by Tawny Weber
And, oh yeah, baby, the whisper of fabric over flesh as he shoved the last of his clothing away.
Her eyes widened as her mind tried to accept what she was seeing. He was huge. His penis stood at attention between rippling thighs, the rigid length of him rising from that silken black hair.
Her breath came even faster as she wet her lips, trying to imagine something that big, that thick, hard and full, inside her.
Harper swore she could feel the wet desire trickling down her thighs in anticipation.
“Afraid yet?”
She should be. Oh, yes, she should be.
She didn’t know why she wasn’t.
Pent-up sexual wildness called out from deep inside her. She knew he’d hear the call, that he’d answer it. That he’d show her everything she’d been missing, everything she’d ever desired. That he’d teach her things she’d never even imagined.
Instead of answering, Harper rose to her knees, her skirt dangling around her legs and her shirt falling open, gaping at her breast.
She didn’t watch his face now. Her eyes locked on the impressive length of flesh rising, hard and rigid from the dark thatch of hair between corded thighs.
“So big,” she breathed.
Her eyes flashed to meet his for a moment, for permission. She reached out her hand to brush her fingers—just the tips—over the velvety head.
The man was incredible. Like one of the Greek statues she often commissioned for clients, he was a study of muscular beauty. Of absolute perfection.
Suddenly Harper wanted to hide. The urge to clamp her legs together, yank her dress closed or, at the very least, turn off the light so she could hide the imperfections of her body came over her.
She wanted to blurt out that she was twenty-five and she’d had a baby. She wasn’t as perky as she’d once been, and the evidence of her child was there in the silvery marks spanning her belly, her breasts.
She hadn’t had sex in more than eight years, and while she didn’t think the basics had changed all that much, her lack of experience was bound to show. Buying condoms along with two pounds of chicken, a head of broccoli and fresh ginger had been easy enough. And she’d obviously known what she was doing when she’d flirted with Diego, when she’d maneuvered him into her bed.
But she realized now that she hadn’t thought it through. She hadn’t undertaken any sex rituals. She hadn’t waxed or polished or rubbed enticingly scented oils into her skin. She hadn’t even changed into sex clothes.
“Shhh,” Diego whispered, tucking his finger under her chin and lifting her face to his. His eyes, so dark and intense, studied her with a care that touched Harper deep inside, beyond the distraction of desire.
“We can simply call this show-and-tell. We can say we both had a good look, enjoyed the view, and let it end at this. It doesn’t have to be more.”
He was so sweet. She knew he was excited, the rigid proof of that simple fact was waving right in front of her face. That he wouldn’t push, wouldn’t insist on satisfaction, simply melted her heart. And just like that, her nerves were gone.
Harper actually heard it in her head, her last defense, crumbling to dust.
“Let’s call it do-and-tell, instead,” she invited with a teasing smile, falling right back into the fun of sex, the enjoyment of Diego’s smile. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got, gorgeous?”
So he did.
His mouth was hot, his hands wild. He stripped her dress away, her bra and panties flying as his hands raced over skin sensitized to a fever pitch. Harper gasped when his hand worked its way between her thighs, shock and pleasure mingling in a wicked climax. She cried out, her body contracting, her thighs trembling.
How’d he do that? He’d barely touched her, and she was panting and wet and ready to come.
“More,” she begged.
She reached down to touch him, to tease him, but he stopped her with the touch of his hand against her wrist.
“Let’s do more,” he said. His eyes locked on hers, she heard the ripple of foil, knew he was sheathing himself.
Harper shifted, her knees up and heels digging into the mattress, her legs wide in welcome. Diego moved right in. She’d never seen anything—anyone—as impressive as Diego as he poised over her. His skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat, his breath labored in that broad chest.
His erection slid along her wet flesh, teasing the sensitized bud, dipping for just a moment, then pulling out.
“Diego,” she groaned.
He plunged. He simply buried himself inside her.
So, so deep inside her.
Harper lost it. Her mind spun into orbit, taking her ability to think with it. Her control shattered into a million pieces, taking with it everything but instinct.
He thrust again.
Hard.
Deep.
Intense.
And she exploded.
Pleasure ripped through her, spiraling out so fast and hard and wild that she couldn’t breathe. The orgasm was huge, like a tidal wave, overwhelming and delicious. All she could do was feel.
“Diego,” she chanted, his name carrying her moans.
Clamping her thighs tight, her ankles locked behind the small of his back, Harper slammed against Diego in time with his thrusts. Feeling more and more and more as she came again and again.
She didn’t know if it was the vehemence of her moves or the sound of her moaning his name, but Diego froze. For just one second, his eyelids flew open, his gaze like a laser staring into hers.
Then he plunged again.
So deep. So hard. So, so good.
She felt the ripples of his orgasm deep in her belly even as his shout reverberated through her body. The sound of it, the feel of it, sent Harper over again.
On the edge of hyperventilating, her hair matted with sweat and her body slick with their juices, Harper simply collapsed with pleasure. As she slid into a fugue of passion, the only thought that made sense, the only word her mind recognized was when.
When could they do it again?
* * *
DAMN HIM ALL to hell three times over.
Before his breath had leveled, before his heart rate settled, Diego felt the painful slap of regret. He shouldn’t have touched her. If he’d had to touch, he should have stopped before they got naked. He could have given her satisfaction, could have overwhelmed her with enough pleasure.
He could have kept his dick in his damned pants.
But, no...
As remorse pounded at his temples in the same way his body had pounded into Harper’s, Diego gathered her into his arms, pulling her tight against him. He tucked her under his chin, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back. His fingers skimmed the line of her spine, teasing and swirling, until her heartbeat settled and her breath evened.
She didn’t sleep, though. Not yet.
He wondered what was going through her head. And hoped like hell she wouldn’t tell him.
“Mmm,” eventually came her soft murmur.
Diego closed his eyes against his instinctive wince.
“I have to admit, that was impressive.” Her soft words were a teasing breath over his skin, warming his heart yet filling him with an icy chill. “Almost godlike.”
There was laughter in her words, a teasing that didn’t try to make light of the wordless expectation.
Laugh it off, Diego ordered, forcing himself to stay relaxed, not to betray his concern with one twitch of a muscle.
“Are you angling for a relationship now?” he asked making sure his tone was ripe with a cocky sneer.
She laughed aloud this time, but he felt the tiny shudder run through her. He didn’t know if it was in reaction to his arrogance, or simply the same reaction he’d seen already whenever a re
lationship was mentioned.
“I hate to disappoint you, but as good as you are, you’re not quite that good.” Her tone was strained, but her words rang true enough to relax some of the tension from Diego’s spine. “But I wouldn’t mind filling the next two weeks with a little more sex like this.”
She shifted, angling herself up so she rested her elbow on his chest. The light glowed like a halo behind her, shimmering through the gold strands of her hair, leaving her face too shadowed for him to clearly read her expression.
“I liked it.”
Liked?
Diego’s brow creased. What the hell did she mean, like?
It’d been fucking awesome.
“Liked it enough to spend the next two weeks doing it again?”
“Well...”
She slid upward until she lay over him, both elbows propped on him now. The brush of her body over his was an erotic charge, the effect instantaneous. It didn’t matter that he was still damp from her last orgasm; he went rock hard.
“Like I said, I was impressed.” She wet her lips; then, with her blue eyes dancing with delight, she wet his, too.
“But I’d be interested in seeing what else you’ve got.”
“Babe, you’re lying on every inch of it.”
And every inch grew even more when she straightened. She shifted again so that her knees gripped his hips, her hands caressing his shoulders, down his chest. She drew a delicate path over the scar left by a gangbanger’s bullet. She skimmed her hand over his belly, tracing lightly over his honor before curling those fingers around his pride.
“I like your tattoos,” she murmured. “I like your body even more.”
“How much more?”
She held up a foil packet and arched one brow.
As Diego tilted his head, gesturing for her to go ahead, he wondered just how many of those she had and where she was hiding them.
Then her hands were on his dick, sliding down so the latex was a caress of its own. She met his eyes again when she was done.
“You ready to ride?” he asked, his gaze heating as he reached up to cup the weight of her breasts in his hands. He squeezed, then, mimicking her moves, circled his palms over her nipples.
“If you’re up for it, of course,” she gasped.
With passion-blurred eyes, Diego watched the contrast of his dark fingers against her ivory breasts, the way his skin looked gold against the raspberry-pink nipples.
Only because he knew the coming pleasure would be greater did he release those breasts. He slid his hands down the soft silk of her torso to her slender hips. He gave in to need, reaching around to caress the round globes of her butt before gripping her hips, positioning her body so her hot, wet core teased the tip of his throbbing cock.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, her words a breath of laughter. “I’d say you’re definitely up for it.”
“Let’s find out.”
With that, he yanked her downward, impaling her on his rigid staff. Pleasure exploded as her body engulfed his. Gripping him, she rode. Each thrust harder, each thrust deeper.
Reveling in the pace she set, content to let her control the rhythm, he released her hips to return his hands to the pleasure of those glorious breasts.
His thumbs worked her nipples, rubbing a teasing friction over the beautifully responsive tips.
Every time she thrust herself down, she added a little twist of her hips, a counterpoint of pleasure.
Every time she thrust, he pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, the gentle pain making her gasp.
Every time she thrust, the tension grew, tightened, intensified.
His body was aflame, hot and needy and so ready to explode.
He watched her face, teasing her higher, wanting to give her more pleasure than she’d even imagined possible. Her breath came in gasps now, each ending on a whimper of pleasure.
He liked that.
But he wanted the pleasure to come in screams. He wanted Harper to come in screams.
He gave up toying, grabbed her hips again. Gripping tight, he used his hold to intensify the moves.
Deeper.
Harder.
Faster.
His own breath came in gasps now. Her cries filled the room. But she didn’t scream.
Yet.
Diego reached one hand between their bodies, fondling the wet folds with the same teasing flicks he’d stroked over her nipples.
The effect was instantaneous.
Harper gave another fast gasp.
Her pleasure-glazed eyes closed; her back arched as she came. She let out a scream of ecstasy that triggered Diego’s own orgasm, ripping the pleasure from him with almost painful speed. He’d never gone up so fast, or exploded so intensely.
Watching Harper shake back her hair, a few strands wet and gleaming as they stuck to the flushed perfection of her face, he decided he liked it.
As she collapsed against him, fitting too well into his arms, he decided he liked it way too much.
* * *
IT COULD HAVE taken minutes; it could have taken hours.
Diego didn’t count, and he didn’t care.
He simply enjoyed every second of the time as he waited, patiently, to be sure Harper’s sleep was deep, her breathing smooth and her body lax. He gave it five more minutes, not for the delight of holding the slick warmth of her nude body against his, he told himself. But to ensure that she didn’t wake.
Then he slipped from her bed, tucking the blankets around her so she didn’t chill and realize he was gone. He didn’t bother with shirt or shoes, but he snagged his jeans on his way out of the room.
He needed to finish searching the downstairs, a room at a time, and clear this house. He figured he’d start with the office tonight, move into the kitchen if he had time.
Ten minutes later, and feeling a little naked without his usual equipment, he cursed suburban ops once more. Instead of night vision, infrared and body armor, he was bare-chested, with a penlight between his teeth and one ear listening for a sexually satisfied woman while he looked through papers. He flipped through the folders from one of the two filing cabinets. The wood felt like silk beneath his fingers, instead of the manila card stock, the file folders looked like watercolor landscapes. Blue water scenes, pastel florals, gold pillars of light.
Damn, the woman was something.
Even her filing was pretty. He spared a brief glance at the closest door he’d pulled open, noting the various boxes lining the shelves. Each stack was color coded, each bin carefully labeled.
Poking through her stuff was truly an education. But not on terrorist activities.
His cryptology training was pretty basic, but he wasn’t seeing any hint of code in the decorating descriptions or client files. He carefully read through each one before moving on to the more promising file drawer labeled “Suppliers.”
Catalogs, flyers and price charts. Furniture, art, fixtures. Lots of fluff, little of interest and nothing related to the Middle East.
If she was hiding something, she wasn’t keeping it neatly filed in her pretty cabinet.
Maybe the computer.
Before he started there, he pulled out the comm he’d tucked into his pocket, fitted it into his ear and tapped it on.
“Electronics available,” he murmured.
It took a minute and a half for Lansky to respond, giving Diego plenty of time to wonder how far in the bag his buddy was. Sure, it was after 1:00 a.m., but that was early enough for the guy to have his MacGyver skills on full alert.
“Roger that. Ready at your mark” came the response finally.
The words were clear and sharp, no sign that the Lieutenant had spent any time in the day’s bottle of choice. Maybe Savino had laid down the law.
“You having a cozy break?” Diego joked, reaching around to the back of the twenty-seven-inch screen to power on the machine.
“Some of us don’t have times for breaks. Some of us have a job to do” was all the guy said.
Right. Because some of them were what? Sitting around on their asses, ignoring the fact that their entire team, their entire career, was in danger of imploding?
Those facts had been front and center in Diego’s mind—or at least back and sideways—throughout the evening, during every moment except those handful of hot, orgasmic ones when he’d been buried inside Harper’s welcoming heat.
But those moments were his. He wasn’t taking anything from the team by having them. He wasn’t compromising the mission, dammit. He was entitled to a life, he was allowed to have feelings—no, not feelings, the hots—he was allowed to have the hots for a woman.
Even as Diego’s fist clenched in his lap, even as guilt tore at him, he still wondered what the hell Lansky’s problem was.
After grinding his teeth as he waited for the iMac to boot up, Diego hit the browser and typed the code. He took a moment to watch Lansky’s remote magic as the arrow moved around the screen.
Without bothering with another word to his teammate with the stick up his ass, Diego got back to work. Scowl still in place, he decided to search the desk while he was there. He went through it one drawer at a time. He checked the undersides; he looked for false bottoms. He pulled apart each pen, seeking anything incriminating.
But he found nothing.
More telling, he found nothing that he could connect to Ramsey.
There was plenty on the personal side in the large side drawer. Accounts payable for the house and the kid’s school. Medical records. Even school report cards. Assorted communications between various friends and acquaintances.
But letters, canceled checks, legal papers—hell, even old birthday cards—with Ramsey’s name on them? Nada.