by Lora Leigh
John almost laughed in sheer delight as she pushed him against the bed on his back and moved over him.
His hands caught her hips. “You damned little wildcat.”
“Remember it.” She panted as she straddled him, moving until she was pressing the hot, wet folds of her pussy against the swollen head of his dick, nudging it against the tight opening.
Gripping her hips, he grinned up at her as he held her back, making it harder for her to impale herself upon the heavy length of his shaft.
“Oh, I’ll remember it, love,” he assured her, barely able to breathe for the silky heat cupping the tip of his cock. “I’ll remember it very well.”
He loosened the hold he had on her hips and nearly threw his head back in ecstasy as she took him. Rapid bolts of fiery sensation tore through his cock, his balls. His thighs tightened, his hips arched, thrusting his shaft harder, deeper inside her as he fought back the release that nearly slipped his control.
God help him. Nothing in his life had ever been this good. Nothing had ever been this hot. Nothing had ever affected him as Bailey did.
“John.” She whispered his name, and he could do nothing to hold back the groan at the need to hear more, his real name on her lips, the knowledge that she remembered the man he had been. That she knew the man inside her.
Reaching up, he drew her to him, her lips to his, a kiss that fueled the hunger raging inside them as their tongues fought and dueled, licked and stroked.
Hips clashed, writhed, perspiration built. There was nothing between them, nothing held back, and it was unlike anything John had ever known in his life.
It was like nothing Bailey had ever known, either. She had slipped past simple pleasure; now each touch of his flesh against hers was torturous ecstasy. It was blending of fire and ice, desperation and rapture. She felt as though she were being stroked with pure lightning, hot flames that whispered over her flesh with rapture.
Tearing her lips from his she rose above him, her hands braced against his stomach, her hips churning, writhing against him. Her clit rubbed into his flesh as he filled her to overflowing, stretched her beyond pleasure.
Her head fell back as that pleasure began to tighten in her womb. Pinpricks of sensation began to dig into her flesh as her nails raked against his stomach.
She could feel the whirling sensation as it attacked her senses. The feel of his cock inside her, throbbing, shuttling in and out in deep, rhythmic strokes. The steel-hard, iron-hot flesh stroked tender nerve endings revealed for the first time in five years. It rasped over them, throwing them into a conflagration of sensation that she couldn’t control.
She had lost control long before this. She was riding a wave of such pure pleasure that control was impossible. It tossed her, churned around her, tore through her until she was crying out his name, begging for release, more than aware that he was controlling it, holding it back. Taking her into a maelstrom she had never known in her life until the explosion tore through her.
She was trying to scream his name, fighting to, but she couldn’t find the breath to force it free. His hands held her hips fiercely as he thrust beneath her, plunging into her, throwing her higher with each stroke into an orgasm that threatened to destroy her.
Bailey arched her back, trembled and shuddered and fought to be free of the intensity of sensation racking her body. She was only barely aware of John beneath her now, thrusting hard and heavy inside her until, with a shattered groan, he gave in to his own release.
And she felt it. Despite the condom separating them, she could feel the hard, heated throb of his release. The fiery sensation of his seed spurting against thin latex, barely held back, but still heating inside her as another wave of sensation ripped through her.
She was flying. Color exploded behind her closed eyes, lightning struck through her veins, thundered through her body. She was lost inside a pleasure she couldn’t control, lost in the man that no woman had a hope of controlling.
The ride was like being thrown into the heart of an exploding nova. Light and color, sensation and sound. Melding.
She felt melded to him. Inside his skin and sinking deeper by the second as she wilted against his chest.
His arms surrounded her, his hands stroked down her back as he whispered something at her ear. She couldn’t process thought yet. Hell, she didn’t want to process thought. She didn’t want to hear, think, or rationalize at the moment. She simply wanted to feel. She just wanted to be a part of him as long as possible.
“Easy.” She finally heard the soft word and realizing she was still shuddering, trembling in his embrace. “It’s okay, baby, I have you.”
John had her. She could feel him holding her, soothing her, wrapping around her from the inside out.
Her nails were still biting into his shoulders. Forcing herself to release that hold on him, she instead flattened her palms against his flesh, desperate to retain the feeling of being so much a part of him.
“You’re like a flame against me,” he whispered, brushing her hair aside and placing a kiss at the side of her neck. “So sweet and hot.”
She had to fight back the tears even as she forced herself to restrain the words that rose to her lips. Was he Trent? She could feel it, that same touch, his kiss, a suspicion that was destroying her from the inside out.
If he was, then he had deserted her. He had taken the emotion that had existed between them and he’d walked away with a part of her that she had never been able to replace.
And she had existed in a void that had been empty, without direction.
Until John.
In that second Bailey realized the mistakes she had made in the past five years. How Trent’s “death” had affected her. How it had nearly destroyed her own life.
She pushed herself from him and rolled to her side, eyes still closed even as she felt his hand stroke along her stomach.
Her skin was still so sensitive to the touch that a little shudder worked through her.
She had nearly destroyed herself because she had lost Trent. How weak was that? She, who had always thought herself so strong, so intent and determined. She had lost herself when she had lost Trent. Or John. Or whatever the hell he was calling himself on this operation.
“Bailey, stop drawing away from me.” His voice hardened at her side. “I can feel you doing it.”
She opened her eyes, turned her head, and stared back at him.
How ruggedly handsome he was. Dark blond hair, darker than it had been before, fell over his brow. The laugh lines at the sides of his eyes were always one of his sexiest features. His lips were swollen from their kisses, his dark gray eyes turbulent with emotion.
What emotion? she wondered. What was brewing inside this man she had given her heart to, and nearly given her life for?
Did he regret? Or did he justify his decisions?
And did it matter? If he was Trent, then the only reason he was here, with her, was to use her. Because he needed her to gain entrance into a society so elite, so powerful, that only a very few even knew of its existence.
She breathed in that truth.
No more lying to herself, she thought as she fought back the tears that would have fallen from her eyes. And no more weakness. She was a better woman, a better agent than she had been in the past five years.
Losing Trent had messed with her heart and her head to the point that surviving had been almost impossible. Moving on from his “death” had nearly destroyed her. She wasn’t going to allow John Vincent to destroy her now.
“I’m right here,” she finally answered. “It’s been a long day, and a very trying week.”
She forced herself from his side, sat up on the side of the bed, and willed her legs to hold her as she rose to her feet.
“Where are you going, Bailey?” Unashamedly naked, he watched as she snagged a robe from the chair against the wall and pulled it over her body.
The ultra-soft cotton enfolded her, but it wasn’t as warm as it used to be. She
still felt chilled, empty without his touch.
How long would it last this time? she wondered. That sense of loss when he left her for another mission. Perhaps even for another woman.
“I’m hungry.” She forced a smile to her face as she moved for the door. “And I need coffee.”
“It’s late, and you didn’t sleep much last night,” he protested as he rose to his feet and snagged his pants from the floor. “You should be tired.”
She was exhausted from the inside out.
“Food, then sleep.” She shrugged as she headed for the door. “Care for a sandwich?”
She kept her back to him. He was too perceptive and he could read her much too easily. She had never been able to hide things from John and now she had a lot to hide.
The agent she’d once been had been so damaged when she thought he’d died, she’d barely recovered. She had forgotten her training in the past years and she’d forgotten how to use her instincts.
That wouldn’t happen again. She had a life outside John, just as she should have had a life outside of Trent Daylen.
She wasn’t losing this part of herself again. He owned her heart; he wasn’t going to own her life.
“Bailey.” He caught her arm as she opened the door. “Are you okay?”
She turned back to him and felt her stomach sink. What was that expression on his face? No, it couldn’t be love. She had fooled herself into believing that once before. The heavy, intent look in his eyes might be caring—she had no doubt he cared—but it wasn’t love. Love didn’t walk away for revenge. It didn’t desert the heart it had stolen and it didn’t return for a job. It returned because it had no other choice. Because life was empty without that heart that beat life inside it. She was very much afraid her life would be even emptier when he left her. Again.
CHAPTER 7
THINGS CHANGE. EMOTIONS harbored so long inside a woman’s heart can’t always be denied. The need, the hunger, the feeling of a connection, a bond—there was no way to turn away from it. No way to ignore it.
Bailey awoke the next morning with that knowledge burning inside her, driving her from an empty bed to the shower, where she fought back the tears that would have poured from her eyes.
She awoke alone. After the most incredible night of her life, she was alone when her eyes opened. Just as she had always been alone.
Gathering clothes together, she forced herself into the shower, forced back the anger and the pain as she got ready for the day.
John hadn’t made any promises and as much as she wanted to find ways to believe he was another man, as many traits as she could attribute to him, still more overshadowed them.
He was John Vincent, and John Vincent might not love her. He probably didn’t love her. She was an asset, just as she had always been. She had been an asset to her father, she was an asset to those she had grown up with and she was now an asset to an agency that she didn’t even understand.
Dressing seemed to take forever. It sapped the strength she knew she needed to face the man whose arms she had fallen asleep within just as it sapped the hope that had begun building within her. Not so much that he was Trent as that this emotion she felt inside would be returned.
Shaking it away wasn’t easy. Forcing back the weakness was almost impossible. It wasn’t permanent, she told herself. It was simply the afteraffects of a night in the arms of a very skilled lover and her own wayward emotions.
They had gotten her into trouble before; they had always led her onto the path of destruction. She was simply a magnet for heartbreak, it seemed.
A mocking smile tugged at her lips as she finished her makeup and flipped the brush through her hair one last time before surveying herself in the mirror.
She looked okay. She didn’t look as though her heart was breaking and she didn’t look as though another dream was slowly unraveling around her.
Vengeance.
She breathed in deeply, forcing that thought through her system, into her brain, into her heart. She might not have a chance at love, but she did have a chance at vengeance. For Anna and Mathilda, for her parents. Especially for her parents. She had a chance to make their murderer pay.
And for now, for a moment in time, she would have John. Not that it would ever be enough, but when it was over at least she wouldn’t have the regret that she hadn’t tried, that she hadn’t fought for what her heart had tried to claim.
She’d let months go by before she had ever hinted to Trent that she desired him. It was time she had no intentions of wasting with John.
He was a secretive bastard. He was dominant, he edged at being controlling, but they were all traits she had as well. They would clash while they were together, but the memories … She smiled at the thought. She would have the memories when it was over.
If they survived the mission they were on. And that brought up another point she hadn’t wanted to face. When all this was over, she was set to possess some very powerful enemies. The men in this little group liked to think that they policed themselves. That they kept themselves under control. They wouldn’t appreciate her stepping in. And there was always the chance that more than one of them was involved. She wasn’t overlooking that angle.
She hoped she wasn’t overlooking anything. She’d been tracking Warbucks and Orion for years. After she’d eliminated those who couldn’t possibly be involved, it had left her with four men who had the power, the resources, and the connections to accomplish the thefts and sales that had gone through.
Pushing her feet into a pair of well-worn hiking boots, she tied them quickly before heading downstairs for the coffee she knew the housekeeper would have prepared. Daylight filled the room, a cold dim light that sent a chill racing through her body despite the warmth of the house.
It would snow soon, she thought as she glanced out the huge front windows in the foyer. She could see the clouds lying over the mountains and bearing down on them. The forecast for the next week mentioned blizzard conditions nearing.
They had less than three weeks to accomplish the identification of Warbucks. The sale was coming soon. A broker would be chosen; within days negotiations would begin and a price would be set.
She had to ensure that John received the contract.
It amazed her how totally business-like these transactions now went.
Once upon a time things weren’t nearly so civilized and in a lot of ways it had been much easier then to track and to apprehend the traitors involved in such sales. Now they were shielded by brokers, middlemen, and a professional atmosphere including background checks, moles in law enforcement agencies, and negotiations for pending sales.
It was becoming a pain in the ass, more so than normal, to apprehend the criminals hiding behind third-world nations and international connections.
Shaking her head at the thought, she turned and headed into the kitchen. The scent of smooth, rich coffee wafted through the air, tempting her. But something more drew her as well: the sound of hushed voices, male and female. John’s and an unknown woman’s.
She drew closer on silent feet, edging to the doorway but still unable to hear exactly what they were saying.
Lips thinning, she checked the holstered weapon she’d clipped at her back, beneath her light sweater, before straightening her shoulders and sliding into the room.
John turned to her immediately, his expression closed as the redhead standing close to him hid a quick smile.
Slender, toned, her red-gold hair flowing down her back, her sea-green eyes both amused and cynical, the other woman appeared both worldly and innocent, as well as familiar.
Dressed in jeans, boots, and a heavy sweater, the younger woman looked like a tourist out for a hike rather than someone who would be involved in what Bailey had decided was John’s very dangerous life.
Tilting her head to the side, she stared back at the woman as she tried to ignore the stinging bite of jealousy. Though John seemed more irritated by the woman than aroused by her. Funny, but she could have
sworn the curve of his lips, the way his nose flared, and the jut of his jaw were identical to Trent’s when he had been irritated.
“Hello, Bailey. I hope you don’t mind if I call you Bailey.” The redhead didn’t wait for an introduction. She moved across the room, her hand extended in greeting as a bright smile curved her lips. “I’m John’s handler, Tehya.”
“His handler?” Bailey arched her brow as she turned back to John, shooting him a curious look while shaking the woman’s hand.
Distantly, she noticed the less-than-baby-soft smoothness of Tehya’s palm, the firm grip, the warmth and lack of moisture. This wasn’t a woman who would show nerves easily, or even feel them easily. She was confident, determined, and showed no signs of an agenda.
“My handler.” He nodded. “Every good broker has one.”
“It’s what makes a broker good.” Tehya grinned. “Every good assassin has one as well. That was Orion’s weakness. His handler was frightened of him rather than confident in his area of expertise. He knew Orion would have him killed when he retired.”
“Seems like a good idea to me. When do I get to retire?” John snorted.
Tehya chuckled as she stepped back from Bailey.
“Last I heard, most handlers call rather than visit in person,” Bailey pointed out as she moved to the coffeepot. “When did that rule change?”
“A good handler knows when to call and when to visit.” Tehya shrugged her almost fragile shoulders. “Some information you don’t want tracked over open phone lines, and even secure connections can be hacked.”
That was no more than the truth.
“What was so important that you were forced to make the journey from England, then?”
Bailey timed the question perfectly. Turning, she caught Tehya’s surprised look and the flare of suspicion in John’s gaze.
Hiding her smile behind the coffee cup as she sipped at the fragrant brew, she let the knowledge that she had her own sources sink in.
“How did you find me?” Tehya seemed more curious than upset. “Better agents than you have searched for me.”