“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
She offered him a faint smile. “Kiss me?”
He cupped her face between his palms and gave her what she asked for. His tongue slid between her lips and claimed her mouth.
Kissing her was the best thing in his screwed-up world. Her tongue met his, a sweet, hot stroke that weakened his defenses.
He should keep his distance. Keep this physical. Only physical.
Impossible.
She sucked on his tongue and reached down between them, stroking his erection. He groaned into her mouth.
He found the strength to pull back. “Your leg is bound to get hurt if we take this any further now.”
“I could go down on you.” He could hear the grin in her voice. “And you could go down on me.”
Damn. He wanted to do that for her and so much more. And he loved the fact that she wasn’t shy about stating what she wanted. But the intimacy of oral sex, now, was too soon. Not if he wanted Brie to open up to him about her family. For that, he had to take things slow, not treat her like this was quick, convenient sex.
The problem was…he didn’t know how to conduct a slow seduction. He’d prided himself on his honesty with the women he had sex with. No false promises, no commitment. Sex today, goodbye tomorrow.
This had to be different.
Crawling into bed with her had been an impulse—and a good one. Not having any kind of sex with her now felt similarly right.
He’d follow his gut when it came to seducing Brie.
“Sweetheart, no way can I taste you and stop there. It’s gonna happen but not until you can enjoy it without risking injury.” He kissed her neck again, then lowered the rail and slipped from the bed. With one last kiss on her lips, he said, “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Bastian showed up at Brie’s door after she’d finished her morning shower and the nurse had changed the bandage around her leg.
She was more than sponge-bath clean, and, for the first time in nearly two weeks, she had real clothes to wear, thanks to Savvy, who’d dropped several items off when she’d visited yesterday.
The clothes had been purchased at Camp Citron’s store and carried different messages about Djibouti, playing with the “ja-booty” pronunciation of the country’s name. She didn’t care about the tired jokes, she was just grateful to have more than a stained cloth or hospital gown to wear.
“Nice to see you dressed,” Bastian said as his gaze swept her appreciatively.
She stood and twirled, as if the sweatpants and T-shirt were a fancy gown. She wobbled mid-spin. She’d forgotten to grab the cane.
He caught her and pulled her to him.
She leaned against his chest, liking the feel of him and liking even more that there were no rules here. This wasn’t forbidden or dangerous. Just fun.
She needed fun.
“Saved me again,” she said.
A corner of his mouth curled upward. “I should start charging a toll.”
She played with the collar of his shirt. “I can think of ways to repay you.”
His laugh was warm and deep, and, pressed against him as she was, she felt it in her solar plexus. “I like the way you think, Ms. Stewart.” He brushed his lips over hers in a sweet, quick kiss, then released her. He held up his phone. “I was thinking we could finish the book we started to pass the time.”
“I’d like that. I’ve been going out of my mind with boredom.” It had been a mixture of boredom and anxiety as she wondered why Bastian hadn’t come to see her. She’d been bedridden the first two days, so going to see him hadn’t been an option. “I need to walk for a bit. Join me in the hallway? Then we can read.”
After ten minutes of pacing the hall, they returned to her room and settled in. She sat up in her bed and read to him. The crime scene investigation scenes were easy to read aloud, but eventually, Brie reached a sex scene. She smiled and glanced sideways at Bastian, then continued reading, adding more emotion to her voice as she read the dialogue, adding in a little breathy panting, even if it wasn’t on the page.
Bastian cleared his throat. “Maybe you should skip that scene.”
She raised a brow, noting his erection as he sat in the chair next to her bed. “But it’s just getting good.”
He shook his head. “I’m in pain enough as it is. Show some mercy, woman.”
The cell phone in her hands chose that moment to ring. “Saved by the bell,” she said, handing the phone to him, noting Savvy was his caller.
“Chief Ford,” he said as he answered. His expression went blank as he gave the CIA officer yes and no answers. Several curses were followed by, “Fine,” and then, “I’ll tell her.” He hung up.
“What’s going on?”
“Prime Energy leaked the story of your abduction and rescue in South Sudan. It’s all over the news. South Sudan’s president is demanding answers for why he wasn’t informed the US military conducted a covert operation in his country.”
“Uh, maybe because it was covert?” Brie said, to cover the sinking feeling in her gut. “Who told PE about my abduction? I left strict instructions for USAID to never contact my family. No matter what.”
“Senator Albert Jackson spilled the beans about the op to your family. I take it you know him?”
Shit. “Uncle Al,” she said softly. Then she met Bastian’s gaze. “He’s not really my uncle.” Albert Jackson was a Texas oilman, and an associate of her father’s. She’d known him since she was a baby and had been uncomfortable around the man ever since that stupid photo shoot when she was thirteen. Every time he saw her after that, he offered her a lollipop—he always had one in his pocket, just for her. It had taken her until she was fifteen to figure out why.
She’d been surprisingly naïve for someone who’d been so publicly sexualized at thirteen—but that was part of how it happened, that naïveté made it impossible for her to understand the innuendo of the photos.
At fifteen, one of Rafe’s friends had cornered her and spelled it all out for her. Told her what was being said behind her back, told her to stop taking the damn lollipops from Uncle Al. That it was her cluelessness and innocence that turned the asshole on. Rafe’s friend had been one of the few good guys in her life, someone who looked out for her, like a big brother.
Once her eyes had been opened, it had hurt that her actual brothers hadn’t shown the same concern, but they were their father’s sons.
After that, she’d picked up on Uncle Al’s other advances, which included “accidental” groping until the time she “accidentally” kneed him in the balls.
“So what does this mean?” she asked Bastian. “Besides I’ll never be able to work for USAID in a developing country again?” She’d expected that and honestly didn’t know if she wanted to return to aid work after everything that had happened, but still, having the choice taken from her triggered an ache.
But then, she didn’t have to be in the developing world to personally pass out reusable menstruation underwear to adolescent girls. She could raise money for the project of her heart. Girls wouldn’t be held back from going to school simply because they hit puberty. She could—would—make a difference even if she never set foot inside the third world again.
“The DoD is scrambling to make it clear the US hasn’t chosen sides in the war, and part of that is putting on a show of the military action being personal—Senator Jackson is on his way to Camp Citron now and tomorrow there will be a ‘surprise’ ceremony with a large press corps on Dahlgren’s flight deck—celebrating the safe exfiltration of the daughter of a close personal friend who also happens to be as close as we get to American royalty.”
“I am not a princess. My dad is a billionaire, but that doesn’t make me a princess.” Oh, hell. The press would bring up the cosmetic ads again. Given that they’d been banned due to her age, at least most news outlets wouldn’t show the images. They’d move on from her short-lived modeling career to rehashing the han
dful of incidents when she was drunk or high and made an ass of herself. She had no doubt they’d make snide remarks about her work for USAID, questioning her motives, brains, and sincerity. To top it off, her anonymity would be gone forever.
“I don’t suppose I can refuse to be a part of the ceremony?” she asked with a grimace.
Bastian’s look was sympathetic as he shook his head. “The ceremony will also honor the anonymous Special Forces and SEAL teams that rescued you. I’ll be on deck for the ceremony but won’t be identified.”
“Lucky,” she said, trying to make light of the fact that she felt like her entire world was crashing in. “Uncle” Al made her skin crawl. Just thinking of him, she needed to move. To walk. She climbed from the bed. “I need air.”
“The flight deck is restricted.”
“There’s got to be another deck…someplace I can go.” She could feel panic crowding in and took a slow, deep breath. Get a grip, girl. It’s just a dog-and-pony show. Back in the day, you fronted dozens of those without breaking a sweat.
Yeah, but then she’d been a high-functioning addict, and her ability to pull off big media events while using had been part of the rush.
Bastian stared at her for a long moment. He must’ve seen the desperation on her face, because he said, “I’ll check with the doc,” and left the room.
He left his phone on his seat, and she picked it up. She would call Savvy. She needed details. She entered his passcode and unlocked it as a message from Savvy popped up. In hitting the button to open the call log, she accidentally opened the message, which read: Need answers, ASAP.
Brie snorted. Yeah. Don’t we all.
What answers Savvy expected Bastian to provide while cooped up on an aircraft carrier, Brie couldn’t begin to guess, but it probably had something to do with the market. Savvy had been after Brie to remember every last detail, and was probably hounding Bastian just as hard.
From the log screen, she called Savvy’s number. The woman answered immediately. “Can you talk now?”
“Yeah. But this isn’t Bastian.” Unease settled in her gut. She wanted to talk to Bastian when he was alone? Well, she could hardly judge that. The woman was CIA and Bastian was Special Forces—and Brie knew SOCOM missions were classified, even from the people who’d been the focus of the op.
“I take it Bastian told you about Senator Jackson.”
“Yes.” She steeled her spine. “I don’t want to be part of anyone’s photo op—least of all Albert Jackson’s.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I disagree. This is just a PR stunt for him—a cool photo op he can use to raise campaign funds in the future, and I don’t want to be a part of that. It’s not like the South Sudan government has any real reason to complain about a SOCOM op to save US citizens.”
“While that’s true, you still need to be part of the ceremony. Jackson sits on the Armed Services Committee—that’s how he learned of the op. I shouldn’t have to remind you you’re being given medical care on a Navy aircraft carrier after an A-Team and SEALs risked their lives to save you. You can’t snub the military that just saved your ass.”
“I’m grateful to the military, but Albert Jackson is a creeper.”
“Be glad he isn’t bringing your brother with him. Jeffery Junior was pushing for a visit. I worked my ass off to crush that plan, pointing out that this is an ongoing investigation and Jeffery Junior has zero security clearance or vetting.”
The idea of seeing JJ on Dahlgren gave her heartburn. Well, “Uncle” Al had one thing going for him—he wasn’t a Prime.
She was in a corner. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t call the shots.
“Here are my terms: Jackson will not touch me—not even for a handshake. I’ll read a written statement. I won’t answer any questions or speak with the senator on or off camera. Any of these terms are violated, and I’ll tell the world about how he groped me when I was fifteen. If he balks at these terms, tell him I’ll mention the lollipops.”
“Navy brass will want to review your statement first.”
“Agreed.” She looked down at the clothes she had on. Should she face the cameras as Brie or Gabriella? She sighed. This would be easier with the armor of makeup, and she really wanted to keep Brie to herself. It was time to resurrect Gabriella Prime. “And Savvy, I’m going to need makeup. Commercial grade, camera ready. And clothes fitting an American princess.”
Bastian took Brie to an upper deck to walk and get fresh air, which seemed to calm her, but her tension returned once they were back inside her small, windowless room. He coaxed her into talking about the senator, and rage burned in his gut when she described the lollipops and how her brother’s twenty-year-old friend had to explain the subtext of what Jackson was doing.
“I’m so sorry, Brie. I hate it that the men in your life never looked out for you. I want to kick Jackson’s, your dad’s, and your brothers’ asses.”
Savvy wanted to know more about her brothers; here was his chance.
“At least Rafe had a decent friend. I had a crush on him for a time—probably because he didn’t look at me like a piece of meat.” She smiled. “He married a friend of mine about five years ago. Rafe was best man. They invited me to the wedding, but I didn’t go. It was their day, and while Rafe isn’t as bad as JJ, there were no guarantees there wouldn’t be tension.”
And here he had an opening. “When was the last time you saw your brothers?”
She wrinkled her nose, telling him just thinking about it made her uncomfortable. “Eight years ago.”
“What happened?”
“I left the business and refused to be their puppet,” she said in a stiff tone. There was more to the story.
“What did they want you to do? What—”
She held up a hand. “My thigh is really throbbing right now. I think I want to close my eyes a bit.”
He knew she wouldn’t take anything stronger than ibuprofen for pain, so her request was reasonable, but the way she said it told him she was deflecting. “If you ever want to talk, Brie—”
“I think you should go and let me rest.”
He stood, leaned over her, and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Can I come back tonight? To sleep?” He realized as soon as the words slipped from his mouth, he had no ulterior motive for the request. He just wanted to hold her.
“Better not. I need to get a decent night’s sleep if I’m going to be ready for tomorrow afternoon’s circus.”
Bastian was certain of one thing as he left her room. The direct approach wouldn’t work. No wonder Savvy wanted him to seduce her.
21
Bastian showed up at Brie’s room midmorning the following day. He’d already had breakfast, met with the doctor for morning rounds, and had a lengthy phone conversation with Savvy. But all he’d wanted was to see Brie, knowing she’d be tense today.
He smiled, seeing her in a tight T-shirt and yoga pants that cupped her gorgeous ass as she bent forward, sorting through items in a shopping bag that rested on the guest chair. “Mornin’, beautiful,” he said.
She startled, bolting upright and turning. Then she smiled, a broad grin that showed some of yesterday’s tension had left her. She plucked the bag from the chair, clearing the seat for him, and said, “Morning.” Her gaze swept him from head to toe, then she added, “Handsome?”
He laughed. “We only get three minutes of shower water. I’m not going to clean up until before the stupid deck ceremony.” He dropped into the vacated visitor’s chair. “Until then, this is what you get.” Twenty-four-hour stubble and a sleepless night meant he looked like he had a hangover.
“Bad night?” she asked.
He gave a tight nod. His head hurt like a bitch. A reminder that he might be hanging out in the medical ward to seduce her, but the concussion was real. Guilt had contributed to his sleepless night. He didn’t want deception in their relationship, but Savvy had a point. Brie was holding back a painful event that could be releva
nt.
But then again, it might not be. It could just be ugly family dynamics.
She walked up to him and placed her fingers in his hair, and slowly, gently, began to massage, avoiding the cut above his ear.
He let out a soft groan. Her touch was just right, raking her nails sweetly across his scalp, massaging in small circles that released tension. He leaned forward, planting his forehead against her belly. “God, that feels good.”
She worked her way forward and back, giving his whole head the gentle treatment. “I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you for rescuing me,” she murmured. Her lips brushed the bandage over the cut where he’d taken the concussive blow as her fingers moved lower on his neck and shoulders, where she dug in deeper, and he realized just how stiff his neck and shoulders were.
He groaned again.
She worked his shoulder muscles, and his tension melted in gradual degrees. He let out a slow breath and raised his head. Her breasts were level with his mouth, and all he wanted was to lick her and make her feel good too. No ulterior motive. Just healing touch. He cupped her hips and pulled her forward, being gentle with her wounded leg as he pulled her to straddle him on the chair.
She settled in place over his erection. She let out a soft “Oh,” and scooted forward, rocking against him as he placed a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his.
The kiss was hot and slow and deep, and he cursed himself for leaving the door wide open, limiting how far it could go. He released her mouth and said, “You’re welcome.”
Brie wanted this sweet, sexy moment to last forever…except her foot couldn’t touch the floor while she straddled him on the chair, putting stress on her thigh and causing it to ache. She pressed a kiss to his lips, then said, “Leg,” and scooted from his lap.
“Sorry,” he said. He stood and placed his hand at the small of her back for the two steps it took to get to her bed.
“It’s okay.” She settled on her bed and raised the back to a sitting position and propped a pillow beneath her right knee like the doctor had suggested. She leaned back and smiled at him, taking in the concern in his eyes. “It’s fine once pressure is off the wound.”
Catalyst: Flashpoint #2 Page 18