A Breath Away

by Wendy Etherington

  “Can’t do that,” she said, though she laid her head against his chest and sighed.

  “How about we set it aside, then? Just for a little while. You can pick apart my plan all you want later.” He stroked his hand down her arm. “Right now, I’d rather touch you. I’d prefer you smile at me instead of scowl.” He leaned back a bit so he could see her face. She obligingly smiled, though not too broadly. He dipped his head, stopping a breath away from her lips. “I’d rather kiss you,” he whispered.

  Which he did, by nibbling gently at her lower lip. Then he slid his tongue slowly, oh, so slowly, around her top lip. When he covered her mouth completely with his and she trembled, he knew he had her.

  Jade curled her fingertips into Remy’s shirt and closed her eyes as his lips moved over hers.

  Whenever he touched her, she forgot her sense of time and place. She could only focus on him, on the way he made her feel and the way she wanted to make him feel in return. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was relieved when he forced her to let go of her job. She couldn’t seem to do so on her own.

  It was equally—maybe doubly—as nice that she had him, in particular, to turn to for a distraction.

  His heart pounded against her wrist as her own pulse picked up speed like a racehorse stretching to the finish line. He molded her hips against his, and his erection made her body grow damp and needy.

  The stroke of his tongue against hers sent her senses soaring, her head swimming. No other man had ever made her want so much, to long to spend hours—maybe even days—exploring his body while he explored hers. Kissing had never seemed so important. Touching had never been vital. Sex had never been a priority.

  But at the same time, he scared her. What if she couldn’t stop thinking about him when she was supposed to be working? What if her body grew so used to him that she craved him all the time?

  Dependence seemed the ultimate handicap. Relying on a man who wouldn’t be around for more than a week seemed foolish.

  “Remy, what are we doing?” she asked as he lifted his head.

  “About to climb into that bed and get naked?”

  She looked into his eyes—silvery and charged and wonderfully full of expectation—and wanted nothing more in the world than to do just that. “Sounds perfect.”

  Turning them around, she shoved him lightly onto the mattress, then began unbuttoning his shirt. “I really like your chest,” she said as she pushed his shirt down his shoulders.

  “You do?” His eyebrows lifted. “Feel free to explore all you like.”

  She knelt between his legs and kissed him, just over his heart. It beat strong and sure beneath her lips, and she fought against the idea that somebody wanted to stop its life-giving force. The ring might be the mission, but getting rid of Remy was the ultimate goal.

  She wouldn’t let it happen. She hadn’t been able to save her parents, but she’d saved many, many people since. She hadn’t lost a client yet, and Remy definitely wouldn’t be the first.

  When she tongued his nipple, he sucked in a quick breath and laid his hand on the back of her head. Her own nipples contracted, hardening to aching peaks and pushing against her cotton bra.

  She kissed and licked her way slowly down the center of his chest, just along his sternum, between his tightened abdominal muscles. When she reached the waistband of his pants, she paused and looked up at him. She kept her gaze locked with his as she felt along his belt loop and unhooked it. She unbuttoned his pants, unzipped the fly, then slid her hand into his underwear and grasped his erection in her hand.

  His eyes slid closed. His stomach contracted. His breathing grew labored.

  She turned her attention to his penis and stroked up, then down, and he hardened further, pulsing against her palm. She knew from experience with her own body that the friction of a firm hand, balanced with a gentle touch, heightened every sensation and stimulated desire like touching a live electrical wire.

  The head of his penis stood out, flushed red with blood rushing beneath the surface. A spot of fluid hovered on top, and she dipped her finger in it and tapped her tongue. The salty taste was essence de Remy. She nearly giggled at the thought.

  “Don’t stop now,” he said, his voice strained.

  “Mmm.” She gazed at his burgeoning cock. “I have no intention of doing that.”

  As she slid her mouth over the top, she relaxed her throat, so she could take him deeper.

  The number of times she’d done this were extremely few and far between, but criminals liked to watch porn, so she’d seen her fair share of the experts at work during night surveillance. She mimicked the actors’ pose, bracing her hands against the bed, arching her back and moving up and down with varying speeds.

  As she slowed, she dipped her tongue in the crease. Each time, he lifted his hips, pressing himself deeper, urging her to take more. Her palms dampened at the thought of the pleasure she was giving him. Her own desire heightened.

  Suddenly, he grasped her beneath her arms and pulled her up, kissing her hard, crushing her body against him. “Off,” he said, panting. “Clothes off.”

  If she hadn’t been so needy herself she might have laughed at the way the usually articulate Remy was at a loss for clever words. Instead, she lurched to her feet and started tearing off every article of clothing she could reach.

  When they were both naked, their gazes connected for a brief second, then he tugged her toward him, and they toppled onto the bed. Lips and teeth scraped across skin as he reached for the nightstand drawer and the condoms. And though she really wanted to take her time and tease him slowly, rolling the protection over him herself, she let him make the quick, familiar, efficient moves because she sensed his urgency, and she was pretty sure she was going to lose her mind if she didn’t have him inside her in the next three seconds.

  She lifted her hips and plunged down on him, her breath rushing from her body and her body moaning in relief. “Oh, that’s better,” she said, breathless, but wriggling her hips to position her thighs comfortably on either side of him and getting just the angle of penetration she wanted.

  Rolling back her shoulders, she sat upright.

  His hands gripped her waist. His face was a mask of pleasured torture as he gazed up at her. “Do I have any chance of you moving quickly?”

  She shifted her hips from side to side. He winced. She smiled and braced her palms against his sweaty chest. “Nope. I like it up here.” But she mercifully lifted her hips, then sank down again. “I may stay a while.”

  “You’re killing me.”

  She angled her head. “I think I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

  “Gun range.” He bumped his hips against hers, driving himself deeper inside. “You wanted to shoot things, I wanted you just like this.”

  “Then you should be happy.”

  “Oh, I—”

  She rocked her hips forward and back. “I can’t let you suffer.” She leaned down, sliding her tongue up the side of his neck, lightly sinking her teeth into his earlobe. “I want to please you.”

  He groaned. “You are.”

  She pumped her hips against his. “Tease you.”

  “You’re doing that, too.”

  She slid her hands down his sweat-soaked sides. A craving need for completion, for an end to the tension chased her. She planted her hands on the mattress. “Then there’s only one thing left to do.” Smiling, she rolled her hips and straightened. “Finish you.”

  Then, she moved quickly.

  She thrust her hips, not in an effort to tease and prolong, but to satisfy. The itch crawling up her spine spread, and Remy sighed. They needed to reach that peak, they had to go over. Relief was on the other side. The tension and tightening would end. Pleasure would burst. Hearts would sigh.

  She arched her neck and back, feeling the roar of satisfaction pushing her. Drawing a deep breath, she absorbed the scent of him, the spicy, sophisticated cologne he wore, as well as the aroma of them together. Simple,
elusive, needy.

  Closing her eyes, she gave herself to him, her body stretching, her hunger pulsing. She jerked her hips one last time and exploded, the ripples of satisfaction shimmering and trembling through her body, even as he still pushed to completion. She marveled at his control and accepted gladly the bumps and groans as he reached his own peak.

  He was an amazing man.

  He was a challenge.

  He was beautiful.

  She flopped on his chest, trying to catch her breath, smiling as the ripples of her orgasm pulsed through her.

  They were together for such a short time, she realized with a touch of sadness. As quickly as they could find satisfaction in each other’s body, she wanted to slow down and enjoy the ride, to enjoy every moment, draw out every slow kiss.

  She sighed, relishing his heart beating, the thumps growing slower by the moment, lulling her to sleep. Relying on him probably wasn’t wise. But, for now, she didn’t care. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let go.

  For once.

  12

  JADE AWOKE NAKED, her back pressed to Remy’s bare front.

  She had to leave. There was no telling what time it was, and her conscience was screaming about work that needed to be done and plans to be made.

  But her body was tired even as her mind raced.

  She recalled him asking, last night, if it really mattered how they closed the case, as long as they closed it. The old end-justifies-the-means mind-set. She hated it. Jordan Hillman and nearly all upper levels of the NSA played that game daily.

  And when Senator Kilpatrick—whom she’d believed had been the first honest politician she’d ever met—had revealed his illegal activities and made his plea deal, she’d finally had enough.

  Remy had taken a deal to save himself, but she understood that. Was that a double standard? Why did she dislike Hillman so much and like Remy?

  As for his thievery, she knew she should judge him. He’d taken what wasn’t his, and there wasn’t too much more wrong than that. Yet she respected the man he’d become. Maybe she hadn’t at first, but she’d grown to know more than just his body over the last few days.

  He was honorable and loyal to his friends. He’d protected his date the night of the shooting, then done the same for his informant buddy. He remained devoted to the nuns who’d raised him.

  Despite his former profession, he was honest. He’d shared his past with her—the good and the bad. He’d been up front about his attraction to her. He’d laid out the agreement of a temporary affair and hadn’t played games or pretended they were going to ride off into the sunset together.

  She liked his sense of humor, and the way he treated her team. She appreciated his strength and the reverence he held for beautiful things.

  But they came to an impasse regarding right and wrong, black and white.

  Did that really matter? Their relationship was temporary, fleeting, even. Did he have to agree with her view of the world, or she with his?

  Well, she certainly wasn’t going to answer that question or solve this case lying in bed. When she started to roll away, Remy pulled her back.

  “Don’t go,” he said groggily.

  “It’s late.”

  “It’s early—way too early.”

  “How early?”

  He covered her eyes with his other hand. “Don’t look.”

  She sighed. “How will I know what time it is?”

  He slid his hand between her legs. “It’s time for this.”

  Instantly wet, she sucked in a breath. Her muscles clenched around his finger. His featherlight touch teased and had her teetering on the edge of satisfaction in seconds. She panted when he inserted one finger just inside her.

  “Let’s get away for a few days.”

  It took her several moments to figure out what he’d said. “Be serious.”

  “I am.”

  “We have—” she choked when he pressed his finger directly on her clitoris “—plans to…make.”

  “We can make them in Bermuda,” he said, moving her hair off her neck, his breath teasing her skin.

  “No, I—”

  He pinched her between his fingers, rolling the ultrasensitive skin until she was gasping for air. “When the case is over, we’re over, right?”

  “I, ah…yes.”

  “It’s almost over. I want some time with you before then.”

  Her heart kicked in her chest. It was almost over. Hadn’t she just been thinking the same thing? Why did hearing him say that bother her? “Remy, we can’t—”

  “I want you to myself.” He moved his finger in a slow circle. “We need this.”

  I need you to move your finger faster! she wanted to scream.

  “I’ll think about it,” she finally said, desperate and on edge.

  He kissed the side of her neck and mercifully rubbed his finger back and forth. “Just think how often you could feel this way.”

  She closed her eyes and angled her hips to give him better access. “Uh, huh.”

  Finally, finally, he must have decided he’d tortured her long enough. He massaged faster and harder. He slicked his fingers in her moisture and applied just enough pressure to get her breath hitching.

  Trembling, her muscles tightened. Then she exploded, her body pulsing, grasping for that last stab of pleasure.

  Before she’d drawn a decent breath of relief, he’d rolled on a condom and flipped her to her back. He drove himself deep inside her, and her desire shot up again. Her hips lifted, bumping against his as her back and neck arched.

  He was going to kill her.

  Funny, she always thought she’d take a bullet, not die of hunger, need, passion and pleasure.

  Above her, he was hot and strong. She could smell his seductively spicy scent, mixed with sex and need. It was stimulating and mind-fuzzing at the same time.

  He wasted no time pushing them to the peak. He moved his hips quickly, angling her body for the deepest penetration. She exploded again, pulsing around him, and he moaned, obviously feeling her orgasm.

  He came moments later, pumping his hips a few final times, then collapsing on top of her, his heart hammering against her sweat-soaked chest.

  When he’d recovered his breath, he laid on his side next to her and stroked his finger down her nose. “Let’s go to the beach.”

  Shaking her head, Jade rolled off the bed. Instead of being sated like her body, her mind was jumping. She needed to get a close look at the gallery blueprints ASAP. Mo’s report was also a priority. He liked to surf the Internet late at night to keep his mind alert, and he always came up with interesting information no one else found.

  She scanned the floor for her clothes and found them crumpled at the end of the bed. She tossed them on, knowing she needed to get a shower and dress in fresh clothes before meeting with her team.

  Turning, she noted Remy had crawled back under the sheets. “What are you doing?”

  “Going back to sleep.”

  She glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s seven-thirty.”

  He closed his eyes. “Exactly.”

  She tucked in her shirt and hoped she looked reasonably decent. There was no way she could get to her room without Mo seeing her.

  Her hand was wrapped around the doorknob when he spoke from behind her.

  “You might want to pack light for our trip.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “What trip?”

  “To the beach.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You said you would.”

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  He opened his eyes and propped himself on his elbows.

  “And have you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you forfeit, and I win. Start packing.”

  “No.”

  “If I pick your wardrobe, there won’t be one. You might want to be more prepared.”

  She ignored him and strode from the room. The beach. The man had lost his mind. She wasn’t s
trolling off to the beach to let her team finish up those pesky little details like planning the encounter with Garner, solving the mystery of the ring and trapping the bad guy.

  “’Morning,” she said to Mo as she headed to the coffeepot.

  “Got some updates for you,” he said, not looking up from his laptop screen.

  “Let me shower, then we’ll get to them.”

  By the time she’d changed, Frank was up. The two of them sat across from Mo at the dining room table to hear his news.

  “This Garner guy has a thing for van Gogh,” he said.

  “A thing?”

  “He has a yacht called Starry, Starry Night. His estate is called Sunflowers. He owns a couple of van Gogh works, he’s a regular at The Met in New York and the van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. Plus he has an entire room in his house devoted exclusively to reproductions of his most famous paintings.”

  “That’s a thing, all right,” Jade said.

  She heard the door behind her open and turned to see Remy, freshly showered and dressed impeccably, his black hair still damp and curling at his temples. He’d been sleepy-eyed, groggy and naked the last time she’d seen him. He was so damn gorgeous, she couldn’t decide which way she preferred him.

  “Garner has a thing for van Gogh?” she asked him as he walked toward the coffee station.

  “His estate is named after one of his paintings,” he said, pouring coffee into a mug, “and he’s rumored to have a couple of his drawings, though I’ve never seen them personally. But he also favors Renoir and Degas.”

  Mo repeated the information he’d learned.

  Remy pulled out a chair and sat next to Jade. His cologne wafted toward her, scattering her thoughts. “Interesting.”

  “Then there are two weird coincidences,” Mo said. “One, many years ago Garner donated a collection of paintings and sculptures to The High Museum of Art here in Atlanta. Two, the museum is getting two of van Gogh’s European paintings—” he glanced down at his notes “—Irises and Oleanders for a month-long loan from The Met in New York.” His gaze slid to hers. “The exhibit opens the day after the gallery showing.”

  “Many years ago he donated works to the museum here? How many years, exactly?”