Combustion: Ensenada Heat Book Two

by Tess Summers

  He spoke first.

  “What did you want to be when you were little?”

  She wasn’t expecting the question, which seemed to come from out of the blue, but answered without much thought.

  “A school nurse, until I realized needles made me queasy. Our school nurse, Mrs. Feutz, always made sure Keni and I had eaten breakfast, and would bring us clothes when she’d notice one of our three outfits getting threadbare. She was the one who taught me how to use a washing machine and microwave and would slip food in my backpack on Fridays so I had something to eat on the weekends. She was my version of Mother Teresa. I don’t know if I would have survived childhood without her. I owe her a debt of gratitude that I hope to be able to repay someday. I try to pay it forward whenever I can, you know? But I could never hope to make as big an impact on someone’s life as she did mine.”

  She looked up at his somber face as he digested what she’d just shared. “What about you? What did you want to be?”

  “Nothing as altruistic as that; wow. You were insightful and thoughtful even as a child.”

  “No,” she corrected. “I was just neglected, and appreciative when people showed me and my sister any kindness.”

  “Is that why you and Kennedy are so close?”

  “I don’t know, maybe? We were a lot closer as kids. She grew up, joined the Marines, then the CIA—she was gone, well, all the time. I hadn’t seen her in almost a year when I got the knock on the door that she’d drowned. It took her another six months to let me know she was alive.”

  She felt him nod against her hair.

  “I don’t mean to sound bitter, because I’m not. I understand why she couldn’t let us know she was alive and had to stay hidden. And I don’t begrudge her leaving Fargo and making a better life for herself… I just miss her. And I wonder if she misses me as much.”

  “I’m sure she does,” he said in a low voice as he stroked her back with his fingertips.

  “Anyway, you never answered my question. What about you? What did you want to be when you grew up?”

  “A chef.”

  She sat up in order to have a better look at his face to see if he was teasing her.

  “Nuh-uh. Shut up.”

  “I’m serious. Then as I got older, it morphed into owning a restaurant. Except there aren’t a lot of culinary schools with baseball teams offering scholarships. My dad was a mechanic and my mom was a homemaker, so I went where I could get a free education.”

  “What did you major in?”

  “Business administration. In case the restaurant thing panned out someday.”

  “So how on earth did you end up in the CIA?”

  “You know… they were hiring,” he said with a laugh.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much. I mean, there’s also the patriotism factor and the feeling that you’re doing something for your country, so I was an easy sell for the recruiters on campus when they were signing seniors up for the employment test. I passed the physical fitness portion with flying colors, and scored high enough on the written that they moved me through the interview process. Six months’ worth of background checks and two polygraphs later, after a government doctor gave me a clean bill of health, I was hired.”

  “Wow.”

  The smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes when he let out a small sigh.

  “I should’ve opened the restaurant.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mason

  He sat at his desk, thinking about this morning in bed with Reagan and their pillow talk after. He hadn’t thought about owning a restaurant in probably ten years; now he couldn’t help wondering what his life would be like if he’d chosen that path. Would he have a wife? Kids? A house with a big backyard for the German shepherds he’d always wanted, instead of the sparsely-decorated condo outside of Boston where he’d crash when he had more than two days off in a row so he could visit his parents? A girlfriend was practically impossible, and a wife seemed out of the question. And kids, or even a dog? No fucking way.

  He’d once thought this was the life. Traveling, money, excitement, protecting the greater good… he’d loved every minute of it. So much so that he had recruited his little brother into the agency. Now, here Mason was—saving his brother’s life because their employer had washed its hands of him, and he wasn’t so sure anymore.

  Could he somehow fit into Reagan’s life? He didn’t know. The fantasy was there, but how reality reconciled with the daydream remained to be seen.

  The little voice in his head began to chastise him. Get your head in the game! What he needed to focus on right now was rescuing his baby brother, not this white-picket-fence shit.

  She walked into his office in her black yoga pants and tight pink t-shirt, with her hair piled high on her head in a messy bun, carrying a yogurt cup and plastic spoon, and flashed him a big smile.

  But the white-picket-fence shit is so damn appealing.

  ****

  The plan was in place; they’d made it through the locks of the Panama Canal with no problem and were scheduled to arrive in the marina at approximately six in the morning. Kennedy and Dante had landed in Cartagena, and she’d already met up with Jacob. There were eyes on where they thought Marcus was being held. There was nothing left for him to do other than one more phone call to Jacob.

  Mason decided to make her a candlelight dinner on the deck, along with some wine, and maybe even slow dancing before he took her back to the stateroom and made love to her all night.

  “I think that sounds like the perfect plan,” she whispered breathlessly when he took her in his arms and suggested it after he hung up the phone with Jacob.

  “Good,” he smiled. “Me, too.”

  “Can I help with dinner?”

  “No. Why don’t you go lie down and relax for a while. Meet me on deck at six thirty?”

  She nodded with a shy smile.

  Mason leaned down slowly until their lips met in a sensual kiss. He was about to break away when she moaned, drew her arms around his neck, and pressed against him. Instead of pulling apart, their kiss deepened, and soon she was straddling him in his office chair, grinding her hips against his.

  God, he wanted to fuck her right there on the desk, but he had been looking forward to their last night together being filled with romance.

  “Reagan,” he murmured against her mouth even as his hands continued exploring her curves. “We need to stop so I can go make dinner.”

  Her pout was fucking adorable.

  Rubbing her mons over her yoga pants with his thumb, he teased, “I promise, I’ll make it worth the wait, sweetheart.”

  She giggled and slid off his lap.

  “You better,” she said, then picked up her yogurt cup, spun on her heel, and disappeared out the office door.

  “Sassy pants,” he murmured, shaking his head with a grin.

  ****

  Reagan

  Mason had told her to take a nap—yeah, like she was really gonna be able to sleep. She was brimming with excitement about her date tonight. Reagan didn’t care what anyone would have said; she was calling it a date.

  Still, she lay down and stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought about the blond-haired, blue-eyed man she was pretty sure she was in love with.

  Gorgeous, smart, interesting, funny, sexy, amazing in bed… and that dimple and those abs—seriously? Like she stood a chance.

  Still, Reagan knew this couldn’t last beyond tomorrow. He was a spy; he traveled the world on a regular basis. He didn’t do relationships. She was a teacher, and before this trip, the farthest she’d ever been from Fargo was when she went to see Kennedy graduate Marine boot camp in San Diego—and that was for only three days. Other than that, she’d never been farther than Minneapolis. And her biological clock had started ticking—she was ready for a relationship and babies. Unfortunately, she hadn’t met Mr. Right, only Mr. I’ll-Fuck-You-Until-Mr.-Right-Comes-Along.

  It appeared her streak was sti
ll intact. Except the thought of not seeing Mason again hurt way more than she’d ever hurt over a man. He was going to be her ‘one that got away,’ she just knew it. But what other option was there?

  None.

  Reagan would have to settle for her one epic love affair. She liked that spin so much better.

  Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she decided to start getting ready. She took her time showering, shaving, and lotioning. Realizing it was a losing battle with her hair and the equatorial humidity, she piled it on her head and strategically placed ringlets to frame her heart-shaped face, then painstakingly applied her makeup. When she was satisfied, she slipped on the dress and heels she had been going to wear to the baptism rehearsal—until she got kidnapped.

  Was that really only a few days ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

  Sixty twenty-five; right on time.

  Giving herself a onceover in the mirror, she took a deep breath and headed toward the deck.

  She couldn’t have scripted a better reaction from Mason when he saw her.

  He’d been lighting a candle when she appeared, and he stood frozen, staring as if he’d never seen anything like her until the match burned his fingers and brought him out of his trance.

  When she reached the table, he pulled her chair out—still not taking his eyes off her.

  “Wow, sweetheart, you look…” He shook his head and widened his eyes like he was looking for words before continuing, “…beautiful. I’m glad we’re alone and not out somewhere, because I’d probably want to kill every man who stared at you if we were.”

  That made her chuckle.

  “I never pegged you for the jealous type.”

  “I’m not, usually, but I’ve never considered a woman mine until I met you.”

  His words sent the butterflies to her stomach and zinging to her lady parts. She’d never wanted a man to feel like he owned her, but that was exactly what she wanted from Mason Hughes. She wanted him to never want to let her go.

  She sat down, and he helped her move her chair forward.

  “I’ll be right back with the appetizers. Have some champagne,” he said, gesturing to the flute he’d already filled.

  Reagan went to grab her glass and hesitated, eyeing his full one then quickly glanced around before switching them. With a satisfied smile like she was brilliant, she took a drink. Looking out at the ocean as she sipped the tiny bubbles, feeling the salty breeze blow across her face, she thought, “What a perfect night.” Then she was immediately filled with anxiety, wondering what was going to go wrong. In her experience, there was no such thing as a perfect anything.

  He reappeared with crabcakes and a side sauce.

  “Did you make those?” she asked with suspicion in her voice as she inspected one with her fork. They smelled delicious.

  He grinned and puffed out his chest a little.

  “I did.”

  She took one bite and her eyes got big.

  “Wow. These are amazing!”

  He winked, murmuring, “Thanks,” before taking a bite of his own.

  The CIA agent looked dashing tonight. The cobalt blue button-down made his eyes appear bluer than the ocean surrounding them. He had a slight tan that was also highlighted by the color of his shirt. Blue was definitely his color. And his linebacker physique made her fingers itch with wanting to run her hands all over his body. Then there was that dimple. Sigh. That was her favorite thing about his body. Wellllll, second favorite.

  They laughed and drank all through dinner, telling each other stories of their lives: their childhood, college years, jobs—at least, as much as Mason could tell her about his. After they’d cleared the dinner dishes and were back on deck with another glass of champagne, he stood, turned up the music on his phone and opened his arms.

  “Care to dance?”

  With her eyes locked on his, she rose from her chair and walked toward him. He was so handsome, and it seemed the more she got to know him, the more attractive he became. And that dimple was going to be the death of her.

  There was a sense of sadness in the air, both of them realizing tonight was probably their last night together, but neither voicing it out loud.

  Reagan almost whispered I love you as he slowly moved her around the deck, swaying to the beat in his arms, but stopped herself. How could she love him after such a short period of time? This was just a crush, that’s all. What would be the point of saying something like that? Besides, she’d be devastated when he didn’t say it back. He made her feel like he loved her, and that was going to have to be enough. She couldn’t expect anything more from him, no matter how hard she wished for it.

  She looked up to find him watching her face intently.

  “Awful lot going on up there,” he murmured with a knowing smile.

  “I was just thinking about how perfect tonight has been, and how I wish it didn’t have to end.”

  His expression became more somber, his mouth turning downward slightly.

  “I wish that too. How about if tonight we pretend it’s just beginning—that we have a long future ahead of us? Just for tonight. No talk about tomorrow.”

  Reagan couldn’t think of anything she’d like more. She pulled him to the table where their half-full champagne flutes sat. She handed him his glass then picked up hers, raising it in a toast.

  “To our long future,” she said with a smile.

  “To sitting on our front porch, holding hands in our rocking chairs, watching our great-grandchildren play,” he winked as he clinked his glass against hers.

  What a beautiful thought.

  She almost became sad again at the realization that wasn’t in the cards for them, but remembered their deal. Just for tonight. She was going to savor the hell out of this fantasy; at least she’d have the memory of her perfect night with Mason Hughes to cherish forever. She’d worry about her love hangover tomorrow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mason

  He was so fucking gone over this woman. G-O-N-E.

  Playing pretend with her tonight was the easiest thing he’d ever done, because he’d never wanted anything more in his life. The idea of growing old with her? Hell yeah. Mason wasn’t going to let a little thing like reality ruin their night together. He refused to even let the thought last night together enter his head again. Tonight, they were going to be together forever.

  “Where should we live?”

  Reagan didn’t hesitate in playing along. She tilted her head as she contemplated her answer.

  “I don’t know—you’ve seen more of the world than I have, where do you suggest?”

  “I’m partial to Key West.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Too many hurricanes.”

  “How about San Diego then?”

  “I’ve only been once, but I thought it was beautiful.”

  “San Diego it is.” He spun her around the deck. “How many babies should we have?”

  “Hmm. We’re getting kind of old; I don’t think we should have any more than three.”

  “Boys? Girls?”

  She tilted her head back to look at him and smiled. “I’m not sure? What would you prefer?”

  “Two boys and a girl.”

  He felt her stroking the hair along his neckline and was suddenly more attuned to her tits mashed against his chest.

  “You know we don’t really get to decide that, right? We’ll have to take what we get.”

  “As long as they’re healthy, I’ll be happy,” he said with a grin, then dipped her.

  Staring down at her, he really could see their unborn babies in her eyes. He knew she felt it too, because she was staring back at him like she was dumbstruck.

  Mason slowly brought her upright, and they stood still, neither of them averting their gaze. Nothing had ever felt more right in his life, and he lowered his lips to hers. It began gently, but she softly whimpered against his mouth, and he wrapped his arms around her while he deepened the kiss—then it got heated fast.

&n
bsp; Their make out session was erotic and sensual, and he was enjoying the hell out of just kissing her while they grinded together on their makeshift dancefloor like two horny teenagers at prom.

  Finally she palmed his hard cock over his pants, slowly rubbing his shaft while he squeezed her ass over her dress as their tongues continued to tangle.

  He broke the kiss and softly asked in her ear, “Should we take things back to your cabin?”

  “Oh god, I thought you’d never ask,” she groaned as she pressed against him.

  Taking her hand in his, he led her to the table and picked up the bottle of bubbly and their glasses before gesturing to the doorway that would lead them to her stateroom.

  As she walked in front of him, Mason didn’t take his eyes off her ass. He couldn’t wait to have it naked in his hands squeezing it. Maybe spanking it a little too. A vision flashed in his mind of her flesh jiggling as he brought his hand down on her butt while he pounded her from behind. They couldn’t get to her room fast enough.

  He set the bottle and glasses down on the small end table in the sitting area of the room and turned just as her green dress dropped to the floor. His eyes were glued to her tight body while she stepped out of the material, heels still on, in nothing but her white lace bra and panties. The redheaded goddess looked at him shyly, biting her bottom lip with a small smile as he slowly walked to where she stood.

  Taking her in his arms, he knew—tonight would never be enough. Mason wanted forever.

  The scent of her shampoo filled his senses as his hands glided up and down her bare back. He paused at the center of her back and undid the clasp of her bra, pulling the straps down her arms until she was exposed to him.

  Groaning at how beautiful she was, he dipped his head and pushed one nipple up into his mouth, suckling while his left hand teased and pinched her other nipple. Reagan tugged at his short hair, drawing him closer to her chest as she gasped and moaned at his ministrations. He was going to learn every inch of her body tonight—commit it to memory to replay over and over in the his lonely future.