by Elise Faber
And fuck that.
I dropped my head and kissed her again, still tempering my need, because even though I wanted her quite desperately, I knew I needed to be gentle. But even gentle, it was still the best damned kiss of my life. Her tongue was sure and steady, and it danced with mine. Her hands kneaded my shoulders, nails pricking through the fabric of my shirt. Her moan rumbled up in her chest, vibrated across our mouths, and I swallowed it whole, taking it into me, taking a piece of her into me.
And knowing I would never be the same.
This time when we broke apart, my heart was pounding, my fingers were gripping her ass tightly enough that I had to consciously force them to gentle their hold, and the hand on the wall . . . hell, I expected it to have drilled a hole in the wall, considering how tightly it was pressed to the reinforced concrete.
The wall was intact, however.
My control, on the other hand, was tenuous.
“Those fucking sweatpants,” I whispered hotly in her ear. “I’ve seen you wear them around before, you know.”
She shook her head.
“They cup your ass like heaven,” I said, the words a tempest, swirling around me, lightning strikes in the air, “and I swear to Christ that I’ve dreamed more times than I should have about picking you up, yanking them down, and plunging home. I can imagine how tight you’d feel, how hot you’d be.” I nipped at her throat. “I wouldn’t have to be gentle. I could ride you as hard you’d like. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I breathed into her ear, feeling her shiver, her body shift closer. “Would like me to fuck you hard, until you screamed my name, until you came around my dick?”
“I—I—”
“Come on, Pops,” I said, flicking my tongue out, allowing me a taste of the spicy female scent. “You can do better than that.”
She shoved me back. “Fuck off, Linc.”
I nipped. “No, I’d rather fuck you.”
A laugh, only slightly brittle. “Except, you won’t, will you? You may want me, but you won’t ever act on it—”
“No,” I snapped, pushing back and holding the scorching heat of her gaze. “I won’t act on it tonight. Because you had a gaping wound in your stomach a fucking week ago. Because you nearly died, and because you don’t need me to be pounding into you when you have multiple layers of stitches in your body.” I grabbed her arm when she tried to slip by me. “So, no, I won’t fuck you tonight.”
Her lips parted; her color was high.
I bent until our gazes were even. “But I will be fucking you, and I’ll be doing it soon.”
Chapter Seven
KTS Satellite Base
Western Georgia
03:59hrs
Olive
“Now,” he said, taking my hand. “Let’s go take that fucking walk.”
I was still reeling from the dirty talk.
Because . . . dirty talk?
Who knew this man had it in him?
I couldn’t summon my voice until we were out in the hall, until Linc was towing me away from the infirmary. “You really like when I wear sweats?” I asked.
And really? That was the only thing I managed to blurt out?
You like my sweats?
Gah. It was ridiculous.
But my question was barely out of my lips before I found myself pressed to another wall, his body against every inch of mine—or at least, almost every inch. Because he took care to not press against my still-healing wound, to not jostle me any more than necessary, and fuck that melted me into goo. I knew exactly how strong he was, knew what he could do with that body, and yet he was treating me with gentle care.
This man could kill. Easily.
I’d seen it on missions, when our teams had worked together.
He was skilled in hand-to-hand combat. He was strong. He was . . . staring deeply into my eyes and clearing his throat. “Focus, Pop.”
I frowned. That was the second time today he’d called me that.
But I had to prioritize here. I wanted him to answer my question. “They’re just boring gray cotton,” I whispered.
A wicked gleam in his eyes, his mouth curving into a sexy smile that actually made my heart skip a beat. “Did you know that gray cotton goes see-through when you bend over?”
I gasped, hands instinctively going to my ass, covering the cheeks. “They don’t!”
That wicked gleam intensified. “Oh, no, but they do.”
My mouth opened and closed. “But why didn’t you ever say anything? Why did you—”
“I think my favorite pair of your underwear are the red lacey ones with the cheeky little peek-a-boo.”
Cheeks flaring—and not the ones he was referring to—I let my stare drift away, looking over his shoulder because . . . oh my God, this was so critically embarrassing.
“I remember the first time I saw them.” He laughed. “Fuck, but I practically chased you down the hall and begged you for a glimpse of them without the sweats in the way.”
My eyes went back to his. “How many times—?”
I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question.
But he knew what I was asking anyway.
“How many times have I seen your panties, Pop?” He tapped a finger to his lips, eyes dancing, then leaned forward and brought his mouth to my ear, his hot breath making me shiver again. “Well, as much as I love the red lace, I do also have a fondness for the butterflies. Oh, and the tiny ones with printed unicorns and the bright pink ones with turquoise bands. Oh and—”
I slapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue listing my entire underwear collection.
And to be frank, it wasn’t like I had that many more for him to rattle off.
Lips pressing to my skin, he peeled my hand away and pushed off me. Before I could process the sudden disappointment of losing his body, of wanting him back against me, he was lacing our fingers together and tugging me forward again. “Let’s walk, Pop,” he said.
“Why the fuck do you keep calling me, Pop?”
“Did you ever notice that when you’re distracted, you’re more likely to curse?”
I frowned. “What?”
“It’s true,” he said, leading me around a corner. “I first noticed it when you’d be working on a case that required your full attention. All of a sudden, the f-bombs would be pouring out like water.” He brushed his thumb on my wrist, back and forth, back and forth, and goose bumps traveled up my arm, making the skin on my nape prickle and tingle.
I snatched it free. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Precisely, Pop.”
A sigh. A deep, heavy sigh that had my stitches protesting. “You’re not going to tell me why you call me that, are you?”
A beat.
Then, “Nope.”
My teeth weren’t grinding together. They weren’t. They . . . were. Not that it mattered. This man was stubborn enough that it wouldn’t matter if I continued pressing him. I knew from personal experience, he would just dig in his heels and I would never find out why in the hell he was referring to me like a child might refer to their old and wizened grandfather.
Lame.
“Where are we going?”
“A room.”
I sighed again.
“Did you know that you make a little growling sound every time you sigh like that?” He took my hand, wove our fingers together again. “It’s like a tiny, cute, little kitten snarling at me. I can’t help but smile every time you do it.”
Now I really snarled. “You know what?” I snatched my hand free. “I’m going back to bed.”
“But then you’ll never find out why I call you Pop.”
“You’ll never fucking tell me anyway,” I snapped.
His lips found mine for a searing kiss that took my breath away, that made my head spin, that had my body drifting against his. Then he lifted his mouth and took my hand again. “You also curse more when you’re irritated at me.”
I blinked, shook
my head to clear it. “That’s because you can be really fucking annoying.”
Linc just laughed, long and loud, and I couldn’t deny that it filled me with warmth. Just the smallest amount, because I wasn’t a total weakling, but warmth nonetheless, and enough of it that I was towed forward again, until we stopped at a room I hadn’t ever been inside. “Do you still want to go back to bed?” he asked, brushing his fingers along my cheek.
“Why?”
“Because we’re here.”
I glanced at the nondescript door again. “Where’s here?”
“Here is . . .”
Then he opened the door and I swear, I fell a little in love with him right then.
Chapter Eight
KTS Satellite Base
Western Georgia
04:12hrs
Linc
One look at her face, and I knew I’d done the right thing in bringing her here.
She walked in through the door I’d opened, her mouth dropping open, her eyes going wide. “I—” A shake of her head. “How did you know this was here?”
I shrugged. “I’ve spent a lot of time on this satellite base.”
“Well, I haven’t,” she whispered. “This is amazing.” She crossed over to one of the shelves, running her fingers along the spines of the books stacked upon them. One after another, she walked around the small library and looked at every shelf, rising on tiptoe and bending over enough times that I had to bite back an order for her to just pick a fucking book and sit down.
I knew she was healing rapidly, that the bandage she’d invented was helping with that process, but I was still itching to protect her—even if that just meant ensuring she got enough rest.
Finally, I couldn’t hold that protectiveness back any further. I crossed to her, practically dragged her to the chair, and pushed her down into it. “You tell me which book you want, and I’ll grab it for you.”
Blue eyes on mine, warmth in their depths. “How did you know I like to read?”
I wanted to tell her that I knew so fucking much about her, that I’d been filing away every detail about her for several years now. But I refrained and simply said, “You’ve always got some paperback or another in hand.”
She smiled, and I would fucking swear that my heart skipped a beat.
I cleared my throat, turned away.
It was either that or launch myself at her, tear off her clothes, and make her and me both very, very happy. But, since that wasn’t an option at the moment, I needed to find some fucking control.
Fast.
“Mystery?” I asked, crossing to that shelf and pulling out a title I recognized. “I’ve read this one and enjoyed it.”
Silence.
I glanced over my shoulder, saw that she was studying me closely. “What?”
She shook her head.
“Do you want to try this one?”
Another shake of that head.
“No mystery?”
She shrugged.
“What’s that mean?”
A slow smile and another shrug, and since I had never seen this woman not have a slew of words or preparing to hurl them in my direction, I started to understand that something very fishy was going on here. I slipped the book back into its proper spot, crossed back to her, crouching down to rest my hands on her knees. Her lips parted, a nearly silent exhale filling the air as I moved my hands gently up and down.
“Baby,” I whispered. “What do you want to read?”
Her pupils were huge, her lips slightly swollen from our kisses, but the most beautiful part of her was the expression in her eyes—warmth and humor, frolicking around, their arms thrown around each other. Then she smiled, leaned forward slightly, and mischief joined the party. “Why don’t you see if you can guess correctly?”
I bent toward her until our mouths were almost touching, until I could feel the damp warmth of her breath on my lips. “What do I get if I do?”
Fire licking at the edges of her blue eyes, pink tinging her cheeks, her breaths increasing. “Is that what this is about?” A raised eyebrow. “Tit for tat?”
Another lean, this time moving closer until my lips brushed hers as I spoke. “You said tit.”
She froze. Then leaned back and glared at me, her second brow joining the first. “Seriously?”
I tugged a lock of her long brown hair. “Yup. Plus, I happen to like your tits, so you’ve got that going for you.”
She swatted at me, but I was already dancing back.
“All right,” I said, perusing the shelves, scanning the titles as I put together my plan, however devious it might turn out to be. All was fair in love and war, right? And I intended to win this particular war. Olive was mine.
Even if she didn’t know it.
“All right, what?”
“All right, I’ll see if I can guess correctly.” I turned to face her, leaning against the wall. “But we need to set some parameters first.”
She groaned. “God, not you and your fucking parameters.”
I grinned. “Last I checked, you seemed to love to do battle with me and my parameters.”
“Only because you have a million of them. And that should be fucking hyperbole, but it’s not. Because I swear to fucking God that every single project we work on together, it’s always, We need to consider this angle and We can’t move forward until we account for all of these variables.” She tossed up her hands. “You’d talk and plan and consider until the day you died if I didn’t push you to act.”
That was true in some aspects.
I did plan and plot, sometimes to an extreme degree.
But that planning and plotting were going to be to her benefit. Because I was going to win this woman over, and we were going to be blissfully happy together, dammit.
I also knew that the cursing told me she was distracted.
By what though?
Surreptitiously, I glanced around the small room, noting that nothing was out of place. Next, I made sure she was okay. She didn’t look uncomfortable or cold, at least not in that moment. Instead, her color was high, and her eyes were locked on . . . my stare flicked down, and I saw my shirt had lifted, revealing a strip of my abdomen.
I bit back a grin.
All right then.
I could work with that.
Shifting so the gap widened, I slipped my thumbs into the pockets of my jeans, knowing the weight would draw the waistband down slightly.
The pink tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip.
Her gaze was heavy, an almost tangible stroke across my skin.
My cock twitched, my control slipped, and I knew I couldn’t play this game any longer, not if I wanted to keep my plan in place. Clearing my throat as I straightened, my hands slipping free, my shirt and jeans shifting back into place—I probably looked like the most fidgety teenager of all time—I said, “Okay, well, my parameters for this little guessing game of yours are as follows—and let it be noted that I will be open to your changes and additions after I’ve laid them out—”
“Oh, my God,” she groaned, making me lose my battle with my smile. “This isn’t a policy discussion.”
No. It was more than that.
It was the first step to winning her heart.
So, one might say it was the most important policy discussion of my life.
“One,” I said, ignoring her groaning. “I’ll have three guesses. Two,” I added louder when she didn’t immediately stop with the grousing, “if I guess correctly, then you’ll grant me one ask.”
“What do you mean by ask?”
A shrug. “I mean, I’ll ask you a question, and you’ll answer it truthfully.”
She made a face. “I can’t commit to that without knowing the question.”
“Uh-hum. No changes or additions until I’ve laid out my considerations, remember?” I said, instead of committing to that.
Her mouth gaped. “You have more?”
“Just one more,” I said then clear
ed my throat again, as though I were issuing a very important proclamation . . . and I supposed I was. “Three, you’ll agree to go on a date with me, on a day, time, and at a location of my choosing.”
Silence. Then a question in a very formal tone to match mine. “Is that your last condition?”
I nodded, still serious. “Yup, just those three.”
Her finger lifted, tapping her chin, and I just watched her, mesmerized by the way the lights shining overhead made her dark hair shimmer and shine, turned her skin golden and tempting, like a shining statue I was desperate to run my fingers over. But then the statue moved, shifting in that graceful, sinuous way of hers, and it was impossible to fully comprehend this living, breathing beauty with the stillness she embodied at times. How could she be both so full of life and yet still so even, so quiet, so self-contained?
Except with me.
I seemed to manage to get under her skin.
A card I was duty-bound to play.
Because I was playing for keeps.
Finally, she seemed to come to a decision, shifting again in the chair, and I didn’t miss her wince.
A blip of worry. “Are you uncomfortable?” I glanced around the library, spotted a basket of throw pillows and blankets and grabbed one of each. “Do you want this behind your back? Are you cold?” Fingers circling my wrist, halting my flow of questions, one hand taking the pillow and shifting so she could tuck it behind her back. I spread the blanket over her legs, crouched down again, well aware that she could have been a queen and me her subject kneeling at her feet.
But I didn’t care.
Because when I finished smoothing the blanket, she cupped my cheek. “I’ll agree to the three guesses. I’ll agree to consider answering the question.” I parted my lips, ready to protest, and she smiled, shook her head. “My turn for parameters, remember?”
I made a face. “I remember.”
Her laughter—never soft and tinkling, but full-bodied and strong—coated my skin like honey, sticking to my limbs, seeping inside, filling my heart with joy that matched hers.
“You’ll listen?”
More face-making. “If I have to.”
