by J. R. Ward
“I don’t know. Before he lay down, he told me that as long as we can make it until tomorrow night, we’re in business. He’s pulled multiple contacts from the CIA, NSA, and the presidential cabinet, and we’re meeting right here so that I don’t have to move. The missing piece is Jim Heron—we’re still waiting for him to get back—although if we have to, we’ll go forward without him.”
“Have you gotten a . . . response? You know, from them.”
“No.”
Fear tickled across her ribs and hit her heart like a battery charge. “Can you last until tomorrow night.”
“If that’s the way it has to be, yes.”
He seemed so sure, and she needed to believe in that confidence: It would be a tragedy beyond measure for him to be cut down now, when he was so close to the freedom he sought.
Strange, that someone she had met only days before suddenly seemed so important to her.
“I’m proud of you,” she said, running her finger down his photograph.
“That means a lot to me.” Pause. “And thank you for showing me the way. I never would have been able to do this without you.”
“Without my father, you mean,” she countered softly. “He has the contacts.”
“No. You’re the one.”
She frowned, thinking that was a funny way of phrasing it. “I want you to answer something for me.”
“Name it.”
Her eyes flipped up to his. “What are your chances. Realistically.”
“Of getting out of this alive?”
“Yes.” When he just shook his head, she frowned at him. “Remember, we’re so done with the whole ‘shelter the little woman’ routine.”
“Fifty-fifty.”
Well, didn’t that give her a knot in her throat. “That bad, huh.”
“Do you want something to eat along with the coffee? I’m no chef, but I saw some leftovers in the fridge and I can work a microwave.” When she begged off, he tacked on, “You have to eat.”
“I’d rather have sex with you,” she blurted.
Isaac coughed. Actually coughed, like someone had punched him in the solar plexus.
“Sorry if that’s too blunt.” She shrugged. “But social graces are waaaaay down my list of things to worry about right now. And I have a feeling I’m not going to see you after tomorrow night, either because you’re swept up into federal custody or because . . .” She took a deep breath. “I want a proper piece of you before you go. Something to remember you with that’s in my skin, not just my brain. Upstairs was so fast and furious . . . I want to pay attention and remember.”
He was silent for a long time. “I’d think you’d want to forget as much of this as you can.”
“Not you . . . I don’t want to forget you.” The corner of her mouth lifted a little. “Although I don’t think I could.”
When he stayed where he was, she pushed her chair back and stood up. The distance between them took three strides to cross, and as she came at him, he straightened; then he tugged his sweatshirt down like he was tidying himself up.
Grier rose onto her tiptoes and touched his face, putting her palms on his five o’clock shadow. “I’m never going to forget you.”
As he licked his lips, like he was hungry for exactly what she was after, she took his hand and drew him deeper into the wine cellar, pulling him fully inside, shutting them in together.
Unlike the first time, when she’d been all wound up and seeking only more of the cyclone, this was about him, the man, not her own internal buzzing.
This was all about him.
As she leaned in to kiss him, he put his big hands on her thin wrists and held her off gently. “This didn’t help upstairs.”
“Yes. It did. You just didn’t believe me.”
“Grier . . .” Her name was a combination of confusion and desperation: why spelled with five new letters instead of the usual three.
“I don’t want to talk anymore,” she murmured, fixated on his mouth.
“You sure?”
When she nodded, he bent down and pressed his lips against hers, drawing her into him. He was fully aroused, more than ready for her, and yet he moved her back.
Before she could protest, she heard the click of the lock sliding into place and then those warm hands slipped under her shirt and slid around her rib cage, going to the small of her back. As she felt a gentle, lifting pressure, her feet came up off the floor and she was carried over to the table.
Pushing the dossiers to the side, Isaac laid her out flat, his palms moving to her breasts as he bent over her and kept their mouths fused. Her yoga pants were off her legs a moment later, but instead of tossing them, he put them over the chair she’d been in. Smart. No telling whether she was going to have to get dressed fast in the middle.
A subtle pull and her hips were right at the edge of the table . . . and then he broke their kiss and sank down onto his knees.
If she’d thought she’d seen his eyes burn before, it was nothing compared to what they were doing now. Frost had never been so hot.
As she got an idea where he was headed, she sat up. “But I want this to be for both of us—”
“You said you wanted to remember something.” His palms slid up to the tops of her thighs and squeezed. “So lie back and let me do my thing.”
That tongue of his made a reappearance—and didn’t that make her get on board with the plan.
“G’on now,” he murmured with that Southern drawl. “Lie on back and let me take care of you. I promise to go slow . . . real slow.”
His hands drifted down to her knees and spread her legs . . . and she gave herself up to him. Following his instructions to the letter, she felt the hard table against her shoulder blades and the cool air on her thighs and a wild heat in her blood.
As he stared at her from beneath his brows, he looked as if he were going to consume her.
And she was ready to be his meal.
Ducking his head, he went right where she needed him, putting his mouth on her sex through the thin silk panties she wore. A rush of delicious heat bloomed and her hand snapped out, grabbing the pants, dragging them over, putting them in her mouth to keep herself from calling out.
If it felt this good already, she was going to get noisy: Yes, the door to the cellar was heavy and her father was supposedly asleep, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
Isaac groaned against her as he nuzzled at her through the silk, and then he ran his tongue up the fragile strip that covered her. On a curse, she arched hard, her nails scratching the wood beneath her as his hands dug into her thighs and her teeth bit into the cotton. And then there was nothing separating them. One moment his mouth was on the silk; the next, she felt a yank on her hips and heard a tearing sound as the panties gave way—
Oh, God . . . his wet tongue slipped into the heart of her and dragged upward, parting her, sliding slick against slick.
He did go slow.
As his big palms locked on her hips and held her down, he took his sweet time, kissing her and sucking at her, that tongue of his working its magic, only to be replaced with the hot, locking suction of his lips. All the while, he stared up at her, watching her breasts surge as she writhed under his mouth.
Abruptly, as if he needed to touch what he was seeing, his hands went under her shirt again and honed in on what he seemed captivated with. Unleashing the front clasp of her bra, he took possession of her on both sides, his thumbs rubbing at her nipples.
Her breath pumped in and out of her open mouth, and just as she was about to orgasm, Isaac inched back and licked his glossy lips.
“Come for me,” he said. “I want to feel it.”
And then he was against her once more, his tongue penetrating her—which was all it took. Her release rocked her, rolling out from her sex and taking over every inch of her body. As the swirl of sparks consumed her, she was dimly aware of him groaning, as if he felt her clenching pleasure firsthand.
He didn’t stop there.
Swirling, lapping, sucking . . . he kept going, spreading her legs even wider, holding her in place as he marked her memory as sure as he marked her sex. She would never forget this—
One of his long fingers, or maybe two, eased inside, and the pressure and stretching sent her right over the edge again. As another orgasm fired off, her hands locked on his forearms, her nails sinking into his flesh as her spine torqued and that blast of pleasure flooded her from the inside out.
And still he didn’t stop.
He was hot and he was wild and he was relentless.
He was the lover she would never, ever forget.
Much less get over, she feared.
Oh, sweet Jesus . . .
Isaac looked up from between Grier’s legs and nearly climaxed just at the sight of her. She was all woman undone, the remnants of her white panties around her hips, her black shirt around her throat, her bra halves lying to the sides. Her breasts were tight at the pink tips and her face flushed and her belly moving on a rhythm of surges and relentings as she worked herself against him.
Those pants in her mouth were one of the sexiest parts of it.
And the taste of her was even hotter than that.
Isaac could have stayed where he was for hours, but with each passing moment he ran the risk of an interruption and he wanted to finish this properly.
Rising up and looming above her, he bent her knees to her chest, his cock twitching on the edge of orgasm at the sight of the glistening heart of her all swollen and open for him. There was no ditching his pants—he pushed them down just enough to spring his erection . . . which wept at the tip as he thought of where he was going. Sweeping his hand over his wet mouth, he brought his palm to the head of his shaft, slicking himself up even more before he curled the end of his spine and brought them together.
Pushing in, he watched as he made the connection, seeing her part to accommodate his girth, hearing her moan as he went deeper and staked his claim.
“Oh, f—” The gentleman in him swallowed the curse. The caveman in him had to keep talking. “Look at you. . . . I want to leave something behind . . . in you.”
His eyes shot to hers as he began to move, pulling in and out, in and out . . . and then he went back to looking at where they were joined, the gloss on him making his balls tight. Bending down to her breasts, he sucked a nipple into his mouth and worked it with his tongue . . . until the rhythm below made keeping that lock on her impossible: He’d meant what he’d said about going slowly, but the good intention didn’t last. The sex had a momentum of its own, and it wasn’t long at all before the table groaned under the force of his thrusts and he had to grip her waist to hold her where he wanted her.
As she went rigid under him, Isaac came hard as well, clamping down on his molars to keep from making noise, his lids squeezing shut even though he’d wanted to watch her face as what he was doing to her took her to another release.
With his body jerking into hers and him filling her up . . . he was as satiated as a man in the desert who’d had a sip of water.
He wasn’t nearly finished with her. She wanted memories? Roger that.
Keeping them joined, he tugged the pants out of her mouth, scooped her up, and brought her lips to his, kissing her deeply as he easily carried her weight off the table. Positioning her against the smooth door, he gripped the back of her legs and started moving once again. With her hands tangled in his hair, and the blazing heat and urgent energy taking over again, the kiss couldn’t last—and he didn’t last much longer than the seal of their lips did. He came hard into her, collapsing against her as her own orgasm milked at him.
Recovery was a luxury he didn’t allow himself much of, because he was well aware of his weight against her and the fact that her back was pressing into something hard and also that her father was in the house and . . .
So many damn ands with them.
Isaac slowly eased her down until her feet were on the ground, and as he slipped out of her, he didn’t like the cold air on his cock. Her sex was much better . . . far, far better.
As he kissed her, the way her lips moved over his told him that in a different world, in different circumstances . . . this definitely would have been a beginning for them—in spite of all that should have kept them apart like family and money and education.
But that was not their reality, was it.
“Let me get you something to clean up with,” he said quietly as he tugged his pants back into place.
After he kissed her again, he ducked out the door, and as he shut her up inside, he paused and bowed his head.
He’d lied to her.
His chances were nowhere close to fifty-fifty: Matthias was absolutely, positively going to get him. The question was just how much talking he could do into the right ears before his old boss came out of the shadows and claimed him. One thing had always been true about the head of XOps: Matthias never gave up. Ever. And even if his world was crumbling around him, he would still take his vengeance. Somehow, someway.
That wasn’t going to stop Isaac from taking a shot at spilling the beans, however.
Much better to die having tried to do the right thing . . . and leave his woman thinking something less than bad of him.
Much better.
CHAPTER 35
As the morning sun roused from its cloudy slumber and a halo of rays poured over Caldwell, New York, two young boys, ages twelve and nine, were hoofing it to school.
And neither one of them was impressed by all the “spring splendor.”
Whatever that was.
Their mom kept going on and on about spring splendor, spring splendor . . . bleh. What Joey Mason cared about was gym: Mondays he usually had gym, but today they were having a special assembly. So no matter how “spring splendor” it was outside, he was still on his way to a day of school with nothing to look forward to.
His little brother, Tony, on the other hand, liked assemblies more than gym, so he was psyched. But he was a geek who slept with books, so what did he know about anything.
The walk from home to school was about eight blocks long and nothing big . . . just down St. Francis Street by the church and some other stuff. They were supposed to stay on the right side, because there was a gas station on the left that had lots of traffic in and out of its driveway. And they were supposed to stop at every corner curb. Which Joey did—usually while grabbing Tony’s collar to keep him from walking right into a car.
Tony always walked with a book open. Just like he ate reading and went to the bathroom reading and got dressed reading.
Stupid. Just stupid, because you missed so much if you weren’t looking around.
Like this cool car they were coming up on. The windows were black and the body was black and it had a number for a license plate: 010. That was it; no letters. Joey glanced over at his little brother, and sure enough Tony hadn’t noticed.
His loss.
The thing looked like one of those police-type jobbies.
As they came up to it, he nabbed his brother’s collar and yanked him up short. Tony didn’t question the stop—just turned another page. He probably thought they were at a curb.
Joey leaned in a little and tried to see inside, all the while braced for something in a uniform to get out and yell at them for being nosy. When he saw nothing and nothing happened, he cupped his hands and put them against the cold glass—
He jumped back. “I think there’s someone in there.”
“Is not,” Tony said without lifting his head.
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
“Is too. And how would you know?”
“Is not.”
Okay, Tony didn’t know what he was talking about and this argument could go on forever. And then he and his little brother would be late for homeroom and he’d get grounded. Again.
But . . .
How coooooooooool if they found a dead body—right in front of the McCready Funeral Home!
Dropping his book bag,
Joey moved his brother away from the car by picking him up and relocating his feet. “This is dangerous. I don’t want you hurt.”
That finally got Tony’s eyes out of the book. “Is there really somebody inside?”
“You stay back.”
It was the kind of thing his father would have said, and Joey felt all big-man about it—especially as Tony nodded and held his book to his chest. But this was how it was supposed to be. Joey was gonna be thirteen soon, and he was in charge when there was no one else around. And sometimes even when there were other folks in sight.
Recupping his hands, he resumed his position against the glass, and retried to see past the darkened—“It’s a pirate!”
“You’re lyin’.”
“No, I’m not—”
A car slowed to a halt in front of them and a lady put down her window—it was Mrs. Alonzo from across the street. “What are you up to now, boys?”
Like all they did was get up to stuff.
Part of Joey wanted her to keep going and let him run this situation. But the other part wanted to show off. “There’s a dead guy in here.”
He felt very important as she got all white and nervy-lookin’. Man, if he’d known all this was going to happen, he would have been in more of a hurry leaving the house. This was way better than gym.
Except then Tony had to jump in. “It’s a pirate!”
Abruptly, Mrs. Alonzo didn’t look so grown-up scared. “A pirate.”
His brother was such a pain—and Joey was not about to lose his audience. Pirates were a kid thing. Dead guy in a car? That was all grown-up, and that was where he wanted to be.
“See for yourself,” he said.
Mrs. Alonzo pulled her Lexus in front of the black-on-black car and got out, her high heels making pony-clopping sounds on the road. “Okay, enough, boys. Get in and I’ll drive you the rest of the way to school. You’re going to be late.” She held out her phone to Joey. “Call your mother and tell her I’m taking you in. Again.”
This did happen a lot. Mrs. Alonzo was a business lady whose office was not far from school, and they were late a lot and she did drive them a lot. But this morning was different.