by Mary Stone
She didn’t know when he had gotten so damn sexy, but it was downright distracting.
You’re here to apologize, not do a striptease, and not to ogle him. Maybe the Southern Comfort hadn’t been a good idea after all.
As she offered him her best effort at a smile, Winter hoped the strain on her face wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Hey.”
Anxiety was written plainly across his face. “Hey.”
“Can I…” She had to pause to swallow against the sudden dryness in her mouth. “Can I come in? To talk?”
With a slight nod, he held open the door and stepped to the side.
The flickering light of the television was the only illumination left once the door closed.
“Shit, did I wake you up?” The sudden uptick in her pulse was borne of equal parts embarrassment and anxiety.
I should have stayed in my room. What the hell am I doing?
She tried to push back the thoughts as she turned to face him.
Noah shook his head. “No. I was trying to pretend I was asleep.”
She searched his face in the dim light. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”
“No, I wasn’t being sarcastic.” He moved past her to sit at the edge of the bed. “I thought if I pretended I was asleep, maybe I could actually fall asleep.”
She managed another strained smile as she nodded. “Makes sense.”
A silence settled in between them in the dark room, the only sound the quiet din of the television. A cooking show, she noticed.
Tugging on the ends of her hair with one hand, she dropped her gaze to the carpeted floor. Even with the aid of the Southern Comfort, she couldn’t figure out where to start.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I can see why you’re worried, and I get it. You’ve got every right to be pissed at me, but…” She finally turned her gaze back to him. The effort was Herculean, and in the seconds that ensued, she wanted to look to the wall, the television, anywhere else.
Raking the fingers of one hand through his disheveled hair, he shook his head. “I didn’t mean to be a dick about it. I didn’t even realize what a sensitive subject it was until now, honestly. I figured the whole fucked up dynamic we had during the Kilroy case was in the past, and that was that. That’s how they make it seem in movies and books and shit, you know? Put it behind you, move on.”
“But it’s not that easy,” she finished for him. “None of it happens in a vacuum. That’s a quote straight from our favorite psychologist, by the way.”
A shadow of guilt passed behind his eyes. “Pretty sure she ain’t that keen on me anymore, either.”
“What? Why would you think that?”
He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I saw her at the office this morning, and I may or may not have bit her head off because I thought she was hiding something.”
Winter blinked a few times at the confession. “Well, honestly? I’m sure she threw it right back at you, so you guys are probably square by now.”
From beneath his hand, he started to make a quiet noise that Winter couldn’t immediately place. Was he crying? God, she hoped not.
But when he dropped his hand back down to his lap, the corners of his eyes were creased as he chuckled. For a second, Winter was so relieved she thought she might be the one to cry.
When his green eyes met hers, his smile didn’t waver. “Are you sure you and Autumn aren’t long lost sisters or something? Sometimes, y’all are so much alike I wonder if you aren’t secretly clones of each other. Maybe whoever cloned you guys just gave her green eyes and whatever the hell hair color she has to throw off suspicion.”
Even as Winter rolled her eyes in feigned exasperation, she laughed a single “ha-ha.”
As she dropped down to sit, she caught the faint scent of his cologne—or soap, she honestly wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had become infatuated with the woodsy smell since he’d started to use it.
Or maybe she was just infatuated with it now that her heart pounded a forceful cadence against her chest.
Just as soon as the humor had come to life, it drifted away on the wings of the silence that rushed up to greet them in the ensuing seconds. Minutes. She didn’t know.
“I’m sorry, Noah.” She glanced down to where she’d folded her hands in her lap. “I should have just told you. It’s not my job to censor what’s going on around you.”
“I get why you did it, darlin’.”
“Still.” She dragged her eyes back to meet his gaze. “It was the wrong call. I just want you to know that I know that, and I didn’t have any intention to abandon you. I treated you like shit during the Kilroy case, and I won’t ever let that happen again.”
Shadows played along his face as he offered her a wistful smile.
When the warmth of his hand settled between her shoulder blades, her breath caught in her throat.
All of a sudden, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this nervous. The touch was welcome—it was more than welcome—but her mind raced with the implications of their closeness.
With a simple touch, he’d sent a jolt of anticipation through her. She was suddenly aware of the warmth of his body beside hers, the mattress beneath them both. Her thoughts had done a complete one-eighty. From worried and sad to nervous and…what? Excited?
Whatever the other feeling was, the nervousness drowned it out like a drunk shouting over his friends at a bar. She’d come face-to-face with serial killers, mass murderers, and she hadn’t felt nervousness like this. Apparently, she was comfortable under professional pressure, but when it came to her love life, she turned into a starry-eyed teenager.
As she licked her lips, she tasted a hint of Southern Comfort. Though she had intended to sit down for a grown-up discussion about her feelings for him, she couldn’t form a coherent thought that involved anything other than stripping off all his clothes.
Well, that was one way to convey affection. If he wasn’t into it, then she’d have her answer.
Swallowing the twinge of trepidation, she started to raise a hand to touch him when she realized that her palms were clammy. She couldn’t reach out and touch him with cold, clammy hands. Son of a bitch.
His gaze was fixed on hers, a flicker of curiosity behind his green eyes. If she didn’t do something soon, the nerves would get the better of her. She wanted more than just a few fervent kisses, satisfying though they might have been. But she couldn’t convey the way he made her feel by just making out with him.
This wasn’t her first time, but this was the first time the stakes had been so high. Whether or not she wanted to admit it, this was the first time she’d been invested in the outcome.
Until recently, her life had a singular purpose—find The Preacher and avenge the murder of her family. She hadn’t needed a man at her side to succeed in her goal, and she had been so certain of her solitary purpose that she hadn’t stopped to ponder much beyond the physical aspect of a relationship. She’d been too busy, too focused, too wrapped up in the cold world of vengeance.
Now, she might not have known all the details, but she wanted more.
For the first time that night, she shut all the doubts and the what-ifs out of her head, and she forced her focus back to the dim hotel room. Back to the way the flickering light of the television cast exaggerated shadows along Noah’s handsome face.
As she reached out to touch his scruffy cheek, she scooted over to his side. Even through the fabric of his clothes, his body was warm against her leg.
The curiosity in his eyes gave way to understanding, and within that understanding was a spark of the same desire that coursed through her veins.
The mischievous glint was more than enough to encourage her next move.
Strands of her long hair spilled over her shoulders as she leaned in to press her lips to his. As her tongue wrapped around his for the first time, she dropped her hand to rest over his heart. A measure of contentment crept to her mind at the rapid cadence of his pulse.
“Have you been drinking?” The softly spoken question was laden with amusement, but beneath the humor, there was concern.
Breathing hard, she shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, but…I’m not drunk. I was nervous, and I had those shooters I got at the gas station earlier, so I drank one before I came over here.”
He tucked a piece of ebony hair behind her ear. His breathing was still labored as he offered her a questioning glance. “You were nervous about talking to me?”
“Because I didn’t know if you’d want to do this,” she blurted.
With a quiet chuckle, he slid his free hand up the exposed skin of her leg to clasp her thigh. The touch sent a tingle of anticipation through her body. No, not just a tingle, a one-thousand-watt shock. If he could elicit such a visceral reaction with just a touch, she could only imagine what else he could do with that hand.
As she pried her eyes away from the sight of his hand against the smooth skin of her thigh, his lips curled into the start of a smirk.
He lifted one eyebrow. “If I’d want to do this? What’s this, darlin’? Make out on my bed in front of a rerun of Iron Chef?”
Even if she had tried, she wasn’t sure she could have stopped her burst of laughter.
She shook her head. “No, that’s not quite what I had in mind.”
He kneaded his fingertips against the nape of her neck as his smile took on a knowing edge. “Then what did you have in mind? Sex? It’s all right, sweetheart. You can say it out loud. We’re both grown-ups.”
Though she tried her best to look exasperated, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Do you ever stop being sarcastic?”
His eyes seemed to glitter in the flickering light. “Nope.”
Tightening his grasp on her neck, he pulled her into another impassioned kiss. His movements were more purposeful, and she offered no resistance as he guided her down to the bed. When her back met the plush mattress, he broke away from the kiss to trail his lips along her cheek.
The warmth of his breath tickled her ear, and she felt the start of goose bumps along her arms. She snaked both hands beneath the fabric of his t-shirt to run her fingertips along the curves of his back. She’d seen him without a shirt once before, but at the time, she hadn’t permitted herself to let her gaze linger.
This time, she would.
As if he could sense her thoughts, he propped himself up to pull the shirt over his head. Without hesitation, she followed suit and tossed the garment to the floor.
She took in a breath as her eyes settled on his shirtless form. His body might as well have been carved from marble. This sweet, charming, funny man from rural Texas was built like a Greek god.
“My god,” she breathed. “You’re perfect.”
His mouth curved into a smile as he leaned back in for another drawn-out kiss.
Winter couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so enthralled by a man’s touch, and if she was honest, she didn’t think she’d ever been this enthralled by anything. The warmth of his bare skin against hers was blissful all on its own, but when the sensation was combined with his teasing caress, she was spellbound.
When he pulled his lips away from hers and cupped her cheek with one hand, she snapped open her eyes to meet his gaze. Trepidation had edged its way in to compete with the lust on his face.
She held her breath. “What?” The word was barely a whisper.
Shaking his head ever so slightly, he propped himself up with an elbow as he ran his thumb along her cheekbone.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he finally asked. “I mean, I think you can tell by now that I definitely want to.”
She reached up to run her fingers through his messy hair. God, she’d wanted to do that for so long. As she trailed her other hand down his bare chest, she pressed her lips against his in a light kiss.
“I’ll put it this way.” She pressed her body harder into his, indeed feeling how much he wanted her. “If we don’t take off the rest of our clothes soon, I think I might lose my mind.”
21
Noah couldn’t remember the last time he woke up with someone in bed beside him. Even during his stinted two-week relationship with a waitress named Jessie, he couldn’t recall spending the night with her.
One of them always found a reason to go back home after they had sex. Which, in retrospect, should have been his first indication that the relationship was headed nowhere.
In the first few moments after he woke, he was convinced he hadn’t actually woken up. Until the cobwebs cleared from his thoughts, he was certain that the warmth of Winter’s body at his side was a figment of his imagination.
Even if last night had been a dream, he couldn’t be angry with himself. If it had been a dream, it was a damn good dream.
As the fog rolled away from his brain, he knew last night was real. Winter had actually visited his room to apologize. From there, one thing had led to another, and here they were. To emphasize the point to himself, he tightened his grip around her bare shoulders.
She let out a light moan and shifted her head where she had nestled her face in the crook of his neck.
Yep. She was real.
Sure, they’d fallen asleep together before after watching lengthy television marathons, but they had always awoken fully clothed.
As best as he could tell without reaching down to check, neither of them wore a single article of clothing. And if that wasn’t enough proof, the faint sting of scratch marks along his back was yet another reminder.
Though he wanted nothing more than to let himself drift off to sleep again, he had a sinking feeling that an alarm would soon snap them both out of the blissful, relaxed stance. He’d drawn the heavy curtains over the picture window the night before, but as he opened his eyes, he spotted a sliver of light in his periphery.
Winter’s long hair was splayed over his chest like a handful of ebony ribbons. Her dark lashes twitched as her eyes moved beneath the lids in the throes of sleep. Her fair skin was smooth and unlined, and if it hadn’t been for the eye movements, she would have looked serene.
To hell with it. He’d let the alarm wake her.
The sooner she opened her eyes, the sooner they had to get out of bed. And the sooner they got out of bed, the sooner he would be overcome with uncertainty. Uncertainty about their future, uncertainty about her motivation for the nighttime visit, uncertainty about their friendship.
Not to mention he’d just had sex with a fellow agent. He’d have to read the human resource manual to see if this could get both of their asses canned.
To be sure, he didn’t regret it. Or, at least, he wouldn’t regret it as long as she felt the same way.
When they had arrived at the hotel the night before, he’d been certain that their current position was the absolute least likely scenario for the next twenty-four hours. Even now, he couldn’t fully retrace the movements that had led them here.
It had just happened.
He let his eyes drift closed, and as his thoughts wandered back to the land of dreams, he all but forgot about the alarm that was set for seven-thirty.
As the high-pitched chime sounded out, he felt like someone had reached into the dream world and violently yanked him back to consciousness. With a sharp breath, he sat bolt upright.
In the first few seconds, he panicked as he struggled to remember where in the hell he was. Squeezing his eyes closed, he groped for the phone on the nightstand as he forced the cobwebs away from his thoughts.
Winter’s grasp on his upper arm tightened as she groaned. “What time is it?”
Slumping back down to the plush mattress, he heaved a sigh. “Seven-thirty.”
Her eyes flicked open wide. “Seven-thirty? Aren’t we supposed to be at the office at eight-thirty?”
He didn’t bother to hide the
confusion from his face. “Yeah. Why?”
“Dammit!” She flung the comforter to the side, and he caught little more than a glimpse of her porcelain skin as she hunched over to pick up her discarded clothes.
He leaned forward to get a better glimpse of her ass. “I’m confused. Did I do something wrong?”
Pulling the black shorts up her smooth legs, her eyes flicked up to meet his puzzled stare. “No. No, not at all. I just forgot to set my own alarm. I usually set it for an hour and a half before I have to be somewhere.” She paused to hold out a piece of her glossy hair. “You see all this, right? I shower in the morning, and it takes, like twenty minutes just to wash my hair. I mean, unless I want to leave half the conditioner in all day.”
Female shit. He didn’t really understand so he just nodded like a good boyfriend should.
Not that he was her boyfriend, he reminded himself quickly.
“But, no, to answer your question. You definitely didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not familiar with this whole thing.” She gestured back and forth between them. “So, I don’t know. Is it tacky to say thank you? Or is ‘that was awesome’ more twentieth century?”
Relieved to the marrow, he dropped back onto the pillow with a light laugh. “No, darlin’. That’s not tacky. It’s…unusual, but not tacky.”
She shrugged. “Well, you know how much I like to stick out from the crowd.”
He fixed her with a stare of feigned indignance. “A crowd? What the hell do you think I do in my spare time?”
She snorted a laugh. “Oh my god. That’s not how I meant it. You’re ridiculous. But, seriously, I need to get in the shower, or we’ll be late for sure.”
Though he expected her to offer him a quick wave before she turned to make her way out the door, she planted a knee at the edge of the bed to lower herself down to his level. Her hair tickled the sides of his face as she brushed her lips along his.
With one hand, he clasped the base of her neck to bring her closer, but she tried to pull away. “My teeth…”