“And does she like it?”
“She hates it, but I swear telling me how much she hates it there is her favorite past time. Whenever I offer to help her move somewhere else she tells me no, she can’t leave her friends.”
“Where were you before that?”
“The LA area.”
“She moved across the country?”
“Yeah.” Some people you just had to get away from.
“Who did you leave behind in LA?” Abigail’s voice was soft, almost drowned out by the conversations around them.
Luke watched the condensation roll down his glass, like tears.
Megan.
Her tears.
He hadn’t been old enough to help her. Not after his uncle broke his arm. After that night, Luke had vowed to never again let anyone down. And now, he couldn’t stop trying to save people who were either too stupid to let him do his job or didn’t want to be saved.
“Luke?” Abigail touched his wrist, a gentle brush of skin on skin.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry I asked.”
“Don’t be.” He glanced up and smiled, though the gesture was forced.
They’d gone from playful and fun to serious so fast he nearly had whiplash.
A line was on the tip of his tongue. Words to deflect, entertain, and yet what came out was anything but those carefully prepared platitudes.
“My mother had a brother we lived with for a long time after my dad died. What with how expensive that area can be, we all had to live in the same house. We were the stereotypical black family. Poor. Uncle was hooked on booze and drugs. Beat anything around him that moved.”
Why was he still talking? He needed to shut up, and yet his mouth kept working, spilling out the whole painful history.
“I was seventeen, a lanky kid, and he comes home one night high as fuck. Starts hitting his wife. He was a piece of trash. Is a piece of trash. I got it in my head to get involved because I was a man. He broke my arm in two places and started hitting his baby girl. Megan. He beat her so bad when CPS came the next day they didn’t bother asking questions. They just took her. Never saw her after that, not even after they stuck his ass in jail. A week later, I went down to the Navy office, because it was the closest, and enlisted with my cast still on.”
He stared at the white tablecloth, one foot in each world—then and now.
“I don’t know why I just told you all of that. I don’t usually talk about it,” he said after a few moments.
“You’d be surprised the things people tell me.” Her thumb swiped over his fingers.
Abigail was holding his hand. He wasn’t sure when that had happened, but her long, delicate fingers were wrapped around his, grounding him.
Never again would he be that boy and stand back while someone else was hurt.
The waiter delivered their dinner in a flourish. The fancy food, the wine, hell, even the linen napkins were all things the kid he’d been would have thought were for someone else—never him. But he’d learned. He’d found his way into a better life, and damn it if he was going to let someone like the Smiths screw him over.
“What happened to your aunt?” Abigail asked after several minutes.
“She divorced my uncle, finally. I helped her fill out the paperwork and file it. She always deserved better than him.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“Yeah, she got remarried to a good guy. Things are working out for her.” He’d even gone to her wedding and gave her away in place of the father she hadn’t known. She’d always be family.
“You’re a good man.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I don’t think they’re finishing dinner.”
Luke glanced up, and she was correct. The Smiths were pushing untouched plates back, standing and shaking hands, the food forgotten.
“I’ll see about getting the food delivered to their rooms—”
“I’ll see about them.” Luke stood and crossed to the clients, waiting a good four feet away until Mr. Smith flicked his fingers at Luke.
“Dinner?” he said.
“Abigail’s on it.” Luke had to hand it to the lady, she’d picked up on the Smith’s habits fast. “Are you going out or—”
“We’re retiring for the evening.”
Luke glanced to where Abigail had her head together with the maître d’. He caught her eye, jerked his head up, and she gave him a short nod. That taken care of, he texted Ethan to let him know they were on their way up. All the bases covered, he hung back, content to follow his clients at a snail’s pace out of the restaurant and through the lobby. Abigail swept up from behind before they got within ten feet of the elevator.
While the Smiths bid their guests goodbye, Luke surveyed the lobby and snapped a few pictures.
Their hotel had obvious security posted at each entrance and he had yet to see a single staff person with a hair out of place. He was willing to bet the casual person had to pass a bank check to even gain entry. All in all, it was one of the nicer places he’d stayed. What was even better, was that the staff like him were so very out of place, which would make a threat easy to spot.
If all went well, the rest of this gig would be smooth sailing.
They rode to the top floor in silence, save for Mrs. Smith inquiring about their dinner delivery.
Luke glanced at Abigail, catching her eye.
Could he interest her in a round two? This time without losing his head and talking about all the family junk better left unsaid.
Ethan was waiting by the doors to let them into the suite. The Smiths lost no time retreating to the master and closing them out.
“I take it dinner went well?” Ethan asked.
“I don’t know, man.” Luke peered at Ethan, who slowly lifted his chin.
Ah, so they were on track then.
Thanks to a few gigs over the last year that had brought Aegis into situations that ran parallel to both FBI and CIA operations, they’d made friends. Friends who would want to know the Smiths movements, who they were talking to, and where they went. Luke might want out of here, but he wasn’t going to pass up a chance at doing the right thing.
“I’ve got a Skype date with the wife. Enjoy dinner.” Ethan turned and headed into their room, closing the door behind him.
Luke knew he was better off giving the man an hour or more alone.
He turned to face Abigail, who was staring at the wooden double doors of the Smith’s suite.
“Got any plans for dinner?” he asked.
Abigail turned her face toward him.
There was…a look in her eye. A look that said she had plans.
Luke swallowed.
That was a dangerous kind of look.
Abigail took a step toward him, and then another, until nothing but a few inches of air separated them. She lifted a hand, touching his cheek. She wasn’t that tall, but the way she stared at him might as well have cut him off at the knees.
He bent his head.
She lifted up.
4.
Abigail slid her hand around the back of Luke’s head. The short, wiry hairs tickled her palm. His mouth moved against hers, his tongue licking the seam of her lips. She inhaled his scent. It’d been driving her crazy since the plane. He thrust into her mouth, stroking her in a way that she felt in her nipples and lower.
Long-dead parts of her woke up. Life and—dare she name it—excitement filled her. She’d been so focused for so long, cutting off her more human needs until she was all but robotic.
Until he’d made her remember what it was like to be alive again. That what she did—was doing—made a difference to others. But this? Here, in this moment with his hand on her ass and the other in her hair—this was for her.
She groaned and leaned into the kiss, lifting up just a little bit more. She wanted all of him. Right now. For herself. Not for a mission or because that was what she was told needed to be done to complete an objective—but for herself.
L
uke didn’t know who she was—what she was. And it didn’t matter. Because they were two people exploring a spark. A bit of attraction. Selfishly, she wanted everything he could give her. To feel this rush of life.
He pressed his palm to the curve of her bottom, grinding their pelvises together. His erection pressed against her, a promise of what could be hers. If only for a night.
She grasped the front of his shirt and pulled in a vain attempt to get closer. The pearlescent buttons popped off, pinging off the floor and coffee table.
Abigail rocked back to her heels, staring at the wrecked expanse of white fabric in her hand.
“Oops…”
She should be sorry, but she wasn’t. Not really.
He wasn’t wearing an undershirt. For some reason, that fact mattered. Beside the point that she got an excellent glimpse of finely-toned pectoral muscles—it was significant in another manner.
As if, despite the sophisticated veneer, under it all, he was just like her.
“It’s just a shirt.” He bent his head and took her mouth, his hand still anchored in her hair.
His other hand slid around her waist, while his tongue continued to fuck her mouth.
They needed to vacate the living room.
Now.
Because this was happening.
Tomorrow, she’d worry about completing her objective and ending this circus. But for tonight, she wanted to be a woman with a man.
She held onto the shirt and pulled, walking backward toward her tiny room.
Luke followed, their mouths never parting while their bodies danced across the suite. Her shoulder hit the doorjamb and she fumbled with the handle.
A sharp knock broke through the fog of lust.
That was important. Why was it important?
Right.
Dinner.
She tore her mouth from his and for a second they stared at each other. She was close to burning up inside.
“I’ll get the door,” he said.
“You can’t.” She glanced down at his shirt and the erection tenting his trousers. “I’ll get the door. You get in my room.”
“I like the way you think.” He slid his hand out of her hair and cupped her cheek.
She couldn’t form words.
He buzzed her lips with a quick kiss, and left her, whisking past her into her room.
Her room.
Shit.
What was she thinking?
She wasn’t.
She was feeling, and that was the problem. Hearts lied.
Abigail smoothed her hair and crossed to the door. She inhaled one, deep breath before whisking it open on the dinner cart and attendant.
“I’ll take it from here, thank you,” she said in Arabic before she caught herself.
The attendant didn’t seem to notice her slip, but she did.
Abigail was an American.
Abigail did not know Arabic.
Yael did.
Double shit.
She needed to scratch this itch, get it out of her system, so she could focus.
Abigail shut the door and wheeled the cart to the middle of the room. She stashed her and Luke’s dinners on the coffee table and proceeded to deliver the remainder to the anteroom of the master suite. Judging from the sounds coming from the master, no one would be eating anytime soon.
She crossed to her bedroom, saying a silent prayer that Luke wasn’t the nosey type.
The door wasn’t fully closed. She pushed it with her fingers, holding her breath against what she might find.
Luke reached for her, wrapping his hand around her wrist. Her heart rose into her throat. He yanked her forward against his chest and closed the door with a slight bang. Her back hit the wall a second later and his lips were on hers.
His shirt and jacket were gone, but the pants were, sadly, still on.
She’d have to fix that.
Abigail grasped the front of his trousers.
Luke wrapped his hands around her other wrist, pulling it from his waistband and flattened them to the wall.
His kiss slowed to a gentle, teasing stroke. She nipped his lower lip, but he merely chuckled.
She didn’t need soft or slow.
She wanted adrenaline, lust, and sweat.
Abigail tested his hold. She could break it. The maneuver wasn’t about strength, and he wouldn’t be able to stop her.
“What? I can hear you thinking,” Luke whispered against her cheek. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw.
She glanced at his dark hand wrapped around her arm.
“You have control issues.” His lips brushed over her ear. “You’re thinking, “I could put him on his ass if I wanted,” aren’t you?”
His teeth closed over the soft part of her earlobe and sucked.
Her knees went weak.
“Yes,” she moaned.
“Go ahead. Do it.” He put a little more force behind his hold.
It didn’t matter. She could still turn the tables—but was that what she wanted?
“If you stay right here, like this, I’ll make it worth it.”
She shivered. Was that moan—her?
It was. That was her.
His hot breath fanned her cheek, down her neck. He kissed the sensitive spot behind her jaw and then her shoulder.
She needed the wall to remain upright.
“I’ve been thinking about you all night. Doing this.” He let go of one wrist and slid his hand between her and the wall.
She arched her back and turned her face, seeking his mouth.
His lips were gentle, teasing.
He tugged the zipper down, all the way to the top of her ass.
She wanted to brush the straps off…but that would mean moving her hands.
Luke laced their fingers together, palm to palm, and kissed her once more. His thigh pressed between hers and she shifted, wanting more. Now.
She was greedy where he was patient. It did not make for a good combination.
He guided her hands down to her sides, the implied command telegraphed loud and clear.
Luke stepped back, hooking his fingers into the straps over each shoulder. He guided both down her shoulders, dipping his head to kiss each inch of exposed flesh, down her collar bone, between her aching breasts. His hands clenched her waist, gripping the fabric. Her hands slid from the straps and she flattened them against the wall. He sank to one knee, then the other. His lips tickled her belly.
His lips stopped at the edge of her panties while he guided the rest of her dress to the floor.
She’d met a lot of men in her line of work; powerful, dangerous ones, but none like Luke. He was different, and she recognized his core.
And here she was thinking again.
This wasn’t about anything except scratching an itch.
Feeling alive.
“Hot damn.” He slid his hands over her abdomen and hooked his fingers into her panties.
She swallowed. He tugged the simple black underwear down her legs.
“I’m going to eat you up,” Luke said.
“Is that a threat? Or a promise?”
“Depends, do you scream?”
“Never.”
“That sounds like a challenge then.” His lips spread into a wide smile.
There was something playful about him. She wasn’t used to that. But something inside of her, something forgotten, woke up and took hold.
“Bring it on,” she said.
Luke leaned forward, kissed her hip, and followed the slight tan line. His fingers brushed through the curls covering her mound. He opened his eyes, his lips still on her, and met her gaze.
He grasped her right knee and pushed it up over his shoulder. Her hips canted forward. Her stomach was all knotted up. She was completely open to him.
His touch was certain, bold. This was no fumbling search. No, Luke knew exactly what he was doing to her. His fingers parted her folds, sliding back and forth.
Her eyes closed and she groaned,
moving with him. He was watching her, she could feel it—and she didn’t care. Let him see how much he turned her on, what he was doing to her. There was nothing to gain or lose by being with him. This was for her.
His thick fingers probed her entrance. One digit swirled around, teasing her nerve endings. She groaned and worked her hips, searching for the right touch.
Luke’s lips were hot against her thigh. He kissed up higher between her legs. He thrust his fingers inside of her, the sudden intrusion startling a gasp out of her. His tongue licked her clit in one, long, slow motion.
“Oh—oh…”
“Too much?” he asked.
“No.”
He added another finger, working them deep while his tongue swirled around the bundle of nerves. She dropped a hand to his head, needing something to hold on to. Thank goodness she’d worn flats instead of heels or she’d have toppled over.
“You like that?” His voice rumbled against her.
“Yes—oh, right there.”
“You feel like riding my face, go ahead.”
She meant to say yes, but it came out as another moan instead.
His lips wrapped around her clit and he pumped her. She cupped the back of his head and undulated against him. Some small part of her was shocked, but his fingers and mouth felt too good to be wrong.
She curled one hand over her breast, slipping it into the cup of her bra and grasped her stiff nipple, twisting it between her fingers. Her thigh curled around his shoulders and her back slid lower, giving her more freedom to move, to be fucked, to fuck.
His fingers curled inside of her, stroking her inner walls.
Her jaw dropped, and her breath stuttered out of her lungs.
His teeth grazed her clit, just a barely-there touch with a bit of tongue.
The muscles in her abdomen fluttered, and her channel clenched around him, pulsating while a pleasure so sharp and sudden washed over her. He stroked and licked her through the orgasm, never breaking his stride until the last tremors shook her.
He pressed a kiss to her mound, applying the slightest pressure to her clit. The tremors shook her knees, threatening to send her to the floor. His deep chuckle was the only sound in the room.
“You almost screamed.” He sounded so pleased with himself she kind of wished she had.
Dangerous Assignment (Aegis Group Book 4) Page 4