“I don’t think a woman’s ever tried to strip me before.”
But they’d thought about it. Gina had no doubt of that.
Which mattered not at all, because she was the one with her hands on his zipper, and she was the one making his breath come fast and harsh. She reveled in the thought, reveled in the feel of his hands sliding inside her tank top to free her breasts.
The floor seemed to pitch. She gripped his shoulders and sank her nails deep.
Something vibrated between them.
Trace cursed softly. “Give me a second,” he muttered. Leaning against the wall, he reached for his cell phone on the desk. “Yeah.”
Gina felt his words rumble through his chest as their bodies pressed closer. Dimly she realized he was talking to Tobias.
“Sure. Let me know if that changes. Yeah, twenty minutes will work.”
He flipped the phone shut and dropped it on the desk. “We’ve got twenty minutes. Damned if I’m going to rush through this and walk away.”
“Rush,” she said between little breathless gasps. “Twenty minutes is a lifetime.” Her hands searched and suddenly his jeans were open.
The hot friction of his erection was maddening against her skin.
“Very nice,” she whispered.
She thought he might have laughed.
Then his fingers tightened in her hair and he brought his mouth down onto hers with an edge of violence. “You’re not afraid of fast and rough?”
“Let’s see.” Driven by a primal need to claim him, she pulled him against her heat.
His jeans rode lower. The denim scraped her thighs with maddening precision.
“How do you do this to me?” His hand slid along her ribs, traced her stomach and nuzzled between wet folds. Slowly he found the tight knot of nerves and stroked her until she shuddered.
With a smooth slide of his hand he sent her up and over, tumbling dizzy and blind while the room spun and she gasped out his name.
He didn’t move. Over the pounding of her heart she felt his muscles, rigid and controlled.
Too controlled.
As soon as she could breathe again, she hooked her fingers in his jeans and shoved them blindly to the floor.
Then only need.
Only hot skin against hot skin and the hammering of her pulse.
He kissed her hard and anchored her against the wall. His hand parted her and she felt the sudden fullness as he drove into her. Deep, but not nearly deep enough.
She bit his neck, her body urgent.
He muttered that she was killing him and then their thighs met with hot, tormenting friction. The glint of a smile twisted his mouth, and she felt his rigid length in long, hard strokes that clouded her vision and echoed in the pounding of her heart.
Sensation claimed her. Their bodies strained, hazed with sweat.
He caught her hips and shifted, then pulled her down slowly while he filled her and Gina moaned with the pleasure of the joining. Inch by inch, ruthlessly controlled, he drove deeper.
His face was taut when she reached down to touch their joined bodies, reveling in the intimate contact. She bit the rugged outline of his shoulder. “I think I’m getting addicted to you.”
“Fine with me. I’ve wanted you this way since I saw you standing on that noisy street corner.” He caught her with an arm around her waist and she thought she heard him say her name before he pulled her leg up around his. He stopped moving. “Hell. Are you protected?”
Gina stared, desire pounding through her veins. “What?”
“Never mind. I have something in my drawer.” He started to turn, but Gina gripped his arm, shaking her head. “There’s no need. My medicine has side effects.”
He watched her for a moment, his hand moving gently over her face. “We’re going to talk about that medicine of yours. That’s next on my agenda. But not just yet.”
His voice scraped roughly, but his hands were devastatingly gentle as he caught her other leg and wrapped it around him.
“Hold on, because this could get rough.”
Rough was fine, Gina thought, feeling the white-hot pleasure start again, her body slick and wet as Trace palmed her, driving her up again. The floor shuddered and the room ran to black.
“More,” she rasped, squeezing as she rode down his length.
He groaned her name and she closed her eyes on a sigh as Trace lifted her, then rocked her down, driving her there again, their bodies meeting completely.
Now, now, she thought. She couldn’t breathe, much less talk, while his hand opened against her. She dug her nails into his shoulder, wanting him to lose that iron control inside her. “I want fast, Trace.”
She wanted his control gone.
“Stop protecting me, damn it.”
He gave her more, full and hot inside her, and Gina almost passed out with the sudden, thick pleasure. She tensed against him, drawing out his pleasure until his fingers twisted, locked in her hair.
Damp with sweat, he drove her against the wall, drove her hips high as his control finally unraveled and he pounded home inside her. Deep, as far as he could go.
The last thing she remembered was the low, guttural way he rasped her name as he fell with her.
HE COULDN’T BREATHE. Her nails were digging into his shoulders.
Trace couldn’t prevent a satisfied smile as he felt her climax. No more questions or suspicion.
Trust.
The knowledge was as potent as any aphrodisiac. In his world, people didn’t trust. It was a rule of the game. You watched and waited, and you struck when your enemy was most vulnerable.
If you didn’t, you died. Pure and simple.
Trusting felt strange, like trying to walk when your foot was asleep.
Gina’s satiated body collapsed against him, and he lifted her up, shifting her in his arms to carry her to bed. She curled toward him immediately, fitting her thighs intimately to his even in sleep.
Hell, the woman was driving him nuts. He’d just had the best sex of his life and he wanted to start in all over again.
As he reached for the towel he’d left on the foot of the bed, he felt a twinge at his collarbone. Another old scar.
Another reminder that trust was a dangerous mistake. For the first time since joining Foxfire, Trace tried to ignore it.
“YOU WERE TOUGH with her.”
“No tougher than I had to be. I had an investigation to finish. Having a stranger ask the questions would have been far worse for her.”
Trace stood on the balcony, where he’d taken Tobias’s call. “You could have held off the questions until morning.”
“Any unusual routine, remember? That would be a clear sign to this person you say is watching us.”
He was right, but Trace didn’t have to like it.
“How’s she doing?” Tobias asked quietly.
“Sleeping now.”
Trace heard the low beep of a cell phone from Tobias’s end. “Anything important, let me know.”
“Will do.”
After the call was finished, Trace paced the balcony, then went back inside. There was nothing else he could do for the moment.
And there was no place he’d rather be than in bed with Gina.
Carefully he stretched out beside her with one arm behind his head, watching her sleep. She did that the way she did everything else, restless and full of energy, scrunching the pillows and shoving her feet out from beneath the blanket. Every few minutes she snuffled and swung around, curling up against his chest, her chin against his neck.
Trusting him absolutely.
Too bad that he was harder than he’d ever been. He was pretty certain he heard her mutter something about a Bûche de Noël, whatever the hell that was.
Thanks to his Foxfire genetics, Trace needed no more than four hours of sleep, which had left him time to check in with Izzy, assess the remote camera feeds in the security office and then call Tobias for another update.
Now the rich silence stret
ched out and every minute felt like a lifetime. He wanted to imagine this moment of contact and trust was real and everything else was the dream. That he’d have long years of watching her sleep and seeing her wake on his pillow.
He pulled out the piece of red yarn he’d found on her sleeve after that poker club meeting. Rolling it between his fingers, he felt a slow grin forming. Like hell she’d been playing poker.
He didn’t know how it had happened, but he’d fallen for the woman, from bridge to stern. He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
It was also coming at the worst possible time.
Trace vowed that he’d find a way to build a future for them. Ryker was going to have to bend his precious rules one more time.
Because Trace had changed somehow over the past few hours. Here in this quiet room, he’d tasted trust.
Now he would never give that up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“YOU KILLED HIM.” Blaine stood stiffly in the darkened passenger cabin. “I saw the knitting needles.”
“Your friend Imogen did your legwork.” Cruz ignored her, keying at his laptop. “You got information, food replaced and a set of Gina Ryan’s knitting needles. You’ll have to pay her exactly what you promised or she won’t keep her mouth shut.”
“Forget about Imogen. Why did John Riley have to die?” Blaine shuddered.
The man with the scar leaned back, the screen casting restless colors over his face. “He got cold feet. He wanted more cash or he was going to see Tobias. He had to be stopped.”
“I never said—we never discussed murder,” Blaine hissed. “I never planned anything like that.”
“You’re in up to your sexy neck, Blaine. Remember that. You planned this with me.”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “This has nothing to do with me or Gina. I think you’re here for something different. If Tobias knew—”
He knocked her against the wall in one hard blow. “No thinking allowed, darling. It could be very damaging to your health. And do me a favor. Don’t get cold feet on me.”
When Blaine stumbled away, Cruz followed. “If you stick to the rules, you’ll come out fine. You may even get your TV series in the end, after the pastry chef is gone.” He stroked her tear-streaked face. “But betray me and you’re dead, just like our friend Riley. Only in your case, I think a corkscrew might be a much better choice. Or perhaps something less obvious.” He stared at her intently, his eyes focused on her throat. Suddenly she went pale and began to struggle blindly for air.
Cruz didn’t move, watching her struggles grow.
Then the look in his eyes slowly faded.
Blaine sank against the wall, gasping as she rubbed her throat. “How did—”
“No questions, remember?” He made a dismissive sound. “If you didn’t want to play, you shouldn’t have come to the party.”
She tried to walk away, but he shoved her toward the bathroom. “Go get cleaned up. Your blouse is ripped and you still have work to do for me tonight.” He tossed her a piece of black metal the size of a cigarette case. “Don’t forget your transmitter.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
TRACE CURSED SOFTLY as he stared into the darkness. He should have felt wonderful. He’d just had incredible sex with a smart, stubborn woman who fitted against him as if they’d been poured from compatible molds. If Trace had anything to say about it, they were going to have more wild, unforgettable sex soon…and often for a very long time.
The extent of his need scared him. Insatiable, it grew with every glimpse of Gina, every trace of her scent, every sound of her voice.
He stood on the balcony, listening to the scream of the wind. The sound reminded him of old missions and lost friends. As he watched water froth up in the darkness, he realized part of his problem. He was prepared for death. He breathed and lived and slept with it every day. It was life that had him stymied. Life was messy and harsh, with constant change and a demand for painful compromises.
More often than not it was out of control.
Maybe he’d spent too much time in the dark places of the world. For the first time he craved the light Gina promised more than the adventure of his work. Or maybe it was simply the knowledge of Gina in the nearby room, a temptation he should resist and yet couldn’t.
It was damn well going to get messy. Trace felt it in his bones.
Restless and edgy, he prowled the length of the balcony, uneasy about something else. Something he couldn’t name.
Cruz?
Yet there was no sensation of Cruz’s oily energy now. It was something else.
The smell of lavender seemed to spiral up around him, and Trace’s mouth tightened. If he was going to have a hallucination, then it damn well ought to be a whole hallucination that made some kind of sense.
It’s near you both now.
As the words rippled in his mind, he gripped the rail, refusing to turn around.
“Why are you out here when she’s inside?”
He knew the voice. He was even perversely relieved that she was back, even though she was a figment of his imagination. Trace didn’t believe in ghosts or life after death. Once it was done, it was done.
Why didn’t this hallucination of his take a flying jump off the balcony?
Dim light swirled across the balcony, and a pale face drifted into view.
“Can’t you stop fighting for once?”
Trace grimaced. He wasn’t about to answer this gibberish.
A pale body joined the ghostly arm, light rippling out in misty waves. Marshall materialized in front of him, perched on the edge of the railing. Tonight she was wearing black cowboy boots and tight black leggings.
Trace looked out at the sea and tried to ignore her.
“You need to protect her.”
He swung around. Since this illusion wasn’t going away, Trace decided to face it head-on. “Why are you bothering me?”
“Garbo speaks.” Marshall leaned back on the railing, smiling slightly. “You’re a tough nut to crack.”
“Go away,” he muttered.
“I can’t. You need help, Lieutenant. You need a lot of help. For some reason, I got the job.” She frowned, her foot moving restlessly as if she couldn’t quite control it. “I’m not very good at this stuff, but let’s just say you’re my mission. So I have to stay and warn you…until it’s too late.”
Talk about bullshit, Trace thought. He glared at her shimmering face. “The only help I need is getting rid of you.”
“Not gonna happen. Not until all this is done.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked over Trace’s shoulder. Then she shrugged and turned back toward him. “Stop being afraid. There’s nothing scary about you two being together.” Nimble, she pushed to her feet and walked precariously along the railing.
Trace fought an urge to leap up and pull her back to safety.
But he was only watching an illusion, and there was no need to save her from anything.
Then Marshall swayed, losing her balance, and he couldn’t fight old, protective habits. He lunged forward, reaching for her arm.
His fingers cut through empty space.
She laughed quietly. “That’s what being in love is like. You can’t touch it and you can’t hold it and sometimes it hurts. You want to help someone and protect them from harm and ease their pain, but you can’t. That’s the way it works. Unless you drive her off. I hope you won’t be that stupid.”
Trace was about to give her a piece of his mind when she turned sharply. “It’s here. I’m not supposed to feel cold, but I do. It’s…oily.” She shook her head. “I’ve—got to go.” As Marshall stared up at Trace, her features seemed to blur. “It’s closing now and it’s pushing me away. Can’t fight it.”
Her outline flickered.
She seemed to be struggling, as if she were walking into a strong wind. “You need to be very careful. Especially now that he is—”
She seemed t
o shudder, looking back over her shoulder.
Then in the same instant she flickered away, and the balcony around him was empty, filled only with darkness and the rush of the wind.
Trace didn’t move, feeling a sliver of uneasiness. He braced his elbows on the rail where he had seen Marshall’s image only seconds before. It was too strange to be real—except that she somehow knew things, knew that he was afraid of caring too much and not being able to protect Gina from the dark things in her future.
She’d voiced fears he would barely admit existed in his own mind. Either he was crazy, or this was a clear sign of chip degradation. If it was a chip problem, Izzy would be able to track the source.
The door slid open behind him. Gina appeared, hugging a white bathrobe as she shivered in the wind. “Here you are. When I couldn’t find you, I got worried.” She glanced around the balcony. “Were you listening to a radio? I thought I heard you talking.”
He cleared his throat. “Just humming to myself.” Lame, O’Halloran. “So why aren’t you asleep?”
“Couldn’t.” She rubbed her neck. “Too keyed up. Which is pretty funny, considering what we just…” She cleared her throat. “Boy, did we just.”
He turned up the collar of her bathrobe and pulled her against him. She was warm and soft, and her hair fell like silk against his cheek.
Maybe Marshall was right. Maybe he had to let go and believe, rather than agonize about details he couldn’t control. The problem was, controlling things was what he did for a living. All his life he’d had a playbook in his head.
Places to go. Challenges to tackle. He had always needed to prove something to himself.
Watching her hair slide through his fingers, he spoke without planning or thought, driven to say what he had never said before because now something pushed him to feel what he had never felt before.
“I’ve never thought of a future outside my work, Gina. I’ve never cared about relationships. Then I saw you on a crowded street corner and I suddenly envisioned a different life from the one I’d lived up until then. Believe me, that scares the living hell out of me.”
She tilted her head and ran her finger over his lips, silencing him. “You just said the F word, Lieutenant. Future. That’s not allowed, remember?”
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