Too Wild to Hold

by LETO, JULIE

CLAIRE TRIED TO resist, tried not to fall under the spell of his hot, silky skin against her hand, tried not to become bewitched by Michael’s guttural groans. Not because she didn’t want him. Her body yearned for the glorious madness that she’d felt last night in the shower when he’d finally yielded to their undeniable lust and nailed her against the tile. It had been wild and hot—an experience she wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

  But this? This was better. Even if someone had been watching.

  Even if he still was.

  Because this was in her bed, in her space, and there wasn’t just lust between them anymore. Now, she cared about him.

  And though he had not said as much, he’d proved in a hundred little ways how much he cared about her. Every action he’d taken since he’d shown up in her life reflected how he put her needs above everything—even his own job.

  The world outside—a world she could barely remember as his lips trailed a tender path down her body—held dangers and conflicts that needed resolution. Josslyn needed to be saved. The Bandit needed to be caught.

  Michael trusted his team to get the job done, but he also trusted his instincts. If he believed the two of them should steal this brief, intimate moment, who was she to argue?

  So far, trusting him hadn’t let her down.

  Like a race car filled with jet fuel, their relationship, such that it was, had gone from zero to light speed in a series of rapid-fire explosions that tore at every belief she’d ever had about men and sex.

  She didn’t trust men, but she trusted Michael.

  She loved hot sex, but never above all else—except with Michael.

  For him, she’d stop the world. For him, she’d tear away her masks.

  He eased her knees apart, slid his arms beneath her legs and blew a hot breath to dance across her skin.

  “Oh,” she cooed.

  He answered with a hum of appreciation before he set to the task of tasting her, touching her, exploring her every intimate cleft until he’d sampled every part of her. She squirmed, but never enough to move out of his reach, crying out in unrestrained pleasure when his tongue parted her labia and he took a long, deep taste and sent her body into a tailspin. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, needing to hold on while her body rocketed so high, she feared the fall might knock her senseless.

  “Michael,” she begged, though she wasn’t sure what more she wanted. The pleasure coursing through her body was intoxicating. She couldn’t think—couldn’t feel anything beyond his mouth on her, pleasuring her, filling her with needs she couldn’t make sense of, beyond the very basic.

  This was sex. This was more than sex. This was ecstasy.

  She melted into the mattress, surprised when Michael changed tactics and kissed up her torso, pausing briefly to lave her breasts before he sucked the pulse point in her neck and then her ear, chin and finally, her mouth. The intimate flavors on his lips threw her into a wild hunger she’d feared she would never sate.

  “This isn’t an act,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  His erection pressed against her, a bold promise of hard, unyielding pleasure.

  “Making love to you,” he confessed. “I mean every touch, every kiss. It’s real. More real than I’ve ever felt.”

  Her undulations against his body ceased as the depth of emotion in his words hit her. “I never thought it was fake, Michael. Never for a minute. That’s not you.”

  He kissed her again, this time longer, deeper. “How can you know me? Half the time we’ve been together, we’ve been pretending to be people we’re not.”

  Reaching down, she grabbed his buttocks. Wrapping her legs around him, she tugged until he slid deeper inside. The sensations rocked her nearly as much as the tenderness of what he was trying to confess. She’d never felt so cherished, so protected.

  So loved.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Michael. That man who swept me off the dance floor at Nouvelle Placage was you. The man who’s risked everything since then to protect me is you. The real you. The you that you’ve probably never shown anyone else. The you that belongs to me. The you I could fall in love with, but won’t unless you finish what you’ve started.”

  Needing no more encouragement, he pressed fully inside her. Claire’s body was consumed with pleasure, but it was her heart that was on the brink of explosion. She’d said the word love and he hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t bolted like so many other people had when she let down her guard and allowed herself to feel something.

  Michael not only stayed, he’d joined with her.

  With her body.

  With her soul.

  His tempo was slow, rhythmic and thorough. No matter what might be happening in the outside world, every element in him was focused entirely on her.

  “God, I love how you feel,” he said.

  She hummed her approval, slowly losing herself in the sensations of his body, his skin silkily sliding inside her, filling her with a heat that suffused every nerve ending, every cell. She clutched at him, kissed him, touched him everywhere within reach.

  Then speed overtook them. Need pushed them to the edge. His thrusts met hers and in a destruction of seconds, her cries became uninhibited. Powerful.

  Loud.

  When they were less than a heartbeat away from orgasmic release, he inexplicably stopped.

  The pressure of his head was intense. If she moved, they’d both come. But she remained still, frozen, waiting for him to say whatever had forced him still.

  “Michael,” she whispered, blinking away the sensations that were turning her darkened room into a kaleidoscope of reds, blues and purples.

  Above her, his biceps bulged and his skin glistened with sweet, salty sweat. When he opened his mouth to speak, he was panting, half from the exertion of the sex and half, she anticipated, from the weight of what he suddenly wanted to say.

  “I care about you, Claire. More than you realize.”

  She caressed his cheek, her heart nearly cracking in two when he pressed his face into her palm in complete, utter surrender.

  “I know, Michael.”

  “No, you don’t. We haven’t had enough time together. We’ve done this all wrong. All backward. I should have—”

  She slid her thumb over his mouth and started to move beneath him. She considered trying to flip him over, but knew such a tumble would break their contact. Instead, she writhed and undulated, lifting her bottom until he groaned and relaxed.

  “What should you have done, Michael? Sent me red roses? Maybe a pretty scarf? He ruined all those romantic gestures for me. This is much better.”

  The minute his lips touched hers, the wild ride they’d been on restarted, this time with more vigor, more speed, more intensity than she’d ever thought possible. In seconds, she fell apart. Her skin rippled, as if invisible seams had formed just so they could tear open and free her heated insides.

  Then Michael enfolded her with a thousand caresses, a thousand kisses, and with one strong thrust filled her with his essence.

  So this is what it felt like to be a woman in love.

  The shock of the realization knocked her out of the zone. She heard a foreign sound. A mosquito? A fly? She looked around and saw the LCD screen on her phone flash with a number she could not read from this distance.

  Retrieving her phone now would require moving, and she wasn’t sure she could manage it. Not yet. God, please, not yet.

  Then Michael’s phone rang. Unlike hers, which he’d switched to vibrate, his device gave a short tweet that cut straight through their heavy breathing. She was tempted to hook her ankles behind his back and squeeze her tight inner muscles to make it impossible for him to leave, but she didn’t.

  Their magical time was over.

  They’d set the trap. Now they would to see if the Bandit had taken the bait.

  NEVER IN HIS life had Michael not wanted to answer a call. For fifteen minutes, he’d ignored his duty, his responsibilities, his good sense. Fifteen amazing
, mind-blowing, life-changing minutes. And with each repetition of his phone’s utilitarian trill, they drifted further from his grasp.

  He wanted them back—but couldn’t have them. Not now and perhaps not ever. He had to focus on his job. On catching the Bandit. On keeping Claire safe, not just for a quarter of an hour, but for the rest of her life.

  With a short kiss and a groan, Michael slid out of the heaven that was Claire’s body and retrieved his phone.

  “He’s on the move,” Ruby said.

  “You’re sure it’s him?”

  “I’m sure it’s the guy who was watching Claire’s bedroom window with night vision binoculars, yeah. But for all we know, he’s just a Peeping Tom and not the Bandit.”

  Night vision goggles? Why hadn’t he thought about that?

  He pushed his regrets aside and zeroed in on the operation. “Who’s tailing him?”

  “Me, but he’s staying on foot.”

  Ruby was in a car. It would be hard for her to keep an eye on him without being noticed. Claire’s street was only a few blocks from the heart of the French Quarter, but it might as well have been in a different world. It was quiet at this time of night. Nearly abandoned.

  “And the rest of the team?”

  “I ordered them to stay in their positions and watch the area around the house for any other activity. The tech is triangulating the call that came in to Claire’s phone.”

  At this, Michael turned. Claire was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked in a way that she hadn’t been before. Her body looked exposed, and her expression was wide-eyed and full of fear as she replayed the message from her cell phone.

  He concentrated on talking to Ruby. “Any luck so far?”

  “The call bounced off the same tower we’re using,” Ruby replied. “I think we’ve got him.”

  “Keep me updated.”

  He hung up just as Claire shut her own device down and started hunting in the dark for her clothes.

  “What did his message say?”

  She didn’t answer, but set about untangling her panties so she could shove her legs into them. She snatched her jeans and performed the same maneuver, then patted the floor in search of her T-shirt and bra.

  “Says he saw me. Saw us.”

  “We knew he would.”

  “He said he knew I’d be hot in bed.” Her voice, so devoid of emotion, spoke volumes to her disgust. “He said he’d wanted to see me in action for a long time and thanked me for the show.”

  Michael forced himself to bite back a curse. Now wasn’t the time for him to focus on his own rage. He had to concentrate on the unsub’s motives.

  His call was a taunt, an explosion of words meant to unnerve her, and the bomb had hit its target. She gave up on her bra and scrambled into her shirt before grabbing a pair of dark running shoes from the closet and then, to his dismay, her locked gun box.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

  She had the combination open in a split second, checked the ammunition of her Smith & Wesson and shoved it into the back of her jeans.

  “What do you think I’m doing? Ruby’s got eyes on the guy from across the street, right? Well, we can’t do a damned thing with him until we’re sure he’s not just some sick Peeping Tom. We need proof he’s the Bandit, or at least, enough evidence to warrant you going in officially. I’m going to get you that evidence.”

  He crossed his arms in front of him and blocked the door. “You can’t go into his place, either. It’s called breaking and entering.”

  She went up on her tiptoes to swipe a kiss across his cheek. “Only if I get caught.”

  When she attempted to slip around him, he grabbed her arm. She tried to yank free, but he held her fast. Just having a man they suspected to be the Bandit close enough to peer into her window and watch them make love was bad enough. He wasn’t about to let her walk into the perv’s lair, even if he was blocks away by now and couldn’t return in a hurry without the agents noticing. Still, he’d gone to great lengths to keep Claire safe and he wasn’t about to let her do something so reckless now.

  Making love to her had transcended the sharing of sexual pleasure. The act of physically covering her body with his had reassured him that no other man would get his hands on her—no other man would touch her, taste her, learn the nuances and intricacies of her erogenous zones or hear the pleasured coos issuing from her well-kissed mouth.

  Now she wanted to leave the apartment without him and break into a suspect’s apartment with no backup?

  “Claire, I can’t let you—”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  She tugged harder, shifting her body to a more advantageous stance.

  He blocked her and glanced down at his vice-like grip. “I beg to differ.”

  She cursed, but gave up her physical struggle.

  “How long do you plan to hold me here, Michael? How long until you either have to go join your team or the unsub gets back to his place, maybe to wash off Josslyn’s blood? We’ve got a window of opportunity here and I’m not about to let it pass. You can’t break any laws, I get that. But I’m an independent contractor. If I want to put my license on the line to find out if your people are following the right guy, it’s my choice and you can’t stop me.”

  His grip tightened, but his voice was low, measured—almost strangled.

  “Watch me.”

  Michael could feel her determination just as he imagined she could smell his fear. How could he let her out of his sight now that they’d baited the Bandit so effectively? At the same time, she was right about her advantage in getting something solid on the man. His own team was bound by protocol, laws and procedures.

  Claire only had the laws to worry about—and clearly, they didn’t cause her much concern.

  She locked her gaze with his. He could practically see her mind working as she tried to decide whether to scream, rage, or even tussle against his hold, but in the end, she merely took a deep breath and pushed out her words with calm authority.

  “I can’t live like this, Michael. I can’t let some nameless, faceless unsub force me into hiding and I can’t play by the rules. Those rules cost me my job with the force, but do you know why?”

  He didn’t respond. He’d read the official record and the newspaper clippings outlining how a rogue cop had gone against orders to investigate a death during Katrina that had been attributed to the storm, but had actually been a case of domestic violence. While Claire had never publically spoken out about the case, the parents of the victim had. They’d called her a hero. They’d lauded her dedication to the truth, even if it meant disobeying her superiors and losing her job.

  “Because you care more about justice than you do about procedure?”

  Her mouth dropped open a little in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “That about sums it up. We’re cut from different fabrics, Michael. You’re FBI—and thank God you are, because you’re fighting the big fight, protecting women like me from being victims of some sicko whose mommy didn’t love him enough or who was born without a sanity gene. But your way can’t always save the world. Sometimes, people like me, the ones who don’t drink the Kool-Aid, can do some good, too.”

  She winced when he tightened his grip on her arms. “I haven’t had any spiked fruit punch, Claire. I believe in what I do.”

  “I know,” she said, squirming until he loosened his hold. “And I swear to God, Michael, I respect you for it. But, at this moment, your way isn’t getting the job done. Maybe the guy across the street was watching me. Maybe he called. But maybe he’s not the Bandit. And we don’t know if he has Josslyn. You need proof before you can execute a warrant—or compelling evidence that will convince a judge to let you in. If you let me go, I’ll get that and you won’t have to sully your hands or risk your career.”

  “My career isn’t as important as your safety,” he confessed.

  “My safety doesn’t mean anything if he hurts someone else instead. If he gives up on
me, you’ll have lost your only chance to stop him. I’m not going into this blind, Michael. I’m actually good at what I do.”

  He released her. She ran her hands up his chest, still bare, and pressed her cheek against his heart.

  “From the moment you spirited me away from Nouvelle Placage, I’ve trusted you to do your job. Now, trust me to do mine.”

  He curved his body over hers and watched his father’s ring catch a glimmer of light from a passing car. Under the influence of his family’s legacy, he’d broken more rules than he could count, most in the last twenty-four hours. Could he really keep her from doing the same, particularly when what she might discover could help their case?

  He released her. “You have ten minutes. Don’t touch anything or move anything. If you see something that can help us, come back and let me know. If you contaminate any evidence, he’ll get off. But you know all about that, don’t you?”

  Claire’s entire face lit up in a smile. She gave him a saucy wink, and then snatched a bag she kept beside her bedroom door—one he suspected contained the tricks of her trade. A camera. Latex gloves. Booties for her shoes. More ammo.

  “Thanks for trusting me, G-man. I won’t let you down.”

  15

  “WHAT DO YOU mean you lost him?”

  Claire buried her face in her hands, the snap of latex chafing her skin. She ripped off her gloves and tossed them across the entryway. Michael slammed his hand against her banister, and even though she was sitting right below him on the bottom step, she barely flinched. If she wasn’t so numb with fury, she might have kicked right through the drywall.

  She’d done exactly what the FBI had needed her to do and they’d dropped the ball. The man who’d been across the street watching her make love to Michael with the night vision goggles she’d found dangling on a peg beside his windowsill had escaped.

  Breaking into his apartment had been ridiculously easy—her first clue that he wanted to be discovered. Inside, she’d found a spy-shop worth of surveillance equipment, a refrigerator full of red roses and a handwritten diary that catalogued her every move over the last month. Since Michael had only allotted her a mere ten minutes to verify that the man who’d been watching them was indeed the Bandit, she’d used her remaining time to reset the clock feature on the guy’s video camera, backing it up fifteen minutes or so, then she pointed the lens directly into her window and left.