by Raina Wilde
Tingling sensations raced up and down her arm. In the places where his hand connected more firmly, as when he adjusted her position for a better view, she felt pulses of heat that remained long after his hands had moved away. Lydia was certain that Tucker had no idea of the effect that his touch was having on her body. She tried to remind herself that she barely trusted the man, but she knew that was a lie—he had already saved her life on multiple occasions.
Tucker coaxed her to turn so that he could work on her other arm. She was now facing away from him, but she could still see his reflection in the massive mirror that covered most of the wall above the counter. He worked with complete focus, allowing her the chance to observe him undetected.
She noted that he seemed unfazed by the events of the day. Were public shootings so commonplace for this man that he did not even blink an eye? Lydia reminded herself that there was a difference between living an exciting life and a dangerous one. Her life, up until this point, was refreshing and exciting. This man lived on the edge of danger, and if he truly was a member of an Army Special Ops team, this was neither the first nor the last time that he would be living on the verge of terror. Lydia could not imagine how he found that idea appealing.
Still, with all her reasoning, Lydia was unable to shake the attraction that was growing for this man who was tending to her with such care. He was helping her, when he could very easily have left her on her own.
When he had finished, he hooked a hand over her far knee and spun her back to face him. The contact with a part of her body, other than her injured arms, sent a pulse of heat straight to her core. She did not understand why she was having such a visceral reaction to this man. It must be the shock, she told herself.
Tucker covered his hands in a cream that he rubbed up and down her arms, covering the tiny cuts. He handed her the tube and leaned over to start the shower.
“You should clean up, make sure there isn’t any more glass in your hair.” He instructed. “Put more of the Bacitracin on after you’ve finished.”
When he turned to leave, Lydia found herself sliding down from the counter and stopping him with a hand on his arm. The skin beneath her palm tingled and she felt his pulse quicken to match her own. Maybe he had not been quite as unaware as she thought.
“Thank you, Tucker, for everything.” She stepped closer to him and watched as he steeled himself against her. The action both surprised and amused her.
“It’s not a problem.” He muttered.
Lydia stood in front of him and raised her hand to his cheek.
“You’re in shock.” His eyes warned her to stop, that he did not think that she was in control of herself. Perhaps he was right, she thought, but that did not stop her from wanting to know what it would be like to kiss him.
Lydia pressed herself against him and let her lips hover a mere breath away from his. He stood there like a stone statue, neither moving away nor accepting her advance. Finally, she settled her mouth against his and felt his lips respond against her own. His hands slipped around her waist and pulled her closer, their bodies matched against each other in all the right places. Lydia sighed and reached for the hem of his shirt.
His hands closed over hers and stopped them from raising the fabric any further.
“Stop.” He pulled away and looked at her with wary eyes. He was taking slow, measured breaths and it was clear that it had taken a lot of effort to break away from their passionate kisses. “You’re in shock.” He gestured at the shower that now had steam billowing from behind the curtain. “Take your shower. I have to call my team.”
Normally, Lydia would have been embarrassed by the rebuff, but she found that she could not find the energy to be insulted. His response had proven that he had wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. Maybe she was in shock, but he was not, and that had to mean something.
She showered and dressed in the small bathroom, toweling off her hair slipping on the new clothes. Shock or not, she decided, something was happening between them and it had been long enough since Lydia had been with a man that she was determined to see it through. She might not have an interest in his dangerous lifestyle, but she was definitely interested in the man.
When she re-entered the central room, Tucker was lounging on one of the two full-sized beds with the remote in his hand and the guide channel up on the television.
“What did your team have to say?” she sat on the opposite bed facing him.
Tucker pressed a button and the screen switched to the Monacan news channel. He listened to a vague description of the bistro shooting that revealed no pertinent information before turning the television off.
“They are going to formulate a plan tonight, make the necessary arrangements, and tomorrow we will be informed of what they decided. We weren’t prepared for my cover to be blown so soon. After the bistro I could have pretended that I had lost track of you, but Angelo saw me in the car and when I drove away he knew I wasn’t taking you to Renaldo. Until we hear from my team, there is nothing to do but wait.”
“Don’t you have a say in the new plan? How do you know they are going to make the right decisions without you?”
“They’ll choose the best option.” He laughed. “They don’t need me there for that. I’ve already told them everything I know and it would be too risky to spend so much time discussing the mission over long distance communications. These men are the best at what they do. I trust them and so should you.”
“Fine.” She grumbled. Now that they were out of the heat of the action she was restless. She did not want to wait until morning to find out what some nameless, faceless group of men told them to do. She wanted to leave, go to the other side of the world and continue her life. She could wait a few years before returning to Monaco; by then these criminals should have been removed from power.
“I’m hungry.” She blurted after a few moments of silence.
Tucker nodded in agreement. “We can have room service delivered.”
They ordered their meals. Tucker excused himself to go take a shower while Lydia returned to her bed to wait. She quickly fell asleep and did not wake until the delicious scent of sautéed meats and vegetables wafted over her. She woke with a smile and a hum of pleasure. She had never felt so hungry in her life.
Lydia was surprised to find that after resting and filling her stomach she felt much calmer. Her frazzled nerves were tempered by the tiny bubble of comfort that was their hotel room. She felt safe and was finally able to push the memories of the day, if only temporarily, from her mind.
She discovered that she liked talking to Tucker. He asked a lot of questions about her life and seemed thoroughly impressed at her ability to make an income while traveling the world. He was also surprised that throughout her travels this was her first true run-in with danger.
He was not extremely forthcoming with his own personal information but that did not keep Lydia from evaluating his basic personality based on his responses and questions about her own life. He appreciated hard work and motivation. He was extremely intelligent, but also humble. He spoke sixteen languages, twelve of them fluently, and carried a constantly rotating pile of books in his luggage that he claimed helped him to never stop learning. He was funny, in a sarcastic way, but Lydia appreciated his ability to laugh despite all of the trauma that he must have witnessed in his life.
When she had teased him that she missed the Irish accent, he had laughed and responded in the false voice.
“Of course you did. It’s a woman thing.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Lydia giggled.
Tucker shrugged and switched to a French accent. “American accents are boring.” Then British. “American women always prefer a foreign accent.” Spanish. “They think it’s romantic.”
Lydia stared at him with her eyebrows raised high.
“Ah, you’re right.” She pretended to swoon into her pillows. She sat back upright. “I bet women love to hear you speak with all those voices.”
“Yes.” He said with sarcasm. “That’s exactly what I want in a woman, someone who is wishing for me to pretend to be someone else for their fantasy.” Lydia suddenly realized that for Tucker it would be frustrating to have to pretend to be someone else when in the throes of romance, when he so rarely had a chance to be himself to begin with.
Their conversation continued without incident until they both decided that it was time to go to sleep.
Lydia lay on the floor of the bistro, surrounded by a pool of her own blood. She gasped for breath but the air would not come. She coughed and sputtered, the world around her silent but for the gentle tinkling of glass that fell like raindrops around her. Then a new noise entered her world, the crunch of shards beneath flat-soled shoes. A shadow approached in her peripheral vision and Lydia cried out in terror. The shadow drew nearer and nearer but she was unable to move away. She flung her head back and forth, imploring her body to respond, to take action and flee from the encroaching danger. When the shadow stepped clearly into her view Lydia gasped and shrieked. The charcoal suited man had come for her once more. He leaned down and gripped her arm. Then he began to shake her.
“Lydia.” His smooth voice whispered. “Wake up.”
Her eyes snapped open and Lydia found herself looking directly into the concerned face of Tucker Macey.
“You’re alright.” He whispered. “Just breathe.”
Lydia focused on taking a shaky breath. She trembled beneath Tucker’s hands as they smoothed the hair away from her face.
“You’re alright.” He kept whispering. She closed her eyes, clinging to the repetition of his voice. She was having a difficult time steadying her breath. It came in bursts and starts, quivering with every shake of her body. She felt a lone tear fall from the corner of her eye; it pooled in her ear but she was too paralyzed to wipe it away.
Tucker pulled the comforter back and slid into the bed beside her. He rolled her on her side and cradled her body from behind, wrapping his arms around her and holding tight.
“Breathe with me.” He whispered into her ear. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back, the firm clamp of his arms suppressed all but her most violent tremors. Lydia tried to focus only on the rhythm of his body beside her, the flutter of his breath across her hair. Finally, they breathed in unison. Each inhale and exhale was guided by Tucker, Lydia’s body matched his rhythm blindly.
When she began to drift back to sleep she felt Tucker begin to extricate himself from his position beside her.
“Please, don’t go.” She rolled toward his retreating figure.
He pulled the sheets back over their bodies and cradled her in his arms once more. This time, when Lydia slept, there were no nightmares.
At some later point in the night, Lydia awoke to find that she had rolled over in her sleep. Tucker’s arms still encased her body but now her cheek rested against his chest. His bare chest, she noted. Lydia had been too distracted to realize that when Tucker had awoken her from the nightmare he was wearing nothing more than a pair of athletic shorts.
She closed her eyes and snuggled against him, telling herself to go back to sleep, but sleep did not come. She could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She could smell the masculine scent of his aftershave. She realized that one of her hands was spread possessively over his abdomen, the rippling muscles beneath her fingers causing her hand to twitch as she suppressed the urge to let it explore. Her other arm was thrown over his side, as if she had used it to pull herself closer at some point. She strummed her fingertips against his back, feeling the myriad of scars that were collected there. She wondered what they were from, wondered if he would ever tell her those stories.
The action did not wake him. When his breathing remained consistent the boldness in Lydia grew. She allowed the hand between them to brush over his hardened abs, inch its way upward to the hollow of his sternum, and journey over the expansive muscles of his chest. Instinct had her pressing her hips closer to his body, the growing desire causing her to be reckless. She felt his body respond to the pressure, though still his breathing did not change.
The hand behind him crept lower, toward his backside. She wondered if it felt as firm as it looked.
“I think that’s far enough, Lydia.” Came the low rumble from his chest. She froze and started to mutter an incoherent apology. She was grateful for the darkness that masked the incredible blush that she could feel spreading over her face, neck, and shoulders. “It’s alright.” He laughed. “But, I figured I’d stop you before you encouraged too much of a reaction. I don’t think you’d want to sleep next to that all night.”
Lydia pressed her forehead against his chest in an attempt to hide. She was mortified.
“You were awake the entire time?” She mumbled against his skin.
Again, he laughed.
“I’m trained to wake up at the slightest change around me, Lydia. If I could sleep through that I think I’d have to turn in my tags.”
“I’m sorry.” She leaned back and tried to evaluate his expression in the darkness. She was now acutely aware of the way that their bodies pressed against each other. The heat building between her legs made her reluctant to withdraw her hips from where they pressed against his. Her breathing was shallow, this time not from fear, and she knew that he could hear it.
Even though it was the last thing she wanted, she moved to pull herself away. Her behavior had been inappropriate and she doubted that Tucker would relish the idea of continuing to hold her through the night. Truthfully, she did not trust herself to lie against him any longer.
His arm around her waist stopped her when she had put a few inches of distance between them. Tucker moved forward and pressed against her once more. This time the hardening of his erection was significantly more pronounced. He removed the arm from her waist and allowed her the opportunity to move away from him if she chose.
The knowledge that he wanted her shot straight to her core. Lydia moved her hips against him and smiled when she heard his low groan in response.
Lydia reached up and pressed her lips against his. It was as if she had released a great dam that had been holding back all of his control. Tucker threaded his fingers into her hair and rolled himself on top of her. She welcomed the weight of him against her.
If she had been asked to remember, she could not have told how they came to remove all of their clothing, only that she was relieved when it was gone. Their hands and mouths seemed to roam everywhere within reach, the urgency with which they grasped at each other revealing the true extent of the tension that had been building between them.
Tucker’s mouth traced a path further and further south until it came to rest against the growing heat between her legs. Lydia cried out in ecstasy as her hands curled into the sheets at her side.
She was panting and writhing when he finally returned to lie above her. Their mouths joined again as he slowly eased inside of her. There could be no words. Her mind was completely blank of all thought, her body reacting with instinct and passion. Lydia was his. There was something deep inside of her that knew it to be true from the moment their bodies connected; something different about this moment than any she had experienced before.
The following morning Lydia awoke on her stomach with her arms curled around a soft pillow. She could feel the heat from Tucker’s body pressed against her side, his arm and a leg slung over her. She could feel his fingers tracing gentle circles on her smooth, mocha arm.
“Your skin is so soft and luxurious,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder where her hair spilled over onto the bed. “I like it.” He hummed. Lydia rolled over and faced him.
The cell phone that rested on the nightstand between the beds began to ring. She wondered what time it was; she would have guessed that it was not long past daybreak.
He climbed from the bed to answer it. The conversation was short but gruff
. Lydia had learned enough about his tone to realize that he was not happy with what he was hearing. When he hung up, he flung the phone on his empty bed and cursed.
“What is it?” Lydia asked tentatively.
Tucker moved back to the edge of the bed and sat beside her.
“I need to ask you to do something,” He gritted his teeth. “and you aren’t to like it.”
Lydia sat up, pulling the sheet around her like a shawl.
“Tell me.” She placed a hand on his knee.
“We need you to draw Renaldo out of Monaco, where we have the support of the French military, and can take him into custody. There’s a cabin north of the border, where my team is waiting,” He shook his head and smoothed her hair, “We need to lead him there.”
Lydia’s heart sank. She was bait. Bait for the merciless Renaldo Jaquiennes and his band of criminals. They wanted her to lead him into a trap, but how could she guarantee its success? If the mission failed there would be no chance of convincing Renaldo that she was not a spy. If somehow they failed, Renaldo would kill her first. Tucker understood this. That was why he was so unhappy with the arrangement. However, he had trusted his team to find the best solution and this was what they had come up with. Was there really a choice? she wondered.
“I’ll do it.” She confirmed.
Tuckered grasped her shoulders; they were still tender from the cuts of the previous morning.
“You don’t have to.” He pulled her closer to him so that he could wrap his arms around her. “It’s going to be very dangerous. You don’t have to do this.”
“Is there another option?” she asked.
“Yes.” His short answer informed her that he did not care for that option either.
“What is it?”
“We can try to take Renaldo down here in Monaco, where he is strongest.” Lydia realized straight away that it would be a death mission.
