by Mara Jacobs
“I’m getting tired of people telling me your personal life is none of my business.”
She stared at him, not sure she’d heard him correctly. He stared back.
“Where we can talk without interruption?” He bit out the question.
She took a deep breath and turned swiftly. Conscious of his silent presence at her back, she led the way out of the ballroom, carefully negotiated the stairs at the end of the hallway and opened the door of the first room she came to. Ramos followed her into the exercise room and shut the door behind him with a loud click.
Chapter 8
Leo stood with his back to the door, his arm bent behind him, his hand still gripping the knob. He needed to get his balance, find his control. Which was difficult when he felt like the world had narrowed to the space filled by one lean, five-foot, seven-inch woman. She overwhelmed his senses––the rustle of her skirts, the clean, citrusy scent of hair, the memories of the silken feel and the salty, sweet taste of her skin. But most of all, she filled his vision. He couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t see past her.
And she, apparently, was not experiencing the same shock to her system. She spun to face him with a graceful swirl of skirts and put her hands on her waist. “What is wrong with you? Why have you been looking at me like you’ve been looking at me all evening?”
Trust Devine to get right to the point. Amusement helped him pull it together enough to straighten and take a step away from the door. “You have a dress on, Devine. I’ve never seen you in a dress. Of course I’m going to look at you differently.”
“The sight of a woman in a dress immediately makes you think of sex? Because you are definitely thinking about sex.” She hesitated. “I think.”
“No, the sight of a woman in dress doesn’t immediately make me think of sex. The sight of you in a dress makes me think of sex.” He took a step closer. “The sight of you in that dress makes me want to fight dragons for you.” He touched her soft cheek. “Even worse, it makes me want to fight dragons with you.”
For a moment, he thought she’d walk into his arms. Her eyes got liquid soft and her lips parted. Then she opened her mouth. “Shut up, Ramos. Just two or three weeks ago you clearly warned me off. Now you’re going to fight dragons for me? I don’t have any dragons.” She glared at him. “And if I did, I’d fight them myself.”
“We all have dragons.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
She frowned but didn’t say anything.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about that night at the Pub, a lot about you.” He met her eyes and went for it. “I think you’re the greatest thing since hot fudge sundaes, Grace Elizabeth Devine.” He moved forward and leaned down to speak softly in her ear. “And I want another lick.”
***
Grace retreated a step. He didn’t mean what she wanted him to mean––that she was special enough to make him forget his stupid relationship rules. No, Ramos was all about the licking. She took a deep breath. He tracked her movement, eyes focused on the neckline of her dress. Her breasts felt plumper, the material of the dress too tight. Nerves fired along every inch of her body at the same time she felt her muscles loosen. How could he do that to her, without even touching her? “Everywhere you look at me, my skin gets hot. Confess. You’re one of those experimental government agents with superpowers. You’ve got a pair of high-tech ocular laser implants.”
Leo choked out a half laugh, half groan.
The sound was like a rough caress. Grace shivered and rubbed her hand against her arm. The touch felt so good her palm kept moving in a slow glide to her bare shoulder. Leo’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as they followed the motion of her hand. Fascinated by his reaction, she let her nails scrape lightly across her collarbone and slid a finger down to the single, cream-colored pearl that rested just above the quick rise and fall of her breast.
His body stilled. Her adrenalin surged, and it wasn’t because of fear.
“I want to watch you touch yourself everywhere, Devine. And then I want to follow your hand with my tongue, tasting every inch of you.”
She fisted the pearl to keep her hand from jerking down her neckline.
He sucked in a deep breath. “Privacy was a mistake. We need to get out of here.” He didn’t move. “You’re not a quick fuck in an exercise room.”
“I could be.” Yes, that had come out of her mouth. She hadn’t even had anything to drink and she meant it.
He gave a huff that could have been laughter. “Damn it, Devine. I like you too much.”
“And you only have quick fucks with people you don’t like?” He said nothing, his gaze fixed on the wall over her shoulder as if he couldn’t trust himself to look at her. “What’s too much?”
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to respond to that question, either. Then he sighed and met her eyes. “Too much is when I can’t stop thinking about you. Too much is when I don’t care about anything but this.” His hands were suddenly on her bare shoulders. He yanked her against his chest, bent his head and covered her lips with his.
Sensation, like a hot tendril of smoke, curled through her body. Despite his swift move, there was nothing hurried about his exploration of her mouth. He kissed her slowly and thoroughly, as if he had done so a thousand times before, as if she belonged in his arms. One hand cradled the back of her head, holding her still as his tongue teased the corner of her lips and then plunged into her mouth, deepening the kiss.
Grace didn’t melt against him. The emotions that ripped through her at his forceful move were not soft and gentle; they roared––a forest fire, all-consuming, uncontrollable. Her hands gripped strong muscle. If she didn’t have the damn Cinderella dress on, she could straddle his waist.
She unhooked his cummerbund and flung it, lips never leaving his. He worked the zipper at her side, lowering it to her waist. She pulled the shirt out of his pants, desperate to touch his skin. He pushed her bodice down and his hand came between them to cup one breast still encased in a strapless bra. Grace reached for his trouser zipper. His hand smacked against hers, stopping the action, molding her palm against his hard length.
He broke the kiss and she took several quick breaths, her gaze caught in his.
“You are so beautiful.” His free hand shaped her breast. Grace shivered at the flair of pleasure. His hand slid to the front clasp of her bra and he unhooked it. The bra fell to their feet.
He pulsed and hardened under her hand. His eyes were dark, almost black. He dipped his head, and his tongue––slightly rough and damp––dragged across her nipple.
Her head fell back and she pressed her hand harder against him. “Damn it. Let me get this zipper down.”
He groaned something in Spanish and then he lifted her hand and pressed it against his chest. She could feel the steady thunder of his heartbeat. “I’m an asshole, but I’m not this big an asshole.” That was English, but still incomprehensible. He backed a step away.
Her body shook in protest and her heart actually hurt. “What does that mean, Ramos?”
“It means we need to talk.” His eyes were dark and serious. His hair was disheveled and his shirttail was only partially tucked into his pants. Several buttons of his shirt were undone and his bow tie was missing, though she had no memory of yanking it off.
The man who’d slept with half of Washington, D.C., wanted to talk when she stood half-naked in front of him. This, combined with her inability to keep a date on New Year’s Eve, would undoubtedly drive her to therapy. Or to a Victoria’s Secret catalog. No, the therapy would be cheaper.
She picked up her bra and fumbled with the catch until she got it latched. With a quick yank, she pulled up the bodice of the gown and zipped it. She couldn’t think, but her lips still formed sentences. “We have nothing to talk about. You’re not an asshole, you’re a true gentleman. I get it. End of conversation.”
“Devine.” His tone was almost gentle.
She held up her hand, determined to stop the embarra
ssing excuses. “I work around men. I understand testosterone.”
He put his hands in his trouser pockets, not bothering to tuck in his shirt. “You do?”
“I know what just happened doesn’t mean anything. I understand men’s bodies and their brains don’t always work in tandem and sometimes hormones win out.”
“Who’s been feeding you that bullshit?” His voice was dry. “I’m not sixteen. My brain has been determining my behavior for a long time now.”
“Obviously.” Grace took a deep breath. Her heart beat so fast she was starting to feel dizzy. If Ramos had his way, they’d leave this room the way they entered––good pals, friends without benefits. In a couple of months, she’d join Michael’s task force and leave Washington. The impossible, infuriating, fascinating Ramos would just be a memory, a lost opportunity, a what-if fantasy for lonely nights.
“C’mon.” He turned toward the door with an unusually jerky movement. “I need a drink and I think it’s safer to talk in the bar.”
“I have a proposition for you,” her voice rushed out when his hand closed over the door handle.
“What now?” Leo turned toward her, impatient and apparently eager to be out of the room.
“To recap,” she talked fast, before her nerve left her. “A quickie in the exercise room is too short for your sense of honor, and I’m not a candidate for your usual flavor-of-the-month relationships.”
“Correct. You will never be one of my flavor-of-the-month women.”
She ignored the jolt of pain at his firm declaration. “Yes, well, you’ve been quite clear on that point. So I’m proposing something different.”
“What?”
Hell if she knew. “A micro-relationship,” she blurted.
“A what?” An oddly arrested expression settled on his face.
“We’ll have two hours together tonight where I’ll be Grace and you’ll be Leo.” Her voice was firmer now. She actually liked this idea. “We’ll dance, tell each other things about ourselves the other doesn’t know, and do things like….” She paused, considering how to make this different than one of their movie nights. “Flirt!”
Okay, maybe that wasn’t quite how Tess suggested getting him out of her system, but since kissing him had caused him to turn tail and run, she was out of options.
“That’s ridiculous. Whoever heard of a micro-relationship?” He actually looked upset.
“You’re the one who puts time limits on relationships,” she pointed out.
“Even I never put a two-hour time limit on a relationship.”
“I’m an innovator. Look at it this way––we get the thrill of a new relationship and the drama of the break-up all in one evening. None of the boring you-leave-your-socks-on-the-floor stuff that happens in the middle. It’s pure excitement from start to finish. What’s not to love?” Grace spread her arms and smiled. There was so much not to love about it that she could fall asleep counting the reasons. But if it was two hours or nothing, screw the reasons.
***
Leo’s hand tightened on the door handle. How had the evening turned into such a cluster fuck? He wanted to start this relationship the right way, build it into something solid, and she was talking about a micro-relationship. “What about sex?” he gritted out, since it was all he could think about anyway.
“Excuse me?”
Give a girl a princess dress and she starts talking like a Brit. The imperious tilt to her chin disarmed him, even though he wanted to shake some sense into her. “When do we get to have sex?”
Her eyes widened. “Do you have multiple personality disorder? Aren’t you the same man who just two minutes ago refused to have sex with me?”
“I’ve changed my mind.” If he only had two hours, he needed to lead with his strong suit.
“Sorry, I’m not in the mood anymore. Rejection does that to me. Sex is excluded from this micro-relationship.”
“Says who?”
“Says me. Since I invented the concept, I get to make the rules. You have sex with every single woman you date, don’t you?”
“Not every single woman.” He hadn’t had sex with Mandy.
“Almost every woman then.” She paused. When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “This is two hours, Leo. If we have sex, we won’t be able to go back to just being friends. Besides, I don’t like the idea of being one of the masses. I’m aiming to be the outlier, different from your other women.”
He released the door handle and flexed his hand. “You don’t need two hours to establish that.”
She bit her bottom lip. He wanted to bite it, too. “The positives of the micro-relationship outweigh the one negative of not having sex.”
“You can’t say that when you have no idea what you’re giving up.”
“I think I’ll survive not knowing.” Her tone was dry.
He wasn’t sure he would.
“When Michael walks into the ball, the micro-relationship poofs into oblivion. I’m back to being Devine and you’re Ramos. Our friendship and work relationship stay intact. We play poker together on Friday nights and try to put each other on the mat at the Pit.” She took a deep breath and stuck out her hand. “Is that a deal?”
“What do you get out of this?” He gripped her slender hand because he wanted to touch her.
She met his gaze. “You said you like me too much. That you can’t stop thinking about me.” Her cheeks were pink, but she didn’t look away. “I’ve been thinking about you, too. This is our chance to have a fling in a harmless way. To get this––this…attraction out of our system and still be able to work together.” She shook his hand vigorously.
She was giving him what she thought he wanted. On her terms, in a way she could deal with. Only problem was, he didn’t want short term any more. Devine, with her sunshine gaze and blunt honesty had slowly finished the job Dr. Hawkins and his own psyche had begun. “I won’t pretend the next two hours never happened and I can’t guarantee I won’t call you Grace ever again.”
She frowned and looked at their bobbing hands. “I don’t think you’re allowed to change the rules of an agreement once we’re shaking on it.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Of course you are.”
“Then from now on you’ll bring me a large mocha cappuccino every morning that we’re both scheduled into the office.”
He grinned, suddenly happy in a way he didn’t remember feeling for a long time. “And you’ll…”
She snatched her hand from his with a laugh. “I don’t trust that look. I think we’ll call the deal done.”
Leo nodded, surprised by the intense satisfaction he felt. “For the next two hours, Grace, you’re mine.”
He had two hours to convince her to give them a chance at a lifetime.
***
A bargain with the Devil, Grace thought as they sat at one of the small tables in the bar, eating hors d’oeuvres. She picked up a carrot stick and munched on it. Her breathing was back to normal now, thank God, and the regular intake of oxygen was helpful in keeping the logical part of her brain functioning. Time to start the get-to-know-you-better portion of the date. Maybe she would discover she really didn’t like him. That would be helpful. “I don’t know where to start with the questions.”
His smile was wry. “I find that hard to believe.”
She picked up a spear of something that was probably chicken and took a bite. “Are you implying I usually have a curious mind?”
“Your mind is definitely curious,” he agreed, humor in his gaze.
Her lower lip curled in a pout. She’d never tried to pout on purpose, but she’d seen both Tess and Annabelle use the move effectively when being teased by men. “This is how you talk to your dates?”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Grace. You’re not my usual date.” He reached out and gently rubbed her lower lip. “Stop that or I’m going to take a bite.”
She sighed. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”
“Date? I noticed tha
t. Why? Men ask you out.”
“Hey, I date. Sometimes.” Okay, that sounded defensive. “I work long hours and then a lot of my free time is spent with the squad poker games or movies with you.” Even more defensive and after all, he went to the same poker games and movies and still managed to date. “What I meant was, I don’t usually do the whole flirty pout thing.”
“You don’t usually flirt?” He looked surprised. “Don’t all women flirt?”
“No, all women don’t flirt.” She frowned at him, offended. “That’s a stereotypical statement.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “Anthropologists have identified flirting behavior in almost every culture. It’s an important social interaction. Men do it as well.”
“Oh.” Great. Now she felt unintelligent and socially inadequate. Maybe it was a good thing this relationship was only two hours long. “I’ll have to practice more.”
Leo handed her a stuffed mushroom. “Try this one.” He watched her take a small bite and chew. “I studied up on male female interactions when I was in therapy.”
“You were in therapy?” She took another bite of the mushroom.
“The incident with Dill involved the use of deadly force. Therapy was strongly encouraged.”
Grace put down the mushroom, suddenly not hungry. “You’re the agent who killed the suspected terrorist.”
“That’s the pretty way of saying it. In reality, I killed a twenty-two year old kid who had the not-so-great judgment to become involved in a small dope-growing business. ” Leo said the words without emotion.
“He also had the not-so-great judgment to be armed and to start shooting when the FBI knocked on his door. Two agents died and one was injured, if I’m remembering correctly. He was no innocent kid.”
Leo rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his plate. “Yeah.”
“You got a commendation.” Grace watched his eyes squeeze shut briefly.
“The whole thing was fucked from start to finish. Dill totally lost it.” His face was expressionless when he looked up at her. “She came on to me when I was assigned to her unit. I had no interest in starting a relationship with her. According to her diary, she thought she loved me. The day after I put in for a transfer, she sent us into an apartment of suspected terrorists without proper intelligence and without back up. Only it turns out it was an apartment full of guys with guns growing weed, not terrorists at all.”