by Angel Payne
Ethan’s pulse kicked up as he examined the images. The characters weren’t exclusive to their own color. The assignation of the characters seemed random but logic told him that wasn’t the case. There had to be a concrete reasoning behind the coupling of a character and a color. But what?
“It’s Chinese,” he declared after a few seconds. “Korean has circles and sweeping curves. And Japanese has simpler strokes.”
“We’d deduced the same thing,” his captain replied. “We just don’t know what the symbols mean.”
“Give me a second.” The language wasn’t considered the world’s hardest to learn for nothing. Every word had its own character, and many had more than one depending on the context. “Okay, one of them is ‘party,’ as in a birthday or anniversary of some sort. The one that looks like an upside-down pi symbol with arms attached is ‘happy graduation.’ The one with the duplicated characters is for ‘wedding.’ There are a few more that are variants of the ‘party’ theme.” He shook his head. “What is all this?
The map didn’t disappear so he couldn’t observe Franzen and Colton’s reaction. He could only wait through their long, all-too-telling silence.
“Fuck.” Colton finally snarled it. A second later, his face reappeared along with Franzen’s.
“What?” Ethan countered, though another thorough study of their faces filled in a lot of the reply already. “Come on. You don’t think this is a target grid, do you?”
Franz drilled a hard look into the camera. “Every single one of these events has terrorist catnip written all over it. High civilian attendance, happy occasions full of what’s perceived as classic overindulgence.”
“So they’re going to drop a suicide bomber in on every single one of them?” He dropped a finger onto the desk. “That’s a supersized bag of Skittles on that map, boss.”
Franzen gave him a respectful nod. “Agreed. So what’s your take?”
“It’s an elaborate drug drop grid.” He rendered the reply almost immediately. “Granted, I’ve never seen any hustler, even for the high-end blow and smack the Aragons are getting into, keep a delivery grid that elaborate—”
“Or encrypted,” Colton inserted.
“Yeah, there’s that.” He shook his head. “But it still doesn’t add up. I still vote smoke screen. That’s a map for a party planner, not a terrorist. Not even one with ties to the big guns in the Middle East.”
Franz glowered. “I should have Hudsy whip you for a pun like that at a time like this, Archer.”
Under less stressful circumstances, he would’ve pressed Franz for details on how he knew the beautiful switch in ways that seemed more than “just business” but right now, his brain was racing, working to detangle the mystery that the grid introduced. “The symbols,” he murmured, “are Chinese, not Arabic or even Italian. If Lor’s behind this, why the different language?”
“Another smoke screen?” Franzen suggested.
“Or part of the code we have yet to crack?”
His leader dropped his head into both hands while Colton looked on with a dreary stare, torturing a paper clip in his own frustration. “Runway,” Franz finally uttered, “I’m afraid this means we’ve got to move forward on the op at status quo.”
“Roger.” He would’ve summoned more enthusiasm if they’d said he was bound for a water boarding.
“Get creative, man. Step up the bromance with your pal ‘Enzo’ in any way you can, all right?”
Terrific. Just the motivator he needed right now. Getting ordered to spend more time with the man who was operating under a fake name to cover a paramilitarist identity, while pawing the woman who still sucked a lung from his body every time he saw her. “Got it,” he said from clenched teeth. There was nothing more to say and certainly no small talk he wanted to dawdle on, so he mumbled, “Archer out,” and disconnected the line.
Fuck.
Back to work. And that meant back into the Satan-spun silver sparkle shirt, too.
Barely tamping a growl, he shucked the cotton T-shirt but couldn’t bring himself to put on the disco scorpions again. With the silver thing wadded in his fist, he wrenched the door open and stomped back down the hall toward the playrooms.
The air smelled like leather and he smelled like a goddamn makeup counter. Outstanding. Clear the way. Dick-less wonder coming through.
How the hell had this happened? Ten days ago, he’d smelled liked fuel fumes and desert dust, slinging trash talk with his teammates before fast-roping into the little complex in the Mexican desert where Galvaz was holed up. Two nights after that, Franzen had pinned on his new ranking and offered a ticket to Tinseltown in celebration.
That was the moment he should’ve remembered the word no. The instant he should’ve realized that fate only let a guy play so many risky hands before it bitch-slapped him in the face, reminding him of just who was boss at the cosmic poker table. He should’ve cashed in his winnings as soon as those stripes hit his collar and left the game a content man. Instead, he got greedy. Wanting a woman he should have forgotten months ago.
Craving her exactly as he did right now…pummeled anew by her burnished beauty.
She sat beneath one of the dungeon’s recessed lights. It had been tinted in a light flesh tone, making hers look like mocha ice cream poured over the most tempting body God had created. A lucky bar stool supported her, and she had one heel-clad foot hooked to one of its rungs, making her dress hike up so he caught a peek of her thigh beneath the smart pad she was tapping on. All of her hair was pushed over to one side, tumbling into the V of her cleavage like a sexy, soft waterfall.
And she seemed to be alone.
In the same room as the Cadillac of bondage beds.
Not a great thing for him to notice. Or hope for. Not with the solid case of pissed-off-at-the-universe decimating his gut right now. No sense in beating around the bush about it, either.
“Where the fuck is everyone?”
She looked up at him with a grin—a grin—that formed an adorable dimple in her right cheek. “That must’ve been one hell of a bathroom break, Sergeant. Do I get to ask if someone was doing the nasty in the next stall, or has a more personal problem dragged out your inner asswipe?”
He peeked around the corner, into the room where they’d been setting up for the next half of the photo session. Grant and his crew, along with their floodlights and reflectors, were packed up and gone. “It’s a crime to ask a question?” he flung back. “Especially one that clearly needs an answer?”
She gave him a look that made him feel like a kid who’d pushed his mother too far. He didn’t like it one damn bit. Her conciliating tone didn’t hit the happy spot, either. “Enzo got a call from the writers’ room. They had a brainstorm and wanted a huge script change for Tuesday night. He approved it, which means he and Bella are needed back at the studio for new rehearsals. Grant rolled up his own crew and was out of here five minutes ago.”
Hudsy picked that second to drift in behind him. “Didn’t that all work out conveniently?” she murmured for his ears alone. Before he could throw back even half a glare, she lifted her voice to call to Ava. “It was great meeting you, but one of my boys is taking me to dinner at Opaque. We’re dining completely in the dark. I’m certain he won’t be late picking me up.” Her green eyes danced with naughty glee. “My maintenance guy is in the back fixing some equipment, so yell at him when you leave and he’ll lock up behind you.”
“Will do.” Ava sent a warm smile at the woman. “Thanks for everything, Hudsy.”
He felt oddly rooted in place while the woman’s footsteps grew faint then were replaced by the whump of the back door. Lingering on the air, silent and potent, were the words she’d issued to him like a kinky gauntlet. Didn’t that all work out conveniently?
He took a heavy breath. There was nothing convenient about this. There was nothing about this that was easy, lucky, auspicious, or advantageous—because there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could in this place, with this woman w
ho looked at him with her magical indigo eyes and her luscious lip caught in her teeth, that wouldn’t haunt them both in the end. The only thing missing to this ongoing torture session was the itchy silver T-shirt, which he gladly ditched in a trash can.
I’m not even her Mr. Right Now.
The words had come out of his mouth yet he hated them. He turned his hands into fists with the longing to crush them out of existence. And fought back at them with the vicious snarl he threw at her.
“So what the hell are you still doing here? Lemare didn’t offer a lift back in in his Lamborghini? Or was he slumming it in the Rolls Royce today?”
Her eyes flashed, but he couldn’t tell if she was peeved or hurt. “I came in my own car. And I was waiting on you.”
Hmm. Peeved and hurt. Where was the Chinese symbol for I’m a jerk-ass when a guy needed it? And why did he care? She clearly didn’t. The path he’d yearned to take to her heart had been blazed and shit on twice already, so she roped off the lane before he had a chance to start. The best thing he could do now was his goddamn job, to get Ephraim Lor out of her life before she decided to let down the barrier for his slick, smarmy ass.
“Why?” he finally challenged.
“Because—” She let out a petite, and damnably cute, snort. “Because I’m concerned about you.”
“Why?”
“I’m not fucking Lemare.”
He was both troubled and grateful for the relief that flooded him. “Thanks for the status update, but you still didn’t answer my question. Why are you ‘concerned’ about me?”
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “You’ve seemed sad.”
The confession stopped him cold. And for some reason, made him want to laugh. “Sad?” His voice went quiet as he took a step toward her, though it was a compulsion more than a decision. He was fascinated by why she’d said it. And by why she there was such a melancholy note in her own voice.
“Uhhh…yeah. Like your head’s not all here most of the time.”
Hell. Was she actually worried about him? God, not now. He fought against the husk of her voice, the somber oceans in her gaze. “I’m not your concern anymore Ava, remember? You told me it was for the best. We had ‘closure.’” He bracketed the last word in sardonic air quotes.
She straightened her spine. “So that means I can’t care at all about you? That we can’t still be friends?”
“We’re not friends!” He hurled it back the second it left the incredible curves of her mouth. “From the second we knocked noses on the floor at Garrett and Sage’s, we weren’t friends, Ava. You know it as clearly as I do, and don’t you dare put it into pretty words to make yourself feel better This,” —he raced a finger between his chest and hers— “isn’t words. And it sure as hell isn’t ‘friends.’” As much as he longed to let that serve as their finality, the tears that gleamed in her eyes were like beacons, pulling him closer until the curves of her jaw were fitted between his hands and her cheeks were warm, wonderful, and soft beneath his combat-roughened thumbs. “I know it’s hard for you. I know you still carry the ache from what happened with Colin and Flynn, and that you don’t think you can handle a third blow. So don’t. Let me take the hit, instead. But goddamnit, don’t cheapen it by slapping on a label that isn’t true and never will be.”
She drew in a shaky breath. He felt every shudder of it. “I won’t use the label,” she whispered, “but you can’t take all the pain.” She squeezed her eyes. The salty drops fell and puddled against his fingers. “It’s impossible.”
Against every instinct of survival he possessed, he shifted closer to her. The smart pad on her lap slipped to the floor. He stepped in again, pressing their bodies together. Dear God, she was so sweet, so silken, so right. “I’m Special Forces, sunshine. We specialize in impossible.”
Her eyes darkened even more, pulling him down like dual whirlpools of her raw emotion. “You can’t take away something that’s already sewn into my heart.”
Her words heated the few inches left between their mouths. As Ethan bent to close up that space, he let his senses cave to a single, inexorable certainty. If his heart was killed tonight in her hands, then so be it. It wasn’t a bad way to commit suicide.
He didn’t say a word about the decision. He let her see it in his eyes—in the two seconds before he crushed her mouth in his conquering kiss.
Chapter Eighteen
Yes.
It was the only word, the only thought that filled Ava’s being as Ethan filled her mouth, ignited her blood, accepted her tears…consumed her heart. With a surrendering sigh, she gave it all to him. Opened herself for him. Rejoiced in the completion of his embrace, the rightness of his kiss, the heat of his passion. One moment, this perfect moment, and the world fell away. It was as if they stood in a magical forest again and he was touching her for the very first time. Just like that misty morning, she lifted her face and offered him one word in supplication.
“Tighter.” She guided his hands down, against the small of her back before wriggling her wrists inside them. “I need it tighter, Ethan…please.”
A growl rolled out of him in degrees that matched his constriction around her wrists. He dipped his head and sank possessive teeth into her throat, chopping her aroused sigh in half. “What else do you need?” He spoke it against her jugular before lapping away the burn of his bite with the flat of his tongue.
Her head fell back and her lungs struggled to keep up with her racing pulse. “You—you already know,” she uttered. After a purposeful pause, she added, “Sir.”
He squeezed her wrists harder. “If you’re going there, sunshine, then you’ll go the rest of the way—and you’ll tell me, clearly and proudly, what you need from me.”
Every syllable he issued sent a new wave of arousal through every inch of her pussy, unfurling ribbons of giddy fire down her legs. But gee, it all still found ways to lend some of that heat to her face, which flamed anew from his command. She flushed deeper as he brushed his mouth across both her cheeks, gazing at her with unflinching purpose, unmitigated desire.
“I need the words, Ava. Six days ago, you called us ‘closed.’ I’m not going back in unless you open the door.”
She lifted her gaze to look fully into his. She had to see in there she’d heard in his voice. The visceral need. The brutal honesty. That “going back in” wasn’t just a physical action for him. He wasn’t just summoning the obedience of her body. If she opened again to him, he’d demand access to the bridges of her mind, the connections to her soul.
As if she could give him anything less.
She longed to preface her next words by stroking his strong, perfect face. With his hands binding hers, she did it with her eyes instead. “I’ve never been able to fully close it. And I think you know that, too…Sir.”
For a long moment, nothing in his mien changed. When he let out a long breath through his nose, its trembling cadence told her he’d not only heard her honesty but absorbed it, cherished it. Ava smiled as he slowly lowered his lips to hers again.
Her heart crashed against her ribs. The last time he’d kissed her with this tenderness, they’d been picking wedding bouquet flowers in the woods. Just like then, his embrace filled her with a thrill of awakening…and desire old as the ages. Also like then, his muscles coiled from the pressure to keep the pressure chaste. It was all too easy to remember what she did next…the tiny cry she’d released into his mouth, telling him the gentleness wasn’t what she craved, wasn’t what her body and soul needed. That in his arms and beneath his control, she longed for more. So much more.
She didn’t let out the cry for him now. She gave him a full moan.
Ethan responded with a harsh growl—before ramming her mouth wide and plunging his tongue in.
She gave him access to everything. And he began to take. As he incinerated her with his mouth, he unlocked her hands so he could tear his hands beneath her skirt in a feverish search for her panties. Ava took advantage of the chance to touch him
in return, scraping the massive plateaus of his naked shoulders, gripping his biceps at the moment he coiled them to tear off her underthings. Her mouth fell free from his as she gasped in shock and panted in lust. That didn’t stop her from watching the mesmerizing tension of his face while he seized her bra clasp and twisted it apart in one ferocious move. Inside a second, her breasts sizzled with the same hot exhilaration as the rest of her body. Dios mio, nobody had made her feel like this before her clothes even left her body.
She drew in breath, shivering in anticipation of the kiss that was sure to follow, but found herself trembling, instead. He’d pushed her back by a step and now raked her from head to toe with eyes that held fathoms of cobalt hunger. He’d dropped his arms but flexed his fingers. His mouth parted to reveal the feral lock of his brilliant teeth.
“Take it off,” he ordered in a rough, low voice. “Every last stitch.”
Another shiver washed over her. Instinctively she wet her lips, causing him to pull in a harsh hiss. It made her feel gorgeous and powerful even while she acquiesced to his order, pushing away her dress and her bra until they tumbled to her feet.
“The shoes, too,” he instructed. After she stepped from her pumps, he released another rasp. Softer this time, but longer. So much longer. “Dear Christ,” he murmured. “I really am bound for Hell.”
The exigency in his voice made her brave again. She gave him a tentative smile. “Why?”
He stopped flexing his hands. With his long fingers extended out instead, he advanced on her by a step. “Because of everything I just imagined doing to your beautiful body.” With one of those hands, he pulled at her hair, guiding her head up. “And your incredible mind.”
Right. Some “incredible” mind. Only one word pulsed through the neurons beneath her skull, screaming at her for release. She set it free once more, turning it into a desperate plea this time.
“Yes…yes.”
Ethan’s face tightened. His wolf-bright eyes searched her face. “Yes what?”