In the Air Tonight

by Stephanie Tyler

  The unfinished moments were simply hanging between them and she didn’t want any more loose ends. If she needed to leave this place, she had her answers about Gray, but she didn’t have the satisfaction of Mace’s body on hers.

  Mace, however, eyed her with the same trepidation he had the first night she’d entered the bar. Somehow, somewhere, they’d gone backward today.

  He was slick from the shower—the only thing keeping him from being exposed a thin towel tied low on his waist. Very low. Her eyes noted the light dusting of hair leading down below the towel.

  “You’re staring.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen it all before, being a nurse and all.”

  “You’d think.” Her fingers played with the buttons on her borrowed shirt absentmindedly, unbuttoning, seducing, praying it would work.

  Another button—he couldn’t tear his eyes away now and that was what she’d wanted from the second she stepped into the bar and laid eyes on him.

  “Paige …”

  “I like the way you say my name.” With the final button undone, she slid the big borrowed flannel shirt easily off her shoulders and let it drop to the ground. Her bra came next, too fast for him to think about protesting, thanks to the front clasp, and she could see by the strain on the front of his towel that nearly all protest had left him.

  But he waited, so still, watching to see if she’d go all the way. And yes, she would.

  She skimmed her stretch pants off, kicked them out of the way. She leaned in, letting her body press against his, even as she was careful to keep her hands off him.

  “Paige, I can’t.” But his arousal told her otherwise.

  “You can tie me up,” she murmured against his ear and his erection jutted against her belly as his breath quickened. “Do you like that, the idea of me all spread out and naked for you?”

  It was so easy to talk to him like that. She’d stirred him up, and these consequences she could easily live with.

  “Jesus, Paige—yeah, I want you like that.”

  “Then go ahead, finish what we started last night. Please.”

  He caught her wrists and her body surged. “Last night was a mistake. I shouldn’t have pushed you. You were upset and vulnerable and I—”

  “You owe me this,” she interrupted. “I want this.”

  “Gray asked me to protect you, not take advantage of you.”

  She wanted to wind her fingers through his damp hair and made fists instead. “You’re not.”

  “Giving you an orgasm isn’t protecting you. I’m not putting either of us in that position again.”

  He let go of her wrists and backed away. She felt her face flame. Bent to grab the shirt, slipped it on, buttoned a few buttons. “But you’ll put me in other compromising ones when it suits you, when it’s to your advantage, right?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Anger struck, pure and fierce, and more than partially because he was rejecting her. “For all I know, you told Caleb to touch me.”

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Because you want to know what happened that day as badly as I do!” she shouted and then lowered her voice again. “Admit it, you’re disappointed that I wasn’t able to help more.”

  “Do I want a clear-cut answer about Caleb? Sure, I can’t lie about that. Now we’re stuck in a worse kind of limbo than we were before, because Cael feels guilty about what he did to you, guilty about something he doesn’t even remember. So yes, I wish that his forcing you to touch him had yielded some goddamned answers, for all our sakes. And I’m sorry he put you through that. But I’m holding back to protect you because of what you said earlier—you asked how you were supposed to tell the difference between the men Caleb was ordered to kill in the line of duty and the men he wasn’t.”

  She nodded and his recognition grew. “You think touching me could be the same. Was touching me when you first got here the same?”

  “Yes,” she heard herself say. The surprise on his face was unmistakable—he recoiled slightly, the same way he had earlier, as if she’d actually pushed him. “You were so worried about hiding your secrets from me. It never crossed your mind that maybe I don’t want to know everything about you—what you’re thinking, what you’ve done. Maybe I’ll never be able to have any kind of true intimacy with anyone because I’ll always worry about invading their privacy during an act that pretty much requires touching. And I do want to touch you, Mace. Not to find out what’s in your head, but to make you feel good. I want to hug you and stroke you … feel your muscles under my palms. I want that. But what you do, the life you lead—just that brief touch the other night scared the hell out of me.”

  The look on his face told her everything. He hadn’t thought about it at all. And he shouldn’t have. “I scare you, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting me, does it?”

  She shouldn’t have hit him with all of this. She’d revealed far too much too soon. “I’m still so angry. Confused,” she said. Didn’t get how the chemistry between her and Mace continued to blossom like a hothouse flower under these circumstances, but the heat swelled inside of her as he took a step closer to her.

  “Join the club.”

  Her throat was tight. Mouth dry. “You’re full of secrets, Mace. I feel them, and I don’t have to be psychic to know that,” she said.

  He closed the gap between them. “What did you feel when you touched me?”

  Murder. Fear. Danger. “I don’t want to think about it. But that’s not the only thing I know about you.” She swallowed, wondered if it was too late to back out of this, because she’d pushed it way too far.

  “What else do you know, Paige?”

  “I know you used to sneak out the window of your old room,” she blurted out. “You thought of it as escaping. I felt your desperation to leave. Your pain.”

  His expression went tight. “I thought touching objects didn’t work that well with you.”

  “The window has a history embedded in it. Your emotions hang so heavily in that room. I couldn’t help it.”

  “Yeah, you could help it. You want to know, you don’t want to know. You can’t have it both ways, baby. Scared of the danger, yet that’s what you like about me. You know it’s there under the surface and you’re still here, wanting me. Wanting more. And I can’t do this now, Paige. I can’t. I’ve laid my job on the line for you—for Gray. That should be goddamned enough to satisfy you.”

  But it wasn’t, not by a long shot. She wasn’t sure why she needed him to ache as badly as she did, why she wanted to see him bleed, but she did. And so she pushed again, harder, fully aware of the consequences. “You were in the news once.”

  She swore the flash of anger in his eyes was strong enough to push her back a couple of steps. He didn’t say anything, though.

  He would.

  “You were scared a lot when you were younger. Passed around to a lot of people. Didn’t really have a home. And trust—I keep feeling the word, trust.”

  His fists tightened at his side. “How long have you known this shit about me?”

  “Since the first night we met—at my apartment.”

  “You didn’t touch me then.”

  “But I touched your knife.” She paused. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I thought it was Gray’s. I didn’t have to block out anything with him because I knew him so well.”

  “What else do you see?” he taunted. “If you touch my mattress, will you see the last woman I screwed?”

  “Maybe.”

  Reeling, he dug in his pocket and tossed the familiar black pocketknife—the same one she’d touched years ago—on the bed between them. “Go ahead. Take your time. Cop a feel.”

  She simply stared between it and him, unable to take him up on his dare.

  Mace took the small black penknife everywhere except on missions, because it reminded him of what he’d accomplished, what he’d been through. It wasn’t a talisman or a good luck charm. No
, it was more of a warning to himself, one he heeded on a regular basis.

  Don’t trust anyone.

  A few people had gotten in—he told himself that his team had out of simple necessity, but that was bullshit.

  He hadn’t let anyone else in beyond those few people. Made life much less complicated.

  He’d gotten that knife from one of the many men his mom let hang around their shitty motel room in whatever town or state they were living at the time.

  This guy claimed to be former military—Mace would later find out that wasn’t the truth at all—and he gave Mace the knife. Said he got it in combat.

  Said Mace could trust him.

  The next thing he remembered was a backhanded slam and a locked closet.

  He’d held that knife all night long, knowing he could use it to get the hell out of the space, knowing it was much easier to stay put, stay quiet and let the storm pass. He’d never seen that guy again, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up the knife.

  Paige continued to stare at its scarred black surface and he wondered if she was remembering what else she’d learned when she first touched it. Not that what she’d told him hadn’t been enough to turn his stomach.

  He didn’t like being vulnerable in front of anyone. In front of her, it made him feel helpless. And he hated that feeling most of all. “You’ve proven your point—we don’t trust each other,” he said finally.

  “I never said I didn’t trust you,” she shot back.

  “You’re just too scared to touch me. Right, big difference there.”

  “I didn’t come here to sleep with you.”

  “No, you came here to use me for information!” he roared. It was true, there was no way she could deny it—and she didn’t. “You got what you came for. Maybe you came for more than information, though. Maybe you came here hoping I didn’t know about your gift.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” she protested, but he ignored her, continued walking to her like a predatory animal stalking his prey.

  “So now, tonight, you want us to use each other. I just want to make it clear. That’s your intention, so we don’t end up with any crossed wires.”

  They would end up with far more than that, but her needs were too far gone for her to argue any further.

  “I want you, yes.”

  “So if it’s all about—or only about—sex, then why should I bother fighting it,” he asked, caught her arms and held both her wrists behind her back in one of his hands. “Besides, I think you like it this way, like to be tied and helpless. It’s easier to avoid the guilt of wanting me so badly. This takes away your choice.”

  God, there was so much truth in what he said, no matter how much she denied it. Fighting Mace’s grip would do no good and yet she struggled anyway.

  He ground his pelvis against her. “Feels better when you fight, doesn’t it?”

  A low moan escaped from her throat, even as she flushed.

  “You don’t have to pretend anymore, baby. You want it hot and rough, you’ve got it.” His mouth caught hers in a punishing kiss, one that threatened to take the breath from both of them, more a fight than anything—and so appropriate between them right now. Push and pull and he didn’t know who would win this round. All he knew was that he was prepared for the battle.

  He took his mouth off hers, satisfied when he heard her protest.

  He eased back from her slightly. She’d only put on her shirt loosely, remained bare otherwise, and he easily reopened the few buttons she’d managed by ripping each one off.

  She drew sharp breaths as each gave way and clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent space. And then he drew her bare chest to his, because it was way too late to stop any of this.

  He kissed her again and again as he continued to grind against her until his towel dropped and his cock made contact with her sex and he nearly lost it. Wanted to push her down and drive into her until she was incoherent and blind with wanting him.

  But he would make her beg for it this time, no matter how badly he wanted to move fast.

  A knee went between her legs, spread her thighs without finesse. She nearly lost her balance but he had her firmly wedged against him—and within seconds she was on the bed under him. Pinned.

  She gazed up at him with wide eyes, her mouth swollen from his kisses. He took a nipple in between his finger and thumb and rolled the tip back and forth until she arched into him, and then he did the same to the other.

  “I want you to tie me so there’s no way out,” she whispered.

  “Not a problem.” Using his flannel shirt—the one she’d been wearing—he tied her just as she’d requested.

  She struggled briefly, perfunctorily, until he took a nipple into his mouth, tonguing the velvet nub into steel, hearing her cry out above him.

  It was a cry of pleasure, of that he was certain.

  He would pleasure the hell out of both of them, leave her wrung out and exhausted … and wanting more.

  He gave her one final out. “Do you want me to stop, Paige? This is your last chance, because after this, there’s really no way out.”

  She shook her head as if she didn’t trust her voice.

  Since touching her wasn’t out of bounds, he made sure his hands, his mouth were everywhere on her skin, until she didn’t know where she’d feel a touch or a tongue next. She was writhing under him, and he’d never felt more like banging his chest and howling than he did at this moment. Because he could handle everything about her. Never felt more like claiming and marking, and he did, leaving red marks on her beautiful skin.

  The marks would fade. How he felt? He didn’t think there was a chance in hell.

  He could be fucking everything up tonight by doing this—but the thought of not taking her wasn’t an option.

  When he first flipped her over onto her stomach, she gasped. Then his fingers found her core—and then his mouth, hot and wet to the lips of her sex, and she shifted to give him better access … and practically screamed.

  His tongue speared her, then flicked the swollen nub of her clit as he slid a finger inside her, and then another, until she was rocking back into them. Begging him for more. Asking him to fill her, and he almost lost it, had to pull away and get back a small semblance of control.

  He was safe because her hands were tied—and so was she. He wasn’t happy about that at all, but he was hard as hell. And he needed to be inside of her.

  The swell of her ass, perfect, heart-shaped and lifted in the air, her sex, wet and ready for him, nearly drove him over the edge.

  His cock twitched as he stroked it along her folds. She pushed back as if she could capture it, but he didn’t allow that for long. Teased her until she was nearly sobbing and only then did he enter her, a long, slow stroke until he was inside her so deeply, it made him shudder.

  He laid his body over hers, and he began to rock in earnest.

  He would not lose control before she did.

  But it wouldn’t be easy—her moans filled the air around him, incoherent words he didn’t need to understand. It didn’t matter. He’d brought her right to the edge and now he would push her over.

  And only then would he let himself follow.

  ——

  Paige spread her legs farther, arched her back to allow Mace complete access to her. Pleasure radiated through her womb, a tightening sensation that begged for release … and then began to burst in a steady spiral of intense contractions that radiated through her sex.

  She turned her head, to find Mace watching her intently. His face was flushed, his eyes glazed.

  Her legs trembled from exertion, but he wasn’t letting her off the hook. His hands were firm on her hips, controlling her movements.

  She wanted it faster. Harder. He had his own ideas, was totally in charge unless she told him to stop.

  She had no intention of doing so. Instead, she gripped the sheets so hard they pulled off the mattress. The bonds on her wrists remained firm, but stret
ched to their limits as he took her.

  She’d invaded his privacy, he was invading hers, claiming every part of her with hands and mouth and cock, thick and long and as beautiful as the rest of this rugged man who had her bent and at his mercy.

  And yet, somehow, gentleness pervaded above all else. He wasn’t taking her to the point of pain. Not even close. This was his way of torturing her, ensuring her nerve endings were on sizzle, even as he turned up the flame.

  It was what she wanted, to be taken so she wouldn’t have to think—she wanted the sex to block out everything else.

  Sex with Mace was both peaceful and rowdy. Off the charts hot.

  “Spread your legs wider, baby,” Mace urged, and she did as he requested.

  Pleasure rocketed through her until spots swam in front of her eyes. She was vaguely aware that she’d collapsed against the sheets, with Mace partially inside of her.

  He was still hard. His body covered hers—they were both sweat-slicked, breathing hard.

  When he turned her over onto her back and entered her again with one long, hard stroke, there was nothing left to say, except …

  “Make me come again, Mace. Please.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice.

  After he apologized to Paige, Caleb stayed downstairs in the bar area, avoiding the inevitability of seeing Vivi as long as possible.

  Goddamned coward.

  And still, that hadn’t stopped him from sitting in the office with his sketchbook, drawing the same two men over and over again.

  As he’d been doing over the past months, he’d sketched the faces so they appeared … fuzzier. Almost like they were distorted somehow, which was odd since all the earlier pictures of their faces were crystal clear, the features sharp and sure.

  He stared down at the recent, muted sketch until his head hurt. Paged back through until he got to the pictures of Vivi.

  He’d been right on the money, down to the hair, the way her lips parted as she worked on the computer. The way she looked back at him as if she could see right through him, both on the paper and in person.