My Spy

by Christina Skye

  “No talk.”

  “Why in the world not?”

  He shrugged, moving toward the wall, which was covered with jasmine. Annie's breath caught as he pulled her back against a trailing bank of white petals. “Because of this,” he said roughly.

  Chapter Thirty

  “WHAT IN THE WORLD—”

  His mouth moved over hers, unexpected and hot with demand. Heat slammed through her chest and streaked down to her toes, making her tremble.

  Desire or not, fury clamped down hard. She shoved at his hat and sent it flying. “You big idiot. You're not supposed to be down here.”

  Sam's face was lined with strain. “I was worried about you. You should have called in.”

  “I was fine.”

  He leaned back against the stucco wall and nuzzled at her neck. “What's that perfume you're wearing? Something with strawberries and roses.”

  Annie closed her eyes as his fingers fanned out over her hips. “Rejuvenating facial complex.”

  “Good name,” he said. “I'm feeling very rejuvenated.”

  “Stop, Sam. You shouldn't be here. Your orders—”

  “To hell with my orders. I kept seeing you cornered with a pushy guest. He was running his hands over your shoulders, biting your ear. Looking at your breasts. The thought is still driving me crazy.”

  Annie softened slightly. Jealousy she could understand. She had spent a lot of time thinking about Sam with other women, and the experience hadn't been pleasant. “No one has been running his hands over me except some wretch in a wrinkled gardening uniform.” She fingered Sam's collar and winced as rain hit her face. “Can we carry on this argument somewhere dry?”

  “It's not an argument.” Sam nudged her along the wall toward a big glass door leading to the yoga room. “It's a discus sion.” He opened the door and pulled her inside.

  Into the cool silence.

  Into the darkness.

  Into his hard arms.

  He was working on the buckles at her shoulder straps and Annie felt one slide free. She knew she had to tell him to back off, to wait, to be reasonable.

  She was trying to tell herself those things, too. But all she could think of was how he'd feel naked against her, how his body would pin her against the cool floor, how he'd find her heat, make her laugh, make her moan and gasp his name, the way he'd done before.

  “Annie.” It was a harsh rush of sound, his face all dark planes and shadowed need. “If you're worried about—”

  “I'm not worried.” Her hands were at his shirt, digging and pulling.

  “It has to be here,” he muttered. “I can't wait.”

  She closed her eyes, turning in his arms. “Here? But what if someone—”

  The other buckle slide free, and her dress coasted over her shoulders, down to her waist, across her hips.

  To the floor.

  She heard Sam curse, his fingers tensing on her wrists.

  The red lace. She'd finally agreed to wear it after Taylor's badgering.

  Annie's face flamed in the darkness. The lingerie was sheer, high cut, and outrageous, absolutely unlike her.

  Silence fell like a hot weight, broken only by Sam's hard breathing.

  “Damn.”

  Annie swallowed.

  “That's … lace. What there is of it.” He took a deep breath. “Red. Very red.”

  “So?” Annie tried to feel beautiful, confident, like a woman who wore red lace all the time. “Is there a problem?”

  “Yeah, there's a problem.” His jaw clenched. “You're beautiful. And I'm so hard I can't move.”

  Her lips curved and she made a silent note to thank Taylor. “How hard?” Her hands skimmed his chest, then opened to pull him against her until she felt the awesome reality of the answer. “Strike that question.”

  Rain struck the big glass door at her back. Sam's eyes narrowed as laughter carried over the nearby courtyard, followed by the race of feet.

  He moved in a blur, silently locking the door, his eyes on Annie's face. “Now.”

  Not a question. More like an act of nature, Annie thought, pulled closer, swallowed by the darkness in his eyes.

  Her only answer was a nod, since she didn't seem to have air to speak.

  Someone clattered up the outside stairs and tapped at the door. “Anyone in there?”

  Sam covered her mouth with one finger, pulling her back into the shadows. Annie's gaze didn't leave his face as the knocking continued.

  “It's locked.” The door shook again. “Let's try the other side.” The sounds drifted away, muffled by the rain.

  “Can they get in?” Sam's voice was harsh. “Is there another door?”

  Annie tried to focus. “One. It—it's closed unless a class is in session.”

  “Class is definitely in session, but it's going to be a private one, just you and me.”

  He caught her waist and lifted her up onto the seat lined with cushions, surrounded by yoga and nutrition magazines.

  “Is this is going to be extreme yoga?” she asked breathlessly as Sam swept the magazines away with one hand, then pulled her long silk scarf over her head.

  “You have no idea how extreme.”

  As Annie stared back at him, the rain and the shadows were forgotten. The cushion was soft beneath her hips and the scent of incense lingered from the morning's yoga classes.

  She shouldn't be here, she thought dimly.

  She shouldn't be anywhere else.

  He terrified her.

  She was terrified he would stop.

  “Annie.” He slid one hand into her damp hair.

  Her bra opened, lace straps sliding off her shoulders and down over her arms.

  “I couldn't stop thinking of you,” Sam whispered. “Night and day, you wouldn't let go of me.” His hand rose, brushing her breasts, making her forget to breathe. “How about you?”

  “Me, too.”

  “Every time I heard your voice, I wanted this. I thought you'd see.”

  “How? You never give away anything.”

  The red straps fell, pinning her arms as Sam leaned down to find her with his mouth.

  Annie closed her eyes at the sharp, jolting pleasure of his tongue. This was Sam, she thought. She'd wanted him, touched him, then watched him walk away, watched him almost die. Now fate had tossed him back to her and she wasn't going to waste any more time worrying about what she couldn't control or foresee.

  She shoved his shirt free, raking her nails gently over his chest. New scars gleamed, pink outlines against tanned skin, and Annie touched them one by one with her lips.

  There were tears in her eyes when he cradled her face.

  “I'm not worth a single one of your tears,” he said grimly.

  “Say that again and I'll have to get nasty.”

  Behind them rain hammered at the window. His hands tightened in her hair. Annie saw the question in his eyes and touched his cheek, nodding blindly.

  “What about your shoulder?” she said.

  “Hurts like hell.” He smiled faintly. “You'd better go easy on me.”

  “Take off your clothes and come here,” she whispered. “I want to touch you.”

  Sam shoved down his zipper and stepped awkwardly from his khaki work pants, leaving white cotton against hard, tanned skin. He took her mouth, whispering her name hoarsely, and Annie realized his hands weren't steady.

  Intrigued, she reached for the taut skin clearly outlined by white cotton, shocked when he caught her hand and pinned it hard against his chest.

  “Why?”

  His jaw moved. “I couldn't take it. I'm right at the edge already, Annie.”

  Her smile was uncertain. “So what are you …”

  His eyes were on her face as he moved between her legs, stroking beyond her final barrier of lace. “One thing at a time.”

  His eyes dark slits, he explored her, finding silken folds and wet heat. Annie stiffened beneath waves of hot sensation as he stroked, searched. Deep, deeper, until s
he couldn't seem to take in air.

  It was better than before. Now Annie knew how close she'd come to losing him forever, and the knowledge left her ashamed of the lie she had to maintain.

  “Sam, I have to—”

  “Shhhh.”

  “No.” She swallowed, fighting her way through waves of pleasure. “About us. You and me.”

  His movements grew slower and more intimate. “What about us, Annie?”

  There was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before, telling her his control could shred at any second.

  “This.” She closed her eyes, feeling the stroking heat of his hands. Every sense ached, fully sensitized as she shivered in the cold air, surrounded by the hammering of the rain, the scream of the wind.

  His hand twisted. Her last piece of clothing dropped to the floor. Sam's eyes narrowed as he nudged apart her knees and stroked slowly.

  She tried to speak and failed. “What, Annie?” He pulled back, then filled her again, finding a rhythm in his taking that made her mind go blank.

  She shook her head, gripping his waist, unable to speak. Something was tearing inside her, clawing free and breaking loose. She felt his hands, the heat of his locked body against her hips, all part of an unbearable weight of intimacy.

  With a stranger.

  Yet not a stranger.

  Then the thing she couldn't name surged free and she moaned as pleasure exploded and her body went liquid, contracting against his hand.

  Her eyes flashed opened and she felt the burn of his eyes, but his fingers didn't stop. “Sam, I can't—”

  “Again, honey. Trust me.”

  Trust me.

  Annie caught a harsh breath, feeling the lie locked in her throat. “Sam, we need—need to talk.”

  “I don't want to talk. I want to watch you go crazy again.”

  Annie gasped as he traced the exquisitely aroused bud of nerves. She throbbed at the slightest touch, pleasure cresting all over again.

  Then Sam's mouth took hers and she gripped his shoulders, sliding to meet the thrust of his tongue, lost to everything but his touch, pushing blindly against his hand as he stroked her. She unraveled, lost against him, lost in what he was doing to her.

  Pleasure.

  Once.

  Again.

  Long, dizzying waves of sensation gathered heavily, surging through her. Now she was hot, liquid with wanting him.

  Liquid with the memories of how he'd taken her before, rocking her until pleasure snarled and screamed through her veins. She shuddered, feeling him sheathe a second finger in her heat.

  In that instant, Annie recognized the simple, damning truth.

  This was far more than wanting. This hammering at her chest, like a primal breath trying to claw free, was a thousand times more dangerous than idle desire.

  She'd loved this man since the day he rounded her cove, fearless at his sails, fighting to hold course in a snapping wind.

  She'd loved him when he'd offered his life for forty-seven children on a bus headed straight for hell.

  She wouldn't let him go again, not without this.

  “You're dangerous,” she said huskily.

  “Not half as dangerous as you are.”

  Dangerous? Annie let herself think about being the kind of woman who always wore red lace underwear and carried a foil packet in her wallet.

  The kind of woman who saw what she wanted and let herself have it, the way she was going to let herself have him now.

  Maybe she was a little dangerous.

  She slid her legs high, circling his waist, and the movement pressed him against her in a wet slide of friction.

  “Damn,” he said raggedly.

  She smiled, suddenly fearless. Or maybe brazen was the word. Amazing that it had taken her twenty-seven years and one pair of red lace underwear to see the light. “Something wrong?”

  His hands opened, gripping her hips as she moved against him. “Not that I've noticed.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  His body was still. “For the top of my head to bounce back off the ceiling.”

  “Forget about your head.” Annie reached up to him and their mouths fused hungrily. He felt wonderful against her, and he felt even better when she took his weight in her palm.

  His jaw worked hard. “I need something.”

  “So do I,” she said, stroking down his length.

  “My pants.” His voice was unsteady. “I need my wallet.”

  Annie fished the pants from the window seat with one toe while Sam simply stared at her, looking as if he might beg fairly soon.

  Taylor was right. Sex, lingerie, and power could be a lot more fun than she'd expected.

  Sam frowned as he searched his wallet. “I thought I had one in here.”

  Annie realized he was looking for protection. “Try the pocket of my dress,” she blurted. “Taylor gave it to me. She said I needed …”

  “I may have to kiss your sister when I see her next.” Sam fumbled with Annie's dress. “Which pocket?”

  “Right top.”

  Fabric rustled. “Found it. I only hope she got my size.”

  “I didn't know that there were sizes. Taylor didn't say—”

  “There aren't.” He leaned down, fighting a smile, then kissing her, rough now, not gentle, nipping her mouth and driving his tongue across hers until her nails dug into his shoulders.

  Then he pulled away, ripping at the foil and sheathing himself.

  Annie watched in fascination.

  This was Sam. Sam wanting her, Sam staring at her with his face tense and his beautiful, scarred body hard with need for her.

  Her heart took a jerky little sidestep in her chest and she raised her foot, trailing her toe across his rigid stomach.

  He caught her ankle, turned it slowly, and planted a kiss on her tender sole. If Annie's heart hadn't already been oatmeal, it would have melted then.

  “You smell amazing.”

  “Eucalyptus steam bath. Strawberry-mango face gel.”

  “How did you get to be so damned smooth?”

  “Taylor's exfoliating gloves.”

  He skimmed a hand along her thigh. “Here, too?”

  “Yep.”

  “I'll have to buy us a few dozen.” His hands moved down her back, opening over her hips. “Later.”

  “Much later.” Annie was mesmerized by the desire she saw in Sam's face. “I'm not letting you go for hours.”

  “Hell.” Sam's body went still. “I didn't think I could want you more. Then you say something like that, looking at me as if I'm important, as if I'm special and you couldn't want any man more—”

  “I couldn't.” She traced his shadowed face. “And you are.”

  Neither moved, their bodies touching, the bond between them fierce.

  He breathed her name and Annie sighed as he leaned down, gripping her hips, moving against her, inside her, filling her in one driving thrust that had her wanting until she couldn't breathe with it.

  Her body felt strange, hot and out of control, like the body of a woman who always wore red lace underwear and always carried protection, just in case. Annie wondered if she'd been that kind of woman all along, only she hadn't known it.

  Then she couldn't focus on anything because their fit was too slick, too tight, and something was pulling her up, rocking her into him, sucking her into the pounding rhythm of her heat to his.

  She gasped his name, caught in the magic of touching him this way, holding him as he moved inside her. Annie wanted to tell him how special it was, that she'd never been so lost before, never known it could be so deep or blinding or perfect.

  No more wishing he was here, she thought. He's real and he's alive and he's inside me, not a dream or a dim memory.

  She closed her eyes, wanting to hold this gift, to hoard the sweetness of the night around them, the rain on the windows, the smooth stucco tiles beneath her hand with Sam warm and deep and relentless inside her.

  She
could feel him in perfect, minute detail, his biceps straining at her back, his naked body slick with their sweat as he rocked, rocked, rocked against her.

  Suddenly it wasn't a fantasy anymore, not remotely a game. It was her and Sam, together again, only now they were hot and wet, panting and straining and holding and taking, and the taking had never been so deep or amazing or so filled with risk.

  She opened her eyes to find his gaze on her, fierce and black, as if he were thinking the same thoughts.

  “How?” His voice was low and strained. “How can it be so much better than I imagined? How can you make it so damned good to touch you?”

  Annie only shook her head as he opened his hand, sliding between her legs, finding the perfect way to make her mind do that blank thing again.

  Something tore away and left her shuddering. The world blurred and the shuddering went on for maybe a few hours and then Annie felt tears slip down her cheeks while the ringing lifted from her head and the feelings started to loosen so she could finally breathe again.

  This is incredible, she thought.

  This is Sam filling me and it's worth every risk.

  He traced her damp cheek, his jaw outlined by shadows as he said something she couldn't hear. Then he kissed her hard, sliding his tongue deep and flicking his fingers over her and she came again, this time clutching his locked shoulders, feeling the hammer of his heart, the bunch of his straining muscles.

  Hers. This. All hers.

  She must have said the words aloud because Sam said yes, he was and it was, and he never stopped moving as he spoke, never stopped driving into her until Annie realized the other two times had been only rehearsal and now, now the real show was starting.

  Too sudden for words, she was there, mindless and hot, coming in high speed and full Technicolor. Sam said her name, coming with her, stretching her, opening her, taking her so hard that she shuddered and bit his taut shoulder and said harder just like a woman who owned red lace would do.

  “Jesus,” Sam rasped, moving just the way she'd asked, his hands on her hips as he watched her. “I wanted you,” he said. “Wanted this. Every time you were around me I thought about this.”

  “So did I,” Annie said, fearless, shuddering from the inside, holding him deep and taking him with her until he stiffened. Gripping her hips, he drove against her in a way that made Annie come all over again, in sheer shock at the pleasure of him losing himself inside her.