Exchange of Fire

by P. A. DePaul

  He gave a small laugh, though it held no warmth. “Don’t you think we’re beyond lying about it now? I know the truth when I hear it, and, toots, you were moaning it.”

  “Ass,” she muttered, and received a real chuckle.

  “True enough on occasion.”

  To trust or not to trust. She glanced at the door again. A low growl halted her step backward. “I will enjoy the game of predator and prey, believe me,” he said, his voice low and full of promise.

  Moisture rushed from her quivering core at the image he painted—him chasing after her, subduing her against the door, ripping her polo over her head . . .

  His nostrils flared. “Damn, woman,” he muttered, and sat forward.

  She needed time to think, to figure out what she could tell him. Time to turn the tables. She stuffed her breast back into her bra and unrolled her shirt, aware of his eyes on her every move. “I checked you out, you know.”

  “I’d call this more than sneaking peeks.” His dimple emerged from his boyish grin.

  She let out a disgusted sound, though inwardly she had to give him points for the quick wit. She raised an eyebrow and waited.

  His grin faded. “You had me investigated?”

  She nodded. “Before I applied, I found out everything I could about you.”

  “By that, I’m assuming you Googled me?”

  Holding up a hand, she started ticking off items on her fingers. “Former Marine.”

  He snorted. “Hardly a secret. We’ve openly talked about that.”

  “Released with an honorable discharge after serving in Operation Iraqi Freedom,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You’re highly decorated and received quite a few medals during your military service, including a Silver Star and a Navy Cross.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How did you get access to my military records?”

  She ignored the question. “Opened Gradwick Adventure Center with Kurt Nowicki, but bought your old platoon buddy out after two years when he got into financial trouble. You’re thirty-six years old. Bought your home from your parents with cash so there’s no mortgage. No wife or kids. In fact, you’ve never been married, and your longest relationship lasted a year.”

  His mouth tightened. “My pants size in your file too?”

  She smirked. “Thirty-six-inch inseam with a thirty-seven-inch waist. Though I think a certain piece of anatomy is pushing those jeans to their limit.” She raked her eyes over him suggestively. “Must be a bitch to find pants that fit just right.”

  He uncoiled from the couch slowly, straightening to his full height, and blatantly adjusted his crotch. “So it’s all been bullshit?”

  She went with her gut. “You think I’m the first person to ever pad a résumé?” She shook her head. “No. What you’re really shocked about is learning I have the resources to back it up. That was supposed to remain a secret.”

  Chapter 12

  A civil war raged between Grady’s dick and brain. The phantom sensation of holding her perfect breast still radiated along his palm. For too long he had lusted and waited to kiss her, to hold her while she writhed beneath him. His mind raged at the violation of his privacy, but his cock couldn’t seem to move past the image of chasing after her as she tried to evade him. She had to be punished for invading his personal life. His dick twitched at the primal instincts surging into his veins. If she reacted that explosively during a little bit of foreplay, God almighty, what would she be like when he thrust inside her? Could he get her to actually run so he could live out this overwhelming urge?

  He stepped forward. “So you think you’re a badass, huh?”

  Sandra lifted her chin, her eyes showing the calculations in her brain.

  “Prove it.” He took another step.

  “What?”

  “Show me what you got.”

  “We don’t have time for this.” She scanned the room and froze, her eyes narrowing.

  He whirled, following her line of sight to the object behind them. “You think you can make it to the laptop before me?” he challenged.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she darted around him and leaped onto the couch cushion and began vaulting over the back. The movement was so graceful and fluid he almost didn’t want to stop her . . . almost.

  He jumped after her, just barely missing landing on top of her crouched position. She ran forward and snatched at the exposed strap. His seabag shifted, causing the corner of the satchel to get caught in its handles. She yanked while still running toward the dining room. His seabag protested for a costly second, allowing him to reach out and grab on to her shoulder. He gripped harder just as she jerked the satchel again. The seabag’s handle dropped off, causing it to tip over, right under his feet.

  He leaped over it and managed to wrap his other hand around her arm. He spun her until she smacked her shoulder blades into the wall between the dining room and kitchen. She held the bag in front of her like a trophy, her chest heaving and her eyes alive with triumph as she stared into his. Damn she was beautiful.

  His blood sang with the primal victory of catching her. Now punish her. He crushed his mouth to hers. Deep sensations of her returning his passion coursed through him. He angled his head and pressed closer. The laptop bag dug into his chest. He tore his mouth away and ripped the satchel out of her hands.

  “I win,” she whispered, her voice husky as he dropped the bag onto the dining room table.

  “Did you?” he retorted, taking a moment to enjoy the desire radiating from her hazel eyes. “You sure?” He crowded into her space and ran a hand up her arm. Everywhere his fingertips touched, a trail of goose bumps followed. Ooh Rah. “’Cause this doesn’t feel like losing.”

  He dipped forward and reclaimed her lips. She gripped his biceps and squeezed. He flexed under her palms and she moaned. Her hands wandered down his arms and grazed against his stomach. He quivered at the sensation as his dick strained against his jeans.

  She fumbled with his belt buckle, pulling the tail of the leather through the metal, and latched on to the button. The satisfying sound of the zipper going down greeted his ears as she spread his jeans apart. His dick pushed against his briefs, demanding to be free of the constraint.

  He swiped his polo over his head and threw it behind him, then grabbed hers and yanked it up. She took over while he reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Just as she tossed her shirt and bra away, he had her jeans undone. He stepped back and they both scrambled to kick their shoes off. He enjoyed watching her wriggle her jeans down as she managed to free one leg from its constraint.

  She ran a palm down his abs and grabbed on to his cock with both hands as he stepped out of his crumpled pile of jeans and briefs. He paused his frantic movements and dropped his head back. He couldn’t help the primal moan emanating from his throat. Holy fuck does that feel good. She swept a hand down his length and cupped his tight sac, rolling the balls with her fingers while her other stroked him. His mind blissed out, forcing him to grab the wall by her head for balance.

  He slammed his mouth against hers.

  The kiss they shared was raw. He held nothing back and reveled in the release of his pent-up longing. For every nip and thrust of his tongue she gave back twofold. His hand left the wall near her ear and tore at the foil package he’d managed to hang on to when he shucked his jeans. She took the condom from his hand and fit it over him. The instant she stopped rolling the rubber down, he grabbed her hips. She lifted her right leg and circled his waist. He reached between her legs and slammed two fingers inside.

  She cried out.

  She was so wet and ready to go.

  He had no ability to show any more finesse than that. He withdrew and plunged his cock home. She was so tight and hot against him as he stretched and filled her.

  “Fuck, yes! Grady,” she screamed, her muscles spasming around him. He groaned and pulled out, then thrust back in.

  “Oh, God. Don’t stop,” she demanded.

  He picked up her oth
er leg and swiped her jeans off her ankle, pushing her spine into the wall as he grasped her hips. She hooked her ankles together and grabbed his shoulders. He then obliged her demands and began pumping into her at an urgent pace. Tension coiled in him and he captured her gaze, her eyes a blaze of passion as he rammed home. Then, straight out of a fantasy, she loosened one hand and reached between them, using her fingers to rub her clit. He clenched his grip as he watched her pleasure herself.

  His pace increased. “So fucking hot,” he whispered. She stared into his eyes and flicked her sensitive nub. He felt her orgasm rip through her as she screamed his name again and her muscles tried to milk him dry.

  He pumped into her two more times, then cried out. His vision dimmed as he came in deep, ecstatic spasms. He dropped his forehead on her shoulder and tried to catch his breath, satisfaction pouring through him at the sound of her heaving chest. He was in so much trouble. Instead of punishing her, she’d slayed him. Once was definitely not going to be enough . . . and to make matters worse, his heart had fallen a little bit more in love with her. Damn. She held in her emotions so tightly, he had no clue how she really felt about him, but his gut told him she was going to seriously hurt him before this was over.

  She unhooked her legs and he withdrew while helping her find her balance.

  “Thanks for the release,” she said. “I really needed that.”

  He snorted. “You and me both.”

  “Now I need a shower.”

  Pushing the ominous feeling aside, he instantly said, “I can get on board with that idea.”

  She shook her head and pressed against his chest. “No way. I really need to use the computer. You’ll just complicate a quick use of the soap.”

  Visions of running his hands over her skin while the water beat against them filled his mind. His dick jerked, waking back up.

  “See what I mean?” she asked, staring pointedly at his cock. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  He allowed her to maneuver around him and leaned a shoulder against the wall. Such a nice sight to see, watching her hunt down and pick her clothes up from their discarded spots. Damn, each time she bent over, his dick hardened more as he envisioned grabbing her waist and taking her from behind.

  She bent again and grabbed a pair of blue panties. If she didn’t hurry the fuck up, he was going to lose the little bit of control he had.

  As if she heard him, she scurried out of the room and down the hall.

  Grady quickly gathered his items and dropped them on the kitchen counter, then grabbed a paper towel. He discarded the condom and used the dishwashing soap to clean himself off.

  This night was nothing but one clusterfuck after the next, culminating in that tense trip up here. He could have cut the thick air with a knife. An image of her “custom jobby” flashed in his brain. What the hell was he supposed to do with her revelations? They didn’t make sense. Who the hell was Talon really? The fact that she hadn’t denied his guess about the CIA made him uneasy. Was that how she got access to his file?

  He picked up his shirt and wrinkled his nose at the sweaty aroma wafting from the polo. Definitely not putting that back on. He glanced at the clock: 1:46 a.m. Would this day never end?

  He eyeballed the plastic bottle with a dancing lemon on it and shrugged. Soap was soap. Pulling more paper towels off the rack, he ran them under hot water and squeezed the yellow dish liquid into the middle. In the military sometimes he had been forced to use baby wipes as the only means to get clean. Compared to that, this was a spa.

  He could have used the master bedroom’s shower, but his gut wouldn’t let him leave. The front and back doors were located out here as well as the laptop. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her not to hurt him—his mind offered up the reminder of her laying him flat. He grimaced. He didn’t trust her not to take off and leave him with a ton of unanswered questions.

  He threw the wet towels into the trash and grabbed a hand towel hanging from the oven handle. The cloth was ridiculously small to dry him off, but it would have to do. He added it to the pile of clothes and tossed them onto the laundry room floor located just off the kitchen. He then grabbed his seabag and rooted inside until he found a T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.

  The sound of pounding water shut off—Sandra had finished her shower.

  The temperature in the mountains would remain pleasant enough they wouldn’t need to put on the air-conditioning for the night. A cool breeze wafted over him after he opened the front windows, catching a few of the places he couldn’t dry from the towel. Ahhh, refreshing, and it helped rejuvenate his waning energy. He moved to the dining room and slid the glass door back for cross ventilation.

  Chapter 13

  “Shit,” Sandra muttered, tossing the used towel onto the bathroom counter. She had no clothes to change into. Damn, her brain was seriously muddled. How could she overlook as basic a detail as clean underwear and a shirt? She shot her mirror image a disgusted look.

  Muddled? Understatement of epic proportions. Try shocked. She had actually thrown her common sense on the floor with her panties and given in to her desire. She’d actually had mind-blowing sex with Grady—not the fantasy version that normally fueled her dreams either. The heat in her system rose a notch at the phantom sensation of the cosmic orgasm that had ripped through her . . . twice. Hot damn, she wanted to run out there and do it again. Idiot. She wasn’t supposed to allow her heart to win every tactical battle. The organ thumped against her rib cage as if to flip off her brain. If she didn’t watch herself, she was going to wake up one morning completely in love with that man . . . if she wasn’t already. Shit.

  She needed clothes. Wearing a towel did not exactly inspire confidence, and she had a feeling she was going to need every ounce of strength when she walked out that door. Grady was not going to let this drop, especially not after she had admitted more than she should have. She bet that little bit of information she’d let slip completely whet his appetite.

  The silver three-headed dragon spiraling on the pendant shimmered in the fluorescent light. A pang stole through her heart. At times like these she really missed her team. She snorted. Who was she kidding? Every minute of every day, she longed to see them again. But it was safer for them if she stayed dead. Victor getting confirmation that she was still alive would put a target on their backs and Rogue statuses in their files, opening them up to every assassin in SBG’s employ. Urban myths always started with some kernel of truth, and it was a fact that no one had retired alive since Victor took over.

  The unmistakable sound of a sliding door met her ears. What was she going to do about Grady? How much did she tell him? Her stomach clenched. Pretty much every damn day of her former life was classified. Cappy would know what to do.

  “Well, he’s not here,” she told her image. “So suck it up and brazen it out.”

  She grabbed a fresh oversize black towel off the bar and wrapped it around her body, tucking the corner in to stay in place. She opened the door to a light breeze caressing her skin as she cleared the hall and ventured into the dining room.

  Grady stood with his hip leaning against the table and his arms crossed as he watched her advance. The bum had on a fresh T-shirt and shorts. His eyes flashed and raked her up and down, lingering on her chest.

  “I need to borrow some clothes,” she stated, coming to a stop in front of him. “Maybe a T-shirt and a pair of boxers?”

  “I don’t wear boxers,” his deep Southern voice rumbled.

  Her eyes shot to his shorts and watched as his cock jerked behind the fabric. He shifted his hips, and she couldn’t help the sudden memory of wrapping her hands around his long length.

  “Oh,” her genius mind had her mouth say. She cleared her throat. “Shorts, then?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She waited for him to move, but he stayed put. Her eyes wandered past him to the olive duffle resting on one of the dining room chairs. “Okay. You want me to just dig through the bag and grab something?”


  “I can do it, but it’ll cost you.”

  “What’ll cost me? You looking or me borrowing your clothes?”

  “Both.”

  She straightened at his tone—it wasn’t exactly cocky, but it wasn’t purring “Hello, lover” either. “And what’s the going rate?”

  “Information. You want to wear my clothes, I want answers. Even trade.”

  So it begins. She popped her hip. “Let me get this straight. You want me to stand here in a towel while you grill me?”

  “Yes. When you’ve answered the question, you get to pick which item you want.”

  “Seriously? Who decides when the answer is deemed acceptable?”

  “I do.”

  “Hardly seems fair, now does it?”

  He shrugged. “I’m fine with it.”

  “What if I can’t answer something?”

  “Got a lot of secrets, huh? Then I guess we’ll be at an impasse and no one wins. Think of it as strip poker in reverse. This time you get to put clothes on instead of off.”

  She pivoted and scanned the house’s layout. Her eyes zeroed in on the small room just off the kitchen. Bingo. She turned back to him and said, “No thanks, then.”

  He straightened, surprise filling his face and his brows furrowing as she walked out of the room. It only took her a moment to gather her items from the bathroom counter and come back out. He still stood in the same spot, but now with his hands on his hips and humor in his eyes.

  She lifted her chin as she walked past.

  “You’d rather stay in a towel than answer some questions?” he asked to her retreating back.

  “No,” she called, using her foot to widen the opening to the laundry room. “I’d rather stay in a towel than be bullied.”

  She dropped her things onto the small counter beside the washing machine and looked the dials over. Didn’t seem complicated. Footsteps pounded against the hardwood floor, but she ignored them in her search for the detergent. Glancing up, she spied two hefty, warehouse-size containers of soap and softener on a rack above her head. Crap. The washing machine might not be complicated, but getting those down might be.