Hell or High Water

by Julie Ann Walker

  “I…I know you didn’t,” she whispered. He’d done it for her. Because he had a thing for her, a carnal, complicated thing—though she suspected the “carnal” part was something they shared while the “complicated” part was hers alone. That two-eternity hour had given her a lot of time to think, to delve into the depths of her feelings for him.

  And what had she found down there, do you suppose? Well, none other than…love. An ocean of the stuff, deep and warm and endless. How she could have missed it all these months was beyond her. But it probably had something to do with the fact that she hadn’t felt the emotion for anyone since her mother died, and had never felt romantic love at all, so it’d been hard to recognize. Also, if she was being completely honest, for a year and a half she’d studiously kept herself from looking too hard at her feelings regarding Leo. Scared shitless of what she’d find.

  But now that she had looked? Well, there was no un-looking. So, yeah. She loved him. Like a magnet loves metal. Like a flower loves the sun. Like fish love the sea, and any and all other applicable comparisons. Intrinsically. Unquestionably.

  Who wouldn’t? There wasn’t a man alive who was as brave or loyal or sexy as Leo. As funny or as kind. In short, the guy was lovable. That’s all there was to it.

  Fat lot of good it does me.

  Because, just like Bran said, there was no future for them. There might have been a chance once. Before Syria. Before she lied to him about…well…everything. And before her deception forced her to make a decision that ultimately got his friend killed. But not now.

  “Anyway,” she went on, disguising the lump in her throat by blowing out an exaggerated breath, “he said the A-Team wasn’t able to fix their propeller, and they’re having to limp our way on one engine. They should be here pretty soon, though.”

  “Uncle John would say they’re like a blister,” Leo said, and she cocked her head. “They don’t show up until the work’s all done.”

  “Oh yeah. Right.” She glanced out at the softly rolling sea. He’d made a joke, but she couldn’t even fake a laugh. She was going to disappoint him. Maybe even piss him off. But there was no way around it. At least none that she could see.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she lied. Again. “My boss, he, uh, he hopes they can fix the issue once they’re here and have the proper tools to work with. Then he wants us to give the package to them. With two engines at full speed, they can make it back to Key West in a few hours. He’s itching to get the package secured as quickly as possible.”

  “Makes sense,” Leo agreed, eyes narrowing. He could tell, either by her tone or her expression, that there was more to the story. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His gaze narrowed further, as if he knew it was sign of nervousness.

  She quickly dropped her hand. “He wants me to follow the A-Team back to Key West with the crew of the Black Gold. Once we dock, he and I will debrief them, gather the evidence, do the cleanup, and send them on their way to Houston.”

  Leo was no dummy, easily catching her use of the singular pronouns. “And me and the guys? What are we supposed to do?”

  “He put in a call to Romeo and Doc,” she told him. “After they load up on fuel, they’ll fly the Otter out to pick you up and take you back home.”

  For a second he said nothing, just stood there blinking at her. She would swear the air around her dropped ten degrees. Goose bumps peppered her skin. “Just like that, huh?” he finally said. “Thanks, but our services are no longer needed?”

  She swallowed, unable to meet the molten heat in his gaze. “It’s not my call, Leo,” she whispered.

  “I know that,” he said, then blurted, “I could come with you to Key West. After you finish with everything, we could—”

  “I’m needed back in DC,” she interrupted, trying not to wince when yet another lie sliced into her tongue like an old, rusty cutlass. It was one thing to contemplate spending the night wrapped in his strong arms when mutual lust with a nice side of mutual like were the only two things on the menu. But add in a heaping helping of love? Yeah, buddy. That changed everything.

  She couldn’t sleep with him now. Give herself to him mind and body, heart and soul. If she did, she’d have to spend the rest of her life knowing what that was like, the glory of it, the absolute wonder of being with the man she loved. Which would make all the long, lonely nights that stretched out in front of her that much more impossible to bear. No. It’s better not to know.

  “We still have to find…” She trailed off because there were civilian ears listening in. “There are things we still have to deal with. As you know.”

  “And how about after you deal with those things?” he demanded. The man was relentless. Was he going to make her spell it out for him?

  “I’m sorry, Leo.” She shook her head, her eyes pleading for him to understand, though she knew he wouldn’t. How could he? He had no idea she’d been bowled over by a grand epiphany. And she sure as shit wasn’t going to tell him. Though, maybe she should. Dropping the L-bomb might guarantee he ran screaming in the opposite direction.

  “Yeah,” he sighed, nodding. “I’m sorry too, Olivia.” The frustration and confusion in his voice were palpable.

  * * *

  5:59 p.m.…

  She liked him.

  He knew she liked him.

  And, more than that, she was hot for him. There was no mistaking the way her skin flushed when he got close to her, the way her mouth opened eagerly to the press of his tongue, or the way her sweet center went soft and wet when he touched her, licked her. The memories of her smell, her taste, her unabashed release had his blood running hot, heavy. He was hard. Again. Or maybe he’d never stopped being hard.

  So why the hell is she willin’ to leave it at that?

  He contemplated the answer as the Black Gold’s hot water tank disgorged its contents over the top of his head. When Maddy had suggested he hop in the shower to warm up because “it had to be colder than a witch’s tit down there”—she was cute as a button, a fact Bran seemed to be well aware of—Leo hadn’t wasted a minute taking her up on her offer. He’d needed some time alone. To think. To try to solve the jigsaw puzzle that was Olivia Mortier.

  Unfortunately, after washing the expensive, fruity-smelling shampoo from his hair—at least he hoped it was shampoo; the words on the bottle were printed in French so he couldn’t be sure—he was no closer to figuring out the riddle than he’d been before. He wiped a hand across the steam on the shower door, peeking into the well-appointed bathroom with its gray slate tiles and deep mahogany cabinetry. Nope. The clues to what was lurking in Olivia’s head weren’t out there.

  Then, as if his unhappy thoughts had conjured her up, her husky voice drifted through the bathroom door. “Leo?” The sound was muffled by the water hitting the tiles at his feet.

  “What?” he barked. Then chastised himself for his harsh tone. The woman had a job to do. He couldn’t fault her for that. But he could fault her for not at least trying to make some time for him. And, okay, right, so he’d made it sound like all he wanted from her was a one-night stand, and why would she be willing to put her career on hold for that, no matter how amazing it would undoubtedly be? But, surely, surely she knew there was more to it. Surely she could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her.

  “I…uh…I just wanted to check on you,” she called. “Make sure you’re still feeling okay.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her he was fine. Hot. Horny. Frustrated—and maybe a little heartbroken. But otherwise fine. Then a thought occurred. A devilish, devious thought. It made him grin. “No!” he yelled, his voice dramatically hoarse. “I-I’m feelin’ a little dizzy! I can’t…can’t…” He wheezed like a two-pack-a-day smoker.

  The door to the bathroom burst open, and Olivia blew in like a hurricane. Hair flying, long legs churning. She more than liked him. She cared for him. It was written all over her face when she whisked open the shower door.

&nbs
p; Satisfaction and…happiness…washed through him. He promptly yanked her inside.

  “Wha—?” She blinked up at him, the ceiling-mounted rain showerhead soaking her and turning her khaki shorts brown. Her long hair plastered itself to her cheeks and forehead.

  He didn’t give her time to say more before slamming his mouth over the top of hers, ravaging her and punishing her for thinking to leave things undone between them. Again. She softened, her tongue eagerly meeting his. Then she stiffened and pulled back.

  “I thought you said you were dizzy.” Her eyes searched his face, sleek brows drawn together. She pressed two fingers to the pulse in his neck. Lifted his wrist so she could keep time using his diver’s watch.

  She was adorable when she was in drenched mama-bear mode. Her teeth worrying her bottom lip and silvery drops of water clinging to her long, thick eyelashes.

  “I lied,” he admitted, smiling lecherously when her delightful, biteable chin jerked back. He gently brushed her fingers away from his carotid, shuffling her backward until her shoulders hit the tile wall. The water continued to fall behind them, a constant shhhhhh of sound that, combined with the steam, cocooned them inside a private, hazy oasis.

  “You. Giant. Asshole!” she spat, blue flame shooting from her eyes as she pushed her sopping hair away from her face. Christ, she’s fierce. And hot. She made his head spin. His whole frickin’ world spin. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

  “Mmm,” he hummed, not apologizing, simply bending to kiss the frown from her lips. “It was the only way I knew to get you in the shower with me.”

  She turned her cheek with a huff. No matter. He’d satisfy himself with nibbling on her delectable ear. She sighed when he sucked the soft lobe into his mouth, then caught herself and cut it off so it ended on a little squeak. “Leo.” Her tone was scolding, breathlessly scolding; he fought a grin. “The c-contractors arrived and—Oh God, that feels good.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he growled, swirling his tongue into the delicate shell. “And so what? Can you help ’em fix their boat?”

  “N-no,” she conceded, squirming under his assault. Not trying to get away necessarily, just trying to ignore the heat sizzling between them. Right. Like he was going to let that happen. “But I need to give them the case with the capsules in it.”

  “They may look about as smart as a box of rocks, but I assure you my guys can handle that without too much trouble.” He moved his lips to the pulse point of her throat. She liked it when he sucked on that spot. It always made her whimper. Bingo. A throaty mewling sounded in his ear. His dick throbbed against the fabric of her shorts where he’d pressed himself against her.

  “But—”

  “Don’t you want this?” he asked, interrupting her protest. “If we can’t have tonight, then at least we can have this. These couple of hours before Doc and Romeo arrive.” And all the ones after that when you come runnin’ back to me for more.

  He intended to love her so well that she’d have no choice but to return to him time and again, pulled inexplicably like the moon tugs the tides. And once she returned to him enough times, he’d tell her he wanted her to keep returning to him because, you know, he loved her. He would have confessed as much now if he thought it would do him any good. But something in her demeanor, something in her eyes, said she wasn’t ready to hear it. And he’d learned long ago to trust his instincts.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Good,” he rumbled, peppering the corner of her mouth with quick, darting kisses. “I don’t want you to think, Olivia. I just want you to feel. This.” He palmed her face, sealing their lips. The immediate suction of her mouth—as if, despite all her protests, she’d been waiting for him to kiss her—sent a thrum of sensation all the way through him, swirling in his stomach, tugging at his balls. His shaft pulsed and ached until it was nothing but a rod of hot, hungry flesh.

  She stabbed her tongue into his mouth, a delightful intrusion of wet, silken heat. He caught it between his teeth and sucked, just like he’d sucked on her sweet, pulsing center. She must have recognized the technique. She moaned into his mouth and went boneless in his arms, the skin on her cheeks flushing bonfire hot against his palms.

  Shoving his bare thigh between her legs, he kept her where he wanted her, reveling in her sultry heat. She was steamier than the shower. Hot enough to singe his fingers, burn his tongue.

  God, I want to taste her again. And again and again and again. Just feast on her like a glutton. And he would. For the rest of his life, he vowed he would. But first he had to show her what she would be missing if she tried to hightail it back to DC.

  “And this,” he growled, grabbing her hip bones and forcing her to ride him, rubbing her back and forth over the hard muscle of his thigh until the friction made her gasp.

  He could feel the struggle in her. The need to give in to the electricity and power that sizzled between them as if they were connected by live wires competing with…whatever it was that was making her hold herself back. Luckily, he’d been through enough battles to know how to maneuver things so she’d end up on the winning side. His side.

  “And this.” He grabbed her hand, guiding it to his raging shaft, hissing when her fingers wrapped around him. His hips bucked of their own accord, the muscles of his ass clenching. His sac drew up tight when her cool palm hit the heated skin over his head.

  “And this.” He undid the buttons on her shorts and slowly peeled down the zipper. Placing his palm on her belly, he was delighted to feel her stomach muscles quiver at his touch. Her skin was fiery satin. And the small patch of pubic hair that met his thumb when he slid his hand between their bodies and inside her panties was soft as goose down.

  “Leo, please, I—Oh Jesus!” He pressed his thumb between her dewy, swollen lips, finding the nub of her distended clitoris. The motion of her hips humping over his thigh grew more frenzied. Her hand on his cock squeezed. Hard. Until a large drop of pre-ejaculate oozed from his tip. It trickled over his head, coating his shaft and her fingers. Then she began to stroke him.

  Up and down. Up and down. Her palm, with its tiny calluses, was deliciously smooth and at the same time wonderfully abrasive. His dick grew to prodigious proportions under her ministrations. And he could so easily let her rub him to completion. It’d been so long since a woman had touched him like this. And Olivia’s touch? It was the sweetest he’d ever known.

  All right, I really am goin’ to come if she doesn’t stop that. And he didn’t want that. He wanted her. All of her. Surrendering herself to him. Abandoning herself to his every want. Every need.

  He stepped back, and she growled her displeasure. “I know, darlin’. I know,” he soothed, kissing her lips, her cheek, her ear, her neck. “I just have to—” He didn’t finish, as eager as she was to get back to business as he pushed her shorts and panties down her long, slender legs. More eager probably, which is why he almost ripped her underwear when he bent to pull them off and they got hooked on her left heel. He was up like a shot once they were free, whipping her tank top over her head and tossing it over his shoulder. It landed with a splat somewhere behind him. The clasp on her bra sprang open with a flick of his fingers. And then…

  There she was. Olivia Mortier. The woman of his dreams. The woman he loved. And she was…naked.

  No, nude. Because when skin was that flawless, breasts that perfect, hips both lean and curvy, naked just didn’t cover it. She was nude in the way great masterpieces were nude. A work of art that was femininity incarnate. Her little oval belly button beckoned. Her tightly furled, upthrust nipples tempted. Her tiny patch of neatly trimmed, ink-black pubic hair charmed.

  She was…woman. And when she reached for him, he’d never felt more like a man.

  * * *

  6:17 p.m.…

  What am I doing? What am I doing?

  Exactly what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. She was making love to Leo. No, scratch that. She was having sex with Leo. No, scratch that. She was having sexual
relations with Leo. And if Bill Clinton taught the world anything, it was that sex and sexual relations were two different things.

  She could do this. She could give him pleasure with her hands, with her mouth. It was his turn, after all, and she was nothing if not a fair-minded woman. As long as she stopped things before actual intercourse, before the intimacy of joining her body with his, before they shared pleasure so intense that she lost track of where he began and she ended, she’d be okay. She. Would. Be. Okay.

  You’re rationalizing, Mortier. And shit. Maybe she was. But that was her story and she was sticking to it. Because she wanted to give him pleasure. I mean, just look at him. All golden and glorious, broad-shouldered and heavy-chested. His stomach was a washboard of muscles bisected by a line of light-brown hair. His thighs were huge and corded, the kind of legs that would keep him standing tall for decades to come. And between his thighs, jutting hungrily, unabashedly, was the most inspiring erection she’d ever seen.

  He was long, thicker than her wrist, and heavily veined. His shaft was wider than his head, the perfect male instrument to part a woman’s delicate folds and prepare her to receive the bounty of his girth. In a word: impressive. In two words: Mama want. And in three words? Holy friggin’ shit!

  Liquid heat pulsed from her core, wetting her thighs and making them quiver. Her nipples were so hard they hurt. So sensitive the subtlest shift in the air, the faintest wisp of steam curling around them felt as decadent as a wet tongue. She licked her lips, panting as she reached for his shoulders, careful of the butterfly bandages when she pulled him against her. He groaned—a sound of both surrender and warning, like her touch was the source of all pleasure and pain—when they were hip to hip, breast to chest, flaming hot skin against flaming hot skin.

  “God, Olivia.” The shower pounded behind him. A gentle hiss of noise that, instead of diffusing other sounds, only seemed to magnify them. Each breath. Each moan. Each flick of a tongue against skin. “You’re beautiful.”