Undercover Lover

by Kylie Brant

  “Thanks to you, I didn’t have enough champagne to let it do my talking.”

  He took a hasty gulp, blaming his dry throat on the heat in the apartment. Although his tinkering had restored the air conditioner to its normally pitiful level of function, its efforts against the midsummer Miami heat and humidity were barely adequate. But he couldn’t quite delude himself into believing that this suffocating feeling, this sense of his skin growing too tight, was due to the weather. No, the cause of those sensations sat a mere foot away, surveying him with wide, earnest brown eyes.

  “I owe you so much.”

  Her words slammed into him, through him, leaving a ragged trail of pain. “No,” he said with barely restrained violence, “you don’t.”

  “But I do. Denying it might make you more comfortable, but it doesn’t make it less true. I’m not exactly proud of the person I became while I was married to Carter.”

  “Your ex-husband is an arrogant ass. You’re not to blame for his being a skirt-sniffing hound.”

  Her lips curved slightly, and she raised the glass to her face, pressed her cheek against its coolness. “I gave up control to him. He couldn’t take it. I had to give it to him. That’s hard to forgive myself for.” She raised her earnest gaze to his. “Do you believe that everything happens for a reason, Sully?”

  The glass had left a path of glistening moisture on her cheek. He knew from exquisite memory just how soft the skin there would be. It took all his control to divert his attention back to her words.

  “No,” he said flatly. “Things happen because of other people, or nature. There’s no fate or luck involved. They happen. We just go on.”

  She cocked her head, as if weighing his words. “But we have to learn from what happens, don’t we? So we avoid making the same mistakes over again?”

  She was talking about lessons. Yeah, he’d learned plenty over the years. How to dodge a fist, how to drink enough water to fool your stomach into thinking it was full. And later, how to duck bullets, how to live a lie until there were even times he started to believe it himself. “Yeah,” he answered finally. “Life is full of lessons.”

  She nodded,. “Exactly. As much as I hate what happened to me while I was married, it’s worth it if it makes me stronger.”

  He snatched the glass out of her hand and drained it, considered hurling it against the wall for a satisfying smash. The act would match his mood, savage and destructive. He didn’t like to think about Ellie’s marriage, didn’t like to think about the hurt and pain she’d suffered before she’d picked up the pieces and moved on. And she’d done just that. It wouldn’t have mattered whether he’d found her that day in the mall or not. She had a core of strength in her that she was only now beginning to recognize, but one he’d been aware of ten years ago.

  She began to laugh, and his gaze jerked to hers. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, but giggles escaped nevertheless. “It just occurred to me,” she said between gasps, “that if Carter marries Robbie—that’s his associate’s name, by the way, short for ‘Roberta’—she’ll be...Robbie Robinson.” She made an effort to stifle her mirth, but finally dropped her hand and let it shake her, doubling over with fits of laughter.

  He watched her grimly. Hysteria, he thought, and for a fleeting moment felt panic. This woman’s tears had the ability to completely unman him, but he couldn’t leave her, alone and hurting. He reached out tentatively, almost drew back his hand, then forced himself to curl an arm awkwardly around her shoulder. “It’s okay. It’ll get better.”

  She shook her head, but the laughter still streamed out. “I’m not...it’s not...”

  His mouth flattened, and he went up on his knees, pulling her to meet him with his grasp on her shoulders. He cupped her head in his palm, guided it to his chest and skated a thumb down her spine soothingly. He ignored the tiny pinpoints of heat that burst inside him at every point where they touched and clenched his teeth. He could ignore it for her. He would ignore it.

  Her shoulders were shaking silently, and each small movement battered him with regret. Not for the end of her marriage to Robinson, but for Ellie. She hadn’t deserved to be hurt the way that soulless bastard had hurt her. But he, better than anyone, knew that few of them got what they deserved. So he held her, aware that there was little else he could do. Just as there was little he could do about the punch of sensation her touch sent flooding through him.

  When he felt her shudders lessening, he pressed a small space between them, and steeled himself for the sight of the tears he’d see on her face. Her lips still quivered slightly, but the smile they held was real. And although her eyes were bright, there was no sign of dampness in them.

  Suspicion lanced through him, and his brows drew together. “Ellie...”

  “Sorry,” she said, making an obvious attempt at seriousness. “It just struck me as funny. You know Carter—he likes things very elegant and proper. ‘Robbie Robinson’ just doesn’t sound...” Something in his face must have warned her, and she paused, eyeing him carefully. With a note of realization in her voice, she said, “You thought I was upset.”

  He muttered an oath, and dropped his hands, but just as quickly, she skimmed her palms up his chest to his shoulders. The muscles there were bunched tight. When he would have shrugged her away, her fingers gripped him.

  “When are you going to believe me, I wonder?” she said in a whisper. The sound was silk, dragged across the sandpaper of his nerves. “I’m over him. I am, Sully. He can’t hurt me anymore, because I won’t let him.” Her gaze melded with his, and he remained frozen in place, ignoring the alarms clanging in his head.

  “You don’t have to protect me anymore.” Her lips curved, just inches from his. His breath was trapped in his lungs, and he felt as though he were strangling. “But thank you for trying.”

  The kiss she brushed across his lips was as light as down, and was merely an impulsive gesture from one friend to another. He knew that, but he couldn’t prevent the response that rocketed through his system.

  Her mouth hesitated, a fraction away, and for an instant he forgot to don that careful, blank mask that served him so well. When her eyes widened in shocked discovery, he knew she’d recognized the ravages from the simultaneous assault of pleasure and pain lingering on his face. His jaw clamped tight, and he moved to rise. But he was stopped by the return of her lips.

  Every muscle in his body stiffened in disbelief. She was leaning into him, her mouth pressing against his in a shy, untutored way that had his senses roaring. While the first kiss may have been casual, this one was laced with something completely unfamiliar. He drew in her scent in a greedy, guilty swallow while he struggled beneath twin layers of desperation and temptation.

  Because it was temptation, beyond what any reasonable man should be asked to bear, that gripped him by the throat now. He’d spent a decade avoiding even the most casual of touches from her. It took only the slightest taste to shred those careful restraints. Need, too long denied, bubbled up within him and boiled over in a froth of scorching intensity. He would go straight to hell for even thinking of taking what she was offering so sweetly. His arms clamped around her, drawing her off balance, and his hands slid into the cool, silky mass of her hair. He could already feel the flames of perdition lapping at him.

  Because he kissed her back.

  His mouth hungry and demanding, he returned her kiss with all the pent-up longing that had simmered inside him for years. Just once, a dim promise sounded in his mind. Just for a moment.

  Her taste was sinfully sweet, and her flavor traced through his senses. His tongue stabbed into her mouth, and he swallowed her startled gasp. But then hers came to meet his, in a timid, velvet glide, and need clawed through him, hot and urgent.

  He cradled the back of her head in one palm, and slid the other down the soft, silky column of her throat. He could feel her pulse scrambling beneath his fingertips, and the evidence of her excitement was heady. His own blood was pounding, hammer
ing him from the inside. The thick, humid air in the apartment had glossed her skin with the barest hint of moisture. Without thinking, he tore his mouth away from hers to sip at the dampness at the base of her throat. It wasn’t enough.

  More. The need for more slashed through him like a ruthless blade. He’d never been a man to overheat, much less burn, but he was burning now, as if a lit match had been set to the short fuse of his control. This was Ellie. His longing for her had grown too deep, been buried too long. He wanted to lay her back and unwrap her clothes and feel every inch of her skin against his. He wanted to discover the different flavors she’d have, beneath her wrist, behind her knee and in the sweet, damp cleft between her legs. He slid the tip of his tongue up the cord of her neck and took her lobe between his teeth, all the while struggling to tuck that savage need back down out of sight. Back to where he’d always kept it hidden, secret and burning.

  Because this was Elite.

  He could no more follow this path than he could physically hurt her. Because the end result would be the same. He’d long ago come to terms with the kind of place he could have in her life. He’d set the boundaries cautiously, and he was comfortable within them. If he’d chafed at times under the corrosive pain of wanting more, he’d learned to accept it. His role in Ellie’s life was as her friend, her protector. And even though the ball of heat lodged in his belly threatened to erupt, he had to protect her from this. From him.

  A shudder racked him, and he released her lips, then found himself momentarily sidetracked by the hint of perfume behind her ear. Dragging her scent into his starved lungs, he closed his eyes for an instant, bracing himself for the feeling of loss that would follow the instant he pulled away.

  Then Ellie’s fingers slipped inside the narrow straps of his undershirt and tangled in the hair on his chest. Sully’s breath hissed out as a thousand points of flame burst beneath his skin. He threw his head back and fought for control.

  The way she was touching him was both heaven and hell. It was more, far more than he’d ever let himself hope for. He had an illogical need to soak up the dizzying experience like a famished man, unsure of his next meal, devouring the food before him. He was letting himself in for a lifetime of torment, because now the memories would linger, of the softness of her fingertips over his rougher skin, the flick of her fingernail against his nipple, making his breath shudder. The memories would surely be enough to drive him slowly insane.

  “Ellie.” His voice was raspy with checked passion, passion that threatened to combust when she opened her eyes slowly. They were cloudy with desire, and the sight was like taking a fist to the gut. He’d imagined them like this a thousand times—would remember them so countless more. It took a strength of will he hadn’t known he possessed to go on. “We need to stop.”

  Her gaze searched his, and the moment stretched, hung between them. As if she was unaware of their movement, her fingers continued to stroke and knead his chest, his shoulders, his biceps. And he knew his response was transparent.

  “You want me,” she whispered, her tone a little drugged, a little awed. “I didn’t believe it. I don’t think anyone has ever really wanted me before.”

  He closed his eyes as the vulnerability leaked through her words and squeezed his heart. His next words were tinged with desperation. “This is a mistake.”

  Her touch slowed, gentled, until it was an unbearably sensual glide. Her eyes drifted shut again, and she whispered against his lips, “I’ve made my share of mistakes, Sully. This doesn’t feel like one of them.”

  Her mouth opened on his, and his lips were just as eager, making a mockery of his earlier words. He had a faint, wild thought that he had a cartoon figure on each shoulder, one an angel and one complete with horns and tail, each urging him toward different actions. He was very much afraid the demon was winning.

  He returned her kiss with a hint of the violent emotion that had been dammed inside him for a decade. Her lips opened readily under his, returning his kiss with an unchecked, passionate need that nearly undid him. Her fingers tugged frustratedly at the hem of his undershirt, and then, when she’d released it from the waistband of his jeans, her hands slid up his torso. He swallowed her purr of feline pleasure.

  Too late he tried to stern her actions as she dragged the undershirt over his head. While he was still untangling his arms, her fingers were releasing the thong that kept his hair tied back.

  He took a huge, ragged breath. It was impossible, he thought dimly, as she rubbed her mouth over his, fingers entwined with the hair at his nape, to give her what she was asking for. He couldn’t bear to be the cause of any more hurt in her life.

  He caught both her hands in one of his and drew them down to rest between their bodies. Leaning his forehead against hers, he braced himself for the tearing agony of moving away from her. But she wiggled her hands from his and released the first button on her dress. Every muscle in his body froze. His eyes were shut; he didn’t dare open them. But he knew as surely as if the sight were burned on his brain what she was doing. Barely daring to breathe, he felt the movements of her fingers as they moved again. Quick, impatient motions as she released the next button and the next. They slowed as the next one was slid from its hole, and stumbled a little over the next. His lungs were seared; he needed oxygen. He dragged in some air while her image danced behind his closed eyelids. The fragrance that was uniquely Ellie filled his senses. The warning signals shrieking inside him were no less insistent, but he gambled with one more moment. One more touch. Just one.

  He smoothed his hand down the satiny line of her throat, pushed her hair back to follow the path with his mouth. Her taste was a kick to his system, a sinful flavor that pumped straight to his blood. Her gasp stoked his own reaction. Then his lips met sillc, and immediately, involuntarily, his eyes opened.

  His strangled oath was a curse, a prayer. She was wearing one of the frothy silky things he’d glimpsed in one of the sacks. A lacy border ran along its top. The lace clung to the skin above her breasts, and with shaking fingers he pulled it away and replaced it with his lips. Her hips jerked at the contact, grazing his stiffened manhood, where it was restrained behind his jeans. This time he couldn’t prevent a groan.

  The sides of her opened dress framed her torso. He didn’t know the name of the invitation she was wearing; surely it. was invented for the pure deviltry of driving men crazy. A one-piece pink garment, all silk and lace, it teased at the shadows and curves beneath. Narrow straps, barely more than ribbons, were all that held it in place, and it was obvious she wore nothing beneath it.

  He couldn’t seem to swallow around the boulder-sized knot in his throat. Even squeezing his eyes shut again didn’t help. The sight of Ellie encased in bits of lace and silk was emblazoned on his mind.

  She moved against him then, and his eyes snapped open. Impatiently she shrugged her dress off her shoulders, and let it slide to her hips, where it caught in a momentary resistance to gravity. Then she leaned forward and pressed against him, and nothing separated them but a tempting amount of silk.

  Need streaked through him, making a mockery of his earlier intention. One arm clamped beneath her hips, and he pulled her closer, higher, so he could drag the dress down her legs to discard it. Then she was close, as close as she could be, closer than he’d ever dared let her. And still it wasn’t enough.

  Her hands explored the muscles of his back, tracing each vertebra and following their descending path. Her fingertips grazed the skin just inside the waistband of his jeans, making his body jolt against hers, then shudder.

  Perhaps if she’d shown even a hint of hesitation, he would have been able to hold to his original intention and let her go. But her mouth was greedy, and her hands were never still. She charted every inch of his chest, tangling in the mat of hair there, teasing at the nipples. The muscles in his shoulders and arms were tested and stroked, and the softness of her cheek was rubbed against his far rougher chin, dragged back and forth over and over, as if she co
uldn’t get enough of the sensation.

  His hand discovered the silky expanse of thigh he’d uncovered, and he stroked the smoothness there. She was soft, incredibly so, and he could feel the taut whisper of muscle beneath the skin. His fingers grazed higher, nearer to her core of heat. Her breathing stuttered as his caress grew bolder, and she pressed closer against him, the tips of her breasts stabbing against his chest, separated by only the sheer fabric.

  “Ellie,” he muttered, burying his face into her hair. Desire stabbed through him, piercing deep. Tremors rippled between them, passing from one to the other. Need had never taken this form before, never been honed to such a keen edge. He wanted every inch of her; he wanted the satisfaction of knowing that she craved him just as desperately. With every shiver, with every gasp, she was telling him she did.

  He cupped her sillc-clad bottom in both hands, squeezing the rounded curves, fingertips skirting the lacy edge. He sat back and brought her between his thighs. Using his teeth in a primitive taste for flesh, he dragged one ribbon down her shoulder and uncovered one tautly beaded beast Her gasp tangled in her throat when he drew her nipple into his mouth, and lashed it with his tongue.

  “Sully.” Her voice was pure sex, drugged, filled with longing. His eyes slitted open, and the sight of her threatened to peel away the veneer that restrained his violent need. Her fingers were twined in his hair, and her back was arched, that dark mass of hair spilling over her shoulders. Watching Ellie in pleasure was unspeakably erotic. The fading light sheened on her damp skin, making it gleam. She was innocently responsive, every touch, every shiver spasming her face, her reaction impossible to hide. He wanted more. He wanted to watch her face as he drew her higher, ever higher, then he wanted to watch her shatter. He wanted to see her as he slid inside her, wanted to watch her as they both rode the crest of pleasure until they crashed together.

  His fingers cupped and stroked and smoothed, the fingers just grazing her damp heat. Ellie let out a throaty moan as he pressed one palm against the moist silk covering her mound, his fingers rubbing. He found a row of snaps there, loosened them, and then her heated flesh was bare to him. His fingertips dampened with her moisture, he slid them over her in a firm, repetitive motion that sent her hurtling over the edge.