Oh, God, he was torturing her. She was going to vibrate apart if he didn’t touch her soon, really touch her, flesh to flesh, without the buffer of the sponge. Moaning encouragement, she arched into the caress.
The sponge left her breast and continued downward across her tight belly. She wanted to scream with frustration, but just as she opened her mouth, he reached the waistband of her panties and drew them down her legs. Then the sponge returned to her, warm as he traced it along her inner thighs. Her breath stalled in her lungs. Her body arched with each pass of the soft sponge over her most intimate parts. And when the sponge left her, she made a sound damn close to a whimper. “Seth.”
“What do you want, sweetheart?” he asked in a sexy, roughened voice that had her wet with need. He tossed the sponge aside and it landed in the water with a splash. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Touch me.”
“Like this?”
She gasped as his fingers parted her and one plunged deep. “Yes.” She pushed her hips toward him, needing more. “I tried to tell you before. I want you. So. Damn. Bad.”
His thumb brushed over her clit, sending a tremble through her thighs. She clamped her legs shut around his hand, holding him there before he got any stupid ideas about stopping himself again. But he didn’t back away. Instead, he slid a second finger in to join the first, stroking her closer to climax with a slow, teasing rhythm. He drew circles around her clit with his thumb until her hips rocked against his hand and a whimper escaped her throat.
“Please, Seth. Please.”
He bounded off the bed and for one horrible moment, she feared he was going to leave her again. What was wrong with her? Was she really so inferior compared to his Emma? Why did she so desperately want someone who was unable to reciprocate?
But then Seth returned and sat down on the edge of the mattress to untie his boots. He laid several packages on the bedside table.
Condoms.
Thank God.
Grinning with relief, she picked one up. “Where did these come from?”
“Jean-Luc.” One boot hit the floor. Then the other.
“Oh, I might kiss that man.”
Seth stood up, pulled his shirt over his head. “Don’t you dare.”
“Why not?” She stretched lazily and enjoyed the show as he worked on the button and zipper of his pants. “You the jealous type?”
His pants hit the floor too and he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers. Only then did he hesitate, uncertainty creeping into his eyes.
Oh hell no. He wasn’t stopping now.
Phoebe sat up, hooked her fingers into the elastic, and tugged the boxers down, all the while holding his gaze. Why didn’t he get it? She didn’t care what he looked like. It didn’t matter because she wanted him.
All of him. Scars and everything.
She took his erection in hand, felt the ridges of scar tissue along his shaft, but never broke eye contact as she guided him into her mouth. He tasted of salt and male and she liked it more than she thought she would.
She flicked her tongue over the head of his penis, testing, exploring. He stared down the length of his body at her with an expression of pure awe on his face, but he wasn’t writhing in ecstasy.
Was she not doing this right? She’d never taken a man into her mouth before, but was pretty sure she had the gist of the act down. There wasn’t much to it, but shouldn’t he be—
Crap. His scars.
Why hadn’t she considered that sooner? The rough, thickened tissue probably made him far less sensitive than other men.
Experimentally, she used a little of her teeth, dragging them lightly over his shaft. His stomach muscles tightened and his eyes rolled back. Finally, he groaned.
That was more like it. She liked watching him come undone, enjoyed the heady rush of feminine power that came with knowing she played a part in his undoing.
The underside of his shaft had very little scarring and she traced her tongue along the unmarred flesh from root to tip. His back arched, a fine sheen of sweat broke out over his skin, and his hand shook as he threaded it through her hair. Yup, he liked that. She did it again and a tremble rocked through him.
Hand wrapped in her hair, he tugged her away and pulled her up into his arms.
“Need you. So damn much,” he said between clenched teeth. He reached for one of the condoms and rolled it on. Before she could beg, he lifted her hips in his big hands and drove himself in to the root.
Yes. Finally.
Her head tilted back and her eyes fell closed as he filled her. He was large enough that she thought he might hurt if she wasn’t so aroused. As it was, she just felt full, the pressure intense and delicious, and she wanted more. She circled her legs around him, dug her heels into his ass. Urged him to move.
“Please,” she said.
Seth withdrew long enough to lay her on the bed, but she barely had time to miss the contact because as soon as they were both horizontal, he was inside her again. And, God, everything about this felt good—his weight pinning her to the mattress, his hips moving in lazy strokes between her thighs as if they had all the time in the world for this. When he leaned over and propped himself on his forearms, the change in angle thrilled her. The deeper, longer stokes built the pressure and it all erupted in a breath-stealing flash of heat and sensation.
He dropped his forehead to her shoulder and, with a shuddering groan, thrust deep one last time, joining their bodies so tightly together she wondered if she’d ever get him out of her system.
Or even if she’d ever want to.
She held him through his climax, her lips nuzzling his ear, until all the tension drained out of his muscles and he collapsed. He was heavy, but she couldn’t have cared less and held him tighter.
She ran a soothing hand over his short hair, liking the rasp of the stubble under her palm. Even so, he should grow it out again. She’d seen pictures of the way he used to wear it before joining the Marines, rakishly long and perpetually tousled, and would love to run her fingers through the light-brown locks.
As their breathing settled, Seth lifted his head and found her mouth in an achingly sweet kiss.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice little more than a rasp. He brushed a lock of hair off her face. “Did I hurt you? I wasn’t gentle. Or…” He winced. “Slow.”
She laughed. Hurt her? Not even close. Not when her body tingled with the warm aftereffects of an orgasm. But he needed the reassurance. She got that. Her close scrape with death had aroused his protective instincts.
“No,” she said, indulging him. “You didn’t hurt me and I didn’t want gentle or slow. This time.”
He let go an explosive breath and rolled off her, freeing their still-joined bodies. She instantly felt bereft at the loss and wanted the connection back.
Seth disposed of the condom, then dipped a hand in the pot of her bath water, testing the temperature. It wasn’t steaming anymore, but he must have decided it was still warm enough because he used the sponge to gently clean between her legs again. It was sweet. He was sweet.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He washed himself with considerably less care, then picked his pants and boxers off the floor. Something fluttered from his pocket. He froze and stared down at the creased photo, an expression of horror crossing his face before he grabbed it and rubbed the new crinkles out of it.
Emma’s photo.
All of the after-sex warm fuzzies drained out of Phoebe, leaving her numb. For a short time, she’d forgotten the sex had just been about release and she had no right to an attack from the green-eyed monster. But dammit, he handled the woman’s photo like it was the most precious jewel on Earth.
“Seth.” Her voice came out more strangled than she wanted. She’d tried for casual, but the lump in her throat made that impossible. “It’s okay.”
He glanced at her, guilt all over his features, and hurriedly stuffed the photo back in his pocket. He yanked on t
he pants. “I’m gonna go.”
“Wait.” She climbed out of bed and tried to catch him, but he’d already disappeared out the door.
An ugly mix of shame and sorrow dragged her down to the edge of the mattress and she covered her face with both hands.
God, she could be such a naive fool sometimes. Because deep in a corner of her heart, and despite all of her reservations of getting too close, she had hoped for more from him than just sex.
Chapter Thirty
Phoebe woke the following morning to a chorus of male groans followed by some good-natured cursing. She sat up in bed and glanced around, at first expecting to see Seth with her. The room was empty.
Right. After finding Emma’s photo, he’d walked out and never come back.
She swung her legs out of bed and muscles that hadn’t received a workout in a long time pulled tight, reminding her of last night. Seth’s hands on her. His mouth. His body…
No.
Honestly, she didn’t want the reminder.
She braided her hair and tied her scarf over the frizzy locks. One thing she loved about the country—the necessity to wear head scarves. Saved her loads of time getting dressed when she didn’t have to fight with her hair every morning.
She slipped into the hall and heard Seth’s voice among the others coming from the main room. She followed the sound.
Seth sat on the floor with Jean-Luc, Marcus, and Jesse, a deck of cards and piles of poker chips in front of them. Ian sat in the corner with his hand resting on Tank’s back, watching the game in silence. Gabe wasn’t in the room, but another man with dark hair and a beard was. An IV hung from a nail in the wall and drained into his arm. Must be Sergeant Zak Hendricks.
Seth’s pile of chips was the biggest, the other three men down to their last few. He was taking them to the cleaners, which was probably what all the groaning had been about. Good for him. After the way they’d all treated him, he deserved a little payback.
He spotted her and his jaw clenched.
Okay. She drew a fortifying breath. Time to be an adult. Yes, last night had ended on a sour note and she didn’t plan to sleep with him again, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t still be friends, right?
She walked over and smiled at the group. “Poker?”
“Seth’s cheating,” Jean-Luc declared.
Seth scowled. “I don’t cheat.”
“Yeah, right. You’re hiding aces up your sleeve.”
“I’m not wearing sleeves.”
Phoebe did a double take. That was true—he wasn’t wearing sleeves, the scars on his arms bared to the world. It was the first time she’d seen him around anyone but her without his hoodie.
Jean-Luc eyed his T-shirt like he still didn’t believe it. “You’re using voodoo then. No other explanation.”
“No,” Seth muttered, “just sold my soul to the devil.”
“Close enough.”
“I’m done,” Marcus said, throwing down his cards. “If we keep going, Ace is gonna take my shirt next.”
“Who says I’d want it?” Seth shot back.
Even though he had barely acknowledged her presence, warmth for him radiated through her chest. She liked seeing him banter with the group.
A few minutes later, Gabe strode in and the chatter abruptly died. The men ended their game without finishing and the entire mood in the room shifted from playful to all-business.
“All right, gentlemen,” Gabe said. “We’re going to do a quick briefing before we decamp.” His gaze settled briefly on Zak, who gave a slight nod. Gabe released a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s something from Zak’s initial report I haven’t told you about. It was a conscious decision to keep it under wraps, but after debriefing Zak last night and speaking to Quinn via sat phone this morning, I realize it was a mistake.”
The bomb.
Crap, Phoebe had forgotten all about it until this moment. She looked at Seth, saw the same realization dawn across his face.
“Zak?” Gabe said. “Do you feel well enough to fill them in? You know more about this than I do.”
Even though he looked about a stone’s throw away from death, Zak nodded. “Someone help me sit up.”
Between Jesse and Marcus, they managed to pull him into a sitting position without jostling his ruined leg too much. By the time they had him settled against the wall with a pillow propped behind his back, he was breathing hard and a fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead.
It was another moment before he spoke. “I don’t know how much Greer Wilde told you about my mission here, but I was basically put in place as a precautionary measure. My mom was born here and I know the language, the customs, so they sent me in to work for Siddiqui hoping I could find something to prove his tie to several recent acts of terrorism—or, if all else failed, I was to remove the problem at all costs. But when I got in there and discovered what he had planned…” He trailed off, obviously exhausted, and Gabe picked up the briefing.
“Cold War,” Gabe said. “You’re all familiar? Good, so you probably also know both sides have since admitted to producing suitcase-size nuclear warheads, several of which made their way into the black market after the collapse of the Soviet Union.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ian said. “Are we talking about The Suitcase here?”
“What’s The Suitcase?” Phoebe asked.
“Most suitcase nukes aren’t very powerful,” Ian explained, “but that’s not the case with this one. It’s got enough juice to wipe out a small city, and that’s not including the fallout.” He looked at Zak. “I thought it was lost.”
Zak opened his good eye and shook his head. “No, it was never lost. It’s hard to keep track of because anyone can carry it anywhere. On a plane. In a government building. It’s virtually undetectable, even with recent advances in security. Its last known location was Transnistria, a breakaway republic of Moldova, which is still very much living in the Soviet era. They allegedly have huge amounts of Soviet ordnance stockpiled in factories across the republic, including several of the missing nukes and The Suitcase. Even worse, a known Tranistrian arms dealer, Nikolai Zaryanko, has been in talks with Siddiqui for weeks now. Zaryanko has no political agenda, no loyalties. He’s only out to make money and will sell to the highest bidder. And Siddiqui plans to be the highest bidder. They are going to make the trade in two days. We can’t let that happen.”
“Obviously,” Gabe said after a heavy moment of silence, “we’re not an anti-terror unit and don’t have the manpower to handle something like this, but Quinn has already tried to bring the situation to the military’s attention and they’re not listening. So we’ll have to handle this and I’ve called in some help. A helo will be arriving within a half hour to take us to Kabul so we can get Zak to a hospital and plot our next move. Any questions?”
Nobody spoke.
All right, if they weren’t going to ask the obvious, Phoebe would. “If we have the proof that Siddiqui is not only involved in all of these horrible acts, but also actively planning a terrorist attack, why not use my contacts and take the information to the press? Make it public and he won’t be able to sneeze without someone watching. Won’t that stop him?”
Seth glared across the room at her. “I already told you why that won’t work.”
“Why? Because it will put me in danger?”
“Yes.”
“As opposed to the hundreds of thousands in danger if Siddiqui has possession of The Suitcase?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You’re not doing it.”
Exasperated, she faced Gabe. “I know you see my point.”
“I do,” Gabe said slowly, eying Seth as he spoke. He hesitated, which was so unlike the big man, she knew she’d already lost this argument before he opened his mouth again. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea. We just got you back, Phoebe. None of us are willing to risk your life.”
Oh, he couldn’t be serious. “It shouldn’t be your decision whether I risk my life or
not. And it’s not Seth’s decision either,” she added when Gabe sent another glance in Seth’s direction. “He doesn’t own me now that we’ve slept together. I make my own decisions.”
“O-kay,” Jean-Luc said, clapping his hands together. He stood. “And on that note, I need to hit the head and pack before the helo gets here.”
The rest of the team followed him in quick succession, including Seth. Which left only her, Zak Hendricks, Ian, and Tank in the room.
Ian pushed to his feet and whistled for Tank to follow him. He paused at her side. “Cut Seth some slack, okay?”
Still fuming, she stared at him in complete disbelief. “You’re telling me to cut him some slack.”
“Yeah, I am.”
As he left, she pressed her fingers to her eye sockets in an effort to relieve some of the building pressure there. “What an ass.”
“Interesting team you have here,” Zak muttered.
“They’re not mine.” She dropped her hand to her side and heaved out a breath. “Well, one of them is mine. Kind of.”
“Seth?”
She didn’t bother confirming or denying and he didn’t press. Instead, he said, “You know, he’s the reason I’m alive right now.”
Oh, God. She turned to leave. “Please don’t tell me the details. I don’t want to know.”
“All right. But for what it’s worth,” he added as she reached the door, “I agree with him. You don’t want Siddiqui’s bull’s-eye painted on your back.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The noise from the helicopter’s rotor had half of the villagers hiding in fear and the other half staring with awed fascination as the chopper landed in a clearing just south of Akhgar. One of the last people in the world Phoebe expected to see jumped off the bird.
Tucker Quentin.
Holy crap.
She instinctively reached for her camera, but Gabe sent her a glare that said don’t you fucking dare and strode out to meet the billionaire. Still, her shutter finger itched to snap a photo. Sure, she’d turned over a new leaf and had gotten away from the sensational, paparazzi side of journalism, but the kind of money magazines offered for pics of Tuc Quentin would tempt even a saint. Especially pictures of Tuc Quentin in a war zone, where he had no discernible reason to be.
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