Finding the Way Back: A Stealth Ops Novel

by Sahin, Brittney

  “Addy.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered and hurried out of the car, leaving him so damn confused.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Three hours later, Knox stood in the hall outside her hotel room, and she observed him with her heart in her throat.

  The crisp white button-up shirt stretched over broad shoulders and wrapped around hard biceps like a fitted glove. Long legs were covered in dark slacks that matched the color of the bluish-black tie.

  The man before her looked more like a billion-dollar businessman, or heck, a politician, than a Navy SEAL.

  “Why the tie?” she asked, untangling the words caught on her tongue as the bite of desire clipped down her body, consuming her inch by inch until she had to press a palm to the doorframe for support.

  “And why are you already in your pajamas?” His eyes journeyed the length of her, starting at her pink painted toenails up to her pale pink shorts and on to the matching camisole.

  He checked his black wristwatch, a thick and heavy thing that was the only giveaway this man didn’t normally wear a suit. But the luxurious material fitted him to absolute perfection.

  “It’s barely eight.”

  What were they talking about? Right. The time. Her clothes.

  They weren’t talking about how sexy he looked right now. Or his brown eyes ringed in mahogany. The confident clench of his jaw.

  She stepped to the side to allow him entrance. “I’m tired. It’s been a day.”

  He remained in the hall. Maintaining a firm position. Regarding her with curious eyes.

  And then he lifted his hands and worked at the knot of his tie, allowing it to drape loosely around his neck. He popped the top two buttons of his shirt next.

  Despite undoing his tie and shirt buttons, he still appeared to be standing at attention, uncertainty in his eyes.

  “Should I come in?”

  For the last several hours, her mind had been racing, thinking about the bomb he’d dropped on her earlier and what she was going to say to him when he showed up and wanted answers.

  There was an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, and they were in the midst of a scorching-hot tug-of-war.

  Had she been turned on? Not by him getting hurt—of course not.

  But what if she’d lost him without him ever knowing how much more she wished there was between them? And after last night, for a fraction of a second, she’d thought he wanted more, too.

  She had so much to say. So many questions. But she managed out a “yes.”

  Still no movement from him on the other side, though.

  That clenched jaw could pulverize titanium with one look.

  His eyes moved to her camisole, and she followed his gaze to her nipples pressing against the thin fabric.

  No bra. Because who wore a bra with PJs?

  “Please, come in.” She struggled to keep her voice even.

  When he finally stepped inside, she shut the door behind him and turned to find him right there. “I, um, why the tie?” she asked, flustered.

  His brows slanted. “Were you the only person who didn’t tune in to the news today?”

  “My entire team, apparently. We’ve been a bit preoccupied. Why?”

  When they returned to the FBI field office, she and Knox had parted ways, and she wasn’t sure what Knox had been up to. She assumed he’d gone back to his friends’ suite after giving his statement. So, the shirt and tie? No, she was clueless.

  “I had to give an interview. My mom insisted on the tie.” He flipped his brown eyes to the ceiling, the movement in his throat noticeable. A clash of the Titans raged in those eyes when his gaze returned to her face.

  He’d had the same look in the SUV earlier when he’d accused her of getting turned on.

  “Word got out that I took down Ike, and my dad decided it’d be best if I fess up to it and give a press conference or whatever.”

  “You? On camera?” she asked in surprise. “Tell me there’s a recorded version I can watch.”

  His attention veered to her neck. He was still so close. Could he see her pulse hammering against her skin?

  She breathed in his Nautica cologne, wishing they were on a beach somewhere as the touch of the ocean met her nose. The sand beneath her toes, his eyes on her—yes, that’d be much better than reality. But they’d experienced several beach trips in the last twenty years and none ended with her naked beneath him getting sand in inappropriate places.

  “You’re red,” he said while looking into her eyes.

  “I’m what?” She blinked.

  He placed his palm to her cheek. “Your cheeks are red. Maybe that’s not the right word. They’re that shade of embarrassed you get sometimes. You know, when you’re . . .”

  Checking you out? She covered his hand with hers. She intended to remove it, but he’d already felt the truth of his statement in the heat radiating from her skin and onto his. So she left it there. “You were talking about the, uh, press conference.”

  “Yeah, I had to take the blame for shooting Ike so my guys didn’t wind up on camera.” He lowered his hand, the mention of his friends a punch back to reality.

  She flipped through his words in her head as if turning the pages of a novel trying to find meaning. “Blame?”

  He offered her his back, facing the window even though the curtains were drawn and the ruddy brown fabric the only view.

  “You’re a hero.” Blame made no sense.

  “We don’t take credit for . . .” He dropped his words, his shoulders lowering with them. “It’s not an easy thing for us to do.” Quiet descended upon the room. The kind of quiet that offered her a moment to collect her thoughts and pin them back onto the it’ll-never-happen-for-us board.

  She thumbed back through the pages of her mind, slower this time so she could formulate a response that’d make sense given her jumbled mess of thoughts. Her body still aroused when it shouldn’t be, especially given the events of the day. Given his words right now.

  She strode closer and placed a tentative hand on his body.

  His broad back expanded as he took a deep breath and let it free. “What’d you find out after I left you at the field office?” he asked. His voice was gritty, the question forced as if he had no choice but to change the subject.

  “Ike’s out of surgery. Not awake yet.” She removed her hand, and his shoulders relaxed. “There are uniforms parked outside his room waiting, though.”

  He turned, and her world narrowed down to Knox—his slow-motion progress toward her, the intense energy emanating from his powerful body, the heat in his eyes that never left hers as he grew closer.

  “Ike came on to Sarah the night before the shooting. Invited her to breakfast the next day. He bound and gagged her after.” She swallowed. “The FBI traced several unknown calls from Ike to a burner phone, which matched the one at Chelsea’s place.” The business-like talk of assassins and murder dialed her from slow and intense to just north of normal. She had to stay focused. Get through this moment. Even if this wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have right now.

  “What about Aaron? Did Ike ever call him?”

  “Not on his regular cell, but Aaron may have a burner we don’t know about.”

  He swiped a hand over his shaved head, and a touch of red appeared on the sleeve of his shirt.

  She reached for him, trying to hide the panic in her eyes at the sight of blood, evidence he could’ve taken a bullet to the chest or abdomen instead—she could’ve lost him like her mom.

  “I have bandages. Let me get you something.”

  “Why do you have—”

  “Part of the job.” She rifled through the bag atop the dresser. “Secret Service who work with POTUS even have to carry his blood around with them.”

  “Yeah, that’s not a visual I want to picture, especially if the next POTUS is my old man.”

  She motioned for him to come into the bathroom. With his sleeve rolled to the elbow, she discarded the old ba
ndage saturated in blood and tended to the wound.

  “I’m not used to someone taking care of me like this,” he murmured as she worked. “I’m usually the one fixing people up.”

  “Why do you have to fix . . .” She refrained from finishing her question because she knew why, didn’t she? After this week, she understood. How could she not? His work was much more dangerous than he ever let on, and he’d been afraid to tell her. “You should get stitches,” she said instead and wrapped his forearm.

  “It’s fine.”

  “And you’re stubborn.” She turned on the sink and caught his eyes in the mirror as she washed her hands. “You planning on meeting up with your team to try and figure this puzzle out?”

  He perched a hip against the vanity and folded his arms. His gaze a slow caress of her body. And now her need for this man returned. Maybe it never left, but it’d been suffocated by the sight of his blood and talks of murderers.

  “I stopped here first for a reason.”

  “To find out what I learned about the case?” Her voice was weak when she spoke. Guarded, even if she didn’t want it to be.

  “You know why.” His proper posture returned when he pushed away from the vanity to stand tall before her.

  The bathroom was too small for them now.

  She slipped away, allowing fear of the what-ifs to strong-arm her.

  His shirt was untucked from his pants when he entered the living room. Another button undone. He wanted out of those stiff clothes as much as she wanted them off him.

  Her fingertips dragged across her collarbone as he moved toward her. And she nearly drew blood from biting into her bottom lip.

  He stopped a foot away, his body rigid once again. His jaw clenched beneath his sexy stubble, and his very kissable lips tightened. An impenetrable force field seemed to hum around him—one maybe only she could get through.

  She almost lifted her hand to see if she could reach out and touch him.

  “Do you want me?” His words were a deep rumble.

  Four words. Four words that had her faltering. One step back to adjust her view of him as he continued to speak.

  “You usually only flirt, or look at me like you did earlier—like you’re looking at me now—when you’ve been drinking.” The rough texture of his words should’ve hurt as they cut across her skin, but instead, they dampened her panties. “I’ve always chalked it up to the alcohol.”

  Tequila and their buddy Jack brought the words out—loosened her lips. But liquor only allowed the truth of her desires to skim the surface, offering a brief and quick view of what she wanted.

  “So.” He paused, his eyes thinning. “Do you?”

  Heat rolled like soft waves over her skin as his words floated through the air.

  “Yes,” she whispered before biting back the truth as always.

  “Okay.” He gave a light nod, his eyebrows drawing together. “So, then, I’m gonna go ahead and kiss you now.”

  He enveloped her in one quick movement before she knew what to think or say. His hands on her. Bodies touching. The hardness between his thighs pressing against her.

  A sweep of his tongue parting her lips.

  Tender and soft.

  Then hard.

  Harder.

  She matched his pace, but in truth, she was hanging on to the edge.

  His rigid arousal so close to her was like an invitation to a party she’d longed to attend but had never been given the chance.

  His kiss was everything. Years of want rolled into this one moment.

  When his hand slid between them and skimmed the hem of her shorts, her knees buckled.

  A low, guttural moan vibrated against her lips when his finger swept up, tracing a line over her clit, discovering her sans panties.

  He stroked her while his other hand cupped her ass and squeezed, and his lips wandered to her cheek, to her neck, to the shell of her ear.

  She was going to lose her mind. Was this actually happening? Right here. Right now. Was this a dream? If it was, she refused to wake up.

  She buried her fingertips into his shoulders as he made love to her with his hand, with his mouth back at her neck, gently sucking.

  And when she didn’t think she could withstand any more sensations, he buried two fingers deep inside of her. “You’re tight,” he said into her ear. “So tight and wet.” His tone was sex and strength. Love and passion. Total commitment to this moment.

  She wanted more. More of him. More of everything.

  But then he stepped back.

  He ended her world in that one step.

  Her chest lifted and fell with heavy breaths as she feared he was on the verge of changing his mind.

  “I’ve fantasized about this moment for so long,” he rasped. “I didn’t know if it could ever happen.”

  She wanted to reach for him, wanted his touch again, but he needed to say something. She could see it in his eyes, and so she waited with hands clenched at her sides.

  “I’ve been trying to protect you. I’ve been afraid I might leave you someday the way she did, and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  A world without her mom and Knox would be two levels below hell.

  Her chin slightly wobbled as fear fast-tracked down her spine.

  “But you’re my best friend, and if something happened to me, it would hurt you no matter what.” His chest lifted with a deep breath and sank on an exhale. “There are other reasons I’ve convinced myself to stay away. I’ve been waiting for the right time, but I don’t think right times exist, do they?”

  She brought her hands to his chest, unable to stop herself, worried she’d lose him to some invisible reason she could neither see nor touch.

  He stared at her for a long minute. Indecision blanketing him once again.

  “Please.” She reached for the messy bun at the top of her head and unleashed her long locks.

  Then his body went flush with hers, and he tore a hand up her back and to her hair, fisting it gently. Tugging so her chin tipped.

  His hand raced down the column of her throat in the tight space between them before dipping into her top and palming her breast.

  “How long have you wanted to do that?” Her tongue skirted the line of her lower lip.

  “A long damn time,” he growled and kissed her again. Much harder this time. Needier. And it was going to be her undoing.

  “I told myself I wouldn’t go past second base tonight,” he whispered when their mouths parted, and his lips tilted into a smile. “I had to Google those bases on my way here, by the way.”

  She chuckled, even as she regretted the loss of his touch. “You and the baseball metaphors lately. You planning on pulling a Jordan and switching sports?” Her palm went to his chest.

  His smile converted into a full-on grin.

  “And what made you so confident you’d get anywhere?”

  “Because I knew if you felt even a tenth of what I’ve been feeling—suppressing—I’d be good.”

  Her palm slid north, and she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. “Please tell me you’re not going to leave here without—”

  “You do have an eight-dates-before-sex rule.”

  “At your insistence!”

  “I had advised eight hundred to somewhere along the lines of never. You dropped the double zeros.”

  “And do you really want to wait until eight dates to make love to me? Or talk about the fact I had to date anyone other than you at all since you’ve been so damn stubborn?”

  He grimaced. “Might I remind you that you’ve been stubborn, too?” He held a finger in the air between them and closed one eye.

  “I’ve given you plenty of clues, and you never got the message.”

  “Like those shorts you’re wearing?” He twirled a finger. “I swear you must have them in fifty colors, and you always wear them when we hang out.”

  “What’s wrong with the shorts?” She attempted to hide a smirk to no avail.

  She gasped
when he surprised her by sliding a hand up her cami and rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Tell me you don’t wear them on purpose whenever we hang out.” He guided her chin with his free hand so her eyes were on his, a silent demand. “Tell me you weren’t trying to get me to break down. Probably had no underwear on, too.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Liar.” He pinched her nipple. “You keep the peanut butter on the highest shelf in your kitchen, which makes absolutely no sense given your love of the stuff. And I have to watch you on your tippy-toes reaching for it, with your ass cheeks on display in those short shorts, and then I’m left with one of two choices.”

  “Wh—”

  “Two choices.” He held a hand between them. “Grab hold of you, spin you around, and kiss you . . . or get the peanut butter for you and immediately disappear for a good five minutes and think about anything and everything to get my cock to calm down.”

  Oh, shit. Last weekend after the barbecue when she’d reached for the peanut butter jar . . . the look he’d given her after. He had gone to the bathroom right after, and then he’d returned with all his crazy talk about why he shouldn’t spend the night.

  “You rarely ever looked at me like you wanted me,” she said, trying to make sense of his words.

  “There’s a reason why I’m good at covert ops and poker.” He crossed his arms. He was standing his guard. Businessman gone. The SEAL had returned.

  This man she couldn’t win a battle with. He’d been conditioned for war. Trained by the best of the best, and he was the best of the best.

  “You know how many times I had to hide an erection around you? Well, I lost count, so I’ve got no idea, but it was a lot.”

  “Why fight it? Why keep it such a well-hidden secret from me?” He said he’d been waiting for the right time, but still.

  “After that night, we couldn’t. And then . . . more timing issues, I guess.”

  That night. The night her mom had been dying while he’d kissed her.

  She forced away the pain and found his eyes.