Running Blind

by Cindy Gerard

  She didn’t even look as she hotfooted it by Cooper’s room. She got her ice, stepped back into the hall—and ran straight into the solid wall of his bare chest.

  “Sorry,” he said, then stopped dead when he realized it was her.

  He, too, carried an ice bucket.

  He, however, had had the good sense to get dressed. Sort of. He was barefoot and shirtless, in his jeans. And just as she’d imagined, his hair was bed-mussed and beautiful.

  Long moments passed as he stared at her, his gaze slowly sweeping from her own bed-mussed hair, to her bare shoulders, to the thin strap of her pale pink nightie that had slipped down one arm . . . then to her nipples, which had stood at full attention the moment she’d laid eyes on his bare, muscled chest. And finally, down to her legs, bare from mid-thigh down to her feet. There was a lot of bare going on here.

  Oh, God.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” His voice sounded like it scraped across gravel.

  “Um.” She reached up to tuck a strand of hair out of her eyes and behind her ear. “Guess that would make two of us?”

  His gaze was now riveted on her lips. “Yeah. Guess so.”

  “Well.” She curved her shoulders in so her nightgown didn’t showcase her ridiculously erect nipples. “Good luck with that.”

  Then she all but ran back to her room.

  She was breathing hard when she leaned against her closed door, clutching the ice bucket. And she almost dropped it when she heard his door slam across the hall.

  Yikes. Couldn’t mistake the anger in that sound.

  When his door slammed again only a few seconds later, followed by the solid rap of a knuckle on her own door, she jumped.

  “Open the door, Rhonda.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, considering ignoring him.

  “You want me to wake up the entire floor?”

  When her heart had settled back down, she opened the door a crack and peeked outside.

  There he stood. Still barefoot. Still shirtless. As tempting as an apple in Eden.

  “I want to come in.” The smoky darkness in his voice and eyes left no doubt about what he planned to do once he got there. The packet of condoms in his fist cinched it.

  An electric bolt sizzled through her body, yet she tried. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “That’s not what your nipples said.”

  She almost laughed. Yes, the thought of him in her bed made her that stupid.

  “I was cold,” she lied, so weakly that even she didn’t buy it.

  “You were hot.” The sensual grit in his voice rivaled the heat in his eyes. “You are hot.”

  She pressed her forehead against the door frame, wanting to give in, knowing she’d be sorry if she did, sorry if she didn’t.

  “We’ve tried, Rhonda.” His voice softened. No less sexual. No less frustrated. “We’ve both tried damn hard. We’ve sniped, we’ve made nice, we’ve tried to ignore it. But it’s not working.”

  No, it wasn’t.

  “If you tell me to go back to my room, I’m gone. But ask yourself this question first. Do you really want to keep fighting this?”

  She should fight it.

  She didn’t want to.

  She should be smart enough and strong enough.

  She didn’t want to be either right now.

  So when she finally raised her head and saw the hot desire in his eyes, saw all that glorious golden skin covering solid muscle, she knew the fight was over.

  19

  When she unhooked the chain and then stepped back, Coop was the one who hesitated.

  In this moment, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. More than he’d wanted his name cleared after Operation Slam Dunk. More than he wanted his next breath.

  This could be life-altering, and he didn’t want to screw it up. So he stood there, his fist wrapped tight around the condoms, his gaze riveted on her eyes—eyes that spoke of desire and surrender and that irresistible vulnerability.

  “Now?” She backed into the room, a look of utter confusion on her face. “After all that door slamming and demanding that I let you in, now you’re going to stand out there and give me a chance to regret my decision?”

  Hell, no.

  He stepped inside and, never taking his eyes off hers, shut the door and turned the lock. In the dimness, the bedside lamp made her thin nightgown translucent, leaving very little to the imagination.

  In two steps, he had her in his arms. Two more, and he’d backed her against the foot of the bed. Two deep breaths, and his heart slammed against hers, his bare chest pressed against the fullness of her breasts and the erect wonder of her nipples.

  Then two words stopped him cold.

  “Ground rules.” She pressed her palm against his lips just as he went to kiss her.

  “What?”

  If she wanted him on his knees, it was a pretty sure bet it would happen. Very little blood remained in his head; most had gone south, where it pulsed and demanded relief.

  “We need to establish ground rules.” She sounded as aroused as he felt.

  “Okay. Fine. Pick a safe word.” He groaned, pressing his erection against her taut, concave belly. He wasn’t into kinky sex, but if she—

  “That’s not what I meant.” She pushed him inches away.

  He felt like weeping. “Then what? Please. Just tell me what you want.”

  He drew her back against him. Filled his palms with the sweet, fleshy roundness of her ass and ground her hard against the aching length of him. He knew what he wanted. He wanted that filmy pink silk on the floor, her legs wrapped around his waist, and his mind blown like a fried circuit as he buried himself deep inside her.

  “We keep this real, okay?”

  He arched his hips against hers again, bent his head, and nuzzled the soft spot beneath her ear. “This is as real as it gets.”

  “This . . . tonight,” she said, sounding breathless but committed as he nipped her earlobe, tugged, then nipped again. “It’s just about sex. All right? That’s all.”

  Her words registered in his brain, but his body was in charge. And his body was about to go up in flames.

  “Just sex. Whatever you want.”

  She gripped his face in her hands, pulled his head up, and made him look at her. “No commitments. No looking back when it’s over. We’re just scratching an itch here.”

  The intense emotion in her eyes told him she wasn’t fooling around. This was important to her.

  And while something about her fiery insistence didn’t feel right, in this moment, whatever she wanted was fine with him. He wasn’t looking for long-term, either.

  “Whatever you want,” he repeated. “Can we please quit talking now? I promise I’ll make it worthwhile.”

  Apparently, she’d reached her limit, too, because when he lifted his hands, wrapped them around hers, and guided them down to touch him, to show her what she’d done to him, her eyelids fluttered shut, and her entire body trembled. Her sharp intake of breath told him she was done talking, all right. And after the initial hesitance of her fingers on his hard flesh, she enclosed him, stroked him, then rose to her tiptoes to slip her tongue into his mouth, confirming that she wasn’t turning back now.

  On a groan born of six long months of frustration, he wrapped one arm around the backs of her thighs, the other around her shoulders, and lifted her off her feet.

  Digging one knee into the bed, he lowered her onto her back. Resisting the raging need to shuck his pants and pound into her until they were both seeing stars, he leaned back and looked his fill of the woman who had tied him up like a dozen sailor’s knots.

  “Take it off.” His throat muscles were so tight the words barely came out as a whisper. “I want you to take it off.”

  Her muscles te
nsed all over, like a silky, sexy cat anticipating that she was about to be petted and rubbed in all the ways she liked best.

  He felt the anticipation as keenly as she must have when she gripped the hem of her gown and worked it up over her hips, then sat up. Crossing her arms in front of her, she pulled the pink silk over her head.

  He barely managed to stay still, not entirely believing that the reality exceeded his very vivid imagination.

  She was so stunningly beautiful that for a moment, he lost his breath.

  He’d been with a lot of women, a lot of them models with beautiful faces and bodies. But none of them had ever made him feel what he felt when he looked at her.

  Her blue eyes were full of yearning. Her hair trailed down one shoulder, over skin that was as pale and creamy as porcelain. And her lush breasts, round and firm, were topped with the prettiest pale pink nipples. Knowing he was finally going to touch them and taste them sent a fire shooting through his groin and dropped him to his knees on the floor.

  He wanted them in his mouth. He wanted all of her in his mouth.

  He leaned forward and drew her to the foot of the bed, where he buried his face between her breasts. Silken hair fell over his shoulders; impatient hands caressed his head as he nuzzled her.

  She gasped as he nipped her with his teeth, then soothed the velvet tip with his tongue before sucking her deeper into his mouth. He pressed her breasts together against his face, drowning him in tactile pleasure.

  She arched her back when he sucked her harder, and she spread her legs until the damp crotch of her black lace panties pulsed against his throat. He could smell her arousal and her impatience.

  His lips felt swollen as he reluctantly pulled away. Her nipples were engorged from his sucking, the tender flesh around them reddened by his stubble.

  “Lie back,” he whispered, gently guiding her down on the bed.

  Still on his knees, he locked his eyes on hers and slowly peeled the black lace down her legs.

  She’d hiked herself up on her elbows and looked down her body at him. For as long as he lived, he’d remember that sight. Her hair trailing down to the bed, her pink nipples pointed upward, her flat abdomen rising and falling with her shallow breaths.

  He leaned forward and worked his tongue over her belly, a promise of what was in store.

  She dropped back onto the bed and groaned. “Hurry.”

  That wasn’t happening. Not when he finally had her where he wanted her and how he wanted her. Kissing his way down her stomach, he lifted her thighs and draped them over his shoulders. Only then did he raise his head and look at the heart of her.

  She was as open and vulnerable as a woman could be, soft and pink and bare there. He lowered his head and kissed her, once, twice. Then, as her fingers clutched the sheets, he slipped his tongue into her secret folds.

  Her sharp intake of breath was all he needed to delve deeper into her sweet, slick core. And as kitten-soft noises transitioned to sounds of aching pleasure and finally to desperate demands, she fueled his own desperation.

  “Pleeease . . .”

  The scent and taste of her, the delicious wild sounds she couldn’t hold back, triggered the loss of his own control.

  He cupped her hips in his hands, tipped her toward his mouth, and annihilated them both.

  20

  Gasping for breath, Coop landed spread-eagle on his back, which was exactly where she wanted him—and wanted him now—if the force with which she’d bucked him off and shoved him to the bed was an indication.

  Only moments ago, she’d melted into a sweet, boneless puddle after she’d come in his mouth. Then she’d lain there, wet and satisfied, while he’d kissed his way slowly up her body, finally joining her on the bed. He’d coaxed her mouth open, stroking and exploring inside. He’d have to remember that thing he’d done with his tongue, because when he’d touched the roof of her mouth just so, she’d shifted from sleepy kitten to hungry tiger.

  Her hands tangled in his hair now, pressing her mouth harder onto his, as her fingers raced across his chest and she scraped her nails across his skin, arching her hips against him. She was smokin’ hot, all fierce passion, with zero inhibitions.

  A woman like her didn’t hide behind smoke screens and mirrors. She delivered what she promised in the way she dressed, the way she smelled, the way she oozed sexuality like a candle did fragrance.

  Then she knelt over him, her lips and nipples rosy pink and swollen from his kisses, her hair falling in a golden mess across his bare chest. Watching his face, she opened a condom packet with her long nails, then slowly rolled it over his engorged flesh. He had to clench every muscle in his body to keep from coming right then. Perspiration dampened his skin as she took him in her hands and eased him inside of her. Then, her eyes still on his, she lifted her hair away from her neck with both hands and took her sweet, torturous time impaling herself to the hilt.

  Only when she was good and fully seated did he breathe. Only then could he breathe, as she tightened around him, gloving him in exquisite heat.

  “Be still,” she whispered when he closed his eyes and arched up into her. “Just be.”

  He opened his eyes then, and man, oh, man. Her eyes were closed; her lower lip was caught between her teeth. Her head tilted to the side, and her expression—­intent on feeling their union in the purest, most sensual way—stopped his breath again.

  He ran his hands from her knees to her hips and held her there against him, savoring the way she indulged herself, then groaned low in his throat when she met his gaze and started moving.

  Slowly at first. A little rocking motion of her hips. Back and forth. Then side to side, then up and down. Higher. Harder. Wilder, until the sensations inside him blasted past finesse and control and rocked them to the hot, explosive edge.

  He came on a strangled groan, arching into her one last time as she tensed and clenched and then, on a gasp that was part sigh, part cry, and all release, collapsed across his chest.

  For long, long moments, his climax stretched and intensified, then slowly mellowed to a stunning simmer before finally dying. An amazingly sensual death.

  Yeah. She’d definitely killed him.

  • • •

  When Cooper rolled onto his stomach, exhausted and spent, Rhonda had plenty of time to stare at the bandages on his back and calf.

  She’d been aware of his wounds, old and new, when they’d made love. How could she not? There wasn’t an inch of her body he hadn’t stroked, kissed, or finessed. So yeah, she’d reciprocated. And yes, she’d been very aware . . . but unable to process anything but what he was doing to her. He’d been thorough. And oh, my, he’d been good.

  Now, though, in the aftermath of the storm of sensation and pleasure he’d brewed up and demanded she give in to, she had to know.

  “You’re lucky you weren’t killed Monday.”

  He yawned sleepily and then, with effort, turned onto his back to look at her. “As I recall, you were also in the line of fire. And speaking of fire . . .”

  She looked away when a warm flush spread through her body at the memory of how bold she’d been with him. How uninhibited. He’d made it easy. He’d made it incredible.

  “Hey.” He reached across the pillow and smoothed the hair away from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed. You were amazing.”

  “I could have hurt you.”

  He chuckled, pushing up on an elbow. “You can hurt me anytime you want.”

  She didn’t want to go all serious and concerned on him, but seeing those wounds made her realize things about him—and about herself. “I was scared to death.”

  The amusement in his eyes faded to understanding as he realized she was referring to the sniper attack. “You think I wasn’t?”

  She searched his eyes and, because she couldn’t help herself, searched his beautiful, sculpted face. Th
ought of the perfect union of his muscle and sinew and bone. Of the silky dark hair that fell over his forehead as he regarded her in a way that made her feel like they’d just shared a whole lot more than casual sex.

  “You do, don’t you? You think that getting shot at doesn’t scare me spitless.”

  He was trying to make her feel better. “I didn’t see any fear. Not from you. Not from any of the team members.”

  “Hell, no. You saw us react like we’ve been trained to. But if you’d felt my heartbeat, you’d have known just how scared I was. Just like the rest of the team.” He reached out and, with a gentleness that unnerved her, brushed his thumb across her cheek. “It’s our job not to show fear. It’s our job to handle threats.”

  She looked away, just now realizing that she might be way out of her element. “I was pretty much useless. I couldn’t help Eva. I couldn’t help anyone.”

  He nestled down into the covers and drew her into his arms. His body was big and hard and as warm as a furnace as he curled himself around her. “You’re not a trained soldier. And you did exactly what we needed you to do. You kept calm. You kept Mike calm. You didn’t make yourself a target that would have endangered all of us. And you’ve done the job that you’ve been trained to do ever since. You have nothing to regret.”

  Oh, she had plenty of regrets. She already knew that tonight would be one of them, but she didn’t want to give in to that reality yet.

  She shifted to her side so she could see his face. Before Monday’s shooting, she’d thought she knew who he was. Turned out she hadn’t had a clue. She still didn’t.

  “How do you do it?”

  His eyes slowly came open.

  “How do you face gunfire and secret operations and flying black into terrorist strongholds? How do you deal with the threats? Over and over and—”

  He sighed, pressing his fingertips to her lips. “Somebody’s been reading too many after-action reports about old missions.” He smiled, then kissed her temple. “That’s old news.”