. Balancing on his forearms with his back curved over her, his hips abraded hers in a rocking motion, sending her into a mad frenzy.
She was gasping. Moaning. She just didn’t care anymore. This man made her feel things, want things. His hand returned to her moist heat. She knew she was soaked; she felt swollen and exposed. The throbbing screamed for him to enter her.
“Are you moving in with me?” Viktor asked huskily.
“Can I think about it?” Marissa gasped. “Please?” She wasn’t sure what she was begging for.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Viktor muttered against her ear as his fingers continued to drive her crazy. She was close, so close.
“I need to taste you, Marissa, but you have to promise to stay quiet. I’m putting my hand over your mouth.”
She could only nod as his head disappeared from her view, and her legs landed over his shoulders. Her hips were lifted by one hand while the other covered her mouth, her hips bucking at the first lash of his tongue. He licked and licked.
Slow.
Fast.
And then hard.
Already strung so tight, she exploded when he sucked her clit. He rung every last shudder from her body, not once relenting when she tried to push him away because the pleasure had become unbearable. Spasm after spasm hit her until she finally became aware of a coppery taste in her mouth.
Oh, my God, I bit him!
Viktor reappeared in her line of vision. There was a self-satisfied smile on his face. “You’re a little wild cat,” he murmured, taking his hand from her mouth and inspecting the little teeth marks.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Marissa chanted as she tried to get up, but seeing as Viktor was still on top of her, that was a problem.
“Hey—” Viktor said, grabbing her chin. “It’s okay. So what’s it gonna be?”
“Viktor, I need time,” Marissa mumbled.
“You have until the weekend.”
“That’s three days away!”
“Three days should give you plenty of time to get tested.”
Marissa bit back a retort about where to stick that blasted test. She was clean, but she had no intention of telling him. Yet.
“Let me up.”
Surprisingly, Viktor didn’t argue and even helped her adjust her clothes.
“You need to button up your blazer.”
“You think?” Marissa snapped.
Viktor drew her into his arms and whispered in her ear. “Glad to have you back, sweetheart. Now get out of here so I can work.”
He slapped her ass, surprising her enough to hiss.
She responded with a mutinous glare, but he only grinned maddeningly at her.
*****
Viktor stood by the railings near his office that overlooked the datacenter. He should be worried about the insidious threat that was determined to destroy everything he had worked for, but at that moment, his thoughts were preoccupied with a green-eyed spitfire determined to drive him insane.
He was tired of fighting his attraction to Marissa even when it seemed she could deny hers. During that crucial point in the South Africa mission when he thought he would lose Marissa forever, he just knew he wanted her in his life.
Eight years ago, he’d been surprised how quickly he had succumbed to the sassy young woman who had rocked his existence. Marissa was on her first mission when he had met her. He was brought in to fix the mess her handler had wrought. He extracted her from the underbelly of an Irish firearms dealer, and one look into those emerald green eyes and he knew he was in trouble. She had a body made for sin. A body that could bring a man to his knees. Viktor hardened as he remembered the feel of her firm round ass; her breasts fit perfectly in his hands, and her toned, silky limbs that just minutes ago were wrapped around him. The CIA struck pure gold with her. Marissa’s mother was half-Armenian; her father was pure American royalty, and she had inherited amazing genes from her mixed heritage. With her light olive skin, dark brown hair, and facial features that were hard to make out ethnicity, she was the ideal CIA operative, especially since she could pass as any other ethnicity except Asian and Scandinavian.
Viktor had bedded many beautiful women, but with Marissa, the connection went beyond lust. She understood him. Her mind challenged him, and even in her inexperience, she had not put up with his bullshit. She excited him . . . got under his skin.
They had often clashed, but their make-up sex was mind-blowing. They’d been together for three months before the Syrian mission derailed whatever burgeoning relationship they could have shared. She refused to see him after Operation Smokescreen, so he turned up at her house. She wouldn’t even let him get past the front door, and instead, she lashed out at him with those damning words: “I can’t be with a cold-blooded killer. I don’t think I could bear for you to touch me, Viktor.”
She had marked him deeply that day in a way that dictated how he chose his relationships going forward. And so he became a Dom, and only had relationships with women he could control—trained submissives.
He let go of his last sub a few months ago when Marissa had walked back into his life to lead the South Africa mission. He wasn’t over her, not when he was having sex with someone else and imagining he was fucking Marissa.
Damn her. Only Marissa.
His body craved only her.
CHAPTER THREE
They were hiding something from her. All of them. Jack’s mother was the worst actress. Frances could barely look her in the eye whenever Maia mentioned how Jack had lost so much weight.
“He was so worried about you, dear,” she had said. “He could barely eat and sleep.”
Maia woke up three days earlier from the medically-induced coma. She woke up to a husband who looked like he’d been sent to a concentration camp. His cheeks were sunken; his hair was dull—Jack’s hair was never dull, ever—and his eyes held an underlying torment. Maia could understand why Jack’s eyes would look that way—she almost died, and she lost their baby.
Their baby.
She knew her miscarriage had hit Jack harder because he had hinted about wanting to start a family. The loss was painful for her as well, but she had felt guilt for that fleeting feeling of relief. She wasn’t ready to be a mother and might never be.
Trying to escape the conflict within her, Maia refocused her energy to the puzzle of her husband losing close to fifteen pounds. She was being kept in the dark about something, and she intended to find out. Right now.
Maia contemplated how to broach the subject while she waited for Jack to finish unpacking the food from their favorite dim sum place. And if he told her again that he was too worried about her, she was going to call bullshit. Kid gloves were never for her. Viktor trained her well. Thinking of Viktor got her wondering where he was for he had not shown up in the past three days.
Viktor Baran was more than her mentor. She owed him her life. Nineteen years before, Viktor and his black ops team defied CIA orders and intervened after the Russian mob killed her parents in front of her. Russian henchmen were about to rape her when Viktor and his men burst into the house and killed them all. Her memory was as clear as yesterday: the big man who crouched down in front of her, gently coaxing her to come out from under the table. Viktor had removed his head gear, revealing light blond hair, his equally light blue eyes showing none of the malevolence of the men who tried to harm her. At that moment, she trusted him implicitly as she reached out to the man who had sav
ed her. She was sent to an orphanage, but after a few weeks, Viktor came for her. Twelve-year-old Katerina Luski ceased to exist, and she became Maia Pierce.
“Rice porridge should be perfect for you,” Jack broke into her thoughts as he laid the bowl on the swivel table.
“What did you get for yourself?” Maia asked slyly.
“Rice porridge,” Jack answered. “I kind of like it too.”
“Rice porridge is for sick people, Jack,” Maia said. “And you need to gain weight.”
A look of annoyance flashed through Jack’s face. “I’ll gain it back. Going to start on protein shakes tomorrow.”
“Why not right now?”
“Maia, what’s up with you?” Jack asked. “Why are you being so argumentative?”
“Because I’m sick and tired of people lying to me.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Something happened to you . . . something more than this supposed lack of appetite,” Maia said angrily. “Did you get sick?”
Jack’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, Maia, I had a bad case of bronchitis. I didn’t want you to worry, babe.”
Maia’s nostrils flared. “Wrong answer. Pull up your shirt.”
“What? Why?”
“Pull up your shirt.”
“No. What the hell is wrong with you, Maia?” Jack said. But his body language spoke of an uneasiness.
“What’s wrong with me?” Maia repeated. “You’re scared to come near me. You wouldn’t let me hug you, or have my hands under your shirt.”
“I’m afraid to hurt you.”
“Bull!”
“Goddamn it, Maia.”
“Raise your fucking shirt.”
“NO!”
“What are you hiding?” Maia demanded. “And if you say nothing again, you can leave this room and never come back.”
Maia glared at her husband, who stood scowling at her. A nurse appeared by the doorway, alarmed by the sudden spike in her heart rate.
“You need to calm down, babe,” Jack said gently. He looked at the nurse. “I got this.”
The nurse looked at him disapprovingly before huffing off.
Jack exhaled sharply. “I got abducted the day you were shot.”
“What?”
“I was scrambling to get to AGS after I heard about the attack on your convoy. They got the jump on me in the MDI parking garage. Shot me with tranq darts.”
Maia felt a lump forming in her throat. “How long?”
“Three weeks.”
Maia’s eyes filled with tears.
“Aw, hell,” Jack muttered. “See that’s exactly why—”
“Let me see, Jack,” Maia whispered.
Her husband’s lips pressed into a straight line; he regarded her for a beat before lifting his shirt. Maia’s throat burned and she started crying. Jack’s torso was black and blue with splotches of yellow from older bruises. It was also riddled with burn marks. Tortured. Her husband had been tortured.
“Damn it,” Jack swore. “I’m okay, Maia. I’m here now, aren’t I? Nothing is broken, and I’m not the one who fucking nearly died.”
He got close to her this time and hugged her. Maia continued crying.
“You should leave me,” Maia said through her tears. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you. What was I thinking?”
“Stop talking that way before I beat the crap out of you,” Jack mumbled into her hair.
Maia had to laugh at that. “What?”
“I’m serious, Maia. Stop thinking that way. I’m in love with you. For better or worse, remember?”
“I’m certain this wasn’t the worse those vows were talking about. Me shot in the gut; you abducted and beaten up,” Maia said.
Jack pulled away from her. His eyes were back to normal now—warm, tender, and loving her. Maybe the weight of keeping that secret from her was the one taking its toll on him.
“Regardless, Mrs. McCord.” Jack started peppering her face with little kisses. “I’m here. In love. Deeply. Irrevocably.”
He straightened up and grabbed the bowl of porridge and began feeding her. “Now eat.”
“Were you eating rice porridge too because your stomach couldn’t digest well?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “But it’s better. I ate some chicken yesterday. I wasn’t lying when I said I really liked rice porridge.”
Maia scrunched her nose, not really believing her husband.
She was happy to see that Jack had eaten two servings of the boiled dish. It broke her heart to imagine what he’d been through. But he seemed quite resilient. Maia’s lips quirked. How could she forget? Her husband was an ex-Navy SEAL. It was believed if one could survive “Hell Week” during SEALs training, one could survive anything.
“Jack, do you know why Viktor has not come to see me?” Maia asked.
Her husband froze, his jaw clenching.
Maia sighed. “You didn’t blame him for me getting hurt, did you?”
“It was his fault more than you could imagine, Maia,” Jack said.
“If he withheld information and did not warn us, he had a valid reason,” Maia said. “The greater good, remember?”
“Well, the greater good nearly got you killed!” Jack snapped.
“I knew it. You two had a falling out.”
“I don’t know if I can ever forgive him, Maia.”
“Jack, you married me. Personal reasons aside, you know what it means to be married to me,” Maia said. “I miss him, Jack. Please let him visit me.”
“I didn’t tell him not to come,” Jack said. “But I’ll call him for you, babe.”
Maia smiled as her husband leaned in to kiss her.
He pulled away, sat on the chair, and started removing his boots.
“What are you doing?”
“I miss sleeping beside you, I can’t take it anymore,” Jack said as he stood up and pulled off his jeans.
Maia’s eyes widened. “You think the nurse will allow it?”
“I’d like to see her try and kick me out.” Jack smirked as he crawled in beside her.
*****
The status reports lay idly in front of her. Marissa’s mind wasn’t on them because her Sec-phone had been buzzing for the last few hours. Viktor wanted his answer, and she wasn’t ready to move in with him for protection or otherwise. She was team lead for CIA black ops for heaven’s sake. Besides, the agency had contingencies in place to protect their agents in case their cover was compromised. Viktor was treating her like some damsel-in-distress and it infuriated her. She didn’t need him. So she was avoiding him for as long as she could.
Allison Guthrie, her thirty-year-old analyst, swept by her desk and dropped a folder labeled “classified” in front of her.
“Latest from Damascus,” Allison said between chewing her gum. They’d been on the same team for two years. Marissa depended on her to sift through the pile of information to formulate cohesive and actionable intelligence. “They’re in concurrence that Rafiq Shadid is indeed in the U.S.”
“How did he make it through our borders?” Marissa demanded.
“They believe he crossed into the U.S. via Canada with a Canadian passport.”
“How long ago?”
“Three weeks.”
When the shit first hit the fan, Marissa thought. This solidified her theory that Shadid was, indeed, behind McCord’s abduction and torture. But who was behind the Paris ambush? Shadid was a well-known assassin-for-hire, but he couldn’t be in two places at the same time.
The door to her office opened, and another analyst stuck his head in. “Director is calling an emergency meeting with our team.”
Marissa’s brows furrowed. “I thought Director Yeager was in New York?”
“He flew back this morning. Something came up.”
That something sounded ominous.
Kyle Yeager had been the Director of the Clandestine Service division of the CIA for the past ten years. He was not a particularly handsome
man, but he had a presence. Medium-height, stockily built, and always impeccably dressed in expensive suits, he ruled with sharp intellect and street smarts and had no time for political bullshit. Which was why Marissa liked working for him, and she believed he was also the reason why Viktor continued to accept assignments from the CIA.
The Director looked particularly troubled as he sat at the head of the conference table in one of the smaller briefing rooms at Langley.
There were other team leads and analysts present, but Yeager was looking at Marissa when he stated flatly, “Harry Matthews committed suicide last night.”
The news stunned everyone. Some sat with their heads bowed in dejected resignation. Marissa felt a slight queasiness in the pit of her stomach. Matthews’s death indicated one thing; the bodies were piling up.
“Foul play?” Allison asked quietly.
“Probably,” Yeager said. “Too much of a coincidence. AGS confirmed the death of one of their retired agents three weeks ago. Another one barely survived. But I don’t see a connection between Matthews and this string of assassinations. Marissa?”
She shook her head. “I don’t.” But Harry Matthews played a pivotal role in getting Viktor and his men discharged from the Army for insubordination more than eighteen years ago. That mission was to extract Russian scientist Luski, his wife, and daughter in exchange for information regarding a plutonium cache. The CIA reneged on their deal with Luski, and instead, decided to go for the bigger fish when the Russian mob turned up at the Luski house. Viktor paid Matthews back—from Deputy Director of Clandestine Service demoted to case officer. Marissa wasn’t aware of the details of Harry Matthews’s fall from grace, but she knew that Viktor had everything to do with it. Her eyes widened. “Unless—”
No. It wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t.
“What is it, Marissa?”
“I need to speak with you privately, Sir,” Marissa requested.
Yeager's eyes narrowed, but he nodded for everyone else to leave.
“Allison. You stay,” Marissa informed her analyst.
After the final person left the room, Marissa said, “We need to find out what files Matthews had accessed in the last three months.”
Smoke and Shadows Page 4
