First Strike

by Pamela Clare

  So he had recognized her.

  Laura looked into his eyes, awareness arcing between them as she took his hand and repeated his name. “Javier Corbray.”

  They stood there for a moment, he still holding her hand, she not drawing it away.

  “I guess I’ll let you get back to work.” He gave her a nod, released her hand, and turned to walk back to his table.

  Laura suddenly felt like a jerk. No, she hadn’t needed him to save her, but he hadn’t known that. He’d intervened believing he was truly helping her—and he’d apparently done so without expecting anything in return. If he’d been trying to hit on her, he wouldn’t be halfway back to his table now.

  “So that’s it? You’re just going to rescue me and go?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Some part of Javier couldn’t believe it. He was sitting in an upscale hotel restaurant in Dubai City having a conversation with Laura Nilsson.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Those dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. The soft curve of her lips. The column of her throat. The play of light on her silky blond hair. Those perfect blue eyes. Hell, she even smelled good—clean, soft, sweet. He wanted to take her up to his room, lift that black dress over her head, and spend hours exploring every inch of her body.

  How could he ever have thought her anything but beautiful?

  Clearly he’d been an idiot.

  “What made you decide to become a TV journalist?” Given the X-rated ideas chasing through his mind, he was surprised his brain was functioning enough for him to keep up with the conversation. But in truth, she was easy to talk to, not at all the Valkyrie he’d imagined she would be.

  She smiled as she answered. “When I was thirteen, there was a fire in the building across the street. Swedish TV sent a reporter. I watched as she interviewed the families. Most of them had lost everything. She was moved to tears by a little boy who was sobbing about the kitten his parents hadn’t been able to save. But when she went on the air, she was so calm and professional. She made everyone else in the country care about what had happened to those people. I decided that night I wanted to be like her, to share people’s stories with the world and make them care.”

  Javier found himself hanging on her every word.

  You want her.

  Hell, yeah, he did. What man wouldn’t?

  Did she want him?

  Why in the hell was he asking himself that question?

  Dubai was not the place for a quick fling unless he wanted to risk flogging and a stint in jail, not to mention a demotion in rank when he got out. Creating an international incident by fucking around was not what his commander expected of him. Besides, a woman like Laura probably wanted some kind of commitment, and Javier wasn’t interested in a relationship.

  Sex? Yeah. Strings? Nah, man. It just wasn’t for him.

  He’d learned the hard way that SEALs and long-term relationships did not go together. “You grew up in Sweden?”

  “I have dual citizenship.” Her fingers traced a distracting line up and down the moist stem of her wine glass. “What about you? You haven’t told me what you do.”

  He grinned. “No, I haven’t.”

  And he wouldn’t.

  He took OPSEC—operational security—seriously. He never shared the fact that he was a special operator with people who didn’t need to know, and he sure as hell wouldn’t talk about it in public when his country was at war.

  When he said nothing more, her sweet mouth went pouty. “All right then, keep your secrets.”

  Realizing what she might be thinking and not wanting to come across as some creep, he reached out and almost took her hand before he remembered where they were. The Naval Special Warfare travel advisory on Dubai warned service members to avoid so much as touching people of the opposite sex in public, apart from a simple handshake.

  He rested his hand on the table close to hers. “I’m not dangerous.”

  One blond eyebrow arched.

  Okay, so threatening those two Russians made what he’d just said seem like a lie.

  He leaned closer. “I’m not a danger to you.”

  Her lips curved in a slow smile that made his blood ignite. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second.”

  What was it about men who gave off that “don’t fuck with me” vibe that made Laura want to do just that?

  “You didn’t like Jumeirah Beach?” For a man who’d come to Dubai City to see the sights, he didn’t seem very impressed.

  “Nah, not really.” He raised his beer mug and finished the glass, Laura’s gaze drawn first to his flexing bicep, then to his moist lips. “Growing up, I spent summers at my grandmother’s place in Humacao. You want to see a beach, come to Puerto Rico.”

  So he was Puerto Rican—probably a mix of Taíno Indian, African, and Spanish.

  “I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

  He nodded, smiled, looking into her eyes. “A lover’s paradise.”

  A bolt of heat shot through her belly, her pulse skipping.

  He made the words sound erotic, pronouncing every syllable slowly, the warmth in his eyes signaling that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  Surprised by the intensity of her own physical reaction, she raised her glass to her lips, only to find it empty.

  “Let me buy you another.”

  She set the glass down. “I’d like that. Thanks.”

  She watched as he made his way through the crowded restaurant toward the bar to get another glass of wine for her and another beer for himself, his perfect, muscular ass shifting beneath the denim of his jeans as he walked, his movements sleek, confident. People stepped aside for him, as if they knew instinctively that they shouldn’t cross him.

  But he wasn’t arrogant. Most men who were ripped and sexy like Javier had egos to match, standing at the center of their own vain little worlds. But Javier hadn’t shown a hint of swagger. Instead, he’d asked her a half-dozen questions about her job, seeming genuinely interested in her answers. He even knew about some of her bigger stories—her exposé on the Pentagon’s failure to supply soldiers with body armor, her investigation into the group of servicemen who’d been running a protection racket in Baghdad. She sensed something deeper in Javier, something that went beyond his good looks and charm, something real.

  God, he turned her on.

  From the moment he’d sat at her table, her mind had begun spinning sexual fantasies of the two of them together. Everything about him seemed to draw her in—his smooth skin, his voice, the stubble on his square jaw, his clean scent, those full lips. What would they feel like when he kissed her, tasted her, went down on her?

  The very thought made her wet.

  She’d always been careful about the men she allowed into her bed, sometimes going months and even years between lovers. Her job put her in the public eye, and the last thing she wanted was to leave a trail of men who would watch the news, point to her, and say to their buddies, “Yeah, I slept with her. I fucked the Baghdad Babe.”

  Her career didn’t leave a lot of time for men, anyway. She had dreams of one day being a news anchor or perhaps even hosting an evening news program. She had no desire to get married, settle down, and have kids, and that meant she needed to steer clear of men who might mistake her interest for something more than sexual.

  She watched as he paid for the drinks and then started back toward the table, another glass of chardonnay in one hand, a mug of beer in the other.

  Would he be good in bed?

  Pondering that question made her ache inside.

  Oh, yes, he would be.

  She couldn’t say what made her so sure of that. Maybe it was the way he paid attention to every word she said. Maybe it was the way he moved, so in control of his own body. Maybe it was the heat in his eyes when he looked at her. But she had a feeling that if she ended up in bed with him, he would make it well worth her while.

  She crossed her legs, squeezed, trying to appease the ache, but that only made it wo
rse, the feeling of arousal between her thighs impossible to ignore.

  Pull it together, Nilsson.

  Of course, there was no way for them to hook up—not here. Unmarried sex was illegal in Dubai. It was even illegal for unrelated men and women to be alone together. They couldn’t just get into the elevator, head to her room, and get it on. If they were caught, they’d go to jail, maybe even be flogged.

  And wouldn’t that make for a nice news teaser?

  Laura Nilsson arrested in Dubai for illicit sex with man she barely knew. Hormones to blame. Film at eleven.

  She ran the words through her mind and found herself wondering again what Javier did for a living. Was he Delta Force? An Army Ranger? A Green Beret?

  Most U.S. servicemen trusted her enough to tell her what they did for a living, but Javier wasn’t one of them. That meant the work he did was highly classified—or that he worked for a private contractor that specialized in covert ops.

  He could be an arms dealer for all you know.

  There was no doubt. He was dangerous.

  Somehow that thought left her feeling even more aroused.

  You need to buy a battery-operated boyfriend.

  Even if she’d had one, she wouldn’t have been able to bring it along on her travels. She was pretty sure she’d get into less trouble if she were caught smuggling an AK-47 into Dubai than if she were found in possession of a vibrator.

  Javier handed her the wine glass, his warm fingers grazing hers, striking sparks off her skin. He slid into the seat across from her. “This place gets crowded.”

  She glanced around them. “It’s Friday night. Most of the city is shut down. Expats have to do something with themselves.”

  “Cheers.” He raised his beer glass and drank.

  Her gaze locked with his, desire for him driving all other thoughts from her mind.

  She set her glass aside, leaned toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper, her pulse spiking as she shared what was on her mind. “Will this conversation get awkward if I tell you how very much I want to fuck you?”

  Javier leaned against the paneled elevator wall, Laura’s extra key card in his pocket next to the condoms he’d bought in the bar’s restroom. Anticipation coiled inside him, made his blood run hot, his mind filling with erotic images. Laura naked on all fours, head down, ass up. Laura on her back, her thighs on his shoulders as he went down on her. Laura riding him, her breasts in his hands.

  You’re loco, Corbray. If you get caught…

  He glanced covertly at the security camera, knowing that no one was actually watching to make sure he got off at the sixteenth floor instead of the nineteenth.

  Room 1927.

  She was waiting for him there.

  And, God, he hoped she was naked.

  No, he hoped she hadn’t removed a thing. He wanted to undress her.

  Hell, he didn’t care. He just wanted to be there, in her room, inside her.

  He paced the length of the elevator, the car not moving nearly fast enough.

  Fifth floor. Sixth. Seventh.

  ¡Puñeta! Fuck!

  When was the last time he’d hooked up with a woman he’d met in a bar?

  He’d been twenty-three going on stupid. He’d met a pretty chula, taken her back to his place, and had a night of empty, meaningless sex that had been followed by a week of hoping he’d never see her again.

  But Laura Nilsson wasn’t just some college girl. She was an accomplished journalist, a household name back in the U.S. Hell, half the world knew who she was. Why had she chosen him tonight when she could have had any man in that restaurant? He was just a Boricua from the South Bronx. She had money, good looks, brains.

  Worried you won’t measure up, pendejo?

  Fourteenth floor. Fifteenth. Sixteenth.

  He didn’t think he’d ever met a woman who was as direct as she was. First, she’d told him she wanted to fuck him. Then she’d laid down her conditions.

  I want you to understand that I don’t plan on getting married or having kids. This weekend—it’s just a weekend. Nothing more. Okay?

  No strings. That works for me, too.

  Truth be told, it turned him on that she knew what she wanted.

  Eighteenth. Nineteenth.

  The elevator car stopped, a tiny bell giving a ding as the doors opened.

  He stepped out to find the hallway empty, not a security camera in sight.

  He glanced at the polished, bronze-plated sign on the wall and followed the directions down the long corridor toward her room, drawing the key card from his pocket and slipping it into the lock.

  A buzz.

  The light flashed green.

  He opened the door and walked in.

  She stood just inside the door, the bedside lamp lighting the luxurious room behind her, spilling over the neatly made bed. She was barefoot but still dressed, her pupils dilated, her lips parted, her breathing rapid and shallow. She took one step toward him, threw her arms around his neck and rose on tiptoe to kiss him.

  He drew her hard against him, his lips meeting hers for a kiss that lit him on fire—skin, blood, and bones. Her lips were soft, her clever tongue teasing his, her body sweet in his arms. He felt her shift, one of her hands fumbling with his zipper.

  The woman wasn’t wasting time. Fine by him.

  He wanted her now.

  Without breaking the kiss, he slid a hand into his pocket, drew out a condom, and pressed it into the palm of the hand that had freed his cock. While she took care of that, he took care of her, backing her against the wall and reaching beneath her black dress to cup her through the irritating silk of her panties.

  ¡Diache! Holy shit!

  She was already wet.

  He grabbed the elastic band and broke it with a jerk, ripping her panties off her body and tossing them aside. Then he let his fingers explore the slick sweetness of her pussy, nudging apart her plump labia, teasing her swollen little clit, sliding a finger deep inside her.

  She gasped, gave a hungry little whimper, spreading her legs for him, her hand rolling a condom down the aching length of his cock as he fingered her.

  When the condom was in place, he grabbed her ass, lifted her off the floor, and pinned her against the wall with his weight, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as she opened herself to him. And with a groan, he buried himself inside her.

  She turned her head to the side, her cheek pressing into the wall, her voice a breathy whisper. “Oh. God!”

  She felt so damned good, her pussy closing around his cock like a fist.

  Tight. Hot. Sweet.

  He moved inside her, giving her time to get used to him—three slow thrusts that almost blew his mind. And then he was driving into her hard and fast, fucking her with an urgency that took him by surprise, aware only of her and his need for her.

  The musky scent of her arousal. The sweet sound of her moans. The tightening of her thighs around his waist. The bite of her nails through the cloth of his shirt. The look of sexual bliss on her face.

  Her exhales became a whispered plea. “Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!”

  Faster, harder he thrust into her, his hips a piston. He fought to hold on, fought to finish her first, willing himself to last long enough. His mouth found the sensitive skin beneath her ear, kissing, sucking, biting. She felt so good, tasted so good.

  He felt her stiffen, heard her breath break, and had just enough time to silence her cry with a kiss. She arched in his arms, her inner muscles clenching around him as she came, driving him headlong toward the brink—and over the shimmering edge.

  Orgasm slammed through him with all the force and heat of a blast wave. He buried his face in her throat, groaned against her skin, his body seeming to come apart in her arms. And for a time, they stayed that way—him inside her, his face pressed against her throat, her fingers in his hair.

  He lifted his head and looked into a pair of beautiful blue eyes. And he could see she was as surprised as he by what had just happe
ned.

  “I’m not done with you.” She kissed him.

  Javier kissed her back. “I sure as hell hope not.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Laura felt him withdraw from her and lower her to her feet. She caught just a glimpse of his cock—still half-hard, wet, uncut—the sight of him making her pulse quicken. Then he turned and walked to the bathroom to clean up, condom in hand, her gaze following him.

  Hadn’t she known he’d be good in bed? They hadn’t even reached the bed yet, and her body was still humming with satisfaction at what had been one of the most intense orgasms of her life.

  At five-foot-ten, she wasn’t exactly petite. No man had ever done what Javier had just done, lifting her off the ground and fucking her up against the wall like that. For that matter, no man had ever ripped her panties off her body, as if he couldn’t wait long enough for her to take them off. What Javier had done had left her feeling intensely feminine, something inside her melting to find a man who could handle her sexually aggressive nature, even surpass it.

  She got aroused again just thinking about it.

  “Wow.” His voice came back to her from the bathroom, and she knew he’d discovered the sunken tub. “My room doesn’t have one of these.”

  As big as a twin-size bed and two feet deep, it had Greek columns that reached to the ceiling from each of its four corners, its tiles painted in ruby reds, sun yellows, emerald greens, and lapis blues.

  The toilet flushed, and she heard water running in the sink.

  Javier stepped out of the bathroom. “I had to flush it.”

  “What?”

  “The condom.” He walked toward her, the top button of his jeans still undone, a trail of hair disappearing behind his waistband. “I didn’t want to toss it in the trash where the maid could find it.”

  “Oh. Yes. Good idea.” She hadn’t thought of that. She supposed now was a good time to bring this up. “I use long-term contraception, so I’m protected. As long as you know you’re safe, we don’t need to use condoms.”