by Kym Roberts
Not even Ty would touch that comment, but he also suspected she’d asked for the nighttime appointments so he would call her and tell her not to wait up.
He’d tried that. Once. And caught holy hell when he arrived at the apartment by city cab.
So now Rosie was driving at night. Faith was avoiding any contact again, and Ty spent the past five weeks avoiding any thoughts about her long lean legs wrapped around his waist. Or the tight muscles of her ass flexing in his hands as he drove his dick inside her. Or the taste of her plump breasts filling his mouth as she leaned into him and climaxed.
Life was fucking torture. He needed to go home and get back to work, because as much as the prospect of working with Sammie had initially pained him, somehow it seemed like a damned kindergarten cakewalk compared to being near Faith and not touching her. Listening to her breath as she lifted and strained. Watching her face flush as she exerted herself to the limits of her tall lean frame. And imaging all of that between white satin sheets.
Fuck.
It had to be the Roman architecture that made him think of the white sheets. Then again maybe it was because she seemed completely untouchable, pure. Which she was, to him.
He needed to leave…
Except Rosie needed him to stay. Her house still needed repairs. It was colder than it should be, and he suspected come June, it’d be hotter than any elderly woman should have to endure.
He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. The release satisfying because his chest had finally expanded to its full capacity. He would never underestimate that particular gift of air in his lungs ever again.
Faith finished her trip around the world on the elliptical, and headed his direction.
“You seem to do much better on the workouts you do by yourself.”
“Are you telling me I can quit?”
“No, I just noticed that you seem to be more focused when I don’t hover at the end of your session.”
“You’re distracting.” He shouldn’t have shared that.
“What about Alena?”
“What about her?”
“She’s not distracting?” Her mouth quirked. She didn’t believe him.
“To someone else, most definitely.” He assured.
“But not to you.”
“No.”
“Not even in that little black dress.” Her hand wanted to rest on her hip. Jut out and call him a liar. Her professionalism kept her fingers wrapped around the towel on her neck.
He couldn’t help it. It was that impenetrable shield that made him fling ammo in her direction. “Nope. Not even in a red lace bra.”
“Wh…what?” She stuttered and he almost smiled, but chose to challenge her further instead.
“Not even in a red lace bra.” He repeated.
“Why…why would you bring up a…a bra?” Her eyes strayed to the towel in her hands. That shield was about to shatter, and Ty was going to enjoy every destructive moment.
He pushed further. “A red lace bra.”
She wiped her brow that wasn’t sweating. “Fine. A red lace bra.”
“Because the woman who saved my life was wearing a red lace bra.”
“In the middle of a blizzard?”
Faith was about the worst liar he’d seen in the last twenty years. He wedged his words into the crack in her protective barrier. “Underneath her shirts and her coat.”
“Weren’t you too delirious when she found you? Couldn’t the bra just be a product of an overactive, yet damaged imagination?”
“I will never forget that bra.”
She shook her head. Ready to walk away. But her curiosity was snared. “What was so special about that…that one bra? I’m sure you’ve seen hundreds.”
“Mmm, thousands.”
Her eyes rolled and he almost laughed. Almost. And then he decided it was time to share what that one scrap of lace meant to him.
“I have no idea where she came from. All I know is that her face was raw and reddened from the storm, her hands shook, and she was scared half to death to come near me. Yet she did, despite the fact that I was armed. A sniper rifle was laying on the ground near me, and then she did what many women wouldn’t even consider—she exposed herself to save my life. She used her shirts to staunch the bleeding, then tossed the rifle away and loaded me onto a snowmobile. She drove for over an hour, holding me in front of her, soothing me like a baby in between cussing herself for stopping to help.
“And then when we got to the hospital, she made me promise, actually promise, that I wasn’t going to die.”
He could barely hear her question. “Did you?”
And he smiled. Let one of those rare looks go that he usually only used around his family. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Again her eyes did that trip to the ceiling and back. “Did you make the promise that you wouldn’t die?”
“I did, and when I give my word, I keep it.”
Faith’s comfort level plummeted. He’d thought his memory of her lace bra all the way down to the little bow between her breasts would force her to confess—make her so uncomfortable she’d admit she’d been the one to save his life just to make him shut up. Instead, Faith hid once again, fidgeting with the towel around her neck, desperately hanging on to the illusion that he couldn’t possibly remember her. That she couldn’t possibly be the woman who wore the delectable undergarment that haunted his dreams.
And Ty Beckinsale, most notorious agent ever to belong to the rank and file of the Secret Service, let it go. He didn’t take it one step further…to the oath she forced him to make a month and a half ago, which literally felt like he’d made yesterday. It was the oath that saved his life.
“Don’t you die on me you son-of-a-”
“I won’t.”
“Promise me. Promise me that I didn’t go through all of this for nothing. Promise me I didn’t save your worthless butt, for you to throw it away. Promise me you’ll live.”
“I’ll…live.”
That’d been the last thing he’d said to her before hospital staff rushed him inside. Without that promise, he would have let go. Slipped from her embrace into nothingness.
Yet right now, he could see that the gift she gave him had scared her so badly, it wiped every emotion from her face and body. Faith stopped twisting the towel and gripped the ends hanging down from each side of her neck in tight fists. Pulled on it and put on her professional smile, the one that didn’t radiate through her eyes, or even begin to light up a room. It was a look that sold a product to a customer, nothing more. And in the past five weeks he’d learned to hate that smile.
“You need to do some squats. Don’t try to be macho, just twenty-five pounds, no more. Tomorrow we’ll mix it up a bit. Instead of twenty minutes at the end of your session, I’ll give you sections to work on by yourself throughout the hour.”
He called her out. Hoping for a reaction, a closing of the distance between them she was trying to recreate. “You’re avoiding me.” He accused.
She ignored him, put her earbuds in and continued toward her workout station…and he let her escape.
Disappointment drove him to put on his own mask. Hide in the safety of denial. They were never meant to go beyond the professional level of therapist and patient, he knew that. She was another agent’s sister, off limits…
Yet throughout the next twenty minutes, he caught her eyes straying in his direction. Filled with the same longing that made his heart race. She spied on him several times, not as a physical therapist, or a trainer, but as a woman. Evidence of the attraction she denied.
She pushed herself harder, running faster, lifting heavier. As if she was committing some type of ritual to expunge the memory of their bond, the commitment she’d forced from his lips. Pushing away their kiss from her mind and body.
But it wasn’t working. At least not for Ty.
Each day had become more about watching her exercise than rehabbing his injury and if she didn’t finish her set soon, he�
��d lose all control, throw her on the mat and shove his dick inside her so deep, she wouldn’t be able to breath.
Faith moved away from the free weights. “How are you doing?”
“Good.” He’d been able to keep his body in check, which was great for her, not so much for him. It’d been too long…
Ty picked up his towel, wiped his brow and watched as Faith moved to the worst part of her workout routine—the most erotic exercise known to man. At least this man.
As she laid down on her stomach for leg lifts, he groaned, tore his eyes from her ass and scrubbed his face with the middle of the towel, ensuring he could not peak to the side. He ignored his desire to sit behind her and drive himself deep within her body. He focused on his breathing. Adjusted the machine for toe raises and focused on the technique he could do in his sleep.
Lift…release.
Lift…release.
Lift…
Fuck.
He nearly lost his footing when she caught one of his heat-filled gazes as she grunted out her eighth of ten curls from a prone position on her stomach. He was pretty sure she’d made up her mind to torture him further when she got up and walked around and then returned for another set, and then another.
During the fourth set, he’d stopped pretending to be completely absorbed in his own set of toe lifts. Instead, he chose to take a walk, get a drink, pass her and watch the muscles on her backside contract with each lift. He imagined Faith on top of him, piercing her core with his body, his fingers sinking into the firm tissue of her tight ass as he drove up into her, meeting her thrusts with those of his own.
He was powerless to stop the fantasy from continuing as he reached for a paper cup on the side of water cooler against the wall.
He would take her hand and direct it between her legs, to the place that drove her mad with ecstasy, and then he’d watch her come. Feel her muscles contract around him. Make her scream as their rhythm wrote a song that would live forever in her memory.
He closed his eyes and savored the sound of her grinding out number seven. Hell, he’d remember that sound for the rest of his life, and yet it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her personal workout. He turned away and leaned against the wall, shifting his swollen dick as he did. Being around her was a lesson in futility. He was painfully aroused, every moment a test of his restraint. Yet he continued to fantasize and lose track of where he was in a set when she worked out alongside him.
He’d always loved co-ed gyms. To watch a woman exercise was almost like having an acceptable way to watch her masturbate—the heightened awareness, the straining to achieve the end goal, and the endorphins flowing through her body, making her skin flush with exertion. Yet every other woman he’d observed didn’t make him hard.
Sure a few gym encounters had led to a date, a night of exploring what made a woman scream with release, maybe even a few weeks of good sex. But no one drove him to the brink of insanity…not even Sammie.
And wasn’t that an interesting revelation. The woman he’d desired for years never made him hard in the gym. He’d always been able to work through the attraction. Turn off the thoughts and sweat it out of his system with Sammie doing the exact same exercise Faith was doing right now.
But with Faith it was different…intoxicating. Agonizing. Something to cherish and hate at the same time.
Her long narrow fingers gripped the legs of the bench. The tendons of her wrist strained with exertion. Her face, the perfect image of tension and determination. With her eyes closed, he could watch her openly. Stare at the parts of her body he wanted to explore. Fantasize about just exactly what he would do to her if only he could, if only she would let him.
When she finished her set, he watched as she relaxed. Breathing heavily, she opened her eyes and searched the room—for him. Knowing she sought the man who desired her above all others, nearly undid him. When she found him, her eyes focused on one thing…where his hand had strayed, his entire being consumed with thoughts of tying Faith to the chin up bar and worshiping every inch of her finely toned body.
Her shock turned into something much different as she bit her lower lip. Ty stepped forward, thankful for the desire in her eyes. Finally, he could extricate this woman from his every waking thought, but before he could celebrate any further, the look on her face changed. In the depths of her eyes he saw fear—the last emotion he ever wanted to see on a woman’s face when he savored her body.
Ty changed directions and headed for the locker room. A cold shower wasn’t necessary when he thought about the fear in her eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
Their workout had been excruciatingly painful. Her muscles quivered. Burned. Ached. But her body wanted more, demanding to be worked in another way.
She gazed at the woman in the mirror, not recognizing the desire in her eyes. The sparkle of anticipation of what would happen if she followed him into the locker room. The look he’d given her dared her to do just that—to accept the inevitable. To touch, test, torch the nerve endings in her body and make her burn for what he could give.
Exhausted from her attempts to drive the growing attraction into the ground, Faith closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the mirror. Then further relinquished her struggle by resting her forearm above her head—breaking her own rules about touching the glass. Worse yet, her other hand strayed to the v between her legs. The spot she longed for him to touch.
That little bit of surrender would have to be enough, she told herself. To allow herself a release, and then, in the hot shower, wash away her need to submit like it never existed. She needed to recognize how crazy it was. How crazy she was.
She didn’t believe he’d killed the woman in Mexico, but he was still a man with blood on his hands. He had no future. They had no future. Yet she wanted him. Craved him. Would die to be possessed by him…just once.
She was insane.
Her fingers found the place that throbbed for his touch. Her thong was wet, but it had nothing to do with her workout and everything to do with that look Ty had given her as his hand pressed against his dick. Faith took pleasure in the feel of her fingers through her clothing, knowing that he wanted to be doing the exact same thing. That he was probably in the shower with his long strong fingers wrapped around himself. Stroking. Squeezing. Faster. Harder. With visions of her…Faith Artino lying on her stomach on the bench with her legs spread and her sex hot and wet for him. She groaned as her finger slid effortlessly across her aching clit and she shuddered a release she wouldn’t have dreamed possible before he came into her life. But since that day, she’d touched herself on many occasions, each time an act of what would be considered premature ejaculation in a man. Satisfying on one level, but completely inept when it came to wiping away the desire he created.
Faith took several deep breaths and lifted her head, hoping to see something else in her eyes. Maybe boredom, it would be more acceptable than this…
Her lungs failed.
Ty stood behind her. His powerful chest was bare, a dusting of dark, masculine hair perfectly placed like that on one of her statues. His strong shoulders rounded, leading to biceps that took years to develop. She knew he would be the perfect model for an athletic-cut suit, giving the hint of the man underneath and making every woman want to see what lay beyond the tailor’s cut.
His abs rippled with lean muscle, then tapered down into his shorts, hanging low on his hips. On his side was that unmistakable injury. The one that scared the hell out of her, yet looked nothing like what she’d expected. A small nickel-sized red disc that dimpled and puckered angrily above his left hip, on the other side of his stomach, a faint three-inch straight line, where a surgeon had, no doubt, gone in to the repair the damage.
On most bodies it would be a distraction; on Ty it was like a tattoo that told his history. He was a survivor. A warrior you wouldn’t want to take home to your mother.
Faith yanked her hand away from her body, embarrassed she been caught in suc
h a compromising position, but he crowded her and made her heart race with his demand.
“Don’t move.”
She listened, not sure who it shocked more. Him or her. His abs pressed into her back, the contact causing an electric current to run over every inch of her body. She felt the power of his thighs on her ass, the long, hard length of him pressing into her cleft—and she knew what he could do.
Exactly what she wanted him to do—to drive into her without an ounce of holding back. To punish her for desiring him more than she should.
He was a very attractive man; wanting him would be normal for any woman. To obsess about what she wanted to give to him, knowing what she knew about him, was beyond depraved. But she didn’t care.
He grabbed her right wrist and placed it just above her head, palm flat against the mirror. Then he moved to her left and repeated the process, but this time he lingered. He traced her fingers, as if each one was an erogenous zone. And suddenly they were. His long, strong fingers caressed her pulse point, making her acknowledge what he did to her, as if she wasn’t aware of her out of control heartbeat.
His hand glided up her wrist and forearm, worshiping her muscles along the way with the lightest touch. The contact was mesmerizing, and she followed his hand as if in a trance, unable to look away. Her skin turned to goose flesh under his touch as his fingers ran across her collarbone. She thought he was going to ignore her chest, most men did. But just as he reached her right shoulder, he stopped and retraced the mark he’d left on her soul to the hollow of her throat.
She met his eyes in the mirror, wondering if she should be afraid. Terrified even. But the heat in his expression was all the confirmation she needed. The passion he felt had nothing to do with extinguishing her life, and everything to do with joining their bodies.