“Wrong. It’s the best idea I’ve had. Now stop talking and let me—”
“Why should I stop talking?” He pulled her hands from his jeans and pressed them flat against his chest.
His warm, damp chest.
Pleasure cut like a beautifully sharp knife. Her breath backed up as she felt the flex of hard muscles.
“Because you’ll ask questions and be logical and try to talk me out of this, but tonight I say to hell with being careful and logical. A man just died in my cabin with my knitting needles through his neck.” Her voice broke. “Right now careful and logical doesn’t look very good. I want hot and reckless.”
“You can’t have it.”
“Like hell I can’t.” Her hands headed back down, burrowing under his tight jeans.
“Damn it,” he whispered. He slid an arm around her, their bodies fusing as if they’d been made just for this time and this moment. “This is adrenaline and stress. Don’t mistake it for anything else, Gina.”
Love.
He didn’t say the word, but she heard it just the same. “No analyzing. No tomorrow. I want your arms and your body, Trace. Forget all about the mind stuff and the sweet promises. Give me the heat.”
That was what she would remember after this night ended and he was gone. The knowledge hurt, but Gina had to be clear that he was leaving, that this was just now, just tonight.
Temporary would be enough.
She rose to her toes. Slowly, tenderly, she bit his lip and heard his rough curse hiss through the quiet.
A little smile ran through her at the sound. Cursing was good. Cursing meant she was wearing down that iron control.
It meant she was going to get what she wanted.
Feeling a little giddy, she skimmed his chest and then followed those glorious muscles down until she worked her hands into the back of his jeans, finding hot skin. He was commando beneath the denim. Warm muscles flexed under her hands.
Any minute she might just pass out from hypoxia.
Her fingers smoothed and explored, and she felt the press of his erection against her thighs. She realized that Trace was saying something to her, but the sounds seemed to echo through a long tunnel, and all Gina could think of was how they fit together and how warm his body felt and how she wanted to be naked with him inside her.
He said something again, and then his hands tightened on her shoulders. “Slow down, I said. It’s not a race.”
Wrong. For her everything was a race. Within a matter of months her sight would begin to fade. She wanted a full quota of memories to fill the dark that was coming, and this strong body would be the best of those memories.
“I want to hurry,” she said tightly. “I want hot and breathless. Stop arguing with me.”
He said something that sounded like impossible and shook his head.
“Take your jeans off,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
His hands softened. “You’re beyond impossible, you know that?” His fingers traced her cheek. Then he lifted and turned her in his arms, pinning her against the wall, and his hand snagged the little red bow at the edge of her red lace bikini briefs.
“Nice.” His voice was rough.
The bow popped and the lace slid down her legs onto the floor.
“Very nice,” he said hoarsely.
Gina slid her arms around his waist, sighing as rough denim rubbed along her sensitive thighs.
“Help me get rid of your jeans.”
His eyes narrowed.
She didn’t wait for him to argue. She hooked her fingers through the loops on his waistband and tugged.
The man was built, all right. She realized that the zipper wouldn’t move because it was stretched taut. She licked her lips, exquisitely conscious that he was naked under that tight denim.
Her fingers shook. She hesitated, afraid she’d do something wrong and end up hurting him.
His lips brushed her cheek. He seemed to sigh. “Hell, you may as well go on. You won’t hurt me.”
His erection was clear and obvious. Just as obvious as her desire. Gina was determined to be screwed straight to oblivion and back.
She murmured his name, turning as he kissed the hollow between her shoulders just right and she felt heat climb, making her heart pump harder, leaving her shaky and alive and wet for him.
“I don’t think a woman’s ever tried to strip me before.”
But they’d thought about it. Gina had no doubt of that.
Which mattered not at all, because she was the one with her hands on his zipper, and she was the one making his breath come fast and harsh. She reveled in the thought, reveled in the feel of his hands sliding inside her tank top to free her breasts.
The floor seemed to pitch. She gripped his shoulders and sank her nails deep.
Something vibrated between them.
Trace cursed softly. “Give me a second,” he muttered. Leaning against the wall, he reached for his cell phone on the desk. “Yeah.”
Gina felt his words rumble through his chest as their bodies pressed closer. Dimly she realized he was talking to Tobias.
“Sure. Let me know if that changes. Yeah, twenty minutes will work.”
He flipped the phone shut and dropped it on the desk. “We’ve got twenty minutes. Damned if I’m going to rush through this and walk away.”
“Rush,” she said between little breathless gasps. “Twenty minutes is a lifetime.” Her hands searched and suddenly his jeans were open.
The hot friction of his erection was maddening against her skin.
“Very nice,” she whispered.
She thought he might have laughed.
Then his fingers tightened in her hair and he brought his mouth down onto hers with an edge of violence. “You’re not afraid of fast and rough?”
“Let’s see.” Driven by a primal need to claim him, she pulled him against her heat.
His jeans rode lower. The denim scraped her thighs with maddening precision.
“How do you do this to me?” His hand slid along her ribs, traced her stomach and nuzzled between wet folds. Slowly he found the tight knot of nerves and stroked her until she shuddered.
With a smooth slide of his hand he sent her up and over, tumbling dizzy and blind while the room spun and she gasped out his name.
He didn’t move. Over the pounding of her heart she felt his muscles, rigid and controlled.
Too controlled.
As soon as she could breathe again, she hooked her fingers in his jeans and shoved them blindly to the floor.
Then only need.
Only hot skin against hot skin and the hammering of her pulse.
He kissed her hard and anchored her against the wall. His hand parted her and she felt the sudden fullness as he drove into her. Deep, but not nearly deep enough.
She bit his neck, her body urgent.
He muttered that she was killing him and then their thighs met with hot, tormenting friction. The glint of a smile twisted his mouth, and she felt his rigid length in long, hard strokes that clouded her vision and echoed in the pounding of her heart.
Sensation claimed her. Their bodies strained, hazed with sweat.
He caught her hips and shifted, then pulled her down slowly while he filled her and Gina moaned with the pleasure of the joining. Inch by inch, ruthlessly controlled, he drove deeper.
His face was taut when she reached down to touch their joined bodies, reveling in the intimate contact. She bit the rugged outline of his shoulder. “I think I’m getting addicted to you.”
“Fine with me. I’ve wanted you this way since I saw you standing on that noisy street corner.” He caught her with an arm around her waist and she thought she heard him say her name before he pulled her leg up around his. He stopped moving. “Hell. Are you protected?”
Gina stared, desire pounding through her veins. “What?”
“Never mind. I have something in my drawer.” He started to turn, but Gina gripped his arm, shaking her head. “There’s n
o need. My medicine has side effects.”
He watched her for a moment, his hand moving gently over her face. “We’re going to talk about that medicine of yours. That’s next on my agenda. But not just yet.”
His voice scraped roughly, but his hands were devastatingly gentle as he caught her other leg and wrapped it around him.
“Hold on, because this could get rough.”
Rough was fine, Gina thought, feeling the white-hot pleasure start again, her body slick and wet as Trace palmed her, driving her up again. The floor shuddered and the room ran to black.
“More,” she rasped, squeezing as she rode down his length.
He groaned her name and she closed her eyes on a sigh as Trace lifted her, then rocked her down, driving her there again, their bodies meeting completely.
Now, now, she thought. She couldn’t breathe, much less talk, while his hand opened against her. She dug her nails into his shoulder, wanting him to lose that iron control inside her. “I want fast, Trace.”
She wanted his control gone.
“Stop protecting me, damn it.”
He gave her more, full and hot inside her, and Gina almost passed out with the sudden, thick pleasure. She tensed against him, drawing out his pleasure until his fingers twisted, locked in her hair.
Damp with sweat, he drove her against the wall, drove her hips high as his control finally unraveled and he pounded home inside her. Deep, as far as he could go.
The last thing she remembered was the low, guttural way he rasped her name as he fell with her.
HE COULDN’T BREATHE. Her nails were digging into his shoulders.
Trace couldn’t prevent a satisfied smile as he felt her climax. No more questions or suspicion.
Trust.
The knowledge was as potent as any aphrodisiac. In his world, people didn’t trust. It was a rule of the game. You watched and waited, and you struck when your enemy was most vulnerable.
If you didn’t, you died. Pure and simple.
Trusting felt strange, like trying to walk when your foot was asleep.
Gina’s satiated body collapsed against him, and he lifted her up, shifting her in his arms to carry her to bed. She curled toward him immediately, fitting her thighs intimately to his even in sleep.
Hell, the woman was driving him nuts. He’d just had the best sex of his life and he wanted to start in all over again.
As he reached for the towel he’d left on the foot of the bed, he felt a twinge at his collarbone. Another old scar.
Another reminder that trust was a dangerous mistake. For the first time since joining Foxfire, Trace tried to ignore it.
“YOU WERE TOUGH with her.”
“No tougher than I had to be. I had an investigation to finish. Having a stranger ask the questions would have been far worse for her.”
Trace stood on the balcony, where he’d taken Tobias’s call. “You could have held off the questions until morning.”
“Any unusual routine, remember? That would be a clear sign to this person you say is watching us.”
He was right, but Trace didn’t have to like it.
“How’s she doing?” Tobias asked quietly.
“Sleeping now.”
Trace heard the low beep of a cell phone from Tobias’s end. “Anything important, let me know.”
“Will do.”
After the call was finished, Trace paced the balcony, then went back inside. There was nothing else he could do for the moment.
And there was no place he’d rather be than in bed with Gina.
Carefully he stretched out beside her with one arm behind his head, watching her sleep. She did that the way she did everything else, restless and full of energy, scrunching the pillows and shoving her feet out from beneath the blanket. Every few minutes she snuffled and swung around, curling up against his chest, her chin against his neck.
Trusting him absolutely.
Too bad that he was harder than he’d ever been. He was pretty certain he heard her mutter something about a Bûche de Noël, whatever the hell that was.
Thanks to his Foxfire genetics, Trace needed no more than four hours of sleep, which had left him time to check in with Izzy, assess the remote camera feeds in the security office and then call Tobias for another update.
Now the rich silence stretched out and every minute felt like a lifetime. He wanted to imagine this moment of contact and trust was real and everything else was the dream. That he’d have long years of watching her sleep and seeing her wake on his pillow.
He pulled out the piece of red yarn he’d found on her sleeve after that poker club meeting. Rolling it between his fingers, he felt a slow grin forming. Like hell she’d been playing poker.
He didn’t know how it had happened, but he’d fallen for the woman, from bridge to stern. He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
It was also coming at the worst possible time.
Trace vowed that he’d find a way to build a future for them. Ryker was going to have to bend his precious rules one more time.
Because Trace had changed somehow over the past few hours. Here in this quiet room, he’d tasted trust.
Now he would never give that up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“YOU KILLED HIM.” Blaine stood stiffly in the darkened passenger cabin. “I saw the knitting needles.”
“Your friend Imogen did your legwork.” Cruz ignored her, keying at his laptop. “You got information, food replaced and a set of Gina Ryan’s knitting needles. You’ll have to pay her exactly what you promised or she won’t keep her mouth shut.”
“Forget about Imogen. Why did John Riley have to die?” Blaine shuddered.
The man with the scar leaned back, the screen casting restless colors over his face. “He got cold feet. He wanted more cash or he was going to see Tobias. He had to be stopped.”
“I never said—we never discussed murder,” Blaine hissed. “I never planned anything like that.”
“You’re in up to your sexy neck, Blaine. Remember that. You planned this with me.”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “This has nothing to do with me or Gina. I think you’re here for something different. If Tobias knew—”
He knocked her against the wall in one hard blow. “No thinking allowed, darling. It could be very damaging to your health. And do me a favor. Don’t get cold feet on me.”
When Blaine stumbled away, Cruz followed. “If you stick to the rules, you’ll come out fine. You may even get your TV series in the end, after the pastry chef is gone.” He stroked her tear-streaked face. “But betray me and you’re dead, just like our friend Riley. Only in your case, I think a corkscrew might be a much better choice. Or perhaps something less obvious.” He stared at her intently, his eyes focused on her throat. Suddenly she went pale and began to struggle blindly for air.
Cruz didn’t move, watching her struggles grow.
Then the look in his eyes slowly faded.
Blaine sank against the wall, gasping as she rubbed her throat. “How did—”
“No questions, remember?” He made a dismissive sound. “If you didn’t want to play, you shouldn’t have come to the party.”
She tried to walk away, but he shoved her toward the bathroom. “Go get cleaned up. Your blouse is ripped and you still have work to do for me tonight.” He tossed her a piece of black metal the size of a cigarette case. “Don’t forget your transmitter.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
TRACE CURSED SOFTLY as he stared into the darkness. He should have felt wonderful. He’d just had incredible sex with a smart, stubborn woman who fitted against him as if they’d been poured from compatible molds. If Trace had anything to say about it, they were going to have more wild, unforgettable sex soon…and often for a very long time.
The extent of his need scared him. Insatiable, it grew with every glimpse of Gina, every trace of her scent, every sound of her voice.
He stood on the balcony, listening to the scream of the wind. The sound reminded him of old missions and lost friends. As he watched water froth up in the darkness, he realized part of his problem. He was prepared for death. He breathed and lived and slept with it every day. It was life that had him stymied. Life was messy and harsh, with constant change and a demand for painful compromises.
More often than not it was out of control.
Maybe he’d spent too much time in the dark places of the world. For the first time he craved the light Gina promised more than the adventure of his work. Or maybe it was simply the knowledge of Gina in the nearby room, a temptation he should resist and yet couldn’t.
It was damn well going to get messy. Trace felt it in his bones.
Restless and edgy, he prowled the length of the balcony, uneasy about something else. Something he couldn’t name.
Cruz?
Yet there was no sensation of Cruz’s oily energy now. It was something else.
The smell of lavender seemed to spiral up around him, and Trace’s mouth tightened. If he was going to have a hallucination, then it damn well ought to be a whole hallucination that made some kind of sense.
It’s near you both now.
As the words rippled in his mind, he gripped the rail, refusing to turn around.
“Why are you out here when she’s inside?”
He knew the voice. He was even perversely relieved that she was back, even though she was a figment of his imagination. Trace didn’t believe in ghosts or life after death. Once it was done, it was done.
Why didn’t this hallucination of his take a flying jump off the balcony?
Dim light swirled across the balcony, and a pale face drifted into view.
“Can’t you stop fighting for once?”
Trace grimaced. He wasn’t about to answer this gibberish.
A pale body joined the ghostly arm, light rippling out in misty waves. Marshall materialized in front of him, perched on the edge of the railing. Tonight she was wearing black cowboy boots and tight black leggings.
Trace looked out at the sea and tried to ignore her.
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