by Tawny Weber
As she rounded the building, a tall form stepped from the shadows. She didn’t need to see the face beneath the white Stetson to know it was Laramie. Even shrouded in the dark, that body was unmistakable.
“There you are,” she said with a breathless laugh as she fell into Laramie’s chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist to steady herself, then left them there because, mmm yeah, it felt good. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
“Forever, is it?” Laramie grasped her hips, his fingers hard and hot through the soft cotton of her skirt as he gently moved her back a few inches. “I suppose that is a long time to go without your phone.”
But she hadn’t been waiting for her phone. She’d been waiting for him.
Not because she was lusting after his body, she assured herself, thankful for the alcohol-laced fruit-juice buzz that drowned out her mind’s mocking laugh. She was so happy to see him because he was the only one who understood what she was going through. The only one who she didn’t have to pretend with.
Heat stirred low in her belly as she stared into his shadowed features. His hands still gripped her hips, making her want to squirm closer. To wrap her legs around the hard length of his and ride him like a racehorse until he took her over the finish line and relieved the hot, aching pressure building inside of her.
Sammi blew out a long, slow breath, wishing she could release the tension as easily.
Looked like she needed to pretend a little after all. With that in mind, she tried to pull her thoughts together. But between the alcohol swirling through her mind and the temptation just inches away, it wasn’t easy. He was probably here for something besides bringing her cell phone and getting her all hot and bothered.
Sammi frowned, trying to focus. Finally it clicked.
“Sterling.” Guilt and worry rushed through her so fast, Sammi felt dizzy. Or maybe that was the fruit juice. “Do you have news about Sterling?”
“Not really.”
Her stomach knotted so tight she was afraid she’d be sick. Whether sensing her distress or worried she’d hurl on his boots, Laramie tightened his grip.
“I contacted a friend who’s a communications wizard. He tracked the call as far as the cell tower it used. It’s local, putting him in the range vicinity. Another buddy is a genius with information. He sent me details on Barclay’s business, his partner, his finances. I put a copy in your truck, tucked under the driver’s seat. It’d help if you go through them, too. Maybe something’ll pop for you.” Laramie shrugged at Sammi’s expression. “You want me to find him? I have to know where to look.”
“I guess so,” she said slowly, wishing they didn’t have to invade Sterling’s privacy. He was so fussy about his personal space, and here she and Laramie were, poking all through it.
Laramie folded one hand over hers, lifting them to his lips. His shadowed eyes met hers over their joined hands, his breath warming her as he pulled her a little closer.
And just like that, she felt better. It was as if he had flipped a switch, instantly turning her worry into hot, needy lust.
“You okay?”
No. She was melting into a gooey puddle of desire.
“I’m good. I’m really, really good.” Her gaze drifting to his mouth; she wet her lips and wondered... How many ways could he kiss? She’d liked the one she’d tried—if hot-dream-inspired desire qualified as like.
Sammi sighed, her body going soft as she imagined.
Tucking his free hand under her chin, Laramie leaned back to inspect her face. His sober expression shifted into a wicked smile.
“Okay, is it? Been drinking, sugar?”
“Just juice.”
Wanting so much to try another kiss, Sammi moved even closer until her legs brushed his. Her thighs trembled. Their joined hands prevented full body contact, but if she could get turned on with just a knee knock? Who knew what would happen with the next kiss.
“That’s all? Juice?” he asked absently, the words seeming to come from a long way away. He released her hands before sliding both of his into her hair. Tilting her head back a little, he gave her a long, intense stare that made Sammi’s entire body hot. Her nipples puckered tight and her thighs trembled as he held her gaze captive, slowly lowering his head until his mouth brushed over hers.
Oh.
Sammi might have moaned that against his lips or the sound might have reverberated through her head, she didn’t know. Because all she could think was ohhhh.
His tongue swept into her mouth with teasing little forays, each thrust making Sammi wetter, making her nether lips tremble with need. She grabbed his arms. This time she did moan aloud as her hands skimmed under the sleeves of his soft cotton T, rubbing the hard flesh. He was so big. So strong. Her palms smoothed over the rounded concrete of his biceps, fingers skimming then soothing before starting all over again.
Need pounded through her, the beat quickening with each second. Soon, her fingers were digging into his biceps, her hips pressing desperately against his.
More. All she could think now was that she wanted more.
She tried to shift even closer, but the hands gripping her hair kept their upper bodies apart. Frustration added an edge to the need, deepening the urgency. Heat curled low in her belly, ready to explode with just the right touch.
Please, she thought. Touch her right.
As if sensing how close she was, Laramie slowly pulled his mouth from hers. She felt him take a deep breath, but his eyes were steady and his expression mild.
A frown worked its way through Sammi’s heady need. Why wasn’t he affected? She wanted him as excited as he’d made her. She wanted, so, so wanted, to push him to the edge of an orgasm with just one kiss.
“There’s an awful lot of rum in your juice, Sammi. You might want to go back in there and switch to water.” His words were low and a little amused.
Sammi felt a pout coming on.
“I don’t want to go back in there. They are comparing underwear and debating the best flavor of body oil.”
Aha. Triumph surged through her at the look on his face.
Desire. She might not be as up on all things sexual, but Sammi recognized lusty desire when it was aimed her way. Fueled by the fruit-juice-laced rum, she called up every teasing move she’d ever seen or read.
She tilted her chin down just a little and gave him a beseeching look through the sweep of her lashes. She tiptoed her fingers up his warm chest, her nails scraping his nipples as she passed. His eyes narrowed, but otherwise Laramie didn’t react.
Undeterred, Sammi skimmed her palms along the sides of his neck, then cupped them over his cheeks.
Her eyes locked on his, she pressed closer so her breasts were crushed against his chest. The feel was so intense, so powerful that she couldn’t stop her small moan of pleasure.
“They are debating what type of panties get a guy hotter,” she whispered, her mouth close to his. “Some of them say French cut, others insist on thongs. A handful swear by the power of going bare.”
She waited a beat, watching those golden hazel eyes narrow.
“What’s your favorite, Laramie?” She rubbed her lips against his, then smiled. “What turns you on?”
Before she realized his intention, Laramie grabbed her arms and spun her around so she was trapped between the brick wall and his body.
Triumph flashed, fast and giddy.
Then his mouth crushed hers. As his tongue thrust, Sammi Jo’s last thought was that she was way, way out of her league. And then sensation took over. Desire, so hot and needy, grew with each sweep of his tongue. She didn’t realize he’d slid his hand down her hip until she felt the warmth of his hand against the lace of her panties and realized he’d pulled her skirt up.
She trembled, gripping his shoulders to keep from simply melting into a puddle of lust all over his feet.
His fingers slid along the hem of her panties—a thong if he was checking. Pleasure coiled. He skimmed his thumb over her mound, back and forth. As she sa
nk into the pleasure of that, his fingers drummed a beat between her thighs, tapping gently on her swollen, aching lips.
Sammi gasped as her body contracted. Laramie sucked her tongue into his mouth, his teeth scraping as he tapped faster.
She exploded, riding on a wave of a million tiny pieces of pleasure so intense she didn’t think she’d ever come down.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, her head falling back against the bricks with a soft thud. Her body vibrating with pleasure, Sammi didn’t try to think. She didn’t bother with guilt and ignored every attempt worry made to burst her bubble.
Nope, she determined, trying to draw in a breath. Nothing was getting in the way of her enjoying every blessed second of her first semipublic, against-the-wall orgasm.
* * *
LARAMIE WAS IN TROUBLE. Serious, mind-blowing trouble.
He’d gotten a lot of women off in his time—so many that he’d developed quite a reputation for it. He’d even driven a few—okay, more than a few, but who was counting—to fully dressed, screaming orgasms.
But Laramie had never been this close to losing it himself. To wanting to drop his pants and drive into the hot, wet welcome of a woman’s trembling body. If it’d been any other woman, he’d have given in to the urge.
But Sammi Jo was different.
In so many ways.
Only one of which was that she trusted him. She believed in him to protect her.
So, as difficult as it was, Laramie took a deep breath and called up his reserve control—a rare necessity since his front lines almost never failed. But they were failing now, big time.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Do you have to? I want to come.” Sammi rubbed her thumb over his lower lip, her smile taking on a wicked edge. “Again.”
“Again, huh?” His mouth was halfway to hers, before he remembered that he wasn’t going to do this.
The woman was actually making him forget his resolve. Not sure he could hold out against her needs and his own body’s demands, Laramie went on the offensive.
“Does your fiancé know this about you?” he asked with a deceptively easy smile as he put two feet of distance between himself and the tempting warmth of her curvaceous body.
Sammi blinked, either at the question or at the mention of Sterling. A small trickle of guilt worked its way down Laramie’s spine at the look on her face. He’d been the one taking advantage of an inebriated woman. But before he could apologize, Sammi gave a slow shrug. The move sent the strap of her dress sliding lower, the fabric of her dress an erotic showcase to those still-pouting nipples.
Laramie’s apology froze in his throat.
“I really don’t think he does know,” Sammi mused, shaking her head. “He’s not really into this stuff.”
Laramie blinked.
What had they been talking about?
“Beg pardon?”
“This.” Sammi twirled her finger between their bodies. “You know, the physical stuff.”
He shook his head, sure he was misreading her words.
“We’re more about friendly support,” she explained, leaning her head back against the wall as if standing upright was too much effort. “You know. We’re there for each other. We support the other’s dreams and give them a sounding board for their frustrations.”
Laramie’s frown deepened the longer he listened to Sammi’s description of her relationship with the man she planned to spend the rest of her life with.
Where was the fun?
The passion?
Hell, where was the sex?
By the time she got to long walks and the same taste in sports, Laramie was ready to suggest she skip marriage and just get herself a dog.
It sounded like that’s what she wanted, and a dog would be more loyal—and probably better looking—than Barclay.
“So all in all, I doubt he knows this about me,” Sammi concluded with a tipsy smile. “Unless he’s imagined it. Can guys tell that kind of thing?”
His head reeling, Laramie gave in to the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, hoping it’d help ground him.
Nope. He was still baffled.
“Can guys tell what kind of thing?” he finally asked, not sure he should hear the answer but not willing to walk away when she was sharing it.
“Can guys tell when a woman wants sex? I mean, really wants it?” Her eyes widened, the thick lashes a vivid contrast to her milky-white skin. “Do they know what kind of things a woman likes? I mean, can you look at me and know what turns me on?”
She was trying to kill him.
That was the only explanation he could think of for a question like that.
Because, damn it all to hell if she posed one more sexually charged inquiry, he’d either show her the answer in a very up-close and personally pleasurable way. Or he’d drop dead right here in this alley from sexual frustration.
“I’ve got to go.” He set her aside, heading for the street as fast as his protesting erection would let him.
“Do you really have to?” Sammi tilted her head to one side, her hair falling in soft waves over her cheek.
Hell, yes he did.
As fast as he could.
“Laramie?”
He stopped at the edge of the alley and looked back.
Sammi’s breasts glowed in the moonlight, full and inviting above the lace trim of her dress. His gaze traced her body wrapped so softly in that pale green fabric, stopping just below her knees. She was soft there, he knew. Soft and sensitive.
His head filled with the memory of her wrapping one of those legs around his hip, her hot core pressed against his hand while he held her knee in the other.
The woman was dangerous.
And damned if he didn’t live for danger. Laramie lifted his gaze to hers.
“Where are you going?” She wet her lips, the damp glistening invitingly.
She’d asked if he could tell what a woman wanted and Laramie had to admit that it was a skill he’d been born with. So he knew all he’d have to do was hold out his hand and she’d go with him.
Damn his morals. Laramie’s fists closed tight against the frustration.
“I’m going to find your damned fiancé.”
Before he did something so unbelievably stupid he could never recover from it.
Like actually fall in love.
7
LARAMIE HAD SERVED in numerous dangerous missions. With each one he knew it could easily be his last. He accepted that fact with good grace and an easy faith in his skills, his team and the reality that sooner or later those might not be enough.
As he drove down the highway, Tim McGraw blaring from the dash and hot wind blowing through the open windows, he had to admit that this sense of desperate urgency he was feeling was brand-new and just about as welcome as a case of hives. He was torn between figuring Barclay deserved whatever mess he’d landed in and wanting to find the guy and put an end to all contact with Sammi Jo.
The woman was playing havoc on his peace of mind.
Another first.
He was all for giving a lady his complete focus when he was with her. But he’d always been an out of sight, out of mind kind of guy.
He’d never lain in bed at night, unable to sleep because his thoughts were filled with a woman. He’d never struggled with need as his mind relived the sound of her orgasm with more pleasure than if it’d been his own. A fact he’d proved when frustration had finally forced him to take matters into his own hands—so to speak.
That didn’t mean he was feeling anything special for her. He didn’t have any sort of conflict about finding her another man, one she’d spend her life with. The man she’d spend her nights with. That she’d share her body with.
Laramie’s teeth snapped together.
Nope. No big deal.
Unwilling to admit—even to himself—just how much bullshit he was shoveling over himself, Laramie focused on the matter at hand.
Typically before a mission, the team was briefed with t
he most current intel so they went into the situation fully armed. Laramie didn’t have a team backing him and he was armed with only his wits. But he did know where to go for the best intel.
He pulled into the gravel lot a few yards off the highway, parking between a truck with a lift kit on steroids and a rusty old heap with a missing bumper.
There was no shortage of bars in Jerrick and its surroundings, with the Wild Bronco one the seedier choice. Most people in these parts knew it for its hot wings, weak beer and wicked bar fights, but it was as much a gossip hub as Curl Up and Dye in town.
Perfect for Laramie’s needs.
As he sauntered into the Wild Bronco, a part of him expected to hear Buck Parsons yell from behind the bar for him to get the hell out like he had so many times before. But all that greeted him was the sound of voices bouncing off the walls in counterpoint to the ricochet of pool balls and the music twanging from the jukebox.
He followed the short hallway with its walls studded with trophies, most with jackets hanging from their antlers, and stopped at the main room to look around.
His gaze landed on the bartender and Laramie’s lips twitched. Not everything was smaller.
In a sweat-stained cap and a checked shirt missing one of its mother-of-pearl snaps, the guy manning the taps was almost as wide as he was tall.
Dozens of memories flashed through his mind. The times Buck had brought his father home because the old man was too wasted to drive. How many mornings had he come by searching for his dad, only to find that he’d chosen to pass out on the bar instead of catching a ride home? Those mornings, Buck had scrambled him an egg and talked to him about the older man’s years in the Navy. The last time he’d seen Buck was at Cole Laramie’s funeral; Buck’s beady eyes had been wet with tears.
Laramie sauntered toward the rough-hewn bar. He was about a foot away when Buck glanced over. Eyes bulging in his pale face, the burly mountain of a man gaped as if he’d seen a ghost.
Laramie swung a leg over the bar stool and pushed his hat farther back from his face and gave a respectful nod.
