Deadly Intent

by Pamela Clare

  Click. Click. Click.

  She rolled onto her side, bent one leg, showing him a bit more of her hidden beauty—red curls, those sweet inner folds, a hint of clit. Oh, how he wanted to bury his mouth there, to taste her, to feel her come against his mouth.

  “Mia.”

  Click. Click.

  The room must have been too hot, because Joaquin was sweating now, his cock threatening to split his jeans.

  He showed Mia the images. “No Ice Maiden here.”

  Then she lay back on the blanket and played with a pink nipple, one knee raised, and that delicious female anatomy right there.

  “To hell with this.” He set his camera aside, grabbed her ankles, and drew her across the blanket toward him. “I need to taste you.”

  17

  Mia’s heart tripped, wetness pooling between her thighs, Joaquin’s forcefulness and his use of strength striking unexpected sparks inside her. She hadn’t known she would like that. “Okay, that was hot. You can skip the foreplay.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” He bent her knees back, settled himself so that his face rested between her thighs, his gaze fixed on that part of her.

  Mia shivered at the blatant male hunger on his face, anticipation making her ache. Out of nowhere, the lyrics of the song he’d sung to her popped into her mind.

  I want to kiss you everywhere, to taste your sacred places.

  He parted her and then tasted her with a single, slow lick.

  She sucked in a breath and then another as he repeated that motion, the sensation sweet, a hint of what was to come.

  He licked her again. “I love how you taste—natural, like woman, like sex.”

  Then his mouth closed over her.

  He explored her most sensitive places with his tongue, tugged on her with his lips, then suckled her, moaning as he drew her clit into the heat of his mouth.

  Mia gasped at the shock of it, her hips giving an involuntary jerk, her fingers sliding into his hair. “Joaquin.”

  She’d never felt anything like this, the pleasure … so … intense. What was he doing now? His tongue … Oh, my God.

  She couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, could barely breathe, pleasure staggering through her. Begging, panting, sweating, she fought to hold herself together, the heat inside her like a backdraft. She wanted him to put out the blaze, to stop this sweet torment. But Joaquin was relentless, sliding two fingers inside her, stoking the flames, making her burn hotter, giving her no choice but to surrender to him.

  Her moans were cries now, every thrust of his fingers and the sucking motion of his mouth taking her closer to that bright edge, climax already building inside her. Oh, but he didn’t let her go easy. For what seemed an eternity, he held her there, suspended on the iridescent brink of an orgasm, pleasure driving her out of her mind.

  “Oh … Joaquin … I … oh, my God … you … aaah … fuck!” Nonsense, moans, and word fragments mixed in a sexual train-of-consciousness plea for release.

  She shattered with a cry, her body shaking apart in a rush of white-hot bliss that left her to float somewhere between heaven and earth.

  She opened her eyes, found Joaquin watching her, his lips wet, his pupils dilated, the heat in his gaze sending a frisson of excitement through her.

  He sat back on his heels, yanked off his turtleneck and jerked down his fly, shoving his jeans down his hips. Then, gaze locked with hers, he kissed his way up her body, stopping to taste her nipples before raising himself up and reaching for something.

  A condom.

  He unwrapped it, rolled it onto his cock, then settled himself between her thighs, entering her with a slow, deep thrust. “Mia.”

  It felt incredible—the stretch, the deep caress, his steel hardness.

  He moved slowly, deliberately, his cock grazing her clit. She would have told him not to worry about her—she’d just had the orgasm of her life—but what he was doing felt so incredibly good. Burning again, she slid her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back, eager for the feel of him.

  He was moving faster now, his eyes closed, his breathing rough.

  She clung to him, wrapping her legs around him, orgasm building inside her again with such speed and intensity that it startled her. It had never been this easy for her.

  Faster, harder.

  Joaquin drove into her now, every thrust filling her, rocking her, inching her closer and closer.

  “Oh … my … God.”

  He caught her cry with his lips, his kiss filling her mouth with her musky taste, strong thrusts drawing out her climax. But he wasn’t far behind her, groaning out her name as bliss carried him away, too.

  Mia’s head rested on Joaquin’s chest, her body replete, the warmth of his skin and the heat from the fire warding off any chill. “Joaquin?”

  “¿Sí, mi amor?”

  “It’s never been like this for me before.”

  He drew her closer, kissed her hair. “Me neither.”

  Joaquin put all the lights back where they belonged. Then the two of them made a dinner of pasta and salad together, Joaquin in his boxer briefs, Mia looking distractingly sexy in her bathrobe. He told her about his cousins—the forty she hadn’t yet met—sharing the good and the bad of having such a big family.

  Mia listened, laughed at his stories of getting into trouble as a kid, and did a pretty good job of keeping all the names straight. There was something different in the way she looked at him now, a vulnerability on her face that hadn’t been there before, a softness and gentleness in her gaze he’d never seen. He hoped it meant what he thought it did.

  He hoped she was falling in love with him, too.

  Joaquin had never felt more naked, more exposed. He’d thought he was in love a couple of times before, and he’d had some hard crushes. But he’d never felt like this, his heart wide open, every part of him from his brain to his balls unguarded. It left him feeling like he was flying—and scared the shit out of him.

  Love had to be a two-way street, and he couldn’t be sure how Mia felt about him. Her life had been thrown into chaos by a killer. The fact that she had turned to him was gratifying, but it didn’t necessarily mean that she cared for him the way he cared for her.

  On top of that, she didn’t have much experience with relationships, not just with men, but also close family relationships. She’d spent her life fending for herself. He had no idea how she’d react if he told her how he felt. He didn’t want to overwhelm her or freak her out, which meant he needed to let her set the pace.

  If it’s meant to be, it will work out.

  That’s what his abuelita had always told him. But then, as now, her words didn’t make him feel better.

  Mia lit candles and poured glasses of white wine while Joaquin got dinner on the table. The meal was perfect, but Joaquin barely noticed what he was eating. All he could think about was Mia.

  You have it bad, cabrón.

  Yes, he did.

  “What should we do with those photos?” Mia asked as they cleared dishes away.

  “We’ll do whatever you want. They’re yours.” Joaquin had never intended to keep them. “I could give you the memory card. You could tell me which ones you want to save, or I could erase all of them by reformatting the disk.”

  They ended up on the sofa together, scrolling through the images one by one, giving Mia a chance to see them again before Joaquin deleted them.

  “I can’t believe that’s me.”

  “That is one hundred percent you—no retouching, no makeup, nada. I wasn’t even coaching you. You came up with all of those sexy poses yourself.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “You know it’s true.”

  They were down to the last few shots when a noise on the deck brought the conversation to a halt.

  “Someone’s out there,” Mia whispered, getting to her feet.

  A sound like quiet footsteps, snow squeaking.

  Joaquin set the camera aside, ran for his
holster and weapon. “Grab the shotgun, and go into the bedroom. Lock the door.”

  “But I’m the soldier. I’m not helpless.”

  “I know you’re not helpless, but he wants you not me. I’m not letting this bastard get another shot at you.”

  She ran on bare feet to where the shotgun stood propped against the wall, grabbed it and the box of shells, and disappeared into the bedroom.

  Weapon drawn and loaded, Joaquin walked over to the closed blinds, peeked outside, then let out a relieved breath. “Come see our intruder.”

  He set the pistol down on the table and picked up his camera, then opened the blinds so that Mia could see.

  She stepped out of the bedroom carrying the shotgun, her expression transforming from fear to delight. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

  The mountain lion—a big male—stood outside on the deck, looking at them with what could only be feline horror on its face.

  Cougars were notoriously shy around people.

  “I wonder if he’s cold.” Mia ditched the weapon and knelt down on the opposite side of the glass. “Look how long his tail is.”

  The mountain lion hissed, scratched at the glass, then took a few backward steps, clearly unsettled to find himself this close to humans and outnumbered.

  Joaquin got a couple of shots of the cougar before it turned tail and vanished into the night.

  “Wow.” Mia stared after the mountain lion, a big smile on her face. “I’ve never seen one in person before.”

  Joaquin sent a text message to Nate just to let him know the mountain lion was in the neighborhood and got a quick thank you in reply. Then Joaquin and Mia picked up where they’d left off, deleting the last of the nude photos and checking out the shots he’d just taken of the mountain lion.

  Mia slid a hand up Joaquin’s thigh, cupping him through his boxer briefs. “You know what I found in the bathroom?”

  “Uh…” His brain had gone blank.

  “There’s a giant tub.”

  “A giant tub, huh?” He set aside his camera. “Is it big enough for two?”

  Mia held onto the edge of the tub, her knuckles white, Joaquin pounding into her from behind, one clever hand busy with her clit. “Oh… my… God!”

  She came fast and hard, pleasure swamping her in a wave of perfect bliss.

  Joaquin let himself go, his fingers digging into her hips as he came. He sagged against her, breathing hard, pressing kisses to her spine. “I thought you said you couldn’t come like this.”

  Mia laughed, only too happy to be proven wrong. “You make me into a liar.”

  “You should make a list of all the ways you think you can’t come so that we can work our way through them.”

  “You are very sure of yourself.” She loved that about him. Somehow, he managed to be confident without all the macho bullshit.

  He grinned. “I really am.”

  He got rid of the condom, and they sank back in the tub together, Mia resting against Joaquin’s chest, neither of them speaking, silence stretching between them, warm and golden in the afterglow.

  She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this close to another person—or to feel so at ease in her own body. Images drifted through her mind. Joaquin with his camera focused entirely on her. A photograph of a pretty woman stretched out naked, a teasing expression on her face. Joaquin looking up at her while his mouth devoured her.

  That pretty woman was Mia. Joaquin had used his camera to show her a side of herself that she hadn’t known was there. She still didn’t know how to feel about it. Everything was so new—her ability to come so easily and have multiple orgasms, her sense of self, her feelings for Joaquin.

  It was as if a missing piece of her life’s puzzle had fallen into place.

  She ought to feel elated, and yet…

  Was this even real? When they left this place, would he still care about her, or would their lives go back to the way they’d been before?

  She forced her doubts aside, not wanting to sour the sweetness of the moment.

  He broke the silence. “Are you cold, mi amor?”

  The water was only lukewarm now.

  “A little.”

  They climbed out, dried each other, then crawled naked into bed.

  “Come here.” He slid an arm around her. “Thank you for trusting me today. I know it took a lot for you to pose for me like that. It meant a lot to me. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever done with my camera.”

  Mia raised herself up to look into his eyes. “Thank you, Joaquin. What you did for me this afternoon … I didn’t know men like you existed.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m glad I found you, too.”

  Mia walked toward the elevator wearing ACUs and combat boots, her footsteps echoing through the parking garage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Her head jerked around, her gaze seeking the source.

  Nothing.

  Unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching her, she kept going, sand churning beneath her feet, making it hard to hurry. She saw the security door, the small room in front of the elevators glowing with fluorescent light.

  A man’s voice. “Mia.”

  She turned, heart thudding, but again saw no one. Driven by a growing sense of panic, she ran for the security door and locked it behind her, shutting out the blowing sand and the darkness.

  She turned toward the elevator, saw her own reflection in the mirrors on its doors. Why was she in uniform? She’d resigned her commission, left the Army behind. She shouldn’t be wearing ACUs. She didn’t even own any.

  “Mia.” He was there, behind her, the mirror reflecting his black hoodie—and the pistol in his hand.

  He was going to kill her.

  She reached for her weapon as he opened fire, panic like ice in her blood, but her pistol wasn’t there.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  “Who are you?” she shouted, bullets tearing into her, her blood spilling in the sand, making rivulets, tiny rivers of red. “Who are you?”

  All she could see was his feet walking away.

  “Mia! Wake up!” Joaquin’s voice pierced her nightmare.

  Awake now, Mia found herself sitting up in bed, confused and covered in cold sweat, her heart racing. “He was behind me. I couldn’t see his face.”

  Joaquin turned on the bedside lamp, light chasing away the shadows. He drew her into his arms. “You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

  “It felt real.”

  Joaquin stroked her hair. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  She described the nightmare to him, the details quickly slipping away, while the fear it had caused lingered. “I reached for my weapon but couldn’t find it. I asked him who he was, but he didn’t say. Then he opened fire, and I knew I was dead.”

  “That’s not how it went in real life.” Joaquin’s voice was deep and soothing. “When he showed up, you were ready. You shot back, and he ran.”

  “He said my name.”

  “Did you recognize his voice?”

  She shook her head. “I wish.”

  “Pobrecita. You’re shaking like a leaf. Come.”

  Mia got out of bed and slipped into her bathrobe, while Joaquin put on a pair of boxer briefs and a T-shirt. She followed him out to the living room and sat on the sofa, watching while he stoked the fire and poured her a whiskey.

  He sat beside her. “Did you have nightmares after your deployments?”

  She took a drink, shuddered at the taste. Why did people like this? “After our convoy got hit by that IED, I had nightmares for a while, mostly about LeBron Walker bleeding out.”

  Blood in the sand. Rivulets. Tiny rivers.

  “Did he make it?”

  She took another drink. “He lost that leg, but he survived. He’s got a wife and kids now. They seem happy.”

  “That’s good.”

  Mia swirled what was left of her whiskey in the glass. “Have you ever done something you regret, something you’
d give almost anything to change?”

  “Regrets?” He pondered that for a moment. “Nah, not really. Nothing useful comes from looking backward.”

  She supposed he was right about that. “There are times I wish I’d never reported Powell for sexual harassment or looting, that I’d been one of those people who knew what was going on and said nothing. Things might have been so much different.”

  “What did he do to you, Mia? Can you tell me?”

  They were talking about nightmares, so Mia might as well tell him. “He was friendly at first. Then he started saying inappropriate things like, ‘Your lips would look so hot wrapped around my dick’ or, ‘I bet you’re one of those chicks who loves anal.’ Which, by the way, I am not.”

  “Hijo de perra.” Bastard.

  “One day, he grabbed my butt. When I smacked his hand away, he squeezed my breast and told me that he only supported women in the military because it kept a fresh supply of pussy close by and that women in uniform were useless otherwise”

  Joaquin’s expression had gone hard. “That’s not just sexual harassment. That’s sexual assault.”

  She nodded. “After I reported him, Powell took his anger out on me, trying to turn every man in the company against me with his Iron Maiden stuff. I guess I shut down. I figured if my chain of command didn’t care that he’d harassed and assaulted me, they wouldn’t care about a little name-calling. Then I found out he was looting with the others, and I reported him. They didn’t care about that, either.”

  Joaquin reached out to cup her cheek. “You did the right thing. You’re the only person in that whole clusterfuck who has nothing to regret. The truth is important, Mia. Without it, we’re all lost.”

  “That’s what I’ve always believed, too, but will it be worth it in the end if he kills me? What if he kills you?”

  Joaquin took her free hand, determination turning his gaze to steel. “That’s not going to happen.”

  The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that—Mia’s desire to get a house with a big yard so she could plant things and dig in the dirt, Joaquin’s wish that he could transition away from photojournalism to doing more nature and wildlife photography. And then the whiskey was gone, and Mia was buzzed and sleepy.