Risk no Secrets

by Cindy Gerard

  “Easy,” he repeated, pulling away slowly, using gentle suction to extend the contact with her nipple and intensify her pleasure and his.

  “Oh, God, Wyatt. I need you naked. You’re killing me here.”

  He smiled against her skin. “Killing is not what I had in mind, sugar.”

  Desperation transitioned to an embarrassed groan, then she was smiling, too, as she lifted a hand to his face and caressed his cheek. “Naked,” she repeated, then held her breath when he rose above her again and gave her what she wanted. Him. Naked. Jutting. Engorged.

  Her gaze held his before lowering and roaming his body. “Beautiful,” she managed after swallowing hard. This time, her index finger roamed as her eyes held his. “Beautiful,” she repeated in barely a whisper as that wandering finger skimmed down his chest, lingered over his abs, then slowly descended into the thatch of coarse hair at the root of his erection.

  He sucked in a harsh breath when, with the lightness of a whisper, she measured the length of him, then the girth of him, then invited him home with a willing sigh and parted thighs.

  His heart rumbled like rifle recoil. Thundering and thumping and banging the hell out of his ribs as she waited, suppliant and needy and almost to the end of her wire.

  But just as he wasn’t done touching, he wasn’t nearly done looking at her, either. Wasn’t nearly done exploring, indulging, discovering. He leaned over, switched on the bedside lamp, and knelt between her parted thighs to look his fill.

  “I’ve wanted this,” he said, watching her face as his fingers spread over her flat stomach, gently kneading her mons with the heel of his hand. “I’ve wanted to have the right to do this,” he whispered, moving his hand lower, watching his fingers now as he parted delicate flesh that was damp and slick and scented with the heat of her desire.

  She moaned and closed her eyes when he caressed her clitoris, felt it grow hard beneath the pad of his thumb as he delved inside her with two fingers.

  “I’ve wanted … I’ve imagined how you’d feel, all silky and wet and hot. God, you’re so wet,” he grated out as she moved against him, reaching for his hand with both of hers, pressing him harder against her and into her.

  “I’ve wanted to taste you here, Sophie. Let me. Let me,” he murmured as he lowered his head and opened his mouth over that part of her he constantly craved. He breathed deep of her arousal, growled low in his throat in pure, primal pleasure at the taste of her.

  Sex and heat and woman. Power and lust and love. He was consumed by it and by her and her lusty cries as she came, pouring into his mouth like honey.

  She was weeping softly, alternately begging him to stop, to never stop, as he crawled up her body, fit the head of his penis between the lips of her vulva, and slowly pushed his way home.

  More … more … more. His head and his heart and his cock chanted in unison as he pushed in and out of her, as her legs wrapped around his hips and squeezed. Her hands blindly sought his face, and she guided his mouth to hers for a kiss as deep as space, as yearning as time.

  Perfect. She was perfect and tight and giving, and he wanted … Jesus, he wanted to move inside her like this forever, because it was so good, so damn good …

  But forever wasn’t in the cards. He tried to hold back. Couldn’t. Attempted to rein himself in. Failed. It was too intense, too strong, too fine to delay. He groaned her name against her throat, swore it through clenched teeth, and gave up the fight in favor of the fall into exquisite, inconceivable pleasure. Her fingers dug into his back as she cried out and rose to meet his final thrust. The uncontrollable rush burned through his belly, molten and thick, heat building and rising and finally shooting out of him and into her with a sharp, powerful orgasm that had him gasping and grinding as close as humanly possible.

  Jesus. Jesus.

  When he could breathe without gasping, when he could focus his eyes, he glanced at the clock by the bed.

  And groaned in disgust. Hail the five-minute wonder.

  “I’m sorry.” He lifted his head and touched his lips to her forehead.

  She sighed deeply. “Sorry?”

  “For the sprint. I’d hoped for a marathon.”

  She laughed and made him shiver when she ran her palms from his bare shoulders down to his waist and lightly squeezed his buttocks. “You may not have noticed, but I won that race. Twice, in fact.” She smiled into his eyes. “So, sorry’s not on the table. But thank you definitely is.”

  Contentment. Profound and sweet. It clouded her eyes and made him believe that he hadn’t disappointed her.

  “In that case, you’re very welcome.” He kissed her then. Softly. Lingered there, over her swollen lips, wondering if once would ever be enough. Knowing it might just have to be.

  For the moment, however, he wasn’t going anywhere. Careful to make certain he wasn’t crushing her with his weight, he lowered his head to the crook of her shoulder. Then he closed his eyes, breathed her in, and held her … just held her.

  She’d always known he would be like this, Sophie thought with a sigh of pure and achy satisfaction as Wyatt pinned her to the bed with his delicious weight and they both eased down from the high of amazing, mind-blowing sex. Hot and sweet, reckless yet gentle, possessive yet giving. Yeah. Great sex.

  She should leave it at that. The past twenty-four hours had been a nonstop race against kidnappers, bullets, loss, and despair, and yeah, she’d needed something to break the cycle. But it wasn’t just about escape and great sex. Not for her and not, she suspected, for him.

  She breathed deep of the sweaty, aroused scent of him, clung to contentment just as she clung to his weight. She didn’t want to think about what this meant right now. She just wanted to think about … now. Now was what she wanted. Now was what she needed. Just this moment, just this man, whom she trusted completely to take care of her in ways that transcended physical needs. So she enjoyed the cadence of his breathing as it settled and the easing of his heart rate.

  His body was a miracle. She wanted a lifetime to explore the wonder of it, at least an eternity to feel the worshipful and urgent glide of him pumping in and out of her.

  Unfortunately, they had neither, and Wyatt was as aware of that fact as she was.

  “We’d better get dressed,” he said, reluctantly lifting his head and meeting her eyes. “The guys will be rollin’ in anytime now.”

  When she nodded, he moved to pull away.

  She stopped him with a hand on his arm. She wanted to say something. Something to answer the question in his eyes. Something to keep him with her just a little while longer.

  But she didn’t have to say a word.

  “I know.” He leaned back down to kiss her. “Timing is everything,” he whispered against her lips, then dutifully left her bed.

  She lay there for a while, her mind spinning through her choices, her life, a hundred different ways, to a hundred different ends. And she wondered, as she’d wondered so many times since she agreed to marry Hugh, how she could have been so wrong about so many things.

  She drifted off to sleep thinking about the look in Wyatt’s eyes the night she’d told him she was marrying Hugh …

  Hampton, Virginia

  Twelve years ago

  Class had run over because of finals, so it was already dark outside as Sophie leaned against the corner of her desk, staring at the closed classroom door. Yeah, it was dark outside, but she felt lit up like the Fourth of July.

  Hugh had waited after class until he could get her alone to drop his bombshell. She’d known Hugh Weber a sum total of three months—a wild and intense three months—and not more than five minutes ago, he’d asked her to marry him. Just like that. Then he’d kissed her until her knees melted, left her literally speechless, and, with his cocksure grin, told her he wanted an answer by oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning.

  “Well, no pressure there,” she’d managed as he backed away, looking gorgeous and pleased with himself and pretty damn sure what her answer would be.


  “No pressure,” he’d agreed with a flirty lift of his brow and tapped his watch. “Oh-eight-hundred.”

  Then he was gone.

  She was still leaning back against the edge of her desk where he’d left her, her hands gripping the metal on either side of her hips, when she’d realized she wasn’t alone.

  “Wyatt.” When she saw him standing in the open doorway, she stood and ran a shaky hand through her hair, hoping she didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. She glanced at the clock and made an attempt to pull herself together as he stepped hesitantly into the classroom. As hesitant as she’d ever seen him.

  “Did you forget something?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said, watching her face carefully. “Maybe.”

  She wasn’t sure what to make of him … or the look in his eyes, as if he wanted to ask her something but couldn’t quite make himself do it.

  She’d been in trouble with both Wyatt and Hugh from the first day of class. They’d never run out of ways to make her smile, make her laugh, make her marvel at the lengths they would go to to ensure that there was no possible way she could ignore them. Yeah, they were both trouble.

  Picnic-by-a-pond trouble. Sweep-her-off-her-feet trouble. It was so not like her to be so taken by a man—in this case, by two men. And it was against her personal policy to get involved with any of her students.

  These two, however, had made it impossible to resist them. They were so different from each other—Hugh with his breathtaking good looks and wildness and Wyatt with his Southern-boy charm and level head—and yet they were completely in tune with each other.

  She realized she was wool gathering and smiled at Wyatt. And wished with all her heart that she had fallen in love with him. Why did she have to lose her heart to a wild man?

  “Are you okay?” Wyatt finally asked, walking toward her.

  “Honestly? I’m not sure.”

  “What’s bothering you, sugar?” he asked in his slow, sweet drawl as he took her hands in his. “Tell Papa Bear all about it.”

  This was going to be hard. She breathed deep. Took the plunge. “Hugh just asked me to marry him.”

  His smile never faltered, but she swore she saw the light in his eyes dim in the moment of stunned silence that followed.

  “Smart man, that Hugh. Lucky man.” He squeezed her hands, then let them go. “So when’s the big day?”

  “Big day? Lord, Wyatt, I haven’t even given him an answer yet. It’s just so … sudden.” She wished she didn’t feel as breathless as she sounded.

  “That’s Hugh,” Wyatt said. “Shock and awe.”

  “Yeah. You’ve got that right.”

  She smiled at him then, gently prodded. “Are you … are you okay with this?”

  “With you and Hugh? You’re two of my favorite people. What’s not to be okay?”

  She wanted to believe him. She wanted it to be okay. But she was still so staggered by Hugh’s proposal that she couldn’t think her way through Wyatt’s reaction. She checked her watch. “Oh, man. I’ve got to head for home.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She’d parked her little white compact under a security light in the almost empty parking lot. When they reached it, she hit the keyless remote and looked up at him. “You never did say why you came back to the classroom.”

  “Not important,” he told her with a shrug of his shoulder. He searched her face for the longest time, and a sixth sense told her that he was lying. It had been very important. That kiss he’d kept from getting out of control several weeks ago had meant more to him than a Sunday flirtation.

  He lifted his hand and touched her hair, letting it sift through his fingers before caressing her cheek. His eyes were so blue and so sincere and so … sad, she decided finally.

  She covered his hand with hers, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do, and for a moment as they stood so close, alone in the night, she thought he was going to kiss her. For a wild part of that moment, she wanted him to.

  Then he dropped his hand, leaving her wondering, leaving her breathless again, but this time with a confusing mix of wanting and regret.

  “You’ll make a beautiful bride.” Then he tucked his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans, turned, and walked away.

  14

  Wyatt hadn’t wanted to admit that he’d been worried about the guys, but he breathed a sigh of relief fifteen minutes later when they filed through the door and into the house, tired, dirty and hungry at a little after three a.m.

  He’d known their plan had been to score some weapons, then spend most of their time canvassing gangland territory in Soyopango. Not exactly a day at Disney World. No matter how well they “adapted” to their surroundings, three Anglos—as big as box cars—were not going to blend in. Mendoza was the only one with a chance of doing that. And apparently, things hadn’t gone so well for the Choirboy.

  “He’s hurt.” Sophie gasped when she walked out of the bedroom and saw the shiner Mendoza was sporting on his right eye.

  “What happened?” Wyatt looked away from her kiss-swollen lips and gloriously untidy hair and prayed to God that the guys would think she’d been catching a cat nap.

  “I keep telling him he needs glasses,” Doc said, feeling the needed to intervene on Mendoza’s behalf.

  “I do not need glasses,” Mendoza grumbled, reluctantly allowing Sophie to lead him into the kitchen.

  Doc grunted. “Then why did you run headlong into that asshole’s fist?”

  Mendoza expelled a breath of annoyance, while Sophie hurriedly gathered ice from the freezer and dumped it into a zip-lock bag. “Because I didn’t see it coming.”

  Triumphant, Doc lifted his hands. “I rest my case.”

  “Will somebody please shut him up?”

  Doc grinned and, now that he had decent lighting, shifted from tormentor to medic. He checked the wound, checked his pupils, and grinned again when Mendoza winced and swore at him.

  “Garden-variety black eye.” Doc finally pronounced him bruised but not broken. “You’ll live.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Kevorkian.”

  Gabe and Green dragged bar stools away from the counter and sank down, too tired to pay much attention to either of them or to the subtle tension between Wyatt and Sophie.

  “Is there a short story here?” Wyatt asked while Sophie folded the ice bag into a dish towel and handed it to Mendoza.

  “Yeah.” Rafe pressed the ice gingerly against his eye. “We busted a lot of chops, asked a lot of questions. Guess the sucker who threw the punch didn’t like my smile.”

  “Or your lack of tattoos,” Green interjected.

  Green was probably right. MS-13 members typically covered themselves in body and facial tattoos—all of them had a meaning. “MS,” “13,” dice, crossbones, and daggers were among their favorites. Unless, of course, the gang member had a specialty. Wyatt had once seen a grenade tattooed on a dead MS-13 member’s back in Honduras. Seemed he’d been that cell’s explosives expert.

  “Any luck at all?” Wyatt asked.

  “With weaponry, yeah. We should be good. But we struck out for leads on the girl.” Gabe yawned and nodded his thanks when Sophie set a mug of coffee in front of him. “What about you?”

  Wyatt told them about Sophie’s unexpected meeting with Jorge Vega and the map he’d slipped her.

  “So far, we haven’t pinpointed the location.”

  “Well the A-team’s here now,” Doc said, earning a head shake from Wyatt. “Let’s get ’er done.”

  “Wait,” Sophie said. “You guys are beat. You’ve got to be hungry, and I’m guessing a shower would feel darn good about now.”

  Same old Sophie, Wyatt thought with bittersweet affection. She’d always worried about him and Hugh getting enough to eat and enough rest. Hugh used to call her Mother Henrietta just to get a rise out of her.

  And he’d just made love to her. Finally. After all these years of wondering, he finally knew how she ta
sted, how she smelled when she was aroused, the soft sexy sounds she made when she came.

  Yeah. Finally. And now she didn’t seem capable of looking him in the eye.

  “I wouldn’t turn either one down.” Gabe gave Sophie a grateful smile.

  “I’ve got two bathrooms. Who’s first?”

  “Injured first, then the knuckle draggers.” Mendoza followed her toward the hallway. “I guess that means Doc gets the cold water.”

  “What do you think?” Gabe leaned back from the table, rolling the stiffness out of his neck.

  Wyatt checked his watch. It was closing in on four a.m. They were all used to functioning on very little sleep, but at Sophie’s insistence, they’d all showered and refueled on calories and caffeine. For the last forty-five minutes, they’d set their collective efforts to the task of pinpointing the location that matched Vega’s map. All except Sophie. She’d been weaving-on-her-feet tired. Wyatt felt partly responsible for that. Not just because of the physical workout they’d had in bed but because of the emotional toll on her.

  He was certain she regretted what they’d done. The heat of the moment had cooled to the icy starkness of common sense. In any event, he’d insisted she lie down—by herself this time—and catch a few winks. The fact that she hadn’t fought him on it was telling. She needed the distance.

  “I think,” Wyatt said after pushing back from the table, “that I wish we had access to a spy satellite that could give us an aerial view of this jungle-ridden country. Maybe some infrared technology that could hone in on the target. Without either, this map of Vega’s could lead to a dozen different locations we pinpointed as potential places to search.”

  “Too bad one of us doesn’t have a close contact at the NSA. Someone who might be able to pull a few strings, get access to the National Reconnaissance Office.” Mendoza gave Green a pointed look.

  Joe Green was already reaching for his cell phone. “On it,” he said with a nod.