by Black, Incy
Her heavy sigh sent a warm caress of air across his chest. “And you couldn’t have waited until morning?”
“You might be grumpy in the morning.”
“Will, in case you missed it, being half-idiot and all, I’m grumpy now.”
He curled a tangle of her hair around his finger and tugged gently. “Your bike is parked out of sight in the small shed behind the main house. It’s fully fueled, and with all your false IDs and papers under the seat. Just in case things go DEFCON-critical, and you need to disappear fast.”
She locked rigid against him. “You stole and rode my bike?”
Possessive much? Though no surprise, given riding the Hayabusa at top speed had been the sole secret pleasure she allowed herself, in a tightly controlled life spent living up to Rhys’s expectations. “Until I find a way get the kill-order on you lifted, it makes sense for you to have a means of escape… Which brings me to Rhys.”
More stiffening, she even tried to wriggle free. “I can’t think about him. It’s too soon.”
Tightening his arm, he clamped her to his side. She was still raw. Hurting about Rhys’s betrayal. But if that pain was allowed to dig deep and settle, Angel would end up like him. Unable to trust, incapable of love. Scornful of her own loyalty—the very thing that defined and made her so special.
“He broke a blood promise, Will. To always keep me safe. Just as I swore always to protect him.”
“Life has a tendency to throw curve balls, Sunshine. I can’t pretend to fathom his logic, but given the shit storm Rhys was facing, the pressure he was under, I think he believed that he was doing everything possible to keep you safe. If he hadn’t fallen—”
“I’d still be shot up with his stupid serum waiting to see if I’m going to lose my mind. Please don’t defend him, Will. Just update me on where we stand.”
He felt the wet heat of a tear sliding down his chest and his ribs. Fuck. He had no clue how to take her pain away.
Stretching out his arm, he turned on the bedside light. He shuffled her onto her side and twisted so they faced each other. This way, she’d be less likely to hear or feel the heavy pounding tearing apart his heart.
He teased a path through her hair with his forefinger and smoothed it aside so he could see her. “Okay, facts. After connecting with Jack Ballentyne last night, I met with him and Nick Marshall earlier this evening. They’ll be recovering Rhys’s body about now. Jack’s arranging a quiet burial on his estate up north to ensure the MoD continue to believe Rhys is still alive, and his threat, that should anything happen to you, he will immediately release to the media all details about BT11, is still in force. That should keep you safe, but I’m not taking any chances. Richard, Jack’s brother, will have the firewalls on the laptop and thumb drive cracked within a couple of days. We’ll have the names of those who authorized the medical trials, and the clean up operation can begin.”
“Good, because I want them punished. Permanently. For BT11, for what happened to those soldiers, for the innocent lives lost when those soldiers suffered a psychotic episode, and for the murders that followed in their attempt to hush up the scandal.”
He smiled. “Vengeful Angel, aren’t you?”
“I’ve only just stepped out from living behind one lie—that it was me who killed Cymion Gray. I will not live behind another lie by pretending Rhys is still alive just to stay safe. There’s no need. If every single one of those bastards is neutralized as they deserve, the threat goes away.
There was no missing the thickness in her voice, the little hitches punctuating her phrases; she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. “It’s justice without mercy, Will, but they need to pay. It will also mean that Rhys gets to die, and I get to live lie-free.”
Cupping her cheek, he pressed his thumb gently against the determined furrow of lines crinkling area between her eyebrows. “I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart.”
He’d happily order his team to pick off those bastards one-by-one, once he had the names, but that’s not how the wheels of government and the Intelligence Service worked. There would be a shit load of ducking and diving, and pay offs navigated, while an expedient solution was negotiated. It stank, but then the political arena and protecting the public interest always did. Losing or settling for a draw sucked, but the wins, when they came, made a difference—though carrying out medical tests on front-line troops without their consent was pushing it to the limit.
Her frown smoothed, the corners of her mouth even kicked up a miniscule amount. But it was her eyes that got him. For the first time soft, like drifting wood smoke lazy on the distant horizon.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Two little words that made his heart swell with a sense that he could make a difference—Christ, he better not let her down. He’d have to find a way to finesse his way through the politics of the job without disappointing her.
He caught and caressed a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Want to know what went down between Helena and me?”
He felt the shake of her head, the soft of her hair brushing his skin.
“No.”
Liar. She so wanted to know. That pause before she’d answered, that she’d felt it necessary to vocalize a response when her negating shake of her head had spoken for her, the way her whole body had tightened—dead giveaway. But he’d give her the fib. He wanted her sweet and not on the defensive when he broached the subject of them.
“Which brings me rather neatly to what happened between us last night,” he said, the uncertainty of how she’d react adding gravel to his voice. New sensation this, butterflies armed with sabers hacking at his gut, slicing at his confidence. Probably because he was used to easy—something Angel was not. And, maybe, because for the first time in seven years, since he’d lost Diana, he actually cared a damn about the outcome of his actions.
She tensed in his arms.
“Not the good bit, which was volcanic hot and pretty bloody fantastic,” he hurried on. “But the bad. Where I unintentionally hurt you, and you shut down emotionally.”
He wanted to see the soft in her eyes again, so he reached for and tilted up her chin. “When I said that I’d never before not worn a condom, what I should have said, was that you blow all rational thought from my mind.”.
She turned her lips to his skin. And then, when she’d finished inhaling him—and she’d most definitely been inhaling him, which was its own kind of hot—she lifted her head.
“As compliments go, that was pretty bloody fantastic,” she said, cheekily quoting his own words back at him.
God, he was so keeping her—for now, he hastily corrected himself. He’d not give away his heart only to lose another woman. This time he might not survive.
“And you can turn the light off now, Will. I think the danger of either of us glaring has passed. At least, for the night,” she whispered softly.
He obliged, but he needed to extract one thing from her before she drifted back to sleep. “Sunshine, I know you’re not big on promises right now, but when you’re ready, I want one.”
“What?”
No way was she going to get any sleep if she kept playing with his nipple like that. Jesus. “No more shields,” he said, rolling his eyes at the scratchy husk in his voice. “No more buttoning up. No more suppressing how you feel. No more controlling your every emotion. You want to scream, shout, cry, throw things, whatever, if it’s you, don’t hold back. Okay? I need that honesty from you.”
“Will, I’m not sure that I know what emotional honesty is anymore. After years of locking down how I feel, as conditioned by Rhys, and my more recent mercurial behavior, only some of which I think I can fairly blame on whatever it was my brother shot me up with, I don’t even know who I am.”
“And you think what’s going on between you and me isn’t a little alarming for me? For the last seven years, I’ve stuck rigidly to keeping things light, fun, and casual with women. Then you come along and get behind my defe
nses, calling me on every damn one of them. I’ve questioned my orders, I’ve committed treason—that would be where I broke you out of containment— You’ve decimated my rule about getting involved with a woman for longer than forty-eight hours, and I can’t pretend I’m entirely happy about it. You’ve—”
She placed her finger across his lips. “I’ve decimated your rule?”
“Maybe,” he mumbled past her finger, his heart suddenly in full seizure. “But… Don’t read too much into it.
She pushed up on one elbow. “What are you trying to tell me, Will?”
He liked the sight of her breasts pushing and bouncing beneath the cotton of another of his T-shirts—a lot. Possibly too much, the way the blood rushed from his head and aimed south. “That, without making any promises, I’m not completely adverse to maybe letting whatever’s going on between us run its course. But, fair warning, Angel, don’t go setting your expectations too high. If there’s one thing Diana taught me, it’s that everything has an expiry date ”
“Why me?”
Christ, she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “Why not you?”
“That’s evading,” she said, slumping back onto his chest.
“Fine,” he huffed, his mind sifting fast to find words adequate to explain the inexplicable. “Because, somehow, you managed to sneak inside me… And, like you, it could be I’m tired of living on snatched inhales. I find breathing’s a little easier when I’m with you, which is rather perplexing.”
Back in those tunnels, she’d confided she’d only ever lived on half a breath. She’d opened up to him. The moment had been special. One he would never forget. Sharing with her the fact that he, too, had been gasping for air? Christ, he hoped she understood the significance of what he was saying, because he wasn’t sure he did.
“Oh.”
That was all she gave him? An “oh”?
“We’re both adults,” he felt compelled to add. “Why shouldn’t we enjoy each other’s…ah…” He searched for a word, which would not get him into trouble, now or further on down the line. “Company?”
The sheets rustled, and she was back up on an elbow. Not being able to see her—no moon tonight—he felt the fall of her hair against his chest, and her breath tickling first his throat and then his chin.
“Breathe this, Agent Berwick,” she whispered.
Her lips were on his before he could assimilate a what-the-hell? Sweet, warm, the tip of her tongue probing the seam of his mouth for entry, her teeth nipping impatiently. He opened; she filled him, her kiss hot and deep and wicked naughty.
Rocking hell…when Angel let go—She. Let. Go.
She pulled back, rose and tucked her amazing arse—which his fingers had been smoothing and kneading and exploring—to her calves.
He heard cotton sweep skin and a muffled curse, then a huffed, “Stupid hair.” He heard the sound of his T-shirt landing with a light whoosh on the floor. And then, he felt her. Skin against skin, her stretching and fitting to his side and front, her breasts pressing their fullness against his chest, her knee cocked across his hips.
“Still breathing, Will?”
Christ knows why he nodded, with no moon and thick cloud cover, the room was pitch dark, and it wasn’t as if she could see to read his gesture.
“Cricket bat,” she whispered against his lips.
“Never goes away,” he breathed back, his tongue sneaking a flicking lick.
“Painful. Best let me see what I can do about that.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
In his fantasies, her lush mouth had delivered on the promise of hot and dirty. Made real, he wasn’t disappointed.
First, she teased. Her lips meandering, her teeth nibbling his chest, sometimes sharply, sending pleasure jolts straight to his dick. Her tongue was in on the play, flicking his nipples, circling and probing his belly button, only to trail lower to where he needed her mouth most.
Only for her to bypass his desperate cock, her breath lightly whispering the inside of his thighs as she nibbled and soothed, and her busy fingers gave his balls way too much attention, her palm weighting, rolling—fuck.
His hips lifted, chasing her mouth. “You keep that up, and it’ll be game over,” he warned, though his hand still cupped her head, trying to guide her away from his thighs to a more urgent need.
“Shush, I’m having fun.”
Good. But with her hair spread across his lap, her every move tickled, and the buzz at the base of his spine had started to fizz. “Either suck or climb on, or I’m taking over.”
“Bossy,” she breathed against his cock.
He stood not one chance of growling a response.
Her lips wrapped hot around him, her mouth sucking him deep, her thumb pressing at the root to delay his spill. Her mouth eased back up his shaft to explore the hood, her tongue lapping, circling. Teasing his weeping slit. All the time her clever fingers playing, delaying, coaxing, like a virtuoso with a sax.
“Angel— ” he warned on a groan, acutely aware it would be beyond him to give a third warning.
“On it…”
And mounting him, she was. Sliding down his dick. So hot. So wet. So tight. Right to the hilt.
Eyes screwing tight shut, he bit his lip. Don’t come…don’t come…not yet.
Her palms flat to his chest, scorching as she rode him slowly, tilting forward, rubbing herself against his muscled pelvis, building friction, stoking her pleasure, his— Still too slow.
His hands spanning her hip, he held her in place, his fingers gripping, and thrust high and deep.
She moaned, her breath quickening.
“Touch yourself. Take it.”
The way her muscles rippled and gripped, she was close—thank fuck. And he needed to be right there with her.
Contracting his abs, he reared up to take her mouth. He’d breathe through her.
Rolling them as she started to come, covering her, he thrust roughly, higher and deeper, pushing her into a double orgasm as he found his and spilled. And spilled.
Their jagged breathing slowly quieting, they were both deliciously slick with sweat. Raw scents of hard sex hung in the air. Still connected, his weight on his forearms, he marveled at the woman beneath him.
Christ, she was stunning. On so many levels, some of which he hadn’t known existed. This, he imagined, was why some men were prepared to lay waste to the world at the slightest hint of a threat against their woman.
Lowering his head, he littered a series of kisses across her shoulder. How the hell to communicate the wonder of what they shared? How the hell to thank her for giving him a chance when there was so little he could offer her? “Want me to wake you before I leave in the morning? It’ll be early.”
“You bloody better had, unless you want that to be the last time your cock every gets my mouth,” she blurted. “Ah…umm…maybe I should have just stuck to, yes, please.”
He laughed and rolled onto his back, taking her with him and arranging her just so. She didn’t seem to mind. She’d even snuggled closer.
Angel promised a whole lot of wild for him to discover. He could see the next few months being fun.
…
As good as his word, Will had woken her before leaving. Delectably. Returning the favor she’d given him only hours before. Drawing from her a double, maybe a quadruple orgasm.
At least that’s what he’d told her with a grin as he quit the bedroom, pulling the door too quickly, when she’d launched a pillow at him for counting.
Freshly showered and practically levitating down the corridor in search of coffee, she knew she had to be glowing. She just didn’t care. Nothing could prick the feeling effervescing through her like sparkling champagne.
Not embarrassment—though Helena would, undoubtedly, take one look at her dreamy expression and know exactly what kind of alarm clock she’d used before hitting snooze. Not guilt—that it was past four in the afternoon, and she was only just emerging from her room.
Ye
s, maybe a few dark shadows were skittering the farthest recesses of her mind—BT11, what her blood work might reveal… The wisdom of getting any deeper involved with Will. A man so hamstrung by his fiancée’s suicide and the emotional damage it had wrought on him, that he could not move past his fear of being hurt, and embrace the possibility of a meaningful, loving relationship—
But she refused to dwell on those today.
Today was Day One of a new beginning. She was ready to risk opening herself up to loving Will—he’d said she made him breathe. Needed her to breathe would have been more reassuring, but, for Will, that admission had been a big step forward.
He may not have offered her forever, but he had hinted at the possibility of exploring a relationship with her that would last more than his usual couple of days. Which, when it came to a man as reticent about commitment as Will, was huge. She could work with that. If she loved him hard enough, who knew what their future might hold?
She sailed into the kitchen.
A bare three yards across the tiles, the ceramic cool beneath her soles, and Helena startled her to a halt, her palm slamming down on the counter of the high breakfast bar, beside a short brown bottle which wobbled and then fell on its side. “Do you know anything about my son taking those?”
Her inner sparkles popped and went flat. Oh, shit. “Ahh…ahh…umm,” she stammered like a dimwit. “How did…where did you get those?”
“Zac dropped by with a package for William, which I opened after he left,” Helena declared without a hint of remorse or apology.
“He’ll go mental. You know what he’s like about his privacy.” A mushroom cloud took form in her mind as she anticipated the fall out of Will’s explosion. What the hell had Zac been thinking? He couldn’t have passed the pills to Will a little more discreetly? Like in a corner of a park at midnight or something. It wasn’t as if the pair of them didn’t understand covert. They were Intelligence agents, for Christ’s sake. Intelligence being a too flattering credit right now.