The Mammoth Book of Special Ops Romance

by Trisha Telep

  Brooke moved as if she was going to sit up. Ruthlessly, John pushed her down and wrapped his hands around her thighs to hold her legs high and open – completely at his mercy.

  He was only going to have this one time with her, and he was determined to get out of it everything he’d ever fanaticized about out. She wasn’t going to rob him of one single pleasure, including making her come with his mouth.

  His tongue moved, flicking over her. She held her breath. Her body was flushed pink and her nipples were tight, distended and glistening from his mouth. John’s fingers curled around her thighs, leaving slight indentations. Maybe he was holding onto her too hard, but he couldn’t find the room in his brain to give a fuck. If she didn’t like it, she could push him away.

  Her breathy gasping sighs started to rise in pitch, becoming more intense. John knew she was close and he smiled against her sweet, hot flesh even as he pleasured her. She tasted so good, he almost didn’t want it to end. If it weren’t for the demanding throbbing of his cock, he could have loved her like this for hours, savouring every lick of his tongue over her silken flesh.

  The room fell silent, then Brooke let out a husky, deep moan that came all the way from her toes. Her fingers clenched in his hair and her shoulders came up off the mattress. She let out cry after cry of pleasure, each one making John feel like a god.

  Watching her come left John on the edge of release, quivering, barely able to keep himself under control. While Brooke was still dazed, her breath coming in gulps, John shucked his jeans and rolled on a condom.

  He knelt between her spread thighs. Her skin was flushed, swollen and shiny from his mouth. He stared, memorizing the stunning sight of her, knowing he’d be seeing it in his dreams for years to come.

  John covered her body with his own, kissing his way up her neck, over her cheek to her mouth, trying to convey to her the jumbled mess of need swirling in his gut. The foremost of which was the need to be inside her. Brooke responded eagerly, her tongue lunging into his mouth, sharing the taste of her still lingering on his tongue.

  Her body moved beneath him, twisting and squirming to bring them closer together. Her hands pulled at his buttocks, urging him forwards to meet her open, waiting flesh.

  Sweat slid down John’s ribs as he resisted the urge to plunge fully into her. With small rocking motions that would ease him in without hurting her, John slowly slid into her.

  His hips pulled back and Brooke’s fingernails dug into his shoulder. “More,” she breathed.

  Hell, yes, there’d be more.

  As he surged forwards, he lifted his head and watched her face as he filled her. Her slick passion eased his path and soon he found a slow, easy rhythm that had them both on the edge in a matter of minutes. John felt his climax building at the base of his cock, but he held back a moment longer.

  “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice harsh.

  Brooke managed to raise her lids slightly, catching John’s gaze.

  “I want to see your eyes when you come, when I come inside you.”

  Five

  Brooke was lost. She was dying inside, so close to the edge of another orgasm she knew it would kill her if he didn’t give her what she needed soon.

  He stretched her in a delicious way no other man ever had. He filled her up, leaving none of the hollowness behind she was used to feeling when she slept with a man. It was more than just physical, though it was definitely that. John was everything she’d ever wanted. Everything she needed.

  She stared up into his face. He was so roughly handsome. His jaw was set, clenched hard as he moved over her. Sweat slid down his temple. His skin was flushed, the cords in his neck strung tight, his muscles bunched in a powerful display.

  He shifted his hips, moving so he hit that perfect spot and Brooke’s world exploded into shards of pleasure. Her body clenched involuntarily, milking his erection, and a second later, she felt him swell and throb inside her as he came.

  A rough moan rumbled from his chest, vibrating her nipples, sending her higher for one last peak before she settled slowly back to reality.

  He collapsed on top of her, but she revelled in his weight, in the feel of his racing heart pounding against her. She held on to him tightly, refusing to let him go.

  “If you don’t let me go, the condom’s going to leak.”

  The thought didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should have. She didn’t mind the idea of having his baby. Part of her liked it. But she couldn’t trap him like that. He was too honourable to walk away from her if she got pregnant, and she didn’t want him out of obligation.

  Brooke relaxed her hold and John rolled off her. He got up, went into the bathroom, took care of the condom, then came back a minute later.

  She watched him move, enjoying the powerful slide of his muscles under his skin. Even though she’d just had the most mind-blowing orgasm of her life, her body began to heat as she watched him, wanting more.

  He gave her a dark smile. “You keep looking at me like that and neither one of us is going to get any sleep.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  He pulled the blankets up over her. “No? I figured with all the excitement last night, you’d be worn out.”

  “I slept some today.” Suddenly, she was feeling insecure, like she didn’t know what to do next. Part of her wanted to get up and leave so she wouldn’t do anything to mess up tonight, but the rest of her wanted to stay and make sure he knew she wanted this night to be the first of many.

  He lay on his side, his head propped on his hand. He wasn’t touching her. Maybe he wanted her to leave.

  “What’s going through your head, huh? Did I do something wrong? Hurt you?”

  “No.”

  His mouth tightened with anger and he flopped back on to the pillow. “I knew it. You’re already regretting it, aren’t you? Shit.”

  He moved to get up, but Brooke grabbed his arm before he could leave. “I don’t want you to ever think that. I don’t regret a thing. Except maybe what you’re going to say next.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “That you want me to leave.”

  “I don’t want it. I just know it’s for the best.”

  “Why? Because of our age difference?”

  “Yeah, that’s part of it.”

  “Well, that’s not enough for me. I’ve loved you for too long to let something that shallow bother me.” As she said the words aloud, they felt good. Right. She did love him, though the revelation surprised her almost as much as it did him.

  “Loved?” he asked, going completely still. “You had a crush on me. You’re old enough now to know the difference.”

  “I’m glad you give me at least that much credit. I do know the difference, and I stand by what I said.”

  “You can’t love me,” he said, incredulous.

  “I think about you every day. Whenever something good happens to me, I have to fight the need to pick up the phone and call you. Whenever something bad happens, I have to keep myself from driving over here and throwing myself into your arms. No matter how many men I date, how many I sleep with, none of them compare to you.”

  “That’s because you’ve got some idealized version of me in your head. When you were a kid, you saw me as some kind of hero and your imagination filled in the gaps the way you wanted.”

  She let out a scoffing laugh. “So, you’re not honourable and selfless? You haven’t risked your life countless times for people you don’t even know? You didn’t protect the man I love like a father for years, giving up your own life to take care of a quirky old man? You didn’t turn away the awkward advances of a young woman for her own good?”

  His mouth opened then closed again. She knew he’d done those things. And more. Probably more than she’d ever know.

  She wasn’t going to give up on him. This was too important to her. “Maybe we haven’t spent enough time together to decide we want to get married, but I know I’ve spent enough time with you to want to spend mo
re. Why give up something that might be really good because you’re afraid?”

  “I’m not afraid for myself, I’m afraid for you.”

  She went up on to her knees and pressed her hand over his heart. “And that, in a nutshell, is why I love you.”

  This could not be happening. John had no idea how to handle something like this.

  She loved him?

  She had to be wrong. Mixed up.

  But she looked certain. Her gaze was steady and unwavering, making him hope for things he had no right hoping for.

  A future. With Brooke. It seemed too good to be true.

  “We can’t rush it,” he told her. “You need time to think about this.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for six years. I’m done thinking. It’s time to act.”

  She was still naked. Gloriously flushed and glowing from his loving. He couldn’t think straight when she was naked.

  He got off the bed and tossed her his robe, hoping she’d take the hint.

  She slid the fabric over her arms, wrapping it around herself and bringing it to her nose as if she could smell him in the cloth.

  And just like that, John was hard again.

  He pulled his jeans on, not taking the time to find where his underwear had landed. “We should go out. Somewhere public.” Where he wouldn’t feel quite so tempted to lay her down and make love to her again. And again.

  This was supposed to be a one-time thing. He’d only let himself think about doing it once.

  Brooke was offering more. What he saw in her eyes was a promise of a lifetime. The two of them together, for ever.

  John had never even let himself think about something so tempting, not even in the depths of his deepest dreams. A life with someone as sweet and smart and courageous as Brooke was more than he had any right to ask for.

  “I don’t want to leave,” she said. “I don’t want to go anywhere where you can blow me off again and pretend I don’t exist.”

  Pretend she didn’t exist? Was she nuts?

  Outrage pounded through him. He crossed to the bed and wrapped his hands around her arms. They were slim and delicate in his grip, reminding him to be gentle. “I’ve been trying for a long time to get you out of my head. It never once worked.”

  “Then why fight it? Why not give us a chance?”

  “A chance for what?”

  “A life together. Happiness. Maybe even marriage one day down the road. Babies.”

  Oh, God. The images she put in his head were too tempting. He could see them together so easily, making their lives together. Creating a home and a family. Just the thought of her having his baby was enough to drive him to his knees and make him shake with need. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Tempting me like this. Making me want things I know I shouldn’t have.”

  “If not you, then who?” she asked. “Who should I give my life to? I sure as hell haven’t found anyone more deserving.”

  John had never been a possessive man, but he felt that in him now – a dark, secret need to slam his fists into any man who dared to touch her.

  “I can see it in your face,” she said. “You don’t like the idea of me being with another man.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  A sweet smile warmed her mouth. “Then stop pushing me away. Give us a chance. Maybe it won’t work, but maybe it will. Maybe we’ll be really happy together.”

  John shook his head. “How can you be so sure?”

  “How can you not?”

  He had no answers. All the reasons he’d given himself over the years – the reasons why he should stay away from her – seemed stupid and petty now. She wasn’t a child. She was a strong, brave woman. One who clearly knew what she wanted.

  “You seem so sure of this,” he said.

  She slid her finger over his cheek and tapped him on the nose. “I am sure, because you, John Augustine, are mine. You always have been.”

  John blinked in surprise. That was not an answer he had expected. “Yours?”

  “Yes. You’re mine and I’m keeping you.”

  A warm sense of satisfaction swelled up inside of him. His future opened up, glowing bright for the first time since he’d had to leave the military. He had a new mission in life now. Making Brooke happy and building a life with her would be his greatest achievement ever.

  He gave her a smile, holding back nothing. Not any more. From now on he was going to let himself love her. No more denying either of them anything. “I’ve never been a kept man before.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll get used to it.”

  About that, John had no doubt.

  Russian Roulette

  A Red Letter Days story

  Rachel Caine

  The hardest thing about the situation – it was easier thinking of it that way, as the situation instead of being taken prisoner – was that Lucia Garza knew she’d screwed up. She’d made the choices, and she’d brought this on herself. It hadn’t been a huge mistake, nothing that would have even been noticed by non-professionals; she’d gotten too comfortable in her cover, forgotten to check her tail and she’d been seen talking to the wrong person. Once. Even then, it could have been missed.

  One mistake. One time.

  It only took one mistake to get you dead and in an unmarked grave; one mistake to earn you an anonymous star on a wall back at Langley.

  What bugged her most was that they hadn’t hurt her. Hadn’t questioned her. Hadn’t done anything, yet, except ask her to come quietly, brought her to an upstairs room of a very secure building, and left her to think about things. It wasn’t even an uncomfortable room, apart from having no windows and a steel door with a code key lock. There were a couple of armchairs, a sofa, a coffee table. No reading material, which was unfortunate, and no coffee or tea, which was even more unfortunate, but all in all, not the most unpleasant captivity she’d ever experienced.

  That was what bothered her most.

  Lucia sat in one of the armchairs, legs crossed, relaxed. They’d caught her early this morning, but at least she’d been dressed – a bonus, because she typically slept in the raw – and she knew she looked well put together. A sharp designer pantsuit, a silk shirt the colour of Baltic amber, a delicate gold cross necklace. Designer shoes with lethally thin heels. It helped that she had the looks to sell the package; Lucia had no particular pride in that, but she understood it was an asset, and she cultivated it religiously. She was, by nature, an early riser, which was why she’d been taken prisoner looking as if she might be on her way to a magazine photo shoot, instead of – as they’d likely expected – terrified, messy and unprepared.

  They’d taken all her weapons, except the shoes, but she wasn’t especially worried. Not about that, at least. Her problems were not going to be solved by shooting her way out.

  There was a slight, metallic clunk, and the air pressure in the room changed, ever so slightly, as the far steel door swung open. The first man through was a guard, who did a thorough, professional job of checking behind the door and scanning the room, paying special attention to her. When he was convinced all was well, he took up a post, looking as if he was prepared to kill to eliminate any hint of a threat. He wasn’t the type to have doubts or recriminations. It would be a straight line, eyes to trigger, with no interference from whatever morals he might theoretically possess.

  Lucia didn’t move.

  The next man through the door was tall, thin, with a pale face and a shock of thick, dark, unruly hair. He had cultivated a moustache and goatee. Stock villain styling or not, Lucia had to admit that it looked good on him.

  He was wearing an expensively tailored black suit, a creamy white shirt that looked, to her expert eye, to be Egyptian cotton, and a very expensive tie. The shoes were Italian. Handmade. He crossed the room with a decisive stride, hazel eyes fixed on her, lips curled into a warm smile of welcome.

  He extended a hand to her. “Gregory Valentin Iv
anovich,” he said. He had nice hands, well cared for, with buffed, clean nails. She shook, because there was no point in refusing, and he sank into the armchair across from her. “I’m delighted to meet you, Miss—?”

  “Smith,” she said. It wasn’t even close to her cover name, but they were well past all that now in any case. It was all games now. “Mary Smith.”

  Gregory Valentin Ivanovich – somehow, she had no doubt that was his real name – clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Oh, dorogoi, that won’t do. Your name is Lucia Garza, and you are in the employ of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States of America.”

  She didn’t react by so much as a flicker.

  “Finding out who you are is nothing, the work of a computer expert on his coffee break. I’m not here because of who you are, my dear. I’ve been employed to find out what you know,” he said, and leaned forwards, elbows on knees, looking very earnest. Very honest. “You are a lovely woman. I would very much like to keep this civilized. May we?”

  “Of course,” Lucia said. This part of the role play was all scripted, all predictable. Her mind was racing on, examining possibilities. Ivanovich was, no doubt, armed, but the guard was too far away, and although she was a good shot, the fact was that the time it would take her to kill Ivanovich would allow the guard to take her down, one way or the other. No help there. Take him hostage? Possible, but she was sure they had contingencies. Ivanovich was too relaxed. Too sure of himself. And then there was the problem of the door, and the fact that she could be completely certain they were being closely monitored.

  Lucia sat back and smiled. “Since we’re being so civilized, may we have tea?”

  “Ah! Excellent idea. I shall have some brought in.” He made no gesture, gave no orders. The guard didn’t move. Proof positive – not that she needed it – that someone was watching and listening to every word. “What brings you to Prague, Miss Anna Luisa Ortiz, office manager of Halwell Industries?”

  “I came to open an office,” she said. “I’ve been obtaining real-estate licences, setting up utilities, buying equipment and supplies. As I’m sure you know.”