by Rachel Grant
She seemed to accept that, and he wondered why he’d been so frank. He didn’t have to mention Delta, but he’d wanted to. He was proud of his service, and he supposed he wanted to impress her. Stupid when this could go nowhere. “I’m going to take a shower. Get some rest.”
She nodded even as her eyes drifted closed. She had to be more exhausted than he was. He, at least, was trained for this.
In the shower, his shoulder burned under the hot spray. Pain surged across the exposed nerves. He quickly adjusted the temperature to cold. He sucked in a sharp breath and leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall and waited for the burn to recede to a low throb.
The cold spray helped his shoulder, but the rest of his body shivered. Between the throbbing in his shoulder and the icy water, thoughts of screwing Cressida evaporated, which was a bonus, he supposed.
Except he liked thinking about screwing Cressida. It was a hell of a lot more fun than thinking about how far south this mission had gone.
What was Zack’s game here? Was he herding them toward Batman or the consulate in Adana? If so, they were the last places Ian could take her. The fact that she was still alive meant Zack needed her for something, but what?
He soaped his body, wiping the grime of the explosion from his skin. Cressida’s skin was also dirty from the blast. She’d need a good deal of soap, which would slide down those slender hips and that firm, round ass, in ribbons of white suds, conforming to her curves.
Her full breasts would be perfect handfuls. He imagined the texture of her aroused nipples on his tongue. He washed his hair, allowing the cold spray to hit his face. The frigid water and his burned shoulder could no longer compete with his erection.
“Need any help?”
He turned to the sound of Cressida’s voice, wiping the water from his eyes. She’d pulled back the curtain and stood—beautifully, magnificently—naked just outside the narrow stall.
“Holy fuck,” he muttered, taking in her perfect body. Smooth skin, round, high breasts with dusty-pink nipples that made him salivate. That slender waist, and those sexy, curved hips. But most of all, he was caught by the gorgeous grin she wore as her beautiful brown eyes widened at the sight of his ready erection.
“Why yes, I think you do,” she added, her voice low and husky, which made his cock twitch. She pushed the curtain wider and stepped into the spray, then jumped in reaction to the cold. “What the hell?”
He slammed the water off with the side of his fist, then grabbed her before she could flee the shower stall. He nudged her back to the tile wall, and she squealed at the cold. Then he kissed her while his chilled, wet skin met her warm, perfect body. His erection pressed against her belly as his tongue slid inside her mouth. He thrust forward with his hips, enjoying the feel of her soft, smooth skin against the underside of his hard cock.
She tasted so damn sweet. His tongue entwined with hers in a hot, hurried dance. His balls tightened. He couldn’t get enough. Taste enough. Feel enough. With his hands under her ass, he lifted her, allowing his cock to slide between her thighs and press against her clit.
She broke the kiss, rocking her head back against the tile as she let out a soft moan.
“You like that?” he asked. He thrust his hips. His cock slid across her clit, then stopped with the tip at her opening. She was slick, hot. Ready.
He stroked her with his thumb while he teased her swollen opening with his eager cock. Silky wet heat enveloped him. He’d gone from fantasy to reality so damn fast, he almost wasn’t certain this was real.
She let out a very real moan, and he remembered one of reality’s greater drawbacks. “Dammit. We need a condom.”
With one arm, she gripped his good shoulder. She kissed him again and pressed her hot core against the tip of his penis. “No problem.” She panted as he pulled back to slide the tip over her clitoris again. “I had some in my suitcase.” She flashed a cunning, satisfied grin. In her free hand, she waved the square foil wrapper, identifiable in any country.
He wouldn’t have sex with her, not without birth control, not when she didn’t know his name. But they did have condoms. And she was naked. In his arms. What did names matter anyway? “Ian” was just the Gaelic version of “John” after all.
“You’re sure?” he asked against her lips.
“Shut up and put your cock in me.” She ripped open the wrapper with her teeth.
Still supporting her, he pulled back so she could sheathe his erection. He groaned as the condom unrolled and she stroked his cock.
His mouth caught hers, and he held her against the wall, tasting, stroking. She released his thick erection, and her hands slid up his chest as she kissed him back. She sucked on his tongue as he thrust into her mouth. He lifted her higher, positioning his cock between her hot thighs, pressing against her vagina. The tip just grazing the edge.
One thrust, and he’d be in deep.
She whimpered at the torment, and he chuckled. Her hands stroked his delts, shifted to cradle his neck, then slid over his shoulders to his back.
White-hot pain sliced through him. He jolted backward, unable to stop himself. Her warm fingers had rubbed his raw, burned flesh.
Chapter Seventeen
“I’m sorry!” Cressida stared in shock as John’s face lost all trace of color. She’d hurt him. She knew he’d been scraped when they tumbled on the rocks, and now she wondered if he’d been hurt worse than that. He hadn’t said a word. There’d been no blood on his shirt, but then it had been dark, and she hadn’t really looked.
“You were hurt in the blast, weren’t you?”
“I’m fine. Just give me a moment.”
Thinking back, she realized that when she’d pulled back the shower curtain, his head and shoulders had been coated in shampoo. Whatever hurt him so badly, she hadn’t seen it. And then there was the frigid water. Maybe the apartment did have hot running water, but he’d chosen cold for a reason.
He still held her. She wiggled against him. “Put me down. We’ll finish this later.”
“No. I’m fine.”
She cupped his face and kissed him, then pulled back. He was still erect and seemed to mean it when he said he wanted to continue, but she was more worried than aroused now. “Put me down and turn around. Let me see.”
She gasped when she saw the burn. No wonder it hadn’t bled. On his left shoulder blade, a strip of skin one inch wide and three inches long had burned, blistered, and popped. “Holy shit. That must hurt like hell.”
“I’ve been able to ignore it. Except when it’s touched or hit by hot water.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She gingerly probed the healthy skin around the burn, exploring the reddened, puckered edge.
“That bad?”
“Worse. It’s a second-degree burn—nearly third. You should have told me.” She felt terrible realizing he’d finally been cooling the burn and she’d interrupted.
“We needed to get here as fast as possible. No time to fuss.”
Guilt swamped her. “You got this protecting me. I was under you while debris rained down.”
He turned in the small shower stall to face her and cupped her chin. “This is what I do, Cress.”
The way he said it triggered a tide of emotion. The last thing she needed was to start thinking there could be more here than sex. More than comfort between two people who’d been through something together.
He touched the evil eye pendant that rested against her breastbone. “Beautiful pendant—much higher quality than the usual tourist offerings. But I don’t think it’s helped us much.”
She let out a distressed laugh. “Yeah. Total juju fail.” Unease settled through her. It was odd to stand naked in the shower with him while he studied a charm given to her by a dead man. A terrorist. Who’d been murdered in her hotel room.
She’d lost her mind. She never should have stepped into John’s shower. But she’d wanted a mindless escape, to return to the moment when he’d kissed her and they’d been
ready to move the action to the bedroom except thick black smoke had interrupted them.
She stepped back, out of the shower. “I should bandage your shoulder. Does this place have a first aid kit?”
“Yes.” He unrolled the condom and dropped it in the trash, then flashed her a smile. “I hope you have more of those.”
Heat gathered in her belly at his mention of their unfinished business. “I do.”
He brushed his lips across hers in a quick, warm kiss. “Good.”
She grabbed a towel from the shelf and thrust it into his hands. “Cover up before I forget you need a nurse and not to play doctor.”
He grinned. “You first.”
“I’m going to take a quick shower. When I get out, I expect to find you naked—but only from the waist up—and belly down on the bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned on the water, grateful for the hot spray. She’d felt a sudden chill at the idea of how close they’d both come to getting blown up and needed the heat of the shower to wash away both the grime of the explosion and the fear.
The room was a sea of steam by the time she emerged. She toweled off, then ran her fingers through her hair to detangle it. Her brush was in her suitcase in the main room. She’d thought to bring a condom into the bathroom, but not a brush. Yeah, well, priorities. She had them.
She stepped out of the bathroom. As ordered, John was stretched out on the bed. His feet were at the head while his cheek rested on a pillow at the foot. He’d turned on the TV to CNN International and had positioned himself to watch on his belly, and then fell asleep during her lengthy shower.
Damn. Could she fail him any more? She’d promised to tend his wound and instead took a shower and had a pity party while he waited. Now he was finally resting, and cleaning the burn would wake him.
He’d laid first aid items out on the dresser. She grabbed saline solution and cotton swabs. On the TV, images of the aftermath of the explosion at the checkpoint filled the screen. She knew the explosion would be news but was surprised to see it on the international channel. She hit the volume button so she could hear the British newscaster’s voice-over.
John stirred as she dabbed at the burn with the solution, but he didn’t wake. The information on the news was as expected. Speculation of a terrorist attack. A Kurdish separatist group named as the likely perpetrators with additional speculation that it could be a new branch of ISIS.
Wound clean, she broke the seal on the antibiotic ointment and applied it to his skin. John woke fully, a soft smile on his handsome face when he shifted his sleepy head to meet her gaze. “How long have I been out?”
“Only ten or fifteen minutes.” She finished spreading the cream and pulled out a gauze bandage. “How’s the pain?”
“I took a painkiller. Non-prescription, but still, stronger here than we have in the US. So not bad.”
She smiled. “I’m glad.” She ripped off strips of tape and secured the gauze. “You hungry?”
“Starving. There’s some canned food in the cupboards.”
“Sounds delicious.”
He laughed, then his eyes lit with heat. He plucked at the towel she wore around her torso. “You didn’t get dressed.”
She shrugged.
On the TV, footage of a Turkish official making a statement condemning the attack was interrupted. The image flipped back to the anchor desk. “We have a startling development in the Turkish bombing investigation.”
John’s focus was on the TV as he said, “We can get groceries after we both sleep for a few hours.”
She nodded, more focused, like him, on the TV. “What do you think is going on?”
“We received an anonymous tip,” the anchor said, “that a suspect in the bombing is actually a CIA operative who allegedly turned double agent.”
Shock made air whoosh from Cressida’s lungs. “Your associate is CIA? I thought he worked for Raptor.”
The reporter continued, “With two anonymous sources confirming the information, CNN has decided to disclose the man’s identity, because he’s armed and dangerous and may have already killed one Turkish soldier.”
John lunged for the TV. A picture flashed across the screen. Cressida caught a glimpse just before John hit the power button and the image disappeared.
The picture hadn’t been of some man she’d never seen. No. The picture had been a snapshot of a bearded John Baker.
Chapter Eighteen
Ian stood in front of the TV, frozen. Shocked. Stunned. Rocked to his core. Never in all his years as a covert operative had he ever imagined what this moment could or would feel like. He’d been burned. His life’s work gone in an instant.
He’d been labeled a terrorist. A double agent. A traitor. Bile rose in his throat.
Every faction would now be gunning for him. Shoot to kill.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, he had Cressida to deal with. Turning off the TV had been a stupid mistake. It hadn’t prevented her from seeing his picture and hearing the lies, but it had stopped him from finding out what had been disclosed.
Cressida pummeled his good shoulder, demanding answers. He brushed her aside and hit the power button on the TV.
“—Ian Boyd is considered armed and dangerous,” the news anchor said as another picture of him appeared on the screen, this one from when he was in the Army and beardless.
Shit. He was well and truly cooked.
“Boyd has been an employee of the United States Central Intelligence Agency for the last five years. Prior to that, he served in the military. He received several medals for his service and served as an operator with the US Army’s secretive tier-one counterterrorism unit popularly known as Delta Force.”
“They left out my years in college,” he murmured. “You’d think they’d be all over my Middle Eastern studies degree.”
Cressida glared at him. She was afraid, but he gave her credit for not showing it. She grabbed clean clothes from her suitcase and marched into the bathroom.
The layout of the small room came to mind. Crap! There was a window to the courtyard behind the ground floor apartment. He tried the knob. Locked. “I’m not a double agent, Cressida. Zack is. Open the door. We need to talk.”
“I’m getting dressed.”
“And I’ve seen you naked. So open up.”
“No.”
“Then step back, because I’m busting the door down.” He kicked the knob. The frame splintered, and the door swung wide.
Cressida’s head and shoulders were through the high window. She was halfway to freedom but struggled to get her knee up so she could straddle the ledge.
“Sonofabitch. I don’t need this,” he muttered as he grabbed her hips. She kicked backward, but he cinched his arms tight, preventing her from hurting him as he dragged her back through the window. “Cool it. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She twisted in his arms and pounded on his chest. When that failed, she landed a blow on the bandage.
Pain exploded. White light flashed behind his eyes. He dropped her and staggered backward. She landed on her ass at his feet. Her eyes were wide, round, and full of nut-grinding fear.
He struggled to breathe as his nerve endings flamed. He slumped down against the doorframe. Cold sweat gathered at his hairline. He faced her across the short stretch of floor. “Don’t. Do that. Again.”
“You lied to me.”
“Of course I did.” Pain receded by slow millimeters.
“You don’t even feel bad about it.”
“No. Why should I? I was doing my job. For Uncle Sam.” He shrugged and added, “You lied about your name.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a traitor.”
“Then explain why the first time I saw you, you were hanging out with a terrorist.”
Her eyes widened. “You were there?”
“Of course.”
She dropped her head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. “Am I your mission?”
“Yes.”
>
“Why?”
“There’s a microchip with information vital to Hejan’s group. He gave it to you. My mission was to follow the chip.”
She lowered her chin, meeting his gaze. “How do you know Hejan gave me anything?”
“Hejan had turned against his group. He was gathering intelligence for me. For the CIA.”
She fixed him with a glare. “If you’re a double agent, I won’t shed a tear when you’re caught and killed.”
For a cat with her paw caught in a trap, she was awfully bold. And equally likely to bite him. “Do I need to sleep with one eye open?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t beat me, Cressida. I’m not just CIA. I’m Delta. I’ve run ops. I’ve killed for my country. A few hours ago, a man died while I protected you. I could have saved him. I chose you. So keep in mind that a wisp of a young scholar won’t get the best of me, no matter how beautiful. No matter how much I want to fuck you.”
Her eyes widened at his blatant declaration. “Was your plan to screw me so I’d be lulled into submission? Was this some sort of twisted James Bond thing?”
“I hit on you on the flight and at dinner for the job. The kiss in the elevator was also on Company time. But the rest has been because I’m a man and find you attractive. So shoot me.”
“I intend to.”
He laughed at that, his gaze scanning her from head to toe. “I’ve never slept with anyone who didn’t know my real name.”
“What, do you want a medal? And you didn’t seem to hesitate in the shower.”
He shrugged and leaned his head back against the doorjamb. “A beautiful, naked woman who I very much want to fuck stepped into the shower with me. I’ve never claimed to be noble. If you hadn’t touched the burn, I’d have slid deep inside you and would have enjoyed every hot thrust. You would have too.”
Her pupils dilated. In spite of everything, his words aroused her. Hell, him too. Raw honesty was a heretofore unknown turn-on. The way her cheeks flushed with desire every time he said he wanted to fuck her just made him want to keep saying it. “I didn’t plan to seduce you. Hell. I’m not the one who brought the condoms. But I still want to fuck you. Very much.”