by Ana Leigh
“Me?”
“Sure. To remember you by,” he said.
“Now why would you want to remember me, Bishop? I’m your nemesis. A royal pain in your posterior. You’ve told me that enough times.”
“Actually, that’s not true anymore,” he said.
“Well thank you, Mike. I’m flattered. Does this mean you’ve decided I’m not so bad after all?”
He never cracked a smile. “No, it means that the pain’s done a 180-degree turn.”
It took her several seconds to grasp the innuendo.
“So if I go along with your terms, do you agree to pose the way I want you to?” she asked.
“This was your idea, not mine, so don’t try putting me on the defensive.”
“Okay. We’ve got a deal,” she said.
Ann got several more pictures of him in his swimming suit on the pier, and he took one of her. By that time it had turned dark, and they moved inside for indoor shots. He changed into jeans and a muscle shirt. After taking several more shots she went into the bedroom to change the film and put the flash attachment on the camera.
When she came back, Mike had opened a bottle of wine. In between shots they drank wine and munched on cheese and crackers.
She then had him remove the muscle shirt and got a great shot of him straddling a chair with his arms draped over the back of it. Took another one of him leaning against the doorjamb in the kitchen with his arms folded across his chest. She caught a candid shot of his back as he stood and looked out the window, then posed him with his foot propped on the seat of a chair and his arm draped casually over his bent knee.
“Do you have a long-sleeved white shirt?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Put it on.”
He grimaced. “You mean with a tie?”
“No, just leave the shirt unbuttoned.”
“How many more of these stupid poses are you going to take?” he asked when he came out of the bedroom. “I thought you wanted shots of my beautiful face.”
“Well, that bod is just as beautiful,” she said. “Roll the sleeves up to your elbows, lean across the countertop and look at the camera.
“Okay, now le concentrate on your face,” she said. “Who’s the sexiest woman you can think of?”
His expression became seductive, an invitation in his half-closed eyes. She felt a heated flush and suddenly found it hard to concentrate on what she was doing.
“That’s great, Mike. I bet you don’t have a problem remembering her name. So keep that thought and unfasten your jeans and slide them just a tad down more toward your hips.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, with a crafty gleam in his eye.
She went over to him and adjusted the jean’s fly to her liking. In the course of it, her hand inadvertently brushed against the restrained bulge in his pants. He was aroused, and the thought of it was raising her excitement. This whole thing was turning her on as much as it was him.
She paused and emptied her wineglass, then once again angled the camera and snapped it.
“You know, Bishop, if we ever made these pictures into a calendar, you could make some big bucks.”
“And become the laughing stock of the Agency.”
“Hold the pose, but this time hook your thumbs in your waistband,” she said. “And think of that woman again.”
He did, and the picture she got could set asbestos on fire. “Who is she, Mike?”
“You.”
Ann almost dropped her camera. “Whew, it’s getting quite hot in here.”
“Really? And you dressed only in that bikini! They say if you can’t stand the heat get out of the kitchen. Kitchen getting too hot, Hamilton?” he taunted.
He was flinging a blatant challenge at her. The sexual attraction both of them had been fighting had reached a tension that lay on the air like humidity—so heavy it was an effort to breathe.
“If you can stand it so can I,” she said.
“Don’t make book on that, baby. Now, if you’re through, it’s my turn.”
Chapter 22
Ann handed him the camera. “Do you know how to use it?”
“No problem.” He stroked his chin as he studied her. “Hmm, how do I want to remember you?”
“Should I change into something other than this swimming suit?” she asked.
“No, suit’s fine. How about kneeling down, Ann? Tuck those gorgeous legs under you, and rest that trim little tush of yours on them.”
It was a pose she had used often with models, so she knew immediately what he was looking for.
He came over to her. “Now lets get rid of these stupid pins,” he said. He pulled them out and when her hair dropped in long coils to her shoulders, he bred the tresses apart with his fingers. “That’s better.” He stepped back to admire the effect. “Now remove the top of your bikini.”
“No way! You never said anything about nudity.”
“And you never said anything against nudity, so that makes it a moot issue. You even said a naked human body is beautiful, Ann. And you had to know I don’t want this picture to hang on the door of a locker room.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean you won’t share it with your buddies.”
“Ann. I don’t kiss and tell. I promise you the picture is for my eyes only. My word is my bond.”
Normally she still wouldn’t have accepted that argument, but maybe it was the wine she’d drunk, the excitement of the moment—or maybe even that Stockholm Syndrome kicking up its heels—whatever the reason, she felt daring enough to do it.
She untied the knot and pulled the top off. The instant the air hit her nipples, they changed into taut peaks. She had the satisfaction of seeing him suck in his breath.
“I can say unequivocally, lady, you’ve got one beautiful pair of—”
“Get on with it, Bishop. No doubt you’ve done plenty of personal research on the subject.”
She did feel beautiful, though. Although what she was doing was against her personal conduct code, on occasion as a favor to some of the models who asked in the past she had taken nude shots for them to give to their husbands or sweethearts.
And she did believe in the beauty of the human body and did not look upon photographing it as pornography, any more than an artist or sculptor did when fashioning it on canvas or clay.
But her reason for posing bare-chested for Mike went beyond that. They’d set a juggernaut in motion tonight. She felt a high in letting Mike do this. A total abandonment of modesty and inhibition that created a sensual excitement that had nothing to do with artistry, but more with simply being male and female. She smiled slyly. He admired her body—and she was damn glad he did.
The click of the camera captured that expression.
“Now one in the bedroom,” he said.
She followed him to the bedside and he turned to her. She snagged his arm when he began to tug at the knot of her bikini bottoms. She looked up into the tawny hazel of his eyes, and for a long moment their gazes locked. Then he put into words what both of them were thinking.
“It’s too late to turn back now,” he said.
She didn’t—couldn’t—answer, because he was right. Slowly she withdrew her hand from his arm. He released the knot and she felt the cool slide of the bikini brush against the heat of her naked thigh.
Oh, he was very good with knots. Very swift. They held no challenge to him. Within the blink of an eye the other knot gave way and the pants dropped to the floor. Only then did he break their fixed stare. His gaze slowly swept the length of her before he picked up the camera and moved to the foot of the bed.
“Get on the bed, Ann, and stretch out on your ba”
She felt no modesty. No self-consciousness. Nudity was commonplace in today’s society. Fashion, movies, television, commercials all thrived on marketing the human body as naked as they could get away with.
But this was her body. And in the privacy of his bedroom the situation was too intimate, the des
ire that was raging between them too intense. Indifference was impossible. She became drugged with aroused passion.
“Raise your arms a little above each side of your face and crook them at the elbows,” he said.
She’d often used the pose he wanted, only, the model was usually lying on satin sheets wearing a filmy piece of expensive lingerie.
He came back to the bedside and stared down at her with those sensuous bedroom eyes. His had to be the prototype for whoever coined the damn phrase.
She lay open and exposed as his smoldering gaze now raked her boldly with no attempt at indifference. He was photographing her with his eyes and not the camera.
The nipples of her breasts were taut; her heart a deafening thumping in her chest; and the core of her sex was throbbing like a coiled spring being wound tighter and tighter until it was on the verge of popping. She shifted, anxiously. She was so far gone she ached for him.
Touch me, Mike. Touch me, she pleaded silently. She had to feel his hands on her—his mouth—or she’d go out of her mind. What was he waiting for? At the moment she’d be willing to do anything he asked—if only he would touch her.
She closed her eyes with expectation when he raised a hand and reached toward her, then opened them in bafflement when all he did was fan her hair out on the pillow, and then return to the foot of the bed.
For God’s sake, Mike, take the damn picture! There was no disguising her arousal. He knew what he was doing to her. Was he playing a cat-and-mouse game with her?
“Now, close your eyes, Ann, and think of what you want me to do to you when I finish with this shot.”
He was in complete control and knew it. But she was too aroused to care. She’d surrendered her control the moment she’d given in and removed her bikini top.
Her body felt flushed, her breasts heavy, swelling with each breath that had begun to come in gasps as her aroused passion spiraled into raw lust. She thought of how his hands would feel against her nakedness, his mouth on her breasts, his tongue on her sex. Yes, she wanted it all now. Anything and everything. He hadn’t kissed her or even touched her yet, but he’d driven her to the point where she wanted it all—where anything goes.
Her lips and throat felt parched from the swirling heat within her. She could barely swallow. Parting her lips, she moistened them with her tongue and opened her eyes, the lids so heavy with passion she could barely raise them.
He snapped his shot.
“Hurry, Mike. Please hurry,” she implored.
He had already put aside the camera and was at the bedside. Her eyes pleaded with him as he shed his jeans in one smooth movement. Then he was on her. His weight pressed gloriously against her with a velvet friction a his mouth and tongue feasted on her lips and breasts.
She had fantasized this moment from the first time they met—the arousal of his touch, the thrill of his kiss—until the thought had become obsessive. But the expectation did not come near the exquisite sensation of the actual moment.
All the arguing between them had been the foreplay, and there was no necessity for more. Her body was ready for him, and imploded with tremors the instant he touched her. And as quickly as they passed over her, his mouth and hands aroused her to a moaning plea for more.
The slight pause when he put on protection was an unwelcome exercise in restraint, until she felt the heated, throbbing hardness of him slide into her, the ecstatic soar to mindlessness and then the rapturous tremors of climax.
He rolled off her and she lay in the afterglow knowing this moment would be etched on her mind forever. Nothing or no one could ever duplicate it.
No doubt there were other men as accomplished at making love as Mike Bishop. But what they had just shared went beyond being the greatest sex she had ever known, and there was no fooling herself about the reason why.
She was hopelessly in love with Mike Bishop.
Love had brought a whole new element to sex that she’d never experienced before. Oh, she had thought she was in love a couple of times in the past, but something had always caused her to recognize that it wasn’t really love. So she had walked away from the relationships.
Love had been the missing excitement in the sex she had with them—the missing ingredient that had made this so incredible. It was as if it was the first time, and to her way of thinking, it was. It could never happen again—even with Mike.
She doubted he loved her. But she wouldn’t allow that to spoil the moment. After all, he did desire her. Had told her as much when they were in New York. And it would be his decision if this was to be a one-night stand, because she was too much in love with him to be able to walk away from this relationship willingly.
He’d been so right when he said they’d come too far to stop now. She had herself to blame for putting it all in motion when she started taking pictures of him. But she had no regrets. She’d have this moment forever.
He turned on his side, propped up an elbow and cradled his head in his hand. Reaching out, he brushed some errant strands of hair off her cheek.
“Regrets, Ann?”
She turned her head and looked up into those mesmerizing hazel eyes of his. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you know as well as I that this was a mistake.”
“Then you’re the one with regrets.”
“I don’t regret making love to you, Ann.”
“Then why is it a mistake?”
“Because of the timing. Your life is in danger and—”
“Hush,” she said, putting the tips of her fingers over his lips. “Let’s not spoil what we just shared with talk of danger.
He kissed her fingertips, then she felt the tantalizing warmth of his touch when he cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Ann.”
“Whatever happens, we still have tonight, Mike.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in one-night stands, Violet Eyes,” he murmured between light nibbles at her lips.
“And I thought you didn’t believe in mixing business and pleasure, Agent Bishop,” she retorted, trying to sound serious when her heart was overflowing with love and her body beginning to respond to him. Even the huskiness of his voice was a turn-on to her.
“We’re a real pair, aren’t we? We sure have wasted a lot of time trying to hold on to good intentions.”
She clasped her arms around his neck. “Then, let’s not waste another minute.”
He shifted closer, slipped his arms beneath her and drew her tightly into his embrace. He felt long and hard, strong and exciting. The dark hair on his chest rasped against the sensitive peaks of her breasts in a tantalizing sensation that sent shivers down her spine. His kiss clouded her brain with the thrilling turbulence of passion.
Mike was a great lover and aroused her with slow, erotic kisses. She marveled at the intensity of her own response. Passion flowed through her in a floodtide whenever his hands joined the seduction.
She loved the feel of his hands. They were warm and gentle as they caressed and explored her. And she reveled in wanton response to the touch of them.
They made love throughout the night. Dozing, waking. Hot and passionate. Slow and gentle. There were times they simply caressed, kissed or merely reached out to touch each other. But every kiss, tender touch or whispered endearment drew her deeper and deeper into an emotional response as intense as the physical one.
And her intuition told her she’d passed the point of no return—she could never willingly leave this man. Which caused her to ponder whether he felt the same about her.
Mike woke up with a start. Bright sunlight streamed through the open window. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was nine o’clock. He jumped out of bed. Good Lord! He’d slept through half of the morning with the windows wide open and no one on guard. Anyone could have gotten in and cut their throats.
He glanced at Ann asleep in the bed. For a brief moment his expression softened as he gazed at her. She looked so at peace as she slept.
Turning away quickly, he pulled on his jeans, cursing himself for the idiot he was. Because he couldn’t keep his hands off her—and his pants on—he very well could have gotten her killed.
He’d never been this careless before. He’d lost his objectivity completely and allowed his personal feelings for her to interfere with the performance of his duty.
He went outside on the porch and glanced around. Everything was peaceful and quiet. He sensed that all was okay for the moment.
Closing the barn after the horses were out. The thought produced another string of selfprecating curses.
He leaned back against the porch wall. So he’d dodged the bullet again, but that didn’t excuse last night’s negligence.
Even though he figured no one would show up until tomorrow, or late tonight at the earliest, he’d been trained to be prepared for the unexpected. Well Mr. Unknown was in for a little surprise himself when Cassidy got back with the guys. He was through running. Hiding away in hotels to try and protect her. It wasn’t his way of fighting. He was in Special Ops. They took the fight to their enemies—not the other way around.
He wished Ann wasn’t in the line of fire. But there was no place where he’d be certain she’d be safe. When you were fighting an unknown enemy, the only thing you could put your trust in was your team.
“Good morning,” Ann said, coming outside.
“Hi.”
“Hope you don’t mind. I found this pajama top in a drawer.”
He took a long look at her. Her hair was disheveled and the pajama top looked better on her than it ever would on him. She looked good. Damn good. Of course, she always looked good. But she could never look better to him than she had last night. He would never get the image of how she looked lying naked on his bed out of his mind. The thought of it began licking at his groin. He was getting hard, and the guilty conscience he’d been struggling with only moments before had just become the last thing on his mind.
“I wouldn’t have thought you were the pajama type, Bishop,” she said lightly. She rose on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.