by Lora Leigh
Running his fingers through his hair, John moved to the door, turned the knob easily and stepped into the steamy confines of the bathroom before closing the door behind him.
He could see her through the glass shower doors, her head braced against the tile wall, her shoulders hunched against the anger. The knowledge. And the pain.
This was destroying her, it was destroying him to watch her hurt like this. Like a beast digging in sharpened claws, the knowledge that the end was coming soon tore at both of them.
Shedding his clothes, he moved to the shower, slid open the doors, and watched as her head jerked up.
John saw the betrayal in her eyes, the fear, the need to know that something, just one thing in her life was a constant. That it was real.
“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms despite her attempt to turn away from him. “Come here, baby. I have you.”
He felt the sob that racked her body as he closed his arms around her, and felt the feminine need for comfort, for security, that she so rarely showed.
Bailey was used to dealing with everything on her own. She wasn’t used to sharing her pain or leaning on anyone. Right now he needed her to lean on him. He needed to protect her against something, he needed a dragon to slay for her, because God knew he couldn’t find a way to slay the situation they were in, or the lies he was forced to live.
He cupped the back of her head and stared across her head, feeling the anger rise inside him that she had to hurt this way.
He kissed her forehead, beside her eye.
She shook her head. “I hate the lies, John.”
She stared up at him, anger vibrating in every line of her body. “I know you’re lying to me. I know Jerric is a lie, just as I know Travis Caine is one. I know it. And I still have to allow it to continue. I hate it.”
Bailey knew how to lie. She knew how to deceive in her job. If there was one thing he knew about her though, it was that outside that job, Bailey was as honest as the day could be long.
This was tearing them both apart.
“There are lies we have to live, for one reason or another,” he said. “That still doesn’t mean the reality is what we want it to be.”
He couldn’t tell her the truth. God knew he wanted to. He needed to. But right now the truth would be more dangerous to her than the lie was painful.
“I’ll end up hating you,” she whispered fiercely.
“And I’ll always dream of you,” he sighed as he lowered his lips to hers.
His hard shaft pressed against her belly, though it was a need he could control now. He needed to comfort her just as much as he needed to love her.
“Did I ever stop dreaming of you?” She cried softly as she melted against him.
He ran his hands down her back, holding her close to him as he felt her hands stroking around his back, her sharp little nails probing at his flesh with slow, sensual rasps.
He could feel the heated hunger rising inside her now. It was there in the prick of her nails, in the feel of her hot tongue licking against his chest.
Oh yeah, he liked that. His hand cupped the back of her head as he lifted his face and blinked against the water flowing around them.
“I need you.” The sound of her whisper against his flesh tore through his senses. “I need all of you, John. Everything. Just this once.”
Just this once, and she wanted things he was sworn not to give her. Things he knew better than to give her—and yet he knew he would.
Simply because she asked for it, because she needed it. Because she was immersed in a world that he could see was destroying her.
“You have me, love.” He kept his voice low, let the Australian flavor of his natural accent free, and gave her all of him.
He stared down at her as her head lifted, her eyes filling with tears, her lips shaking as she parted them to speak.
He couldn’t let her speak. He couldn’t let his soul break apart any more than it already was for her. His head lowered and he stole the words in a kiss that immediately sparked a conflagration of heat.
Her hands buried in his hair, fisted in it, and tried to pull him closer as he cupped the rounded globes of her rear and lifted her closer.
Her legs twined around his hips, her ankles crossing at the back as he braced her against the wall and stared into her exquisite, hungry expression.
“I remember, love,” he whispered as a soft sob tore from her lips. “I remember every touch, every kiss. I remember you like a dream that saves my soul.”
Her head rolled against the shower wall as her hips lifted against him, rubbing the slick folds against the head of his cock.
The sensation was sharp, fiery. Like a thousand pinpoints of pleasure racing over the hardened crest. He felt the silken folds of her pussy part for him, felt the heat of her as he nudged inside.
Snug, clenching tissue surrounded the tip of his cock as he fought to breathe through the pleasure. Being with her like this, holding her, feeling her acceptance of him tore through his senses like wildfire.
“Hold on to me, babe.” His voice was thick with passion, with an accent he’d sworn he’d never use again.
She needed all of him, he would give her all of him.
Pressing inside her, he worked the hard flesh of his cock deep as he held her gaze. Heavy-lidded and intense, her emerald eyes glittered as water condensed on her lashes.
“We’ll never speak of this again,” he insisted roughly, his own heart breaking as her eyes filled with tears again. “Tonight, Bailey. Just tonight, we forget where we are, who we have to be. Just for tonight.”
“Just for tonight,” she agreed, her voice filled with tears. “Just for tonight.”
Gripping her rear tighter he lifted her to him, braced his feet against the shower floor, and began to lower her again. Each blistering inch of velvety female flesh that gripped him sent a lance of sensation tearing into his chest.
As though she were firing barbs into his heart, tying her to him forever in ways that she hadn’t already.
How could one woman have such a disastrous effect on a man?
How could one woman fill so much of a man’s soul, even as he knew that the day could come when he would lose her?
He was risking everything for her. To give her this one night. To give her a few moments of comfort that would eventually do more harm than it could ever do good.
But he couldn’t resist her. He couldn’t resist the need, the hunger, or the plea she had whispered.
She had known, in her heart, in her woman’s soul, she had always known who he was, what he was, and what he was to her. There was no denying it any longer, just as there was no denying the need clawing at his balls.
Hips straining, he thrust deeper inside her, feeling her clench and tighten around him as a muted cry fell from her lips.
“I dreamed of this,” she whispered on a sob as she buried her lips against his neck. “I dreamed of you touching me, holding me again. Loving me. Love me, Trent. One more time.”
Trent. The forbidden name, a man who was dead, the man who had claimed his woman so many years before and had never been able to let her go.
“Shhh.” He breathed the shushing little sound against her ear as he pressed deeper and deeper inside her. Taking her by increments until he was lodged to the hilt, stretching her, feeling the erotic bite of muscles that were stretched to their limit.
The feel of her was like heat and lightning surrounding his dick. It was the most erotic, most sensual sensation of his life. The feel of Bailey taking him, loving him, each feminine clench of her sheath rippling over the too-sensitive flesh.
“I can’t wait,” he groaned as he tried to hold still inside her, tried to hold on to the sensation of her clenching and stroking his cock with delicate internal muscles.
It was a sensation unlike any he had ever known, even with other women. Women he had cared for, had at times perhaps even loved. Still, none could compare to taking Bailey naked, without a condom, with not
hing separating their flesh, nothing standing between them physically, or emotionally.
In that moment, with the water pouring around them, he could touch her heart, her soul. Just as she touched his.
“God help me, I love fucking you,” he groaned, watching as a flush worked over her face and her eyes darkened in arousal.
Around his cock he felt her pussy convulse, felt her heated juices pressing around his engorged flesh.
“Fuck me some more,” she whimpered.
His hips jerked involuntary, thrusting against her, lodging his shaft deeper inside her as they both groaned with the gathering firestorm of sensations.
It was going to blow his mind, taking her like this. When they were finished he would drown beneath the spray of water because he’d be too damned weak to push himself from it.
Bracing her more firmly against the wall, his hips moved. He pulled back, swallowing tightly at the feel of her pussy gripping him, trying to suck him back in as he forced himself to withdraw all but the engorged crest. Breathing in deep, he fought for control. Staring into her heavy-lidded eyes, he lost it as her grip tightened, rippled and she moved, driving him inside her once again.
He couldn’t hold back. There was no way to recapture his control after it splintered, no way to halt the tide that rose inside him, spurred him, demanded that he take all she had to give. That he give everything that she demanded of him.
Moaning her name, he braced one hand against the shower wall and held her to him with the other wall. His hips thrust and churned, shafting inside her with hard, brutally exquisite thrusts that had them both panting, fighting to hold back, to hold off a release that he knew would drain him not just physically, but emotionally.
He wanted it to last forever. He wanted to hold himself inside her until the world itself disappeared and there was nothing but the man and the woman, hearts pounding, souls merging. Until nothing mattered but the pleasure, and the pain washed away with the water pouring around them.
“I love you. Oh God, Trent. Trent. I love you so much.”
His name on her lips sent a shaft of ecstasy tearing through his testicles as he groaned in near rapture.
“I love you, babe.” Thick and heavy, the rough drawl of Australia in his voice whispered around them, bringing back a past neither of them had been able to forget.
As the words whispered past his lips, he felt her lose control. A low, fierce tremor began in her hips where his arm braced her to him. That tremor built, grew in intensity as it raced through her pussy, worked over his cock, and tore through her senses.
He felt her orgasm ripping through her, felt the clench of her body, heard the cry of pleasure that mixed with the sound of the water, and he lost his mind in the rush of her juices around the thrusting length of his cock.
He lost his mind and his control.
Throwing back his head, he gave himself to his own release. He felt it tear through his balls, drawing them tight to the base of his cock as his seed began to spurt from him, filling her, mixing with her release and searing his flesh as he groaned her name and poured himself into her.
It was like dying inside her, becoming a part of her, melting so deep inside her soul that he knew neither of them would ever be free.
It was like finally finding the home he hadn’t believed truly existed for him. And in that moment he knew why his fellow agents were so damned possessive and particular about assignments such as the one Micah was working. He belonged to Bailey. He belonged to her, body and soul. And he knew from that moment on, never again could he allow another woman to touch, to take what was Bailey’s alone.
Clenching her rear in one hand to hold her to him, he fought to press his hand tight enough against the shower wall to keep himself upright.
Bailey’s legs were tight around his hips, shudders still working through her body as he fought to catch his own breath.
“I will always love you.” He couldn’t hold the words back. “Until my last breath, sweet Bailey. I’ll love only you.”
She sobbed against the pleasure, against the pain. Her eyes locked with his now, her body melded to him. She whispered, “I’ll love you forever.”
John only prayed that somehow, some way, they could have forever. Together.
CHAPTER 13
RAYMOND AND MARY GREER knew how to throw a house party, Bailey had to give them credit for that. The next afternoon as she eased away from the ballroom where a full buffet lunch and champagne bar had been set up, she marveled at the massive amount of money that had to have gone into the catering of the affair.
Chefs had been flown in from France, Greece and California. Fresh produce and seafood was brought in, as well as superior wines and champagnes. No expense was spared for this once-a-year party that Mary so enjoyed throwing. The fact that her husband used the event for his criminal activities was evil, in her eyes.
Mary was one of the gentlest ladies Bailey had ever known. During her childhood Mary Altman had been a strong guiding force for Bailey and Anna. She had taken the two girls under her wing, guided them in their coming-out balls and taught them how to laugh at themselves when their parents had exhibited disappointment or disapproval in them.
Slipping out of the ballroom, Bailey made her way through the foyer and away from the clash of voices. She couldn’t handle the crowd of overgrown teenage females any longer. That was what they reminded her of. They were mothers and grandmothers, yet they seemed to think they were still eighteen. The petty backstabbing and social climbing sickened her. Being a part of it was something to avoid at all costs.
As Bailey escaped the ballroom and moved quietly through the house, she was aware of the security cameras that followed her progress. Raymond had spared no expense in the security of his home, or his secrets. It seemed that every room she had been in so far, except bedrooms and bathrooms, were equipped with the electronic devices. Some of the larger rooms contained several of them.
Movement through the house was tracked diligently, the images displayed into a secure room in the basement level that was manned by several security guards.
Outside was no less secure. The evergreen maze was filled with them, the only privacy to be found there was in the sheltered, private grottos that Mary had insisted on and had spared no expense in creating.
The place was a virtual fortress, leaving her very little opportunity to slip into Raymond’s office and rifle through his papers. The good ol’ days of the spy game that her cousin Garren Abijah had once talked about were well and truly gone.
Everything was electronic now. Gadgets and sensors, virtual access and computer viruses. One damned near had to be a rocket scientist to figure out how to slip into secured areas undetected. That or have a team with varying skills covering every move.
She wasn’t a rocket scientist and she didn’t have a team. That left her at loose ends as she roamed the house and eventually made her way outside.
John was with the men, most likely pursuing much more interesting activities this afternoon. Shooting pool, playing poker, possibly out hunting. She would have given her eye-teeth to be socializing with the men rather than the women. Buying jewels and clothes wasn’t exactly her idea of a fun time. She wasn’t there to have fun. She was there to catch a murderous traitor and she had to admit, at least to herself, that she was beginning to grow impatient.
Her world, unfortunately, was still a man’s world. They conducted business, made financial decisions and ran the vast array of companies beneath their personal umbrellas. The women spent their days with their charities, their shopping, lunches and social calenders. God, could that life get any more boring?
Moving through the house, she found herself drawn to the library. The intimate, cozy room was filled with books, reading nooks, and a fire that crackled cheerily in the hearth.
The warmth of the fire sent a soft glow of heat to the seating arrangement in front of it. As Bailey entered, her only thought was to curl up on the comfortable couch she and Anna used to s
hare when they had slept over at Mary’s and reminisce on a childhood friend who should never have died.
Her hopes were doomed to disappointment. Moving toward the fireplace, a slight movement to her right had her swinging around, her hand going to the small of her back, beneath the cream-colored cashmere sweater she wore for the weapon hidden there in its butter-soft leather holster.
“Ease up, Agent Serborne.” From the shadows, one of the brokers invited to the house party stepped forward.
“Landon Roth.” She kept her hand on her weapon. “No one told me you had been invited.”
A wide toothy smile in a less-than-charming face was her answer.
Landon was one of those plain little men that one met sometimes. If you didn’t know him, didn’t know the pure genius and pure evil inside him, then he was so easily overlooked and underestimated.
“I rather had a feeling you would be drawn here.” Plain hazel eyes glanced around the room as he straightened the edges of his charcoal-gray jacket over his white shirt. Finely pleated pants and black leather shoes completed his appearance. He wasn’t short, he wasn’t tall. At five feet eight inches, he was just the right height to blend in. Neatly trimmed hair a shade of dark blond or light brown, she had never really determined which and thin wire-rimmed glasses.
“And what made you think I’d be drawn here?” she asked, careful to keep an eye on him.
He looked around again, a smile playing at his lips. “I think a library rather becomes you, Agent Serborne,” he stated. “Classy, refined, quiet. An oasis of peace.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “I always rather saw you as a woman of class and refinement, though I must admit I never made the connection to the Serborne fortune until I arrived here. The CIA omitted that from your file, I do believe.”
She arched her brows. “I’ll have to remind them to correct that oversight.”
He chuckled at her response as he wagged a finger at her. “Very deceptive, my dear. Very deceptive. The past they created for you was quite inventive, I must say. Kansas farm parents, dead. No living brothers or sisters. An orphan with no family. Very, very good.”