She struggled, but he was unrelenting, his hand curling around her nape. He plundered her lips, forcing them open, their lips clashing as his tongue swept inside, uncaring if she bit him. Wanting to feel her skin, he yanked at the front of her sweater, scattering buttons. His greedy hand left her nape and delved behind the cup of her bra, while the other unhooked it. The feeling of her nipple taut against his palm made him so hard. She moaned into his mouth, beginning to respond, and he coaxed her further into complete surrender.
She was hanging off the table now, one arm wrapped around his neck as she rubbed her pussy against his erection. Her hand slipped beneath his shirt, stroking his abs. He rumbled in approval.
He needed to taste her.
He loathed breaking their connection, but he murmured for her to kick off her sneakers and she quickly did. Then he laid her down on the table, bending over her, capturing her nipple with his tongue, before he planted kisses down her rib cage, all the while pulling her leggings down.
Her arousal hit his nose and he felt triumphant. If anything, they had this.
“Drake …”
“Shh … I’ve got you, babe.”
“I … Oh, God.”
He buried his face between her legs, pushing panties aside, and tasted sweet heaven. Her legs convulsed around his head as he continued to eat her, savor her, sucking her clit, diving into honeysuckle musk he’d missed for three years. Her cries of pleasure pierced the room, only fueling the thrust of his tongue into her core.
Her fingers gripped his hair, hips bucking against his mouth as he continued to draw out her orgasm. When her legs relaxed on his back, he stood back and took a last swipe over his mouth with his tongue, certain it was glistening with her juices.
Undoing his zipper, he gave relief to his raging erection and couldn’t wait to sink inside her heat. But first he was going to kiss her slow and sweet. He started to bend over her when a suppressed sob made him pause.
A cold fist squeezed his heart.
“Iza?”
“Not like this,” she choked between sobs, the back of her hand over her mouth. “Not like this.”
His erection deflated as her despair threw cold water on his desire. Izabel pushed up on her elbows, pulling her torn sweater to cover herself up. Sorrow streamed down her cheeks and he felt like shit.
Didn’t she want him? Had he imagined her response? He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped his jeans.
He stared at her, helpless at what to do in the face of her tears.
“Not like this,” she repeated for a third time. “I’m attracted to you.” Her slender throat bobbed. “My body knows you, it can’t say no even when my mind and my heart are screaming to stop.” Heaving sharply to control her emotions, she expelled a long sigh, before she raised anguish-filled eyes to his. “But I want to be sure, Drake. If you take me now, we’ll be reducing our marriage to a one-night stand. Because this”—she pointed between the two of them—“is what it will feel like.”
Her words cut through him as sharp as his Ka-Bar blade severing his carotid artery. He bled. His mind, body, and heart belonged to her and only her, and it gutted him that she didn’t feel the same.
“Three years … I fought my way back to you, Izabel, but I’m drowning here. I want my wife back.” He raised his arm up and down in a hopeless gesture. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t be the only one fighting. For us to stand a chance, you need to let go of this resentment for me, for what I’ve done. You need to fight for us, too.” Pain throbbed deep within the marrow of his bone. “I can’t walk away from you. It’s not possible. But this”—he pointed between them just as she had done earlier—“is destroying me.”
Drake said his piece. There was nothing left for him to say or do. He looked at the stairs beyond her shoulders. “The master bedroom is on the second floor. If you prefer a smaller room, mine is the next one over.”
He backed away from her slowly. Alarm crossed her face.
“Where are you going?”
“I need,” he let out a shaky breath. “To clear my head.”
“Drake?”
Ignoring her pleading tone, he pivoted sharply and headed for the door.
“Drake!”
He refused to turn around. He refused to break down in front of her. He wanted it all, not the crumbs she would give him out of pity.
He didn’t want her pity.
Drake yanked the door open and slammed it behind him.
Chapter 12
Izabel rushed to the foyer, barefoot and naked except for her ruined sweater and panties. The devastation on Drake’s face jolted something deep inside her. She couldn’t name the emotion, but all she knew was she couldn’t let him walk away.
Her hands circled the doorknob but froze when she heard him roar.
A guttural, plaintive howl that tore at her insides, releasing forgotten emotions from her heart that she’d kept on lockdown since his return. Her hand dropped from the knob and she turned from the door, leaning against it. She’d never heard such agonizing sounds come from Drake. It reminded her of a wolf looking for his mate.
Eyes blurring, she slid to the floor as she let her own pain bleed down her face. The loss of Drake, the days when she thought she couldn’t go on. The resolve that held her together during her three-month prenatal check-up only to have that ripped away from her when she lost their baby weeks later.
She clawed her way back from the depths of her grief, channeled all her energy into making other people’s lives better. Did she have the fortitude to be with a man like Drake again?
And that was the root of her problem.
Fear.
Her head throbbed. She hadn’t fully recovered from the tranquilizer effects, and this confrontation with Drake drained her.
Eyes drooping, she let herself go.
Someone was carrying her.
“Drake?” she mumbled.
“Sleep, baby.” A gravelly voice spoke to her. “I’ve got you.”
She snuggled into the safety of his embrace.
Izabel awakened to the smell of coffee and unfamiliar surroundings. Roman shades blocked the sunlight, but starbursts rimmed their edges. A gold jacquard divan sat below the window ledge. The walls were painted a dusky blue. Carefully, she pulled the comforter from her body and was confused that she was in her nightshirt. Then flashes of the night before hit her.
Drake ripping her sweater apart.
Drake kissing her senseless.
Drake burying his face between her thighs.
Warmth stole over her face into the roots of her hair and she hid her face in the soft pillows, groaning, “I am such a slut.”
One kiss was all it took and she had ignited. Her body betrayed her and surrendered to the strings of its master. Their physical chemistry was undeniable, undimmed by the years, but was it enough to risk her heart again?
Whatever the answer was, she wouldn’t find it in bed. Tossing back the covers, she lowered her feet to the plush carpet and noticed an open duffel sitting by the divan. She shook her head, not surprised that Drake would take it upon himself to pack for her. He’d always been bossy that way. But both he and Izabel knew to pick their battles. This was why they had such a successful marriage when divorce among their peers was at an all-time high.
A cylinder of rolled up vellum paper sat on top of the bag.
They were the plans of their dream house which she had crumpled and thrown in the trash the day she went on a date with Kyle. White marks left permanent cracks in the design and reminded her of the state of her marriage. She remembered Drake’s words last night about hanging on to her anger. If she let go, they could begin again just as she could draw a new house plan on a pristine sheet of vellum.
She looked around for her purse. It was nowhere in the room. Damned secret agent stuff. They didn’t want her calling anyone. She wouldn’t be surprised if her husband had done something to it so it wasn’t trackable. She wasn’t so groggy yesterday no
t to notice the high-tech equipment in that basement.
Izabel needed answers.
After taking care of her morning routine, thankful that Drake remembered how meticulous she was with her skin care products, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Her lids were puffy from her crying but, somehow, their encounter last night had been cathartic. Or maybe she was relieved that even though her heart and mind were confused, there was still a part of her that responded to Drake, a part of her that wanted to be his wife again.
She went back to the bedroom and looked through her duffle for something to wear. Izabel pulled out a pair of jeans and a hoodie. She changed out of her sleep shirt. Something in her chest twitched when she saw her slip-on shoes.
Drake had not forgotten the little things about her.
When she stepped out of the bedroom into the hallway, she took in the familiar layout of the second floor. A sweeping staircase separated two wings of the house. There was a room adjacent hers and one at the far end of the hallway. The opposite wing had an upstairs parlor and two more rooms. She had a similar design for their dream house, except she made better use of the center stairway, which would open to the family room.
“Ugh,” Izabel berated herself for reminiscing of a time that would only bring her heartache. She could not, should not, relapse into the shell of the woman she’d been. Her anticipation of seeing a bare-chested Drake was not helping either. But when she cleared the last step and turned into the kitchen, there was no sign of her husband.
Instead, a woman who appeared to be in her late fifties sat at the breakfast nook, sipping coffee as she casually swiped across her tablet.
“Uhm … good morning?” Izabel couldn’t help the questioning tone that crept into her voice.
The woman glanced up and smiled serenely. “Morning, Izabel.”
Cautiously stepping into the morning nook, she wiped her hands at her sides before shoving them into her back pockets as she waited for the woman to say something.
“I’m Gina Carter,” the woman said as she rose and held out her hand.
Despite her reservation, Izabel shook the proffered hand. She quickly tucked her fingers back in her pocket. “Where’s Drake?”
“He’ll join us later.”
“Us?” This time Izabel eyed the older woman suspiciously. “Who exactly are you?”
“A friend.”
Eyes narrowing, Izabel crossed her arms defensively. “Try again.”
Gina noted her movement with a faint smile. “I’m Drake’s therapist.”
A psychiatrist. Izabel lowered her arms and spun away slightly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Unbelievable.” When Gina didn’t respond, Izabel turned back to face her. “How can Drake … how can you expect me to talk to you” —she snapped her fingers—“just like that.”
The older woman’s eyes reflected compassion … and Izabel hated it.
“We weren’t expecting you to agree—”
“Do I look like I need an intervention?” she challenged.
Gina sat back in her chair. “It’s more like Drake needs me to intervene. Apparently he’s doing a poor job at this reconciliation.”
“Understatement,” Izabel mumbled under her breath. “I’m still not talking to you.”
“Fair enough.” The other woman nodded. “Do you trust Drake?”
Izabel didn’t respond.
“I didn’t think so,” Gina said. “What about Tex?”
“What about him?”
“If he vouches for me, would you agree to speak to me?”
She blew out a resigned breath. “I don’t know who to trust any more, but Tex has always been there for me.”
“So, is that a yes?”
“For a shrink you don’t have a lot of patience or finesse,” Izabel muttered. “Besides, you haven’t really revealed who you work for.”
“I’m retired,” Gina said. “But I used to work for the agency.”
Izabel stilled. A CIA shrink? The woman before her looked like a spinster aunt. An elegant spinster aunt.
Gina spread her hands in a glib gesture. “Unfortunately, marital strife is not my specialty, so I’ll try my best here.”
“I haven’t agreed to talk to you.”
The shrink smiled faintly, before picking up her phone and swiping the screen. She put the phone on speaker.
After a few rings, Tex’s voice came on the line. “Our boy crash and burn?”
Gina laughed briefly. “You can say that.”
“I don’t need a shrink,” Izabel declared.
“I agree, but you need someone to explain where Drake is coming from,” Tex said. “I’ve seen you both go through hell,” he paused. “You tried to move on, Izzy, but I know you. You still love Drake. And, sweetie, he loves you more than anything. You’re feeling betrayed, but don’t deny yourself the chance to see where this can go.”
“Well, hell, I don’t know if I’m needed here,” Gina interjected with amusement.
“Sorry, Doc G,” Tex chuckled. “You get me, Izzy?”
“Goodness, Tex,” Izabel exclaimed. “It’s only been four days—”
Her friend laughed. “It’s Maddox we’re talking about here.”
Izabel had to smile. Yes, Drake wasn’t a very patient man, especially when it came to her.
She sighed in resignation. “Okay.” She looked at Gina. “But if I’m feeling manipulated, we’re done.”
“Told you she was a tough chick.”
“Yes, Maddox schooled me.”
“I’m getting coffee,” Izabel grumbled. “Talk to you soon, Tex.” She walked over to the coffee machine and wondered what she’d agreed to. There was some comfort knowing Tex was onboard with Gina getting involved, but it didn’t mean she didn’t have her reservations.
Stirring milk into her coffee, she turned and leaned against the counter and locked eyes with Gina. “Just so you know, I’ve had enough therapy and grief counseling to last me a lifetime. They built me back up to what I am now. I’m not perfect. I have my scars. I’m not going to stand for one of those sessions where you break me down in order to build me up.”
“I’m not in psy-ops,” Gina said, amused. “I don’t handle the brainwashing part.”
There’s a brainwashing part?
Gina turned in her seat to face her. She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. “I’m not really certain that division exists. My job at the agency is to ensure the effectiveness of an agent.”
“At all costs, I presume.”
Gina couldn’t miss the sarcasm in her voice. “Yes. But we’re not here to talk about me.”
Izabel walked up to the breakfast table, pulled out a chair and sat. “Let’s get this over with.”
“All right.” The other woman leaned forward and linked her fingers over a knee. “Tell me about your mother.”
The morning passed and Gina had not once asked about Drake. Over breakfast of croissants and coffee, Izabel told her about her mother, Carmen Rodriguez. She had fond memories of Ma.
“She had the artistic flair for styling hair and applying makeup,” Izabel said proudly. “She was in-demand for weddings and photo shoots.”
“She never thought to open her own salon?”
“No. She preferred to rent space, to be her own boss without a lot of overhead.”
“And your father?”
Sadness tweaked her heart and she stared at her coffee. “He wasn’t in the picture. Ma loved with all her heart, but she kept falling for the wrong men.” She glanced at Gina. “She had a brief affair with my father who was a married man.”
“Ouch.”
“Yup. When she got pregnant, he wanted her to have an abortion. My mother was horrified, not only because she was Catholic, but that she could have fallen for such a man. The rose-colored glasses came off quickly and she kicked him to the curb.”
Gina nodded as if filing the information away. “You got into an Ivy League school for college?”
“My mother was a
proud woman. She never accepted a dime from my father, but she broke her wrist at an inopportune time when she’d made bad investments and she lost most of our savings.” Izabel shook her head at the memory. “I was in my third year of high school and our house was under threat of foreclosure. She approached my father.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“He didn’t want to meet me.” Izabel shrugged. “I’ve long accepted it.”
“You know who he is though?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “He’s from a political dynasty in the midwest. Old money. His wife was old money too. Ma didn’t feel guilty about blackmailing him to get me into Cornell. She said it was years of child support and at that time, my father was running for governor.”
“Perfect timing.” Gina chuckled.
“It was.”
“She wasn’t afraid that your father could send someone to silence her? That was risky.”
Her Ma was a contrary woman. “She didn’t say it. But she believed my father truly loved her.”
“And when she asked for the money?”
“He didn’t think twice. I think it was because he loved my mother, but he loved his political career more.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Ma died a year after I graduated.”
“So she met Drake?”
Hearing his name spurred a wariness that changed the tone of their conversation from easy nostalgia to the purpose of this meeting. Well played, Doc G.
“Yes, she did, albeit, only briefly. She had lung cancer. And no she wasn’t a smoker. Her oncologist thought it was from her years of cleaning houses and the exposure to the chemicals.” Her heart ached at her mother’s sacrifices. “The chemicals at the salon didn’t help either, but it was too late.”
“She loved what she was doing at the end though, right?” Gina said.
Izabel gave her a watery smile. “She did.” She puffed out a brave breath to keep from crying. “Anyway, I visited my mother’s gravesite the week after her burial and there was a single white rose at the headstone.”
Reclaiming Izabel (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) Page 10