I’m dangerously close to the precipice—not of my climax, but of going from “I’m falling in love with her” to “I’m completely, totally, hopelessly in love with her.”
Moving my hips slowly, I watch Sloane’s face for any sign of pain, but she’s staring back at me with such intensity, need, and honest-to-God wonder that I take a risk and thrust harder.
“Again.” Her swollen lips are so easy to read, or maybe that’s her heart speaking directly to mine. “Harder.”
If I do what she asks, I’ll come in under a minute, and I balance on my left arm, ignoring the sparks racing up my shoulder so I can capture a lock of her hair in my fingers. “I want this to last,” I manage before I kiss her again.
She tastes of both of us, and the room is filled with our combined scents. Not only arousal, but her lotion, my cologne, the unique, fresh as rain fragrance that always surrounds her.
Reaching for me, she digs her fingers into my ass cheeks, hard enough she’ll probably leave bruises, but I don’t care. I rock my hips faster, and she joins me, matching my rhythm until we’re moving as one.
I’m so close, but from the way her channel grips me harder, so is she. My fingers skate over her hip, down to our union where her slick heat intensifies. Her clit practically begs to be touched, and when I circle the tight nub, she cries out into our kiss, loud enough the sound registers just as she implodes, and I let myself go with her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sloane
Griff held me all night, and none of my nightmares come for me when he’s close.
Lying still so I don’t wake him, I marvel over the events of the past twenty-four hours.
I had sex. I enjoyed having sex.
The word seems too plain for what we did, but I’ve always hated the term “making love,” as if you could manufacture those feelings through penetration alone. I know for a fact: you can’t.
Afterwards, we soaked in the large, jetted tub for almost an hour, and that experience was every bit as intimate as our more…vigorous activities.
He didn’t hide from me. Didn’t turn to keep his arm out of my line of sight. Even put his glasses on so we could still talk while I leaned against him.
“I know you’re awake,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. “Roll over?”
I do, and he traces my cheek with a knuckle. “How do you feel?”
The uncertainty written all over his face hurts my heart. “Griff, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His shoulders tense, and he’s about to sit up when I rest my fingers on what remains of his left arm.
“Worry? I’m not a broken vase held together by bubble gum and a prayer.” Shifting my legs under the sheet, I smile. “I’m a little sore. But not in a bad way.” Relief smooths out the furrow between his brows, and I reach for him, my fingers curling over his hip. “There’s nothing on the schedule today. Marina said something about massages, and I probably should spend some time with her. One-on-one. This was supposed to be our ‘girls’ weekend. Amid all the parties and work, anyway. But…”
How do I tell him I don’t want to leave his side if he’s not coming home to San Diego with me? That I’m scared what’s going to happen when we break this magic bubble of the fancy resort and the very obvious danger following me everywhere.
I don’t realize I’m chewing on my lip until he brushes his thumb over my mouth. “Relax, sweetheart. As long as you let me check out the spa first—make sure there aren’t any hidden entrances or places someone could get to you—spend as much time with Marina as you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
Swallowing hard, I screw up the courage to just ask. “Tomorrow? When I’m supposed to fly home? You’re not going back to Virginia?”
“Until we know the threat’s neutralized, you’re stuck with me.” He grins, but my heart cracks in two. “Sloane? What did I say?”
“What about after?” I’m not proud of how weak my voice is. And for the first time, I wish Griff could hear it. I don’t know how to tell him what he means to me.
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Sloane. I didn’t think.” He sits up, starts to reach for me, and then drops his left arm with a heavy sigh. “Dammit. I can’t even hold you properly.” The raw emotion bleeds through his tone and he shuts down like a switch flipped. “I need a minute.”
“Griff!” But he’s already out of bed and striding for the bathroom. He’s not wearing his glasses and all I can do is watch as he shuts the door without a backward glance.
Five minutes later, when he hasn’t emerged and I’m close to tears, I shrug into the velvet and silk robe, belt it tightly, and flee into the main room. Thank God. Marina’s already up and the rich scent of coffee fills the space.
She doesn’t say a word as I pour myself a cup and stare out the french doors to the lake.
“What did he do?” she asks. “Because I can call Clive’s mom right now. Well, okay. Maybe not right now. It’s like 4:00 a.m. in Boston and she’s in her seventies.”
“Nothing.” If I tell her, I’ll end up bawling, and then I’ll look like I got punched in the face. Again. There’s only so much makeup can do, and there’ll be a red carpet for tonight’s gala. My life is enough of a disaster as it is. I don’t need more rumors about my love life, my weight, my face, my mental health…
“Bullshit.” Marina pushes up from the couch and stands directly in front of me. She’s a good four inches shorter than I am, and clears her throat when I don’t immediately look at her. “Sloane.”
With a huff, I try to side step her, but she moves with me. “Fine. I asked him what was going to happen after he and his team found Dimitri and I wasn’t in danger anymore, and he said, ‘fuck,’ then locked himself in the bathroom.”
“What?” She stares at the closed bedroom door like she can shoot daggers out of her eyes, and if anyone could, it’d be Marina. “Is he naked? Because I don’t think I could handle all those muscles naked. But if he’s not, I’m going to bust in there and—”
“Sloane.” Griff’s deep voice silences Marina mid-rant, but I don’t turn until he’s at my side, clad in one of the hotel robes with the belt tied crookedly and not very effectively around his waist. “I said a minute. I know it was a hell of a lot closer to ten. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Taking a sip of coffee to hide the wobble in my lower lip, I focus on the serene, shimmering waters of Lake Zurich and try to ignore how the most perfect night of my life turned to ruins in the light of day. “You’ll stay with me until I’m safe, then go back to your life.”
“Fuck no.” He hasn’t touched me, and when I finally do face him, his right hand is clenched into a fist and his knuckles are bone white. “I’m shit at expressing my feelings. I’ve gone through three shrinks in the past eight months because they keep telling me they can’t help if I’m not honest with them. I lost my goddamn arm, can’t hear a thing unless it’s loud as fuck, and some days, the only thing that gets me out of bed? Needing to take a piss.”
Marina backs away, shutting the door to her room quietly while Griff’s pleading gaze bores into me.
“I’m fucked up, Sloane. Not just my body. My head too. You shouldn’t want to be with me.”
I start to protest, but he shakes his head.
“Let me finish before I say something stupid—again—and hurt you. When I said I needed a minute, it was because I didn’t know how to tell you that even when my life feels like it’s falling apart, when I can’t do something as fucking simple as holding you with both arms or tying this stupid belt, you make me feel whole. I’m not leaving you, Sloane. Not unless you ask me to. You’re all I’ve ever wanted in this world and so much more than I deserve.”
The moment I reach for him, he breaks, crushing me to his chest as I wrap my arms around his waist. Sobs wrack his body, the hoarse sounds pure, raw agony. We stay locked together for so long, I expect Marina to sneak back in the room for more coffee.
“Griff? Look at me.” His entire bod
y shudders as he takes a deep breath, and I draw back so he can see my face. I don’t want him to read my words on his glasses. Tapping the right temple twice, I smile up at him. “Are they off?”
“You remembered.” With a nod, he loosens his death grip on my waist. “They’re off.”
“Good.” Taking his hand, I lead him over to the french doors, unlock them—which requires me to release him to unwind a very thick rubber band from around the two handles. “What the heck is this?”
“A precaution. Can’t do much about the glass being easy to break, but those locks could be picked in under a minute. With the band, you’d probably hear someone breaking in. There’s another one around the doors in our room.”
Our room.
We’re both barefoot, but I gesture for him to follow me out to the balcony. The cool, crisp November air makes my skin prickle, but I haven’t once seen Griff in the sun, and I need to feel free for the rest of this conversation.
He takes off his glasses and drops them into his pocket. But the motion is too much for the loosely tied belt, and he curses under his breath as he holds the robe closed.
“Let me help.”
From the tension rolling off him in waves, he doesn’t like the idea.
“If this is going to work—us—you can’t choose when and when not to trust me. It’s all or nothing.” Griff drops his arm with a sigh. After I secure the belt, I rest my hands on his shoulders. “You’ve kept me sane from the moment we met. Protected me. And you never judged me. You charmed the Beauty and Style executives last night, handled the press when I couldn’t, and most of all, you showed me what it means to be…loved. You aren’t broken. No more than I am.”
“Sloane, you’re perfect,” he says, and I laugh.
“I’d never had sex before last night. I’m thirty-five years old, and I’d never had…never…come before. You’re the only one who knows my real name—other than Dimitri and, I suppose, your team now.” My cheeks warm, the sun intensifying the flush from my secret shame.
“I haven’t told them. Though, as good as they are, they might have figured it out.” The man I’m falling in love with is back with me, no longer a shell, though his pain lingers just under his skin, in his eyes and the set of his jaw. At my shock, he shrugs. “It wouldn’t help us find Volkov. He paid off his parole officer—or someone in law enforcement—and got himself a fake ID so he could leave the country. A man like that isn’t going to put an ad in the paper asking if anyone has information on Sophiana Lebdev.”
Hearing Griff say my name—my real name—stirs something in my soul. I’m not Sophiana any longer. And even though I could take back my name if—when—Dimitri is no longer a threat, I don’t want to.
“Thank you.” Reaching up, I cup his cheek, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment. “Come have coffee. I’ll order breakfast. If you’re feeling adventurous, you can try some of my green smoothie.”
His chuckle puts us on solid ground again. We’re not done. I’m not sure we’ll ever be done reassuring one another. But maybe two broken souls can fit together and make each other whole.
Griff
One sip of Sloane’s smoothie and I slide my plate across the table to her. “Eat something real. That shit tastes like wheatgrass and spinach and the death of all hope in this world.”
She laughs so hard, she snorts a little bit of the green liquid out her nose, and my glasses pick up a couple of very colorful curse words. “Don’t do that to me! And I am not eating hash browns and bacon.” With a final, longing look, she nudges the plate back toward me, then adds, “Until tomorrow. Tomorrow I can eat whatever I want.”
“My flight is at 5:00 p.m.,” Marina says as she polishes off her croissant. “You’re not flying back through New York, right?”
Reaching for Sloane’s hand, I link our fingers and squeeze gently. “We might stay until Monday. It’ll give my team time to upgrade her home security system and find us seats together all the way to San Diego.”
“Someone’s going to be in my house?” Sloane asks.
Shit.
“I…uh. I should have told you. When you ordered breakfast, I asked Austin to set things up. Hidden Agenda—that’s the firm out in Seattle—partners with the best home security firm in the country. No one’s breaking in ever again.”
And if they try? I’ll be there to stop them.
Sloane chews on her lip, and Marina shoots me a look that says, “You’re being a dumbass.”
“Fuck, Sloane. If you want to wait until we get back to San Diego, I’ll call Austin back right now.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re right. Better to have the work done while I’m gone. But…won’t they need my keys?”
I pause with a forkful of hash browns halfway to my mouth. “No, sweetheart. They don’t need your key. And they’re discrete.” At her wide eyes, I realize there’s a lot about my life and my work I haven’t told Sloane, and if I expect her to trust me—to love me—I can’t keep secrets from her anymore.
Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, “Are you okay staying here one more night? We could see more of Zurich. Have that real vacation you wanted?”
Sloane’s eyes shimmer with tears, but they’re not from fear or shame. No, that’s pure joy in the brown depths. “I’d love that. If it’s safe.”
“I’ll keep you safe, sweetheart. On my life, I’ll keep you safe.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sloane
The past three hours were exactly what I needed. Even if I spent the first thirty minutes constantly checking the treatment room doors. Marina chided me more than once, but she doesn’t know Dimitri. He was quiet all day yesterday, and that makes me nervous.
After our body scrubs and mud baths—ew, but Marina insisted—Jacob comes to escort her back to her room.
“Be careful,” I say, giving her a tight hug.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m going up to the room, then to the makeup and hair station on the second floor to help any of the models who want a professional look for tonight. That’s it. And Mr. British Shadow will be there the whole time.”
“I know. But I worry. I can’t help it.” Shit. Once Marina leaves tomorrow, she’ll be unprotected, and my heart starts racing until Griff pushes through the door to the spa’s reception area. He spent the morning rubbing his left shoulder, and I convinced him to join me for a massage.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he mutters in my ear when we embrace. “I am not getting naked.”
He’s so worried about not being able to protect me, he insisted on knowing the names of the two therapists who would be working on us so his people could run a thorough background check.
Griff refuses to use the locker rooms to change into a robe, but accompanies me into the couple’s massage room, locks the door, and kisses me. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea. It’s hard for me to protect you without my prosthetic—or a weapon—but I did fantasize about doing this with you that first night.”
“Oh, now the truth comes out!” Laughing, I strip him of his t-shirt and run my hands over his muscled chest. “You took every precaution. It’s fifty minutes. Telling the staff you were worried about the press forcing their way in here was brilliant.”
I shed my wrap, and Griff makes an appreciative, low growl as his gaze roves over my body. “Before the party, I want you, Sloane. If you’re not too sore.”
The blush starts at my belly and spreads all the way to my neck and cheeks in seconds. “I’m not.”
“Good.” The glint in his eyes dims. “I can’t wear my glasses for this. I won’t hear the masseuse if they ask me anything.”
“Just keep your eyes on me. I can repeat anything. Or try to sign, if it’s a simple question.” Cupping his cheek, I smile. “It’ll be okay.”
“You should be able to relax,” he protests.
“I’ll relax. Staring at you for the next hour? Totally not a hardship.” Winking, I get under the sheet. “Ready whenever you are.
”
Griff unlocks the door to find the two massage therapists—a man and a woman—waiting outside in the hall. As soon as they enter, he clears his throat. “The front desk assured me we could keep the door locked. The press have been hounding Ms. Sanders this whole weekend.”
“Of course, Mr. Griffin,” the man says. “I am Francois and this is Orna. What would you both like out of this session?”
Griff sinks onto the table next to mine and rubs his left shoulder. “I wear a prosthetic. Stay away from everything below my left deltoid. If my arm swells, I can be in a world of hurt. Back, neck, and shoulders are all fair game. I’m also mostly deaf, but I read lips. If you need to talk to me during the session, Ms. Sanders will either repeat whatever you say or she’ll sign.”
“Very well. Lie on your stomach.”
After Orna goes over my preferences, Griff and I face one another, and after the first ten minutes or so, I think he starts to relax. The change in his face is so breathtaking. Enough so, I want to draw him again. To memorize this moment. I’m still terrified about what will happen tomorrow, the next day, the next week, but at least for one afternoon, everything is as perfect as it can be.
Griff
The massage was so amazing, I dread having to put my prosthetic back on. My shoulders and neck haven’t been this loose and pain free in months. But I can’t protect Sloane with only one arm.
I have at least another two hours before I have to don the monstrosity, and Marina ordered a spread of fresh fruit, nuts, and sparkling cider so we relax on the couch, Sloane leaning against my chest. Until my watch and phone vibrate in the distinctive pattern I created for Austin.
Propping my tablet up on the table, I answer the call. “You’re on speaker. Sloane’s with me.”
“Good. I’m conferencing Ripper in.”
“Ripper?” Sloane asks.
“His nickname. Call sign, really. From the Special Forces. He and Wren are experts on the dark web. And…well, finding information. About anything.”
Rogue Officer: A Protector Romantic Suspense Standalone (Gone Rogue) Page 22
