Justice (Bad Boys of X-Ops #2)

by Rie Warren

  I choked on the next gulp and then wiped my mouth. “You did?”

  Lifting her shoulders from the doorframe, she began a womanly sway toward me, one foot in front of the other.

  My eyes swerved toward hers. The green light shining in the almond shapes had darkened, reminding me of old copper, tarnished by rain. Dark with intent. Dark with meaning. Dark with want.

  I gulped again.

  Fuck me, but I suddenly felt wet behind the ears.

  Tilly halted beside me, my line of vision interrupted by full tits pressing against the age-worn weave of her T-shirt. Her fingertip traipsed down my chest, stopping just short of where way more than my heartbeat pounded.

  “Just like you looked in on my dad and me last night, after you returned me to bed.” She licked up the straining cords of my neck and nuzzled my ear.

  I gave her better angle, almost breaking the mug in my hands.

  A hot spear of fuck yes now thudded down to my cock.

  “You watched me for a long time, Justice.” Her voice swirled against my ear that burned hot.

  “Wanted to make sure you were okay,” I bit out, and we both knew that was a total fucking lie, because the web of attraction had already been spun between us.

  As if satisfied with reducing me to a shuddering, grunting, broken-voiced wreck, Tilly leaned back. Her fingertips glanced off my hair and away as she straightened.

  I reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Tilly. I think you got the wrong impression of me.” Gripping her harder, I forced her to meet my glare. “You’re an asset. Just like the ambassador. Nothing more.”

  “Oh God!” She twisted her hand free. Her palms flew to her heated cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  She backed away from me.

  I barely heard her when she lowered her head, mumbling, “Silly Tilly.”

  “Silly Tilly?”

  Her head shot up. “It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it, and you obviously don’t want to know.”

  Gone was the seductress. In her place stood a blushing woman, just as beguiling, maybe more so.

  “I don’t think you’re silly. Not one little bit.”

  For some goddamn dumbass reason I just couldn’t remain aloof around her. Tilly Lawless did things to me no woman ever had.

  Fuck. I needed to find us a way out of here ASAP.

  “You don’t?” Her hands fell to her sides.

  “No. But—”

  “I could make you something to eat. Portions like that couldn’t possibly fill up a man of your size.”

  She appraised me from my waist up, and I was not nearly armored up enough against her.

  The woman, the vixen, was back.

  From now on I’d be wearing Kevlar around her.

  Chapter Ten

  Take Aim

  “BISCUITS,” I CROAKED.

  “Biscuits?”

  “No. I mean . . . I . . . you’re southern and . . .”

  “So I should just automatically know how to make biscuits?” Tilly shifted her hip onto the table beside me. “And—let me guess—sawmill sausage gravy?”

  My chair rocked back. My heart knocked harder.

  I almost wanted her dad to come in and break this shit up, because I was so out of my depths, I was drowning in sheer want and lust, pulled under by the need to touch and taste and . . .

  Fuck.

  “I suppose because I fluttered my eyelashes at you I walked right into your ideas about southern women, huh?” Tilly stomped to the stove. “Should I wear an apron too, Justice? Big, burly man like you would probably like that.”

  “I—”

  “Shut up!”

  I stayed in my chair, but a wicked grin worked its way across my mouth. I watched her, her ass swaying back and forth while she measured flour onto a marble slab.

  “The man wants biscuits. Well, I ain’t never made biscuits for no man, but my gran sure showed me how.” White flour billowed to her elbows like snowdrifts.

  The insulting words kept coming, piling up like the dough she punched down with her fists. Her shoulders worked, bare and taut.

  Jesus.

  I rubbed a hand over my jaw, selfishly enjoying her show of fury.

  “You did offer,” I added, unable to stop goading her.

  I just wanted to see those snapping green eyes sparkling on me.

  She whooshed around, balling the dough like a fucking baseball she wanted to beam at my head.

  I bet she would, too.

  Beautiful vengeance stormed across her face.

  Standing up, I asked, “You about done taking it out on that biscuit mix?”

  We both looked at the ball she beat between her hands like it was my head clamped inside her fists.

  Tilly hauled back.

  I ducked.

  The sticky mess splatted to the wall behind my head.

  Good aim.

  But after just one night, I already knew that.

  “Got that out of your system, babe?”

  Tilly demonstrated her aim again—that time with a glare nearly punching holes in my head—before she spun around. She rinsed off her hands with a wet slap-slap-slap. Didn’t need three guesses to know who she really wished she was slapping. Then, still back-to, she shed her soiled shirt to reveal a top crisscrossed by frail straps across her shoulders.

  Her back was sinuous, graceful, curved from her shoulders to the base of her spine like an elegant whisper of skin. Her hair fell to her shoulder blades, a gold-white-red curtain, and those thin threads holding what little top she wore, I could snap with my teeth in an instant.

  My breath rasped. I stood a few feet away.

  My hand rose, already shaped to touch her. “Tilly.”

  She braced against the marble slab, wiping it with vicious stabs. “Shut. Up!”

  My hand fell as her motions intensified.

  I sank to a chair, hauling it around to watch her.

  Where’s Walker? Storm? Bane?

  Where was Lawless to save his daughter from me?

  Where the fuck is my conscience?

  Tilly mopped up her mess, and her fine ass swayed back and forth with every movement.

  I rose once, just once, saying, “Let me do that.”

  “Sit down and shut the hell up, I said.”

  My ass planted back to the seat in command to her words.

  Unfortunately, seeing her hot temper in action only fueled the need inside me. Seething lust for her worked a fine sweat over my chest.

  When Tilly twirled toward me, I gripped both hands at the edge of the chair.

  That top she wore—it was something sexy and sporty and meant to cushion her tits with each bounce, but her breasts almost toppled over the material. A healthy portion of full, firm, creamy flesh crested above the stretched fabric.

  I slowly uncranked my fingers one by one from the chair. Then I pulled on all my years of discipline, determined not to show how much she affected me.

  Lounging back with my chin lowered, I gave her the scantest passing of a look, that time not in appreciation, but as a threat.

  “You better learn not to order me around, girl.” I glanced at my gun, knowing the weapon was useless against her, but the one rearing up between my thighs was more than ready to blast off.

  I was in no position to fuck the ambassador’s daughter.

  Tilly pulled out her own chair and scraped it across the floor to face mine. She sat down with equal purpose and threw her softly rounded chin forward.

  “And you best learn not to call me girl.”

  “Oh I had, huh?” My voice was rougher and steelier.

  “That’s right.” Tilly stared at me with absolutely no fear, her eyes a snapping glittering green.

  When I didn’t utter a single word, she tossed back her hair and said, “That’s what I thought. Big tough soldier boy isn’t really that tough at all.”

  Damn her. She’d provoked the wrong man.

  My hands snaked forward l
ightning fast, and I gripped her by the bare ankles. I hauled her feet to my thighs, real close to where I was hard and throbbing for her.

  Her lips popped open in a gasp.

  With my face close to touching hers, I meted out, “You better watch who you tease, little girl. And I’m a marine.”

  “You don't scare me.” She threw the challenge back at me.

  “That's your first mistake.” Reaching forward, I grasped her hips and dragged her easily onto my lap. “No idea who or what you're playing with.”

  Her daring fled, but only because sudden desired rushed between us.

  Her eyes grew heavy. Mine fastened to her tits rising and falling. She lifted her arms to my shoulders, settling closer, warmer, softer. I skimmed my hands from her hips around to her ass, kneading her through thin denim.

  Tilly’s head fell back as she exhaled. The noise was a moan of breath, one that heated my skin.

  I wanted to kiss her neck. Wind my fingers through her hair. Slant a hard ruthless kiss on her softly opened lips.

  None of that could happen.

  From where one of her hands draped around my shoulder, I drew it to my shorts. I placed her fingers on my cock through the nylon now stretched almost sheer by the weight of my dick.

  “Feel that?”

  She looked down, squeezing the solid length.

  “Fuck.” My nostrils flared, and I felt like I was looking at her through a veil of lust so goddamn strong the whole residence could explode and I wouldn’t even notice.

  She drew her fingers up my cock and, finding the flared ridge, toyed with head.

  My breath ranged hard in my chest—deeper, louder, like it was scraping out of my throat because the hoarse groan would be so loud someone would definitely come running.

  But I wasn’t about to bail on this yet, not until I’d made my point crystal fucking clear.

  “That's cock. Big thick cock and I'd fuck you in two on this floor without even asking your name if this was any other circumstance.” I spoke with no finesses. Just rough unrefined need.

  I had no time for relationships or romance.

  She had to understand that.

  But she kept up the light stroke on my cock that shot animal need to my balls.

  I was real close to fucking her right now.

  Jesus.

  My hips twisted into her hold, trying to screw into her hand.

  I gripped her ass and wrangled her right against me.

  Jizz nearly pumped out of me the second her hot cunt thinly hidden behind old jeans meshed against my hard-on.

  Tilly lost her grip to find a new one. She braced back on my knees, grinding down as little moans parted her lips.

  I wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her lower body locked with mine as she moved with all intents of fucking. Grinding. Easing her flesh, her pussy. Firing that fever high.

  The way she slithered and twisted and gasped . . . she was a born cockslut, a perfect piece of tail.

  And Ambassador Lawless’s daughter.

  That last thought was a cold shock of water.

  Rearing back from the kiss I’d almost slashed across Tilly’s lips, I placed her away from me, on her feet.

  My hands lingered.

  I hungered.

  Her hair was a fine filament of sunny warmth, her mouth swollen, her tits heaving. She almost stumbled when I withdrew my hands. That act alone—to stop caressing her—took so much effort I thought my bones might creak, my muscles might snap in two.

  Pulling down my guarded mask of indifference, I clamped my jaw.

  Never had a woman taken such a big bite out of me after so short a time.

  “This”—I pointed between Tilly and me—“ain’t goinna happen, daddy’s girl, because I am here to protect you.” I said the words as blandly as possibly, swallowing down the lies like I had all the others.

  It just took years of practice.

  “I am not a daddy’s girl. And I will never be your girl.” Tilly’s slap—well aimed—rang out across the kitchen and heated my cheek. “What if I don't really want you anyway?” She scathed. “What if I’m just bored?”

  I rose from my chair, unfolding muscle by muscle. Forcing her back a step, I loomed over her.

  I was no goddamn guardian angel, and—yeah—maybe I had the US government behind me, at least a small cluster of higher-ups, but I was a hired gun.

  I always did my job. No matter the sacrifice or the price to myself.

  “You better not be messing with anyone else on my team.” I stabbed the air close to Tilly’s freckled nose.

  “Or what?” She batted my hand away.

  Boxing her in two seconds against the wall, I clasped her hands in mine beside her head. I circled my cock against her, and she pumped back with her hips.

  Fire and desire, Tilly Lawless had it all in spades.

  “I got what you need. No one else,” I rasped against her ear, and her scent clouded my judgment. “So don't even think about batting those ridiculously long eyelashes at anyone else.”

  Scooping her close, I unleashed a searing kiss on her mouth. My tongue pressed inside, and I sought every sleek secret, every hot impulse, driving her against me.

  “Oh yes!” She came back for more when I lifted my head.

  I leaped back, far too fucking tempted.

  Again.

  My chin tipped toward the floor, but my eyes found hers. “Stay away from the other men, and don't fuck with me again.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that, because Ah don’t like you one little bit.” Her hard voice could’ve scraped paint from plaster.

  I stood, still, staring at her, the snarl curling my lips for a few more silent seconds.

  Takes everything in stride, never gets her brain rattled unless it’s me. And I just happen to be the one who makes her feisty as hell.

  A more dangerous combination I’d never come across.

  “Good. Keep it that way.” I shouldered past her without a final look, because a man could only fight temptation so long.

  Tilly stalked out after me, railing, “And you can tell Storm I wasted the flour because of you! Asshole.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Bitchin’ Betty

  SO THE BREAKFAST/LUNCH THING was a total fucking bust. I cleaned myself up, changed into regulation gear then returned to the empty kitchen. I wiped down the wall where Tilly’s biscuit dough had splatted a nice big wet floury patch. Bracing my hands on the edge of the sink, I rolled my shoulders forward then back, trying to release the tension.

  I considered searching her out and apologizing to her, but hell no, that wouldn’t do. I couldn’t invite more of her attention no matter how much I wanted to.

  I used to be a marine, and it was always mission first.

  Oo-rah!

  In that respect my job hadn’t changed.

  During the intervening hours, I half expected, half hoped, half dreaded she’d come hounding me. Except it wouldn’t exactly be hounding because the attraction between us was as obvious as the dick between my legs.

  I grinned. Damn, that woman might have soft red hair, but her unleashed temper was fiery as fuck.

  “What the hell you smirking about, brah?” Storm kicked my booted foot, and I sobered immediately, getting back to task.

  The four of us—Walker, Storm, Bane, and me—convened in the new war room—the bunker—for a powwow.

  The only threat hounding us were the terrorists outside, who might possibly be making inroads on the collapsed tunnel right beside us as we talked strategy.

  “How the fuck are we gonna mop up this bitchin’ betty?” Walker caressed the oiled barrel of one of his Smith & Wessons.

  We sat in a loose circle on the floor, various firearms ranged around us, cleaning our weapons and inspecting the layout of the building.

  Just one big happy family.

  Except for Bane and Storm. The scary pair glared at each other with undisguised hostility. The type of aggression reserved for
feuding friends when one dude stole the other guy’s girl—for normal men. For dark operatives like us, their rift hinted at something deeper and much more threatening. We weren’t the kind of guys to commit open warfare against one another over a chick when we fought danger, hoping only to survive, on a daily basis.

  Except, of course, I’d definitely do a bro some serious damage if any one of them so much as gave Tilly more than a second, professional glance.

  Aaaand I brushed that thought off.

  Whatever.

  Something was seriously brewing between Storm and Bane as they cleaned and reloaded their respective weapons in the most menacing manner possible, like they were one more loaded bullet away from sending the other to a preselected grave.

  Walker kept his eyes on his gun. “You two about ready to kiss and make up yet? You’re more passive aggressive than an old married couple squabbling about leaving the toilet seat up.”

  “Couple of maladjusted dickheads,” I helpfully supplied, because I was oh-so adjusted myself of course.

  “I’ll bury the hatchet”—Storm coolly appraised his nemesis—“when I can bury it in him.”

  Aaaaand Bane rose to the bait.

  Resting a badass, belt-fed machine gun across his knees, he bent forward, a snake coiled to strike. “You still got an ax to grind with me, Storm? And, by the way, just because your name is Storm doesn’t mean you have to be such a broody bastard.”

  “Better broody than a loose gun.” Storm sneered.

  Rising to his haunches, Walker reached out and whacked both men upside the head.

  Their words died within their gaping mouths.

  “There’s more where that came from. Learned it from your mamas.” Walker sat back, cross-legged. “Now shut it. We need to come up with some kind of plan.”

  Lawless had had the forethought to snatch the blueprints as soon as he’d figured out what kind of situation he and Tilly were about to get caught in. Proving two things: the man had a commanding presence, and he was made of more mettle than a puppet dignitary or groomed politician.

  While we huddled up, he walked the rooms, on guard.

  I bet my next danger pay we’d be hearing from Blaize about letting the ambassador do a little walkabout with his own weapon—and not in a pat-on-the-back kind of way.