by Cherry Adair
“You’re perfect.” The heat of his pale eyes was like a physical caress as he scrutinized her. But she wanted more. The blanket of wet hair stuck to her skin, tickling nerves already screaming for his touch.
She licked her lips, groaning when he cupped both breasts in his hands. Her aching nipples were soothed momentarily as he took each hard bud between his fingers, rotating them. An instant later, he settled his mouth on one peak, drawing it in, teasing excruciatingly with his tongue. When his hand trailed down over the swell of her hip and brushed through the damp curls she gasped.
He opened her with his fingers, and she felt his first intimate touch. Her body arched reflexively. She cried out as two fingers slipped inside her. Her vision blurred, and she clutched a handful of the sweet-smelling grass above her head.
“Marc?” she whispered.
He stared into her eyes, the tendons in his neck rigid as he groaned through clenched teeth. “God, you’re wonderfully responsive.” Again his fingers moved inside her, creating a tension that had her moving restlessly, hungrily, against his hand.
She bit her lip as he moved his hands around her to pull her more tightly against him. Her hand tangled in his hair. It felt silky smooth as it skimmed his broad tanned shoulders. A wash of intense emotion gripped her—she wanted to absorb him totally. Parting her lips, she drew in a ragged breath.
Marc rocked his hips against hers. Her body felt swollen and ready to burst as he kept up the steady rhythm.
“Please…” She tightened her fingers in his hair. “Oh, please. I…need you…inside.”
He ground the rock-hard ridge of his arousal against her pelvic bone again and again. “You’re not ready.”
Not ready? Feelings she had no control over shimmered through her body. Her cry, as she climaxed, ricocheted against the cave walls and echoed deep inside her.
Dimly she heard Marc whisper her name as he entered her. The pain was brief, her need greater. Tory wrapped her legs around his waist, thinking she would die of pleasure. She rose and fell with him as he moved in and out in a maddening rhythm that had her moaning his name.
Her mouth open, wild for his kisses, Tory dug her nails into his back. His hands came down to cup her bottom, lifting her so he could thrust more deeply inside her. Tory caught the edge of the wave, her hips countering his until he stiffened, and with a final thrust, carried them both over the top of a tidal wave.
Tory wrapped her arm around his sweat-drenched back and felt the muscles tense as she held him. She welcomed the heavy weight sprawled on top of her as she struggled to regulate her breathing. She could hear water dripping somewhere in the cave. Marc’s breath tickled the side of her neck, cooling her hot skin.
A lump formed in her throat as she caressed his skin, exploring first one ridge of scars, then another. She tried to soothe those long-ago hurts. Emotionally drained as his weight pressed her into the soft sand, she closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep to avoid the cold look he’d give her once he realized what he’d done. Slept with Alex’s sister.
Marc was livid. What a dammed idiotic thing for him to have done. He stood, looking down at her, sprawled seductively against the sand and emerald ground cover.
He scrubbed his eyes and then dropped his hand when he smelled her there. “Damn.”
Tossing the other blanket over her tempting body, he poured a cup of water and drained it. He’d hauled her unwilling ass here to find her brother. Her brother—his friend. Having sex with her was against the friend code, the T-FLAC operations code, and his own code of ethics. She was a civilian—yet another code, damn it!
Marc rose and pulled on his briefs, keeping his gaze firmly averted from the woman pretending to be asleep. He was dying for a cigarette and he didn’t even smoke.
What in the hell was going on here? His training made it possible for him to clear his mind of the sexual fog, although to his annoyance it wasn’t that easy.
T-FLAC had been after the terrorist group called Spider for more than seven years. Only after Lynx had gone in undercover had they discovered that two men ran the organization—Samuel Hoag and Christoph Ragno.
Hoag had appeared out of nowhere. No one knew anything about him.
The Spider group was into any illegal activity that offered a quick profit. From Prague to Pretoria the group was small and almost invisible.
But not invincible.
T-FLAC intel had showed that Ragno was a ruthless psychopath. He had been a drug dealer in South America when he’d disappeared several years ago. Before Marc’s early retirement he’d been hot on the son of a bitch’s trail. In the course of his investigation into Ragno’s operation he’d captured a dozen of the tango’s key people.
Ragno and T-FLAC had been on each other’s hit list for years.
Marc thought about it. Once the tangos connected Lynx to Phantom, they had set the trap. Made sure that the mutilated body of the T-FLAC operative was found by the right people.
There were only three people who knew who Phantom was. Himself, Lynx, and now Victoria Jones. He’d recruited Lynx himself. He’d trained him, and Marc knew without a doubt that nothing, up to and including death, would make his operative turn.
Victoria Jones, on the other hand, had been on the island for two weeks. She was bright enough to have taken what her brother had told her in his letter and with some intelligent thought come up with something damn close to the truth. It wouldn’t have taken much for Spider’s henchmen to break her. Whether she’d meant to or not, there was a good possibility that Tory had given Spider exactly what they wanted—
Him.
Marc picked up the Uzi and headed outside. Heavy rain poured from a charcoal-gray sky. The air smelled fresh and clean. Resting the weapon on his drawn-up leg, he gazed out across the open expanse of rain-tossed ocean. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought with his balls. He ground his teeth and fingered the trigger of the Uzi.
Angry with himself for succumbing to his desire for her, he wanted to let go and spray the rain with bullets. One of those Alpha male efforts in futility. He wanted someone to come around that corner so that he could pound his fist into their bones and feel their flesh split.
The scent of Victoria Jones had seeped into the membrane of his nostrils, blocking out the smell of ozone. Blocking out common sense. This was not good, not good at all. He had to make sure this didn’t happen again. Thinking about her was going to get him killed if he didn’t start using a more rational part of his anatomy.
Just how far would she go to save her brother? Stupid question. She’d do anything to ensure his safety. Just for a moment there, when he’d looked down into those clear green eyes, just before he’d buried himself in the warmth of her body, he’d felt a flicker of emotion. Which just went to show what an idiot he was.
What he had to do was confront her, not screw her. They would both be safer that way. She was already nervous as hell around him, hell, he’d done everything he could to scare her back in Montana. Why wouldn’t she be scared of him? Fine. If he made her nervous she’d back off if he made another advance…
Damn. He rubbed his hand over his face. He was putting the onus of abstinence on the shoulders of the very woman whose body he lusted after. He’d lost his frigging mind.
He heard her coming long before she spoke.
“What are you doing out here?”
She was wearing one of his black T-shirts which hit her midthigh and left the mouthwatering length of her pale slender legs bare. He knew damn well she was naked underneath. Her small breasts molded the thin cotton. He steeled himself. This was do-or-die time. He pressed the ugly mouth of the gun between her breasts.
Tory’s eyes widened. The delectable, pale pink lips curved into a tentative smile. “I’m sorry,” she whispered huskily. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Marc hardened his heart and forced the rest of his body to relax. “You scare me, all right, honey, but not in the way you think.” He lowered the Uzi. He turned away
to look out at the churning ocean. He felt her tentative touch on his bare arm and shrugged it away. “Go back to camp.”
“Are you coming to bed soon?”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” His voice was flat. “I’ve had my sex for tonight.” Marc hitched his bare foot on the rock behind him and rested the gun on his knee.
She frowned, confused. “Wh—why?”
He could give her a long list of nasty answers. “Spit it out, honey.” A wave shot thirty feet in the air in a burst of white spume. “Why what?”
“Why are you talking to me like this?”
Marc turned to look at her. There was a crease of confusion between her brows and she was biting her lower lip. Make it good, pal. “You think because I took your virginity I should give you a promise and a ring? Get a life, lady. Sex is sex.”
Her hand flashed out with surprising speed, connecting with his cheek. His face stung. He deserved a hell of a lot more than a slap on the cheek from her. He narrowed his eyes and gave her his meanest, get the fuck out of my way look. “Don’t ever hit unless you expect to be hit back.” He kept his eyes cold “You seem to be under the mistaken belief that I’m a gentleman. I’m not.”
“No one,” Tory countered, “would ever mistake you for anything other than what you are.” Her cheeks flamed with obvious fury. “You’re hard and cruel and a…a bully. Why don’t you go ahead and hit me back? Maybe it would make you feel more like a man.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he said tightly, leaning against the rock, the marks of her fingers a burning brand on his face.
“You’re despicable.” He saw the way her hand trembled as she suddenly realized that he was aroused. Her eyes shot from his erection to his face and stayed there, her cheeks scarlet.
“Despicable? Lady, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He laughed unpleasantly. Tell me what a prick I am, and walk away Victoria Jones ex-virgin. Just fucking walk away while the going is good. Her eyes flashed, and her soft pink lips, still slightly swollen from his kisses, tightened. He rubbed at the raised scar on his shoulder—just to remind himself.
Then she made the fatal mistake of tilting her chin at him. With a smoothness that belied his jerking pulse, he pulled her hard against him. “You liked it.” He looked down at her tense face. “Is that it, baby? You want more?” He trailed his hand down the damp satin of her hair, pulling her hips into the cradle of his own with a jerk that caught her off balance.
He kissed her hard, roughly forcing her mouth open and thrusting his tongue into the remembered sweetness. She tried to close her mouth and he used his free hand to squeeze her jaw. The other hand pressed her more tightly against his arousal.
“Like that? Is this what you want? Does it turn you on to know that just looking at you makes me hard?”
Kick me in the nuts, damn it. Where the hell was her self-preservation? She struggled in his arms. “Let…me…go!”
He let her go with a suddenness that surprised them both. She rubbed her arm over her swollen mouth and glared at him. “Don’t ever come near me again—except to save my brother, which was my focus and the reason you dragged me here in the first place.” Her voice was rock steady.
The fact that she was behaving exactly as he wanted her to pissed him off. Christ. She was turning him into an emotional pretzel. Marc picked up the gun he’d dropped and pulled out the clip to check for sand. He looked at her over his shoulder. “Was it worth losing your virginity to save your precious brother?” The metallic clink as he snapped the clip back couldn’t smother the sound of her gasp.
“It wasn’t like that,” she said furiously, stepping toward him.
Anger and resentment flared through him—how easily she got under his skin and past his defenses. “I’ll give you ten seconds to get your butt back to camp.” He said it coldly, his gaze running the length of her legs, then lifting to focus on the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.
“All I want to know—”
“Three.”
“—is why you’re—”
“Four.”
“Stop count—”
“Five.”
“Stop doing that! Tell me what I—”
“Seven. Eight. Nine. Go!” Marc cocked the gun and pointed it at her heart. She wasn’t afraid of the damned gun, but her eyes widened as she saw what was in his eyes.
She ran.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHAKING WITH THE RUSH of adrenaline, Tory pulled on bra, panties and borrowed clothes with jerky movements. If she had a flak vest she would have pulled that on, too. Her teeth were clenched so hard her jaw hurt. Anger, confusion and embarrassment made her stomach churn.
“Don’t yell at me, you—you…Neanderthal!” She was pretty brave when there wasn’t anyone listening. She wasn’t used to being yelled at. Other than on the subject of Alex, there’d never been an argument in her home. Certainly there’d never been a raised voice, never a clash of opinion. A shy, quiet child to begin with, she’d been so afraid her grandmother would send her away as she’d done with Alex, that Tory had toed the line with no complaint. Even to herself.
As for being touched, she thought with annoyance. Touched? Marc Savin didn’t just touch. He manhandled. He grabbed, he stroked, he fondled. The man put his big hands on her whenever he felt the urge, and she resented him for it. Especially if he was going to react like that about it afterward.
She had no frame of reference, but their lovemaking had been nothing short of spectacular. Apparently it had only been spectacular for her. “Rude, irrational…jerk.”
Her wrist ached. Her ribs hurt. But the most uncomfortable injury was her bruised ego. And she guessed her arm would heal long before her heart knitted back to normal. She tried to rationalize his sudden anger. After thirty seconds she gave up. It made no sense whatsoever. Not only did it not make sense after what they’d shared, there was no point trying to interpret the male mind.
She was tired of being scared spitless. Tired of feeling off balance. Tired of fitting like a square peg in a round-hole situation.
She liked quiet.
She liked every day to be exactly the same as the day before.
Boring was good.
Boring was comfortable.
She liked boring.
“No, I love boring.”
Being around Marc Savin was anything but boring. Being around him was like being stuck on a rollercoaster ride without a safety strap.
“It’s not as though I asked to come here,” she muttered crossly as she prepared a pot of coffee, just enough for one. “He was the one who dragged me willy-nilly across the world, against my protests.” She searched for a mug. “I told him he’d be sorry. I told him I wasn’t terribly brave.” She paused. “He got sex. So what is he so blasted cranky about?”
It might not be in her grandmother’s book of etiquette, but the son of a bitch had deserved that slap.
She should have known better. She did know better. Except that making love with Marc had seemed so inevitably right.
He’d intentionally made her angry, she was sure—pretty sure. Or maybe he was one of those men who didn’t want the woman to get “ideas” after sex. As if she would. Their lives would never mesh. Of course they had no future.
Yet when he’d been making love to her he’d been gentle and affectionate. Could he have faked that? Probably. But had he? Tory frowned. There had been no need to pretend. She’d been willing—more than willing, to make love with him. He hadn’t needed to whisper sweet words to her. He hadn’t needed to spend as much time as he had on foreplay, she thought as her cheeks heated.
I’m trying to romanticize what was just a man scratching an itch. But let’s say, she thought, let’s say he was really into making love to me. Not just a body, but me, Victoria Jones. Then he remembered that he was here to search for one of his operatives. A man he considered a friend. He was on assignment, or whatever it was called. His friend was in danger. His hands were tied because he couldn’t search in the daylight hours, an
d there were a lot of daylight hours to fill while he waited.
Sex was good, but he didn’t want to have his friend’s sister mooning over him for the duration. He had to make sure said woman didn’t get the wrong idea. He knew she was afraid of her own shadow. It wouldn’t, hadn’t, been hard to scare her away. This time her face flushed with embarrassment instead of heating with the memory of his hands on her skin.
The scenario made some kind of convoluted sense. At least she’d gone through some logical steps to arrive at some sort of explanation. It would have to do.
The coffee was ready and she poured every drop into a mug. He was rude. Uncommunicative. Hostile…“Really, a person would need a thesaurus.” Irrational. A tender, wonderfully considerate lover—
“Talking to yourself?”
Startled, Tory spun around. “Yes. And it was a rational, intelligent conversation.”
He eyed her coffee mug. “Is that for me?”
“Dream on,” she told him daringly, then sipped her coffee while giving him a cool look over the rim. “Why are you always so surly?” He hadn’t been the least bit unpleasant when they’d made love earlier. But perhaps that was because his mouth had been busy. Her heart skittered and she concentrated on swallowing.
“Welcome to the real world. You’re just too sheltered to play in the big leagues.”
“I’d like to point out that I didn’t want to play in any league, let alone the rude league.” She kept her attention on his face, trying not to be distracted by his impressive physique. He was hard and firm, and she knew, smooth to the touch. “You were the dragger.” Her mouth went dry, but she couldn’t look away. “I was the dragee.”
His lips twitched, but he poured water and coffee into the pot and turned up the flame without comment.
