by Unknown
And what had he given her in return? Great sex. Zero companionship. One minute of conversation and a brutal recap of all the reasons why she should doubt herself and abandon her brother.
Man, was he a prince or what?
He scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to wrestle things back into perspective. It wasn’t as if he’d deliberately set out to be the world’s biggest bastard, he reminded himself. Last night, at least when he’d first yanked her into bed, it had been with a vague but genuine desire to save her from potential harm.
He sure as hell hadn’t planned what had happened next. But then, there’d been no way he could have foreseen such a simple contact sparking a blaze that would consume them both. And in his own defense, in what had probably been the only time in his life he’d actually deserved a medal, when it had seemed that she wanted him to stop, he had.
She’d been the one who’d thrown gasoline on the fire and caution to the wind.
She’d also made the first move this morning. It had been her mouth branding a trail up his chest, her lips nuzzling his throat, her soft little body lighting him up as she snuggled close. And yeah, presented with such an unmistakable invitation, he’d kissed her back and been fully prepared to do even more, but really—who could blame him?
He was a man, not some pious saint, and he’d spent half the night with her all over him like jam slathered on toast. Yet for the second time in less than a dozen hours, when she’d called a halt, he’d stopped.
If he had it to do over again, knowing what he did now, he’d be damn tempted to just kiss her senseless, bury himself as deep as he could get in her sweet, squeezing heat, and skip the whole incredible, mystifying, logic-defying conversation that had followed.
Because, sweet holy mother of God, just how the hell was he supposed to respond to a woman who, instead of taking a strip off him for taking advantage of her and then doing everything she could to keep him at arm’s length, seemed dead set on looking out for him?
Well, here’s an idea: Ignore her most of a day, then get right in her face and demand she admit her brother’s a stone-cold murderer.
Okay, so maybe that hadn’t been the best way to go. Although, according to every shred of evidence he’d seen, it was a slam dunk that Seth Bowen had killed his friend Jimmy Dunn.
Only Genevieve didn’t think so. But then, that was hardly a surprise. If she’d give him, someone she’d known for a mere handful of days, the benefit of the doubt, then it was to be expected that she’d fight with her last breath for her brother. God knew, he’d do the same for any of his.
And yet…Would he give up his home, his livelihood, his reputation, his freedom, based on nothing more than blind devotion?
He didn’t think so.
And from what he knew of Genevieve—smart, resourceful, overly responsible Genevieve, who had a moral code strong enough to dictate she stay and care for a wounded enemy rather than exploit another’s misfortune and make tracks while she could—neither would she.
And that meant…what, exactly? He blew out a breath. Damned if he knew. Which, he supposed, went a long way toward explaining why he felt all tied up inside.
The swishing sound of nylon rubbing against itself whispered through the darkness. Gratefully, he pounced on the distraction, drawing back deeper into the shadows as one of the couch springs gave a groan and Genevieve unexpectedly sat up.
Smothering a yawn, she stood. After a quick glance in his direction, she crossed to the hearth, added a piece of wood to the fire, shut the glass doors and straightened.
Turning, she looked briefly toward the ladder leading to the loft, then glanced his way again. Appearing to reach a decision, she scrubbed her hands up her arms as she tiptoed across the room, past the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
Well, hell. Now what?
Even as asked the question, he knew. Just as he knew that for once in his life he wasn’t going to think it to death, weigh every last pro and con, try to calculate everything that could go wrong.
She had, after all, left a light on for him.
He was on his feet and waiting for her, his decision made, his resolve firmly in place, when she opened the door.
“Oh!” With a stutter of surprise, she took a half step back and clapped a hand to her heart. “God, John, you scared me. What are you doing up?” She sidled to her left, clearly intending to brush past him.
He mirrored her movement, blocking her path. “Get in the bed, Genevieve.”
She jerked to a stop, her gaze flying to his face. “What?”
“You can be as mad at me as you want, but that’s no reason to be stupid. It’s cold and we’ve got a limited amount of firewood. It makes sense to share our body heat.”
“Sense?” She took another sideways step. “I don’t think—”
“Good.” Again, he planted himself in her path. “Go with that.”
Her head tipped back and her eyes narrowed. “Get out of my way.”
“No.”
She conferred a long, searching look on him, her gaze for once impossible to read.
He gave a faint sigh. “I’m not going to jump you, if that’s what’s worrying you.”
At that, she lowered her head, ensuring he had no chance of getting so much as a glimpse of her expression. “I never gave it a thought,” she said coolly.
His kitten had claws. Not sure whether to be annoyed or amused, he reached out, cupped her shoulder, nudged her toward the bed. “Go on then. Get in.”
Her chin came up stubbornly, but the effect was ruined as she shivered, this time more violently than before. “Oh, all right. If you insist.”
Shrugging away his hand, she stepped over the trailing chain, walked the few paces to the bed, ignoring him as he backed out of her way, continuing to bar her escape. She tossed back the covers, slid between the sheets and turned away, her face to the wall.
His mission accomplished, he peeled off his jeans and crawled in beside her. For half a second, he considered honoring the not-so-subtle request implicit in her ironing-board posture that he leave her the hell alone.
But nobody had ever accused him of being a sensitive, New Age kind of guy. With a ruthless directness that felt good after too many hours spent foundering in the quicksand of his emotions, he slung his arm around her and crowded close.
Her bare legs and the exposed curves of her butt were icy cold. Rather than recoil, he threw his leg over hers, sharing what warmth he could.
He did hesitate, however, if only for an instant, before he smoothed the thick, soft ends of her hair away from her nape, bent his head and settled his mouth there.
After all, the issue of where he’d be spending eternity was a done deal. And the part of him pressing against the curve of her firm little bottom was already as hard as an iron rod. But what decided the issue was the taste of her on his tongue, like sunlight and sweetness and the promise of summer to a man who’d lived with his soul’s winter bleakness far too long.
Still, he had every intention of going slowly, of testing the waters, of backing off at the first sign of resistance.
But even before he began the slow slide of his parted lips toward her ear, she was twisting around, anchoring her fingers in his hair, deciding their fate with the soft cry of his name.
“John. Oh, yes.” She pressed even closer at the same time as she arched her neck to provide him even greater access. “Yes.”
Not gasoline on the fire this time, he thought, as desire scorched him. Rocket fuel.
Her back bowed as she strained toward him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slip his fingers beneath the layers of shirts she had on, slide his hand up the satin tautness of her stomach, over the sturdy bump of her ribs and under the band of her bra.
Both of them groaned as he rubbed his palm over the exquisite softness of her stiff little nipple.
Then they groaned again as she reached for him, skimming her hand under his waistband to close around his turgid length.
“Easy,” he choked out. “We’ve got the whole night—”
“No.” She measured him with a stroke of her palm that had him clenching his teeth. “Now. Now, now, now.”
Not rocket fuel, either. Nitroglycerine, explosive and volatile.
Breathing hard, arms and hands colliding, they hurried to strip away each other’s clothing. He was easy; his briefs took a single slide and jerk. Genevieve’s panties and various tops took longer, and he swore under his breath as he rapped himself in the elbow with the chain as he grappled with the clasp of her bra. Finally winning the battle, he tossed the flimsy undergarment away.
Before the strip of nylon and lace could hit the floor, she was straddling him, her silky thighs gripping his hips, her fingers digging into his straining biceps, her teeth grazing his throat. “Hurry, John. Hurry up.”
Her urgency filled some deep, profound hunger he hadn’t known he possessed. He wanted her, only her, in a way he’d never wanted anything or anyone else.
He felt her hands tremble as she cupped his face and then her lips were on his. The kick from that simple contact reverberated in every nerve and fiber of his being as her sweetness filled him, washed him clean, sustained him.
He slicked his hands the length of her back, down the satiny skin that covered the delicate curves of rib and spine, the bend of her waist, the swell of her hips.
She quivered beneath his touch. She rocked her pelvis with more instinct than finesse, rubbing herself against him, and the suggestion of what was to come made his vision dim. Bringing his hand around, he gently slicked the pad of his thumb along the valley of her sex.
She was wet, ready for him, and he—who’d always prided himself on his restraint—had none.
He needed this joining, needed her display of trust, needed her.
Needed. And took.
With a flex of his hips he positioned himself and thrust, sliding deep inside her.
He felt her clench around him, and wasn’t sure which of them was more shocked as the first wave of pleasure ripped through her. Unprepared for her hair-trigger response, he still managed to catch her startled cry with his mouth.
Cupping the warm swell of her breasts in his palms, he squeezed her distended nipples with slowly increasing pressure and fought the urge to ravish her. Instead, although the effort had sweat beading across his nose, he forced himself to keep still, to let her ride the crest, ride him. Hearing her call his name, feeling her drive herself over the edge, holding her as she took the long, shattering fall to completion, he couldn’t imagine how she’d ever thought herself passionless.
It seemed an eternity before she finally lay spent, her shuddering breath fanning his throat, her fingers slack on his shoulders.
“Genevieve.” His voice was thick.
“Hmm?”
He pressed a kiss to her temple, smoothed a shaking hand over her hair. “Can you sit up?”
She didn’t reply for a second, then slowly raised her head. “What?”
“I want to see you.” Catching her by the shoulders, he pushed her upright, swallowing hard as he got his first good look at her face.
Her lips were passion-swollen, her cheeks flushed, her hair tousled. But it was her eyes, heavy-lidded, opaque with pleasure and dark with wonder as she gazed down at him, that set the muscle ticking in his jaw.
He wasn’t some callow kid. And though he didn’t claim to understand it, there was a certain kind of woman who’d always seemed to find his very indifference a challenge, so he’d never lacked for sexual partners.
As he’d admitted to himself earlier, lust he understood. But this…He’d never looked at a woman and felt this kind of gut-twisting tenderness, much less this confounding compulsion to brand her as his own.
He felt his heart pounding, even before she reached down and touched her fingers to his mouth. “It’s all right, John. It’s all right.”
He told himself there was no way she could know what he was feeling. Told himself, but didn’t believe it. There was a connection between them, a bond, and for this moment in time, he was done fighting it. “Take me. Take all of me.”
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
Gripping her waist, he lifted her up until they teetered on the edge of separation, then brought her sliding down, his breath hissing out at the squeezing tightness.
Yet as good as it was, it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed everything.
In a single, powerful movement he caught her to him and reversed their positions, keeping himself buried deep inside her even as he shoved the excess chain out of their way. Bringing his mouth down on hers, he kissed her with barely contained violence as he began to move.
He couldn’t get close enough. Deep enough. Muscles straining, he drove forward and felt something inside him give way as she didn’t simply welcome him, but rose up, met him stroke for stroke, and begged for more.
He lost it then, going wild, slamming against her, again and again, feeling as if the top of his head was going to blow off when the velvet glove of her body tightened and quivered once more, and she mindlessly cried his name.
The sound shivered through him, triggering a colossal landslide of his senses. His body exploded in a climax that blew him apart, turned him inside out.
Yet even as his strength deserted him and he collapsed into her cradling arms, some part of him recognized that what had just passed between them wasn’t merely sex, but a mating.
Because somehow she seemed to have freed a portion of the heart that he’d walled off long ago.
Eight
G enevieve lay cradled in the curve of Taggart’s arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
Despite the intensity of their lovemaking, she could feel the tension still thrumming through him. She wondered at its cause, but at the same time she understood him well enough to realize he was accustomed to relying on himself, on working through matters in his own time and way, and that it wouldn’t be wise to push.
Besides, if he was feeling even half as unsettled as she was, his restlessness was understandable. Because something was happening between them, she thought, as she slowly stroked her fingers over the warm taut skin above his hip. Something beyond the powerful physical attraction that had them firmly in its hot-fingered grip.
And it was happening fast—too fast for comfort or easy answers. In the space of mere days they’d gone from being total strangers to sharing a connection that was as strong and elemental as the storm that had stranded them together. It was daunting and more than a little frightening, yet Genevieve could no more deny it than she could reverse the weather.
She could do something about the oppressive silence that lay over them like a smothering weight, however. “John?”
“Hmm?”
“How come you didn’t tell me your last name was Steele the day we met?”
He tensed a fraction, but then to her gratification the muscle beneath her cheek noticeably relaxed. “No reason to mention it.”
“Oh. So what are you saying? That you only share your name on a need-to-know basis?”
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
“Good grief.” She raised her head to stare at him. “What exactly is Steele Security? Some sort of secret society?”
Her faintly alarmed question pried a brief, rusty laugh out of him. “Not even close.”
She waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, she had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. He could give a clam lessons in being closemouthed. “Explain.”
His shoulders hitched. “Not much to it. It’s a family business now, a partnership with my brothers, that started when Gabe—he’s the oldest—left the service. He took what he’d learned in SOCom—”
“SOCom?” She settled back against him.
“Special Operations Command. It’s the part of the military that has to do with the special forces units, like Delta, SEALs, Green Berets. Gabe decided he’d take a shot at offering some specialized services to the private sector that regular law enfo
rcement can’t.”
When he fell silent again, she gave his hard stomach a gentle poke. “Why not?”
“A variety of reasons. A lack of time, money, manpower. Jurisdictional restrictions. Turns out he hit a real nerve, and the work just poured in.”
“But what do you do?”
“Risk assessment, security evaluations, providing short-term protection for personnel and structures, that sort of thing. Mostly it’s pretty tame.”
“And when it isn’t?”
“It depends, but the riskier stuff tends to be case-specific—hostage recovery, protecting a high-value target, going after someone who’s determined not to be found.”
“Like me.”
“I wouldn’t exactly classify you as high risk, Genevieve.” He couldn’t quite keep a trace of amusement from creeping into his voice. “Frustrating, yeah, and definitely annoying. But not dangerous.”
“Gee, thanks.” Despite her tart reply, she wasn’t able to contain a slight smile of her own as they lapsed into silence, listening to the wind as it darted in to rattle the windows before streaking away. She liked his rare flashes of understated humor, even when they were directed at her. “Just how long have you been chasing me?”
“A while.”
This time she did roll her eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “Define a while.”
He answered with obvious reluctance. “A few months.”
“A few months?” It wasn’t admirable, but she felt a certain satisfaction that she’d managed to elude him for so long without even knowing he was on her trail, and it showed in her voice.
“Yeah.” He made an unmistakable sound of disgust. “You care to explain where you learned how to disappear like that?”
“Oh, come on, that’s a no-brainer.”
“Indulge me. Lately my brain seems to be lodged somewhere other than my head. At least the one above my shoulders.”
“I own a bookstore. Hence, I learned from a book. You can learn anything if you know where to look.”