Roxanne St. Claire - Barefoot With a Bad Boy (Barefoot Bay Undercover #3)

by Unknown

  Her knees buckled, but she held on, reaching up and closing her arms around his neck. “No pain, Gabe. Just this. Now. Us. Now.”

  He answered with a kiss, a powerful, potent, openmouthed kiss. Without looking, he flipped the knob on the stove and gave the pan a push off the heat, then kissed even harder.

  “Now.” He growled the word into another fierce kiss, his hands already moving over her body, walking her out of the kitchen. He turned her around the corner and pushed her up against the wall. “And I mean now.”

  She kissed him back, as desperate and ready and real as he felt. He devoured her with his mouth, finding new places to kiss, searing her skin, branding her, owning her.

  Smashing her against the wall, he dragged her dress up over her hips. His fingers scraped her thighs, spreading them to pound his mighty hard-on against her.

  Her whole body responded, softening and opening and aching. Her nipples burned and her hips rocked, closer and closer to the only thing she wanted.

  Holding her with his chest, he reached into his back pocket and flipped out his wallet. Wordlessly, he removed a condom, threw the wallet on the floor, and inched back to unbutton his jeans and free himself.

  She closed her hands over his hard-on, fighting the urge to scream with ecstasy when she touched the stiff heat of him. Every inch familiar, but so shockingly sexy, she had to moan as she stroked him.

  He grabbed the thong she wore by the band on her hip. “You want this thing?”

  “Not on.”

  “Good.” He ripped the fabric with one easy snap, letting it fall and forcing her legs apart. He bit the packet, staring at her. It was dark in the hall, but their eyes met and locked.

  “Head okay?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

  “Head’s fine. But this”—she jerked her pelvis against him—“needs attention.”

  He sheathed himself, and she stood on her tiptoes. He lifted her up the wall an inch or two, getting her right where he wanted her, easily sliding in with a low growl and grunt of satisfaction.

  She cried out with pleasure, and he jammed in again, full force. Deeper. Harder. Longer.

  All the way.

  The masculine, musky scent of sex she associated only with him made her as dizzy as every other sensation. The sound of his broken, torn breaths. Dirty words and sexy promises all mixed with the exquisite fullness of Gabe thrusting into her over and over again.

  Gripping his shoulders, heat and pleasure twisted up through her as he pounded harder and harder.

  Their teeth cracked in the next kiss, his hips impaling hers, his body completely and totally inside.

  “I can’t stop,” he rasped. “I can’t.”

  “Don’t stop.” She clung to him. “Come in me, Gabe. Let me watch you come in me.”

  He gave up the fight, pressing her into the wall, dropping his head back with a howl of surrender as he plunged in and out, utterly lost to his pleasure. His face changed, his jaw loosened, his eyes closed, and his beautiful mouth fell open, incapable of anything but helpless sounds of satisfaction.

  And, just like always, watching him come made her do exactly the same thing, falling and twisting into the fierce and mighty whirlwind of this man she loved so damn hard…she literally couldn’t remember her name.

  Just like he’d promised.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Lila.” Gabe leaned back against the sofa, stretching his legs under the coffee table, utterly satisfied by good sex, good food, good company, and the possibility of a long night of a lot more.

  “Mmm.” Across from him, she swiped her fork across the just-about-empty plate, scooping up some red sauce, as the plebes called gravy, and closing her eyes as she slipped the fork into her mouth.

  What the holy hell was he thinking when he first saw this woman and pegged her as average or…not his type? Types were for idiots, and Gabe was not an idiot.

  “What?” she asked after she licked the fork and made his poor dick twitch back to life.

  “Why Lila?”

  “Why?” Her eyes opened as she dropped her elbows on the table, the two candles she’d lit for their floor picnic flickering shadows under her prominent cheekbones. “Why am I giving oral to this fork? Because you cook like a god, and I can’t remember the last time I ate anything so delicious.”

  “Why did you pick the name Lila? Does it have any significance?”

  “Not a bit.” She put the fork down, reluctantly, and situated herself on the floor, tugging at the dress that rode up her thighs. Even after recovering from sex, eating a good meal, and letting the glow die down, she still looked very much like a woman who’d just gotten good and laid.

  Best of all, they’d warded off the headache so far by avoiding any conversation too deep or personal. It worked, but he doubted it could last all night.

  Her lips were a little swollen, her hair needed to be combed, and…he happened to know she didn’t have much on under that dress ’cause he’d made scraps out of that thong with one hand.

  “They gave it to me, essentially. I didn’t have a lot to say about the background of the character they dreamed up, just that I had to memorize it all.”

  He considered that, lifting his wine glass to finish the dregs. “I’ve been undercover but never so deep I had to seriously change my personality. Was it difficult?”

  She shrugged. “It was consuming. During the preparation, I was pregnant, then Rafe was born.”

  “You named him Gabriel.”

  She looked down, almost as in apology. “I knew that there would come a time when that name—and, to the world, the child—would have to ‘die.’ I knew it was temporary, and I just wanted him to have a connection with you. His middle name was another angel, Rafael.”

  “’Cause he’s so angelic,” he said.

  She smiled. “You know, I considered giving him your middle name, Angelo, which I guess is ironic because you’re both devils.”

  “Yup.” Gabe locked his fingers behind his head, thinking of his son. “Hate to break it to you, Mom, you were just a carrier of those genes.”

  “I knew it the minute he came out that he was your clone,” she said. “He looked like he was pressed in a mold with your name on it.”

  A few different sensations rolled around Gabe, a hot cocktail of longing and pride and regret and wonder. “What was it like, having him? I imagine that kid came out kicking, screaming, and whirling.”

  She tunneled her fingers into her hair, pushing it back and resting her face on her palms. “It was bad. I had to be induced because he was in no rush, and I was.”

  So the bastards had even decided when his kid would be born. “So you forced him out?”

  “No, no. It’s very normal to induce labor when you’re past the due date, and I was, but the induction drugs make the whole thing…intense. It hurt, as you would probably say, like an em-effer. I actually blacked out for a while, and they even called in a second doctor.”

  His gut tightened at the thought. “Is that normal?”

  “I don’t know, but it turned out okay.”

  “And where were you? In Cuba still?”

  “Yes, I had to have him there. That was the plan from the day the agency found out I was pregnant. They have facilities and resources on the island, so it made sense.”

  “A true CIA baby born in some agency-sponsored clinic.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “It was a legitimate medical facility, and I had a good doctor who was completely briefed on my undercover situation, which was helpful.”

  “Why?” he asked, thinking through what he knew about the agency. “With so few people who needed to know, why would your doctor need to know?”

  “He was my doctor from day one, before the first operation. He knew my complete medical history.” She angled her head and nodded. “I know the assignment was uncommon in its depth and breadth, but the CIA was thorough and fair to me. They recognized what I had to give up and didn’t want my life in danger. And I got paid a ton, whic
h is all in savings to send our son to college.”

  “I’ll pay for college.”

  She nudged him with her foot. “You’re such a guy, Gabe Rossi.”

  “You noticed?”

  She rested her chin on her hand, giving him a loopy smile. “Flat-out most guy-like guy I’ve ever known. And your son is made of the same stuff.” Suddenly, she frowned and sat up straight. “God, I haven’t really even thought about him for an hour or so. I should call Nino and make sure he went to sleep.”

  “He’s fine,” Gabe assured her. “He’s probably not asleep, but he’s with family. The best place on earth for him.”

  But she shifted again, uncomfortable now, looking around for her phone. “It’s not too late. Do you think we could sneak out and go see him? Just to kiss him good night and pat his back?”

  “You can kiss me good night and pat my front.” But he had to give mental, if reluctant, props to the bonehead manny for calling this one before it happened. Maybe he’d been wrong about that guy. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, except to bed.” He moved his bare foot to the left, tucking it under her dress and sliding his toe over her thigh. “With me.”

  She put her hand on his ankle, nestling his foot against her. “Better be careful, Gabe Rossi. You’ll end up liking a skinny blonde with tiny boobs and an English accent.”

  “I already like her,” he admitted. “Your hair is pretty, your little A-cups taste great, and the accent is kind of hot.”

  She looked at him for a long time, those bottomless eyes slicing through him. Neither one of them spoke for a long time. A stupidly long time. Long enough for his body to react and not in the way it should—with a nice, masculine stiffy. No, his fucking heart went triple rate and his throat bone-dry.

  What the hell?

  She sighed, breaking the silence and slipping her fingers to her temples.

  “Shit,” he murmured. “I knew this was too good to be true.”

  “Mmm. I shouldn’t have relaxed and let myself feel anything.”

  He moved out from between the table and the sofa, coming closer to where she sat on the floor. As he got closer, she put her hand on his cheek, still looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”

  “For what? Getting headaches? Baby, you’re looking at six feet of human aspirin.” He took her other hand. “This floor is hard, though. Let’s go to the bedroom, and I’ll give you a massage.”

  She didn’t move. “That’s not what I’m sorry for.”

  “Then what? For what you said? For all the decisions you made? For saving the world?” He stroked her hair, pushing it behind her ear. “You made the right call, Lila.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not Isadora anymore. I wish we could just fall back into where we were five years ago and…” She squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in a tiny breath. “Ouch.”

  “Damn.” He rubbed her temple with his thumb, pressing like he’d seen her do.

  She kept her eyes closed. “I hate to say this, but these headaches are getting worse every day. The longer I’m with you, the more I feel…” She shook her head. “It’s like punishment, you know? It’s like God is punishing me for changing all His work into something He didn’t create.”

  “I see the headaches make you dumb, too. That’s not how it works.”

  “We don’t know that, do we? My mother was pretty religious, you know. She collected all those rosaries.”

  “Fat lot of good it did her when that plane plowed into the Pentagon.”

  She cringed again.

  “Sorry, sorry.” He took her hand and stood. “Come on.”

  “I can’t, Gabe. I can’t make love again. It hurts my head.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dancing in the candlelight. “You make me feel too much.”

  How the hell could he stop doing that? It was the opposite of what he wanted in every way. He gave her hand a good tug. “We’re not going to make love again. You’re not going to feel anything but comfort. Come with me, and let me take care of you.”

  She hesitated, then relaxed and let him pull her up, wrapping her arm around his waist and putting her head on his shoulder. “It really hurts tonight,” she whispered, making his heart fold in half.

  “Let me fix it.” He snuffed the candles with two fingers and walked her down the hall and into the first darkened bedroom, laying her on the bed.

  Thankfully, she didn’t argue but rolled over on her stomach with a soft moan. He kept the room dark and climbed onto the bed next to her.

  He rubbed her shoulders and squeezed the base of her neck. “Don’t think about anything, Lila.”

  She stiffened. “You know, you asked me about my name. I never really liked it until now.”

  “Why now?”

  “It sounds nice on your lips.”

  He leaned over and pressed his mouth against her ear. “You feel nice against my lips.” He breathed and fluttered her hair. “Lila.”

  “Ow.” The word was just a whimper, a tiny little single syllable that ripped his heart out. “That hurts, too.”

  Damn it, the pain made him feel so fucking helpless. “You’re feeling things.”

  “No. That.” She reached back and tapped the nape of her neck over her hair. “It always starts there, especially when you press it. Then shoots into my temples, but right there? It feels like fire.”

  “Where that scar is?” He pushed her hair to the side, squinting in the darkness to see the sickle-shaped mark he’d noticed before. “Your plastic surgeon got lazy.”

  “I don’t have a scar there,” she said. “They didn’t do anything back there.”

  “Feel it.” He guided her finger to the spot. “Right there.”

  “That’s not a scar. I thought it was like a mole or something. I remember when I first noticed it when Rafe was a baby and I showed it to the doctor. He said it was just a growth that’s caused by hormones.”

  “Like your headaches?”

  “Yes…like my…” She stiffened again. Then, holding her hand over the spot, she sat up a little, blinking in the darkness. “Gabe.” She put a hand over her mouth, her body suddenly vibrating. “What does it look like?”

  He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. “Turn around,” he ordered. “Hold up your hair.”

  She did, and he snapped a picture, the flash like lightning in the dimly lit room.

  “It is a scar,” she said, taking the phone to study it closer. “And that is not the handiwork of the man who did anything else on my body.” She put the phone down and looked up at him, pain replaced by sheer terror in her eyes.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I didn’t have any work done there, so why is there a scar?” The demand and fear in her voice took him back.

  “You had a lot of surgeries, so you don’t know…” But something in her eyes said she did know, and suddenly, with a jolt of shocking realization, he did, too.

  An implant.

  For a moment, neither one of them could speak, but they stared at each other in stunned disbelief, the unspoken word hanging between them.

  An implant. Those cocksucking dogshit sons of bitches put an implant in her.

  She pressed her fist to her lips. “To track me?”

  “Possibly. You wouldn’t be the first victim in covert intelligence.”

  “But they always knew where I was. I checked in constantly. I was infiltrating a CIA operation, so my location was no secret.”

  “But they want to control something.”

  “Me.” She barely whispered the word, and he followed the logical conclusion of that thought. “My…emotions. As soon as I feel anything, especially something good, like love or a connection with another person, I’m in pain.”

  He considered that, hating that it made sense. “It guarantees you don’t get too close to anyone, for one thing. Or too emotionally involved in anything, which, I assume, protects the undercover operation.”

  “How?” She put her fingers to her temples, lightly thi
s time, as if she was scared to even touch herself. “How could an implant do that?”

  “I don’t know, but my guess is that it reacts to chemicals released by emotions, juicing them up when they start, sending them to crazy levels, giving you blistering headaches.”

  “Oh my God.” She struggled with a breath and, he imagined, the impact. “I feel so…violated.”

  And she had been. Those fuckers were as bad as rapists. “But it can be fixed, Lila.” He reached out to her, optimism surging. “We can get it taken out, and no more headaches, no more prison, no more fear of feeling anything.”

  She flattened her hands on her cheeks, which, even in the dim light, he could see had grown pale as blood drained. “All that pain. All that time. All those frustrations when I loved my son or looked at a sunset or…or…thought about you.”

  Hating that he had any part in causing her pain, he folded her in his arms, pulling her closer. “It’s going to end now. It’s going to end.”

  She drew back, fire in her eyes. “Someone has to pay for this, Gabe. Whoever did this is going to pay.”

  “What about the doctor when you blacked out during childbirth? That’s when they started. Who was this joker? He’s next on my kill list.”

  “I never got his name,” she admitted. “Oh, there are spies among us, Dexter used to say.”

  “That prick?” Gabe shot up. “He probably knew all about this.”

  “No. He would never let them. He would have told me.”

  “Like he told you the undercover job required a total change of looks and personality?” Gabe almost spat with anger. “I never liked that asshole.”

  “Stop.” She put her hand on his arm. “Let me think. Let me remember the delivery room. The nurse went in and out. Then I blacked out.”