by Sybil Bartel
“I said I would make love to you one day,” I corrected. “I never said I wouldn’t fuck you.”
“Is that what you do now?” She swallowed. “You fuck?”
“Yes.” Every goddamn year on the anniversary of that night, I found a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman and I fucked her until she begged me to stop.
Abruptly pushing to her feet, she turned toward the view and gave me her back. “Well, I don’t.”
She would if she gave me permission to touch her. “Turn around,” I ordered.
“No.”
This wasn’t about us anymore. This wasn’t about recapturing the past, righting wrongs or rekindling what once was. I wasn’t delusional. We couldn’t go back. There were no second chances in life, and I wasn’t stupid enough to think there was a place in her world for a former Marine turned bodyguard with a covered-up homicide in his past.
There was no chance for us now.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try to fuck her and ruin her for all other men. I wasn’t a gentleman, and I sure as hell wasn’t honorable. If I was, I would’ve accepted her apology a decade ago. Even our own mother couldn’t always tell me and Vance apart, especially if we remained silent. Knowing that, a better man would’ve forgiven the shy, innocent, beautiful girl.
Except I wasn’t better, not then and not now as I stared at her perfect ass and full thighs and thought about my cock down her throat and my fist in her hair as my invasion made her eyes well.
And I sure as hell wasn’t better as I lowered my voice and said the one thing I knew would get results. “Turn around, Songbird.”
Her chest rose with an inhale, and like a wet dream, she obeyed.
Facing me obediently, she held her arms close to her chest. “Don’t call me that.”
With my stance nonthreatening and my hands still in my pockets, I used the same tone I’d just said her name in, the same one I’d used on her back then, and I became every asshole who’d ever taken advantage of her. “Give me permission, Sanaa.”
Her body, her eyes, her pulse, her breath, they all reacted—because she remembered.
She remembered, and she knew exactly what I was demanding.
The younger version of me had made her a promise. When I was ready to make her mine, I would ask permission to touch her.
That would be her warning.
Her only warning.
Except I wasn’t asking to make her mine.
Not anymore.
“GIVE ME PERMISSION, SANAA.”
His deep, quiet voice was pure, magnificent seduction, and my body betrayed me. Goose bumps raced across my heated skin, my breath caught and my heart skipped, then it slammed against my chest. Tingles spread everywhere, and I couldn’t believe how naïve I’d been dropping to my knees.
I was never going to give myself to him.
Ronan Conlon was going to take.
His hands were tucked civilly in his pockets, his face was impassive, and his stance was like that of gentlemen, but it was all a lie. I saw his eyes. I saw the dark depth in them that said the man in front of me was anything except polite and gentle.
If I said the word, he would pounce.
And God help me, I wanted him to.
This wasn’t like standing in front of his twin when his eyes sparked with the excitement of the fight. My body wasn’t naturally priming itself, loosening my limbs and making my movements fluid. I wasn’t preparing for battle.
I wasn’t preparing for anything, because I was standing here breathless and needy and so very delusional that I wasn’t running for the door.
I wanted to give him permission.
I wanted to say the word that would seal my fate and no doubt destroy the last tatters of my heart.
I wanted Ronan Conlon to touch me.
I wanted it so bad I could taste his last kiss and feel his warm skin.
Holding on to a young, innocent girl’s fantasy, I breathed four simple words. “I give you permission.”
His eyes darkened to a perfect storm, but he didn’t pounce.
Ronan ambushed me. Body, mind, soul.
One moment he was an arm’s length away. The next, the entire front of his body was pressed into mine as he locked his fists in my hair and held me so tight, I couldn’t breathe without feeling every inch of his muscled perfection pushed against me.
Swirling scents of dry cedar and ocean and desperate yearning surrounded my senses as his entire body curved into mine.
“I’m not going to ask again,” he warned.
After a lifetime of waiting for this moment, fear tipped my nerve endings, and suddenly I didn’t know if I could do this. This wasn’t a twenty-year-old promising me forever before he left to go to war, taking my heart with him. This was a war-hardened man who wanted my body to do with it what he pleased, consequences be damned.
The way I used to be with him, how my thoughts, my fears, my desires, my hopes and dreams would all bleed out when he gave me his attention—it came rushing back, and I spoke with honesty. “I’m afraid of what will happen after.” Or rather, what wouldn’t.
Holding me so tight it was almost painful, he didn’t react. Not moving, not speaking, the only glimpse into his thoughts he gave me was the storm in his fierce, intent gaze.
Traitorous desire pulled low in my belly, and heat wept from my core. “You aren’t offering anything beyond this.” I didn’t ask it as a question, and he didn’t answer.
“Are you giving me permission?” Dark, quiet, he asked for something I didn’t know how to give because he already had it.
Breathless and afraid, I sealed my fate. “Yes.”
His mouth covered mine, and for the briefest of moments, I was home. Not Trinidad, not Miami, but in his arms, as if I was the axis of his world, and I finally felt like I belonged.
More beautiful than any love song I’d ever sung, he kissed me with the gentlest of strokes, as if every sweep of his tongue was a love letter to me.
My heart soared, and my body responded.
Melting into him, my throat vibrated with the sweetest of moans, but before my arms had tangled around his neck, he abruptly pulled back.
His eyes darker than I’d ever seen them, he held me in his intense stare for a single heartbeat.
Then, using his grip on my hair, he turned me away from him and his breath touched my bare shoulder as he released me. “Walk.”
Anticipation and nerves rising on the back of my neck, I looked across the suite to the open bedroom door.
His heat left my back, and he repeated himself. “Walk, Songbird.”
Hearing him call me by the term of endearment no one else used, I tried and failed to fight the shiver that cascaded across my heated skin. The ache low in my core intensifying, I glanced over my shoulder.
As if expecting me to look back, his enigmatic gaze was already intently focused on me. With his hands back in his pockets and his stance dangerously unassuming, he said nothing more.
This was it.
This was the moment I had been waiting for since I’d laid eyes on this beautiful man.
Flushed, nervous, my body singing with anticipation, I held his mesmerizing stare for one more moment.
Then I walked toward the bedroom.
ALL OF MY RESTRAINT FOCUSED on my feet not fucking moving, I watched her.
The silk material of her dress hugging her perfect ass, her shoulders proud, her full hips swaying with her naturally inherent sexiness, she moved toward the bedroom.
My siren, my Songbird.
Finally.
Giving herself to me.
I didn’t deserve her, and she didn’t deserve what I was about to do to her. But I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to. Watching her lush curves and thick, dark hair, my cock pulsed, but I didn’t move.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Pausing at the door to the bedroom, she grasped the frame with one hand and glanced over her shoulder.
Expecting it, I issued my next order in an ev
en but firm tone. “Dress off, stand in front of the bed.”
Her fingers curled, and color touched her cheeks. “Are you coming?”
“You gave permission,” I reminded, ignoring her question. “Dress off, Songbird.” Practically tasting her anticipation, I locked away every detail of the image she was portraying—innocent, submissive, apprehensive, eager. Then I waited with my fucking heart in my throat because, despite her words, despite her actions, I still didn’t trust she was consenting.
If she had any self-preservation, she wouldn’t have. I wasn’t going to be a gentleman. I wasn’t even going to be gentle.
I was going to punish her. Religiously.
But before I did, I was giving her one last opportunity to change her mind. Which was why I stood back, my patience measured, and waited.
Sexual tension hanging in the space between us, she stared at me a beat longer. Then my beautiful Songbird averted her gaze and lifted her dress.
Except she didn’t just lift it.
The girl who’d become a woman grasped the hem and pulled the material up slowly, making a meal out of her striptease.
I both loathed and salivated over it.
I didn’t want to know where she’d learned the art of seduction. It made me want to kill any man who’d ever touched her. For the same reason I didn’t watch her music videos or clips of her on stage, I didn’t watch the rest of her striptease.
Pulling my cell out, seeing three missed calls from Harm, I shot off a text.
Me: Occupied. Suite off limits for one hour. Keep everyone out. Sitrep?
He replied almost immediately.
Harm: Copy. Sitrep can wait.
My dick hard, adrenaline pumping, I’d waited over a decade for this moment. But if the Marines had taught me anything, it was that you didn’t wait for vital information.
Dialing, I looked up.
And lost my fucking concentration.
Lace thong, full hips, bare back—Jesus. Dark, possessive thoughts fucking consuming me, I didn’t know how the hell I was going to be able to let her go after this.
The call connected.
I issued Harm an order. “Give me the sitrep.” I reminded myself I couldn’t keep her. I couldn’t live in her world where men lusted after her and paparazzi and fans decimated her privacy.
“The two extra L&A guys reported suspicious activity on the loading dock,” Harm replied. “Ty and Tyler checking it out.”
“Elaborate,” I demanded, taking in every inch of her as she stood waiting with her back to me.
“Unscheduled delivery van. Produce order a day early. Driver said the weather coming in had him doing double duty today before conditions deteriorate tomorrow. That’s not why I called.”
I didn’t have time for this. “Continue.”
Harm inhaled. Then, “What if it’s not a man we’re looking for?”
Male, female, animal, in that moment, I didn’t give a fuck what we were looking for as long as we found it. “If you’re going somewhere with this, speed it up.”
“The courier was approached by a woman.”
“Already established.”
“What if it wasn’t a woman?”
Fuck. Fuck. “Hold.” Hitting mute, I strode toward her and stood at her back. Letting her feel my body heat for a single second, I swept her hair over her shoulder and pressed my lips to her neck. Then I issued an order. “Stay. Just like this.” Without waiting for a reply, I walked back out to the suite and went straight to the balcony for privacy. Strong winds whipping against the building, I stood back from the railing and unmuted the call. “Talk to me, Harm.”
“I should be in the lobby. I’m useless up here.”
“Not what I meant, and you’re crucial up here.” I trusted him more than Ty and Tyler, both to keep Vance out and to have a watchful eye.
“Today was off, and I keep thinking about something.”
I had no argument for that. “Agreed. Continue.”
“Four of us have been here for two days, five including your brother. None of us have seen anything. It’s simple math. We’re missing it or we’re looking for the wrong thing. Statistically, five people on site all looking for the same thing, Luna watching security feeds, Trefor’s outfit doing whatever they’re doing behind the scenes—it doesn’t add up. The more likely scenario is we’re looking for the wrong thing.” He paused. “What if the woman wasn’t a courier like the man?”
“The likelihood of a woman building and setting the bombs is slim to none.” Not in this country. Not in London. Not statistically. “The MO doesn’t fit.”
Harm dropped his next statement, and it hit like an IED. “Men dress as women.”
Goddamn it. Instantly, I remembered the woman in the garage who was then in the lobby. I couldn’t fucking believe I’d missed it. “All right, listen up. There was a woman in the garage who was let out of a sedan who I later saw sitting in the lobby before she headed toward the restrooms. Straw hat concealing the face, beach tote, a print dress that was full-length. Get with Luna, tell him to check the feeds. I want to know where she went and what she did. Have Vance talk to hotel security and bring Ty and Tyler up to speed. Get them back in the lobby, along with Vance. I want all eyes on this. Let’s track her movements, and let’s review any other female guests that have been loitering where they shouldn’t.” How the hell had I missed this?
“Copy,” Harm confirmed.
I glanced at my watch. I wanted this information ASAP, and I wanted a plan in place to relocate Sanaa, but realistically, I needed to give everyone time to get this right. Moving her on impulse could be as dangerous as staying. “Thirty minutes, I want us all up here for a sitrep. We’ll decide then if we need to move her.”
“Ten-four,” Harm stated.
“Thirty minutes,” I reiterated.
“I got it.” Harm hung up.
I walked back into the suite.
HE STRODE BACK INTO THE bedroom in a flurry of tension and untapped energy. Immediately feeling the shift in his mood, I regretted my nakedness.
Covering my breasts with my arms, I glanced over my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes a mixed storm of intensity and anger, he only met my gaze briefly as he unholstered the gun on his hip. “Did I tell you to move?” Setting his gun on the dresser, he added his cell phone.
When I first saw him on the private jet, I didn’t think I would ever get used to seeing him carrying a gun as if it was merely an accessory. But after the past couple days, the weapon on his hip had become a part of him as much as his reserved demeanor.
Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I didn’t drop my arms. “No, you didn’t.”
Peeling his shirt off, he tossed it on a chair.
My gaze cut to his chest, and my heart stopped.
The angel wing necklace I’d given him that night before everything went to hell hung from his neck.
“You still have it.” I’d saved for over a year to buy him that. Back then, it was the most money I’d ever spent on anything.
Stepping behind me, the heat of his bare chest covered my back, and he skimmed his fingers down my arms.
My pulse jumped, and my nerves thrummed. “You kept it,” I whispered, my heart both breaking and soaring as I tasted the cruel touch of hope that this was going to be more than sex. I’d given him that necklace and told him it would keep him safe. All these years, and he still had it. That had to mean something.
“We have thirty minutes.” His deep voice so quietly beautiful it was its own song, he didn’t acknowledge what I’d said. Instead, he pressed his lips to my shoulder, then he broke me. “The fact that I’m wearing the gift you gave me isn’t going to alter the way I’m about to touch you.” Taking my wrists, he gently but firmly pulled my arms from my chest. “However, I will give you a choice.” Holding me in his tight grip, he skimmed his nose along my neck. “I can fuck you now or later. Either way, you’re going to come hard in the next thirty minutes.” His grip intensi
fied. “But know this.” Abruptly letting go, he stepped back. “I will fuck you later. It will last longer than thirty minutes, and it won’t have any other intended consequence other than exactly what it is—us doing what we never had a chance to ten years ago. Choose.”
My heart breaking, my head spinning, my traitorous body pulsed with need. My core was wet from the simple truth of his hands on me, and I was in over my head.
I always had been with him.
Which made me think that maybe a part of me had signed that contract all those years ago in self-sabotage. Maybe a part of me wanted him angry with me. Maybe I’d unconsciously wanted an out from his intensity.
Mentally shaking the errant thoughts away, I forced myself not to turn and look at him.
He’d given me a choice, and I wanted to make it for me. Not for what I would see in his eyes that contradicted his words, not for him, not for what I thought he wanted me to do.
I wanted to make the decision just for me, and that meant there was only one choice.
I knew what I wanted. “Take me.”
The air conditioner hummed, the distant sound of the angry waves twenty stories below pounded at the shore, and my own heartbeat echoed in my ears as my pulse raced. But he didn’t make a sound.
For three breathless heartbeats, he was so deathly still behind me that nerves rushed across my skin and chilled the heat between my legs.
Then the air shifted, and I heard it.
A sound so distinctive, it made my thighs press together.
He undid his belt and lowered his zipper. Not slow, not fast, but with an execution that said more than words ever could.
A split second later, his hand was on my lower back and he was pushing. Bending me over the bed, he kicked my feet apart with his polished boot, and I had a wayward thought, wondering if I could see myself in the shine.
A shiver ran up my spine as my breasts landed on the downy-soft, white comforter. Before I could think what to do with my hands, he’d grabbed one wrist, then the other, and brought them to my back.
I wasn’t afraid of him, but I was terrified.
In all of my wildest dreams, this was never the position I ever would’ve dreamed of when I thought about how he would take me for the first time. My young heart had foolishly envisioned candles and kisses and gentle caresses.