by Cindy Dees
He broke off yet again. Exasperated, she blurted, “Will you stop tiptoeing on eggshells around me? I’m fine.”
He threw up his hands in surrender. “All right already. I believe you. I’ll quit trying to be sensitive and caring if that makes you feel better.”
Silence fell between them. What came next? Was she supposed to wait for him to make a move, or was she supposed to make the move this time because he was afraid of scaring her? She settled on saying, “For the record, thank you for rescuing me. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
Pain flashed through his gaze. “You don’t owe me any thanks at all, let alone some sort of repayment. You put yourself at risk for me. I’m the one who can never repay you.”
She moved forward, snuggling against his big body. “Hold me, please,” she whispered.
His arms dropped off the edges of the tub and came around her, his hands massaging lightly up and down her spine under the water. His fingers came up to trace her cheek lightly. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much. Tell me truly. Does it look terrible?”
“No. But even if your face was black and blue and puffed up like a marshmallow, you would still be beautiful to me.”
It was her turn to gaze deep into his eyes, searching for the truth of his words. “You really don’t care how I look?” she asked in disbelief.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Seriously?” Something hopeful unfolded in her heart like the crumpled, wet wings of a newly emerging butterfly.
“Eve, you are without question the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending time with. But that’s not what makes you special. It’s your heart, your courage, your determination to do the right thing that I’ve fallen for.”
“You’ve fallen for me?” she asked in a small voice.
He half laughed, half groaned. “Like a rock. And I can tell from that look on your face I’ve made a massive strategic error by admitting it.”
Her heart stretched its newfound wings, eager to fly. She confessed, “If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re pretty incredible, too.”
His eyes blazed in the moonlight, but still he made no further advances. The man really did have amazing self-control. But she knew how to change that.
She reached behind her back and tugged at the ties of her bikini top until it came loose. “I’m feeling a little overdressed.”
She pulled the scraps of cloth over her head and tossed them on the edge of the hot tub. Brady’s gaze dipped to the higher curves of her breasts emerging from the bubbling water. The inferno that ignited within them warmed her all the way to her core.
“Mmm. Better,” she purred. She reached under the water to tug at the ties on either side of her hips. A slight shift of her weight and the bikini bottom joined the top on the side of the tub.
“So, Mr. Hathaway. You have a naked woman in your lap and she happens to think you’re the most attractive man she’s ever met. What are you going to do about her?”
“I’m going to ask her if she’s absolutely sure about this. I don’t want her to feel pressured in any way to do anything she’s not comfortable with.”
“Do you always have to be so stinking responsible?” she demanded.
He laughed. “You have no idea how irresponsible I’d love to be right now.”
“Show me?”
“You could tempt the angels themselves,” he sighed.
“I’m only trying to tempt you. How am I doing?” She really was starting to be a little confused. Most men would be crawling all over her by now. But not Brady. No, sir. He was sitting perfectly still, waiting for…something. But what? Frustration rolled through her. His jaw rippled with clenched muscle, and that was the only answer he gave her.
In supreme frustration, she asked, “What do I have to do to get you to make love to me, Brady? Tell me. Please.”
His answer was a single terse word. “Ask.”
Really? That was all it would take? “Please make love to me, Brady. Take me in your arms and show me how I make you feel, and let me do the same for you. Show me what I’ve been missing all these years while I waited to find you.”
Chapter 12
The woman was going to kill him. He’d never in his life had to reach so deep to find so much self-control as when Eve took off her bikini in his lap. Clearly the man of ice should never have climbed into a hot tub with this woman. This brave, resilient woman who truly seemed none the worse for wear after her near-rape at the hands of a brutish bastard. It had taken a fair bit of self-control not to kill Curly on the spot. Only the prospect of blowing the mission and turning a dangerous terrorist like Annika loose upon mankind had prevented him from finishing the job.
Eve had waited years to find him? Hell, he’d waited his whole life to find her. She was the exception to the rule, the one woman who’d proved to him that not all beautiful, sexy women were self-serving, untrustworthy users of men.
If anything, he was the one who’d used her. He’d taken advantage of her nobler impulses and tricked her into doing a dangerous job for him, and then he’d barely managed to save her from serious injury or worse. There was no telling if he’d get to her in time next time.
Every fiber of his being yelled at him to pull her out of the op now. To take her far, far away from Annika and her merry band of psychopaths. But it was too late to pull Eve out. Even if he did terminate the op, Annika would come after her now. Eve knew too much for the terrorist to let her walk around a free woman. His best and fastest shot at getting Eve away from Annika safely was to take down the terrorist and her cell. And that meant continuing the mission.
He shoved the unpleasant prospect away. That was a problem for tomorrow. This moment was about him and Eve. Brave, funny, outrageous Eve. Her zest for life was infectious and seduced him as much or more than her stunning beauty. He’d figured out long ago that beauty came from inside a woman, and even by that standard, Eve was extraordinary.
All of those thoughts flashed through his head in the brief interval between Eve asking him to make love to her and her arms coming around his neck as she leaned forward to kiss him. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, buoyant in the turbulent water, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
He lectured himself to go slow. She’d had a nasty shock earlier and there was no sense traumatizing her. But his hands didn’t listen as they roamed across her heated skin, nor did his mouth as it roamed across her face and neck. Her hands tugged at the waistband of his swim trunks and he rose slightly to let her pull them off of him. Their bodies felt exactly right against each other and he groaned against the crook of her neck.
“Promise to tell me if you don’t like something I do,” he ground out.
“Okay,” she panted back. “I don’t like that you’re taking so long getting inside me.”
He laughed painfully. “I thought you’d want to take it slow and easy.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” she asked between raining kisses all over his face and shoulders. “I’ve been waiting to have you since that first night you kissed me on the porch. And I’m getting darned impatient, here.”
“My apologies,” he murmured against her mouth. Their tongues tangled together in a delicious slide of heat and wet friction that shortened his breath until he hardly recognized its sharp rasps. She tasted like lemon, tangy and fresh. Hell, she tasted like more. Greedily, he lapped up everything about her, the saltiness of her skin, the sweetness of her earlobes, the softness of her face, the lush heat of her mouth. Ah, the things he planned to do with that mouth….
He groaned deep in the back of his throat and she froze against him. He stopped immediately. “Everything okay?” he asked.
She smiled brilliantly at him. “I was enjoying that sound you just made. Half growl of possession, half groan of need.”
“You have no idea,” he muttered.
“Show me.”
And show her he did. Their bodies fit together perfectly and the turb
ulence of the water around them did little to disguise the passion driving them together with wild abandon. It was as if she’d broken down some sort of dam within him and all the passion he’d held back for so long came rushing forth in a torrent that swept away everything in its path. Ethical considerations be damned, the mission be damned, hell, his career, his life be damned. He gave it all to Eve.
And she took all of him into herself, absorbing everything he gave her and reflecting it back, purified and somehow made sacred by the act they shared. He surged within her, half-maddened by her tightness and throbbing heat, a hundred times hotter than the water and scorching him all the way to his soul.
She cried out against his neck, and her pleasure broke over them both. He was humbled by the gift, spurred on to give her more and yet more pleasure in return. She squeezed him with her legs, pulling him deeper within her, and he surged forward until he touched her core. They found a rhythm as old as the waves breaking on shore behind them, racing forward and then retreating until he completely lost himself in the perfection of the moment. Nothing existed but Eve and the night and the two of them driving each other out of their minds with pleasure.
She cried out again, and he felt his own climax claw forward. He tried to hold it back, but he might as well have tried to hold back a tsunami. It roared forward, sweeping over him and pulling Eve with him, crashing through everything in its path and finally flinging them into a silent, peaceful place where they clung to one another, breathing hard. Just the two of them and air sliding into and out of their lungs as they panted together.
It was magical. Life changing. He ran out of words for it after that. He held Eve close in his arms, afraid she would disappear into the sea like the goddess she was. For her part, she rested her head on his shoulder, her face buried against his neck.
They stayed like that for a long time. The night grew cool around them, but the hot water protected them from its incursion. He never wanted this to end. It was the first time in his life he could remember feeling like this. He struggled to put a word to it and finally came up with one. He was happy.
Eventually, Eve mumbled, “I think I’m turning into a prune.”
Reluctantly, he nodded. “Shall we dry off and adjourn to a proper bed to continue this cuddle?”
She rose from the water in a Venus-like fashion that Raphael would have envied and wrapped a towel she took from the stack beside the tub around herself. He followed suit, shivering as the night air hit his wet skin. He grabbed another towel and dried his hair briskly as he followed Eve into the cottage, enjoying the view of her long, tanned legs. That woman made high-fashion out of a simple towel.
She slipped between the covers as he took his rucksack of electronic surveillance equipment and chucked it into the bathroom. He closed the door firmly behind the gear. This was his and Eve’s night.
Eve smiled blissfully as Brady shut the door on his headquarters’ intrusion into this idyll. He was as considerate a lover as he was a boss. But she was ready for the man to be a little less considerate.
She held the covers up for him. “Come here, you.”
“How’re you feeling?” he asked solicitously.
“About ready for you to quit fussing over me,” she replied with a smile.
“You seemed to like my fussing in the tub a little while ago.”
She grinned up at him as his long body fit up against hers delightfully. “I had something a little more athletic in mind this time.”
His right eyebrow sailed up questioningly.
“I want to meet the version of Brady Hathaway that would throw me over his shoulder and have his wicked way with me.”
He pulled back slightly, but she followed him, pressing her body against his and savoring the sensation. She had no intention of letting him retreat from her physically or emotionally, now.
“Of course, knowing you,” she said earnestly, “you’re going to take some convincing. It’s lucky for you that you found a woman like me who’s not afraid to show you how these things work between men and women.”
A crack of laughter escaped him. “I don’t need you to show me how this stuff works.”
“I beg to differ,” she replied in a teaching tone of voice. “You see, the woman likes the man to be strong and masterful—without being a selfish jerk, of course. We like our men to ravish us, to make us feel like we drive them a little out of their minds with pleasure. And, of course, we like the man to drive us out of our minds with pleasure, too.”
He gazed down at her, amusement glowing in his eyes. “Are you finished?”
She considered him, frowning thoughtfully. “Women like orgasms. Lots of orgasms.”
He was laughing again. “I believe I got that memo sometime back. Anything else?”
“Yes. Men who take too long getting around to pleasuring a woman tend to frustrate their women mightily.”
“I see.” He added innocently, “Is that why you’ve been so grouchy since I first kissed you?”
She laughed up at him and swatted his arm playfully. “Why did you hold out on me so long?”
All humor drained from him abruptly. “I was trying to do the right thing.” He added grimly, “But apparently, that no longer matters to me.”
She was the one who pulled back this time. “Are you saying I’m a mistake? That making love with me is wrong?”
He rolled onto his back and shoved a hand through his hair as she rose up on an elbow to wait for an answer from him.
“Hell, yes, it’s a mistake. How am I supposed to send you back out in the morning to deal with dangerous morons like Curly and company? How am I supposed to casually set you up in your own room here, wondering if at any moment some bastard’s going to burst in and attack you? Making love with you was a colossal mistake. But damned if I could help myself.”
More hurt than Curly have ever possibly have inflicted upon her tore through her. A mistake? She was a mistake? An overwhelming need to flee overcame her. She rolled to her side of the bed and swung her feet out.
“Hey. Where are you going?” he asked.
“Does it matter? I’d hate to stick around and mess up your life—or, heaven forbid, your mission.”
“Aw, c’mon, Eve. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t regret making love with you for a minute.”
The damage was done. She didn’t believe him for a second. Maybe it was just her injured pride and anger talking, or maybe it was some kernel of honesty she’d been ignoring until now that made her blurt, “Did you make love to me just to get me back in the saddle, as it were? To get your precious operation back on track? Or did you actually give a damn about me for a minute, there?”
He was on his feet, throwing on jeans angrily while she yanked a sarong out of the closet and wrapped it around herself with jerky motions.
“This had nothing to do with any damned mission,” he ground out. “It was only about us. I swear it, Eve.”
She shook her head in sharp denial. Right now she couldn’t tell if he was being honest or not. And frankly, she didn’t care. The fact that he very well might be lying to her, playing her as smoothly as he had when he’d talked her into the mission in the first place, was enough to blow her trust to smithereens.
“Damn you, Brady,” she said tiredly. “I’m out of here.”
She all but ran from the cottage and was deeply relieved when he didn’t follow her. At least he’d gotten that part right. Leave the infuriated female alone to cool off a little before continuing confrontation with said female. Blindly, she followed the path which, thankfully, took her back to the main hotel complex.
But her relief evaporated when Leo, the security guy, rolled in on her the moment she set foot in the lobby. Great. Was he going to arrest her for being a hooker now, and complete the crappiness that had been this night?
“Good evening, Miss Dupont. Your friend called and asked me to arrange a room for you. At his expense, of course. I’ve already taken the liberty of checking you in. Here’s you
r key. The elevators over there will take you up—”
She snatched the key card from the man’s hand and stormed over to the elevators. It was all about the damned mission, after all. God, it sucked being no more than bait in other people’s traps. She was sick of everyone else using her in their own personal little games.
Shoving open the door to a posh room, fury filled her. Brady’d established her cover as a hooker, all right. She’d earned this room on her back like any proper whore.
She flung herself across the bed and burst into the tears she’d been fighting all evening. Where had it all gone so wrong? Just when she’d thought she and Brady might have it all, he had to go and mess up everything. Or had that been her who blew things between them to hell?
She finally gave in to the self-pity and cried herself to sleep.
Eve jolted awake to insistent pounding on her door. She surged out of bed, furious. If that was Brady, she was going to tell him what she thought of him in no uncertain terms. She flung open the door. “Go to he—” Not Brady. Annika. “—llo,” she finished lamely.
Annika smirked. “Crabby this morning, are we?”
“You can go to hell, too,” Eve commented sourly as she turned away from the door, leaving it open if Annika wanted to come in.
The terrorist wanted. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “So what’s this about a john of yours beating up Curly?”
Eve shrugged. “They got into a pissing contest about who got to have me first, and Curly came out second-best.”
Annika chuckled. “He can barely stand upright, and your customer broke three of his ribs.”
Eve was tempted to take Annika to task for siccing Curly on her in the first place, but reminded herself in the nick of time that the best way to get the woman’s goat was not to give her what she wanted. She made a sympathetic sound. “Gee. I hope he’s okay.”
“He’ll live. But you better hope that john leaves the Caymans before Curly catches up with him.”
Eve shrugged again. “Whatever. It’s no skin off my nose if Curly gets even.”