by Karen Foley
“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice deep and sexy.
Sara watched his face grow taut as his movements grew stronger. She could actually feel him swell inside her, and her own flesh clutched at him greedily. But when he slid a hand to where they were joined and then angled his hips for maximum penetration, she couldn’t suppress the orgasm that had been building. Pleasure crashed over her, wracking her body with delicious spasms.
Above her, Rafe’s expression was almost fierce as he watched her. As she climaxed around him, he spread her knees wider and pressed even deeper. Through a haze, Sara watched as he gave a hoarse shout and stiffened, the cords in his strong throat standing out as he thrust one last time. Then he collapsed over her.
Eventually Rafe shifted, drawing her legs around him as he cradled her head into his shoulder. Sara felt his lips trace a tender path across her cheek to her temple, and as she wound her arms around his neck, she could feel him trembling. The knowledge that she had done this to him was both humbling and astonishing, and she tightened her arms around him. They lay together for several long minutes before Rafe finally eased himself upward.
“You okay?”
Cool air caressed her overheated skin, making her feel chilled. She nodded, missing his warmth. Rafe left the room to discreetly dispose of the condom, and Sara was acutely aware that she lay sprawled naked across his sofa in the middle of the day. Rolling to her feet, she realized there wasn’t even a blanket or throw to wrap around herself. Now that the urgency of release had passed, she felt mildly embarrassed by her own uninhibited behavior. She didn’t mind stepping out of her comfort zone, but this was a bit much. She’d stepped so far out that she might as well be in a foreign country. She felt completely out of her element.
Sara heard the toilet in the downstairs bathroom flush, and quickly scrambled for her clothing. By the time Rafe came back into the living room, she had her panties on and her shirt closed. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she detected something like disappointment in Rafe’s expression.
“I was getting cold, and your leather couch isn’t exactly warm and cozy,” she said in explanation. “At least, not without clothing.” Bending over, she reached for her jeans, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face.
“Well, then, let me keep you warm,” he said with an easy smile. “Are you hungry? Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks. I, um, think I’ll go take a shower,” she demurred and reached for her shoes.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Rafe came to stand in front of her, sweeping her hair back with both hands and dipping his head to search her face. “What’s going on? I know that whole thing was ridiculously rushed and unromantic, but I’m pretty sure you wanted me, too.” His eyes were so full of concern that Sara felt her heart constrict.
“I did,” she said quickly. “I do. It’s just that you make me want to do things that two days ago I would never have considered doing, and then afterwards I feel so—so—”
She broke off, unable to verbalize how he made her feel. She wasn’t even sure she could admit it to herself. He made her forget herself—when she was with him, she seemed to become a different person. Had she wanted to have sex with Rafe in the middle of his living room? Hell, yes. But that didn’t keep her from feeling a little unsettled about her own behavior afterwards.
To her dismay, Rafe pulled her roughly into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he muttered against her hair. “I’m an insensitive bastard. My only excuse is that I’ve spent too long in uncivilized parts of the world. I’ve never met a woman like you, and I forget sometimes that you’re not like—” He stopped abruptly.
Sara pulled away from him with a frown. “Like who?” she asked, a little afraid to hear his answer. Had he been hurt by a former girlfriend? Someone he still cared about?
“Nothing,” he replied, and scrubbed a hand across his face. Standing up, he pulled her to her feet. “It’s nothing. Go take your shower.”
Gathering up her discarded clothing, she made her way quickly up the stairs, aware that Rafe’s eyes followed her. Part of her wanted to invite him to join her, to suggest they spend the rest of the day and the coming night in bed together, but then she remembered his last words. I forget sometimes that you’re not like…
Like who?
The unknown answer tormented her, and that scared her more than anything.
RAFE WATCHED HER GO, silently cursing himself for being such a damned moron. He should go after her. He could see she was upset, and if he had any decency in him at all, he’d follow her and assure her that it wasn’t her; it was him.
He couldn’t stop picturing the incident in the living room, and more than anything, he wanted a repeat performance. Just thinking about Sara spread out on his sofa caused lust to spiral through him. He couldn’t get enough of her. Even as he replayed the erotic scenario, he mentally kicked himself for the way he’d treated her. Christ, he’d been so eager to get inside her that he hadn’t even considered her feelings. She was so obviously not the kind of woman who engaged in casual sex, and yet he’d taken her on the arm of his couch. He hadn’t even bothered to undress completely! He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had made him feel this way—as though he had flames licking beneath his skin that only she could extinguish.
Rafe waited until he heard the water in her shower turn on before he went up the stairs to his own room. Stripping out of his clothing, he decided he could use a shower, too, but a cold one. Even after the intense orgasm he’d just had, he wanted her again. Stepping into his bathroom, he was reaching for the shower handle when he paused, and then let out a curse.
He was completely screwed.
Swiftly wrapping a towel around his hips, he strode across the hallway to Sara’s room. He hesitated only briefly before opening the door and stepping inside. Her discarded clothing lay in a heap on the floor by the bed. Steam misted through the partially open door to the bathroom, and Rafe was helpless to prevent himself from crossing the room and stepping into the humid bathroom. He could just make out her form through the shower enclosure, her body wreathed in steam. Sucking in a deep breath, he opened the glass door.
Sara whirled around, startled. Her hair was slicked back, darkened by the water, and her eyelashes were spiky with moisture as she stared at him.
“Sara.” His voice sounded hoarse. “May I come in?”
She blinked at him, holding a bath scrunchie against her chest that dripped foamy suds over her breasts and stomach. Just when he thought she would refuse, she lowered the scrunchie and stepped back enough to make room for him. Relief surged through him. He let his towel drop to the floor and stepped into the shower, not missing how her gaze dropped to his arousal.
“Rafe…” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
He slid his hands beneath the fall of her wet hair and lifted her face, feeling the slick slide of her body against his. “You said I make you do things that you’d never have considered doing two days ago. Well, I can say the same thing about you.” At her questioning look, he gave her a rueful smile. “Let’s just say that you do things to me that no other woman has ever done. You make me crazy.”
He searched her eyes, watching as her pupils dilated and her breath escaped on a soft sigh. He lowered his head and slid his lips against hers, softly fusing their mouths together as warm water sluiced over them. She opened for him and he pressed forward, sliding his hands to her back to explore the dips and curves of her shoulder blades and spine.
“Oh,” she breathed, dragging her mouth free to press it against his shoulder. “I can’t believe you followed me in here. I thought you regretted what happened downstairs.”
“What?” He pulled back to look at her in astonishment. “Are you kidding? Lady, that was every dream I’d ever had come true.” Stepping back, he spread her arms wide and drank his fill of her. Her breasts were full and lush above a narrow waist and slender hips. “Look at you—you’re incredible.”
Sara laughed and drew h
is hands back around her, sliding sensuously against him. “I’m glad you think so.”
Her body was wet and warm and supple and it was all Rafe could do not to lift her against the tiled wall and bring her down onto his aching shaft. Instead, he took the scrunchie from her hands and worked it gently across her breasts, watching the streams of water trickle clean paths through the suds to expose the dusky tips. Mesmerized, he worked the rough fabric until his hands were filled with soap before he let it drop to his feet. Then, taking his soapy fingers, he smoothed them over her body, reveling in the warm, slippery feel of her beneath his palms.
Sara made a sound of pleasure and when he eased a hand between her thighs, her head fell back and she widened her stance to allow him better access.
“Christ. You’re so soft,” Rafe groaned, gently parting her folds. “I could touch you like this forever.”
“And I’d let you,” she replied with a husky laugh. “Oh, that feels so good.”
He supported her around her waist as she leaned back against the tiled wall, but didn’t stop the sensuous rhythm of his hand. “And to think,” he mused against her mouth, “that I almost let you shower alone.”
Sara gasped as he gently bit the side of her throat. “What made you change your mind?”
“The thought of you up here. Alone. Naked.”
She laughed softly. “But you’ve already had your wicked way with me, Sergeant. What more could you possibly want?”
He pulled back to search her face, watching as water streamed from her hair and over her shoulders. He followed one rivulet as it slid down her collarbone and along the slope of her breast before he bent and caught it with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh, there’s more,” he assured her, drawing her nipple into his mouth and savoring her small gasp. “Let me show you.”
MUCH LATER, THEY LAY TOGETHER in Rafe’s wide bed. Sara rested her head on his shoulder and trailed a finger up and down the shallow groove that bisected his torso and separated the grid of muscles across his stomach. Outside, it was dark, but the light from the bathroom was enough to illuminate the bedroom and reveal Rafe’s features. In the dim light, he looked slightly satanic. Dangerous.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked softly.
He turned his head on the pillow and a small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You.”
Sara smiled. “Oh yeah? And what are you thinking about me?”
Rolling toward her, he raised himself up on one elbow and stroked her hair back from her face. “I was just thinking that my leave is up in two weeks, but I have some more time coming to me. I could probably request another two weeks without any problem.”
“Is that what you want?” she asked carefully.
He blew out a hard breath. “What I want is to have more than just this week with you.”
Sara heard the frustration in his voice and warmth unfurled low in her abdomen. He wanted to spend more time with her! The knowledge thrilled her, and yet something inside her hesitated to read too much into his words. He was a Special Ops soldier, after all. What kind of relationship could they really have, beyond a week or two? He would soon be returning to duty, and she didn’t know if she was the kind of woman who could sit at home for six months or more, patiently waiting for her man to return. And what if he didn’t return? What if he was killed during one of his covert missions? Just the thought of losing him caused a physical reaction; her chest tightened and she couldn’t seem to draw a deep breath.
Rolling away from him, Sara swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, struggling to breathe. Behind her, Rafe shifted closer.
“Hey, did I say something wrong? Are you okay?”
She nodded, but didn’t look at him. “Yes. I’m just surprised. I mean, you’ve only known me for a couple of days.”
He stroked his knuckles along the side of her arm. “I know you’re probably thinking that we jumped into this a little too quickly,” he said quietly. “You may even think that I invited you to stay with me for a week just so I could get you into my bed.”
Sara gave him a quick smile over her shoulder. “Obviously, I didn’t need much persuasion.”
“Are you having regrets?”
She turned to face him. “I just can’t help but wonder where this is going. I love that you want to spend more time with me, but we both have demanding jobs. Well, okay, yours is a lot more demanding than mine, but even if you can get some additional time off, I don’t think my editor will be so accommodating.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m sure she probably considers this week with you just one big vacation for me. Either way, by the end of the week, I still need to give her a story about you.”
With a soft groan, Rafe rolled onto his back and flung an arm over his eyes. “That’s right. I almost forgot that you’re a journalist. The story comes first, right?”
His voice sounded bitter and Sara frowned.
“That was the deal, Rafe, remember? I agreed to stay with you for a week and in return, you agreed to give me a story.”
With a muttered oath, Rafe surged to his feet and strode across the room to stare moodily out the window into the darkness. “So this is nothing more than a business transaction to you, is that what you’re telling me?”
Sara drank in the sight of him as he stood gloriously nude, bathed in a muted amber glow from the streetlamps. Shadows played across his body, casting his muscles into sharp relief and outlining the powerful thrust of his shoulders and the definition of his arms. His body was tightly coiled, and Sara could sense the frustration that simmered in the air around him. She stood up, wrapping the sheet around her.
“I didn’t make the rules,” she reminded him softly. “You did. Those were your terms, not mine. But no…this isn’t just about the story, and you know it.”
When he turned around, his face was cast in shadow so that she couldn’t distinguish his features, never mind discern his expression. “What if I asked you to forget about the story and stay with me anyway?” he asked quietly. “Would you do it?”
Sara’s breath caught. “I don’t know. I have responsibilities. Even if I wanted to, my editor is counting on this story and I can’t just say no to her. I need this job. I have to give her that story, Rafe.”
Rafe scrubbed a hand over his short hair and muttered a soft invective. “But why this particular story, Sara? And who is this really important to? You or your editor?”
Sara frowned. “Well, it’s important to both of us, but Lauren said the story about the rescue mission would be a major coup for the magazine.”
“And what would the story do for you?” His voice was deceptively soft.
Sara cleared her throat. “Well, it would be a coup for me, too. At least from a professional standpoint.”
His silence filled the room. “Try to understand, Rafe. Do you know how hard it is to get the inside scoop on a story like yours?”
“I’m trying,” he said grimly. “I know I said I’d give you the story if you stayed with me, but I’d rather you were here because you wanted to be with me, and not because I’m going to give you some inside scoop on a classified mission.”
Sara recoiled, feeling as if she’d been slapped. “That’s not fair,” she breathed. “You know I want to be with you. But why can’t I also want the story? Why can’t I have both?”
She heard him laugh softly. “Because then I’ll never be sure, will I?”
“Sure about what?” But she already knew. He would never be sure if she was with him because she wanted to be with him, or because she wanted the story that only he could give her. Sara started to get angry. He was implying she was only slightly better than Colette, selling herself for profit. “What’s going on, Rafe? Why does it bother you so much that I want that story? You know my background—I’m a journalist. This is what I do, but you’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t have much use for journalists.” She paused, but he didn’t speak. “Why?”
“I’ll tell you why,” he
said on a soft snarl, crossing the room and coming so close that a deep breath would have brought her breasts into direct contact with his chest. “One of the aid workers that we rescued in Pakistan turned out to be a reporter.”
Sara stared at him, uncomprehending. “So?”
“So my men risked their lives to save her pretty little ass, but being rescued wasn’t her priority.”
Sara stared at him. “So what was she after?” she asked, but she already knew.
“She was trying to get pictures of the Taliban, but all she did was succeed in getting herself and the other aid workers captured. Even after we extracted her and the others, she tried to document the rescue mission with her camera. Because of her and her idiotic desire to get the story, my men were injured and very nearly killed. Worse, if we hadn’t confiscated everything she owned and convinced her editor that the article would blow our cover and jeopardize future missions, she would have published her story—complete with photos—on the front page of some national news magazine.”
He moved away from her and Sara sagged against the wall, clutching the sheet against her. She understood now why he had been so abrupt with her that first night, when she’d been introduced to him as a writer for American Man magazine. She also understood why he’d walked away from her at the Pavilion Café when she’d asked him to tell her about the rescue. Given his experience, he had no reason to trust her. In fact, she hadn’t really given him any reason to think she was much different than the other journalist.
“I’m not like her,” she finally managed, her voice sounding strained. “I already told you that I would keep your identity a secret, and that I wouldn’t publish your picture. I just wanted to hear about the rescue.”