by Lora Leigh
Perhaps it was time to request an assignment outside of Atlanta, she mused sorrowfully. She could tell Reno what she was doing now; it was too late for him to stop her. He wouldn't like it, it would hurt him, but he would accept it.
And if she left Atlanta, then the chances of seeing Clint again would be nearly zero. At least slim enough that maybe she could find a life outside the constant hope she managed to keep alive in her heart.
She loved him. She had long ago grown used to the fact that she would always love him.
And she was terribly afraid Clint would never change. He would always fight what he could feel for her. And he would always insist on attempting to save her from herself. As though she were a child rather than the woman who ached for him nightly.
She touched her hand to the window, her gaze never leaving the dull shimmer of color beneath the awning. He had shown her more of himself tonight than she had ever seen in him before. She had felt his kiss, his touch, his passion, and the need for more burned inside her with a ferocity she couldn't fight.
She had fought too long to allow Clint to take this from her, though. This was different from the parties he had dragged her away from and the boyfriends he had frightened off. This was her life, and if he didn't want to share it with her, then he could step aside and let her live it in peace.
Even if it meant she had to eventually leave Atlanta herself.
"Good night, Clint," she finally whispered, pressing her lips to her fingers before placing them against the glass once again.
Then with a self-mocking little snort she moved from the window, shed the robe she had donned, and climbed into her empty, lonely bed.
Chapter 6
WHY AM I SO NOT surprised to see you here?" Morganna muttered as she followed the scent of freshly ground and brewed coffee from her bedroom to the kitchen.
There were few people capable of making decent coffee. Clint was one of the best.
He was sitting at her kitchen table reading the newspaper. Dressed to kill in well-worn jeans and a white shirt that begged her to unbutton it and strip it off his wide shoulders. If she weren't so damned mad at him, then she would have tried.
Her one concession to modesty herself was the loose light cotton pajama bottoms with Kiss This written across the rear and a rosy pink camisole top that left a swath of creamy bare skin from just above her belly button to the band of her pj's that lay below her hips.
"I brought donuts. They're probably still warm." His voice was soft, almost conciliatory, as he laid the paper down and picked up his own steaming cup of coffee.
"Cream-filled?"
"Would I bother with anything else?" Amusement laced his voice.
Okay, so her habit was pretty well-known. Krispy Kreme cream-filled glazed. She opened the box and inhaled as a shiver of pleasure washed over her. Forget sex with grouch-ass. She would drown her sorrows in fluffy cream filling and melt-in-your-mouth sweet perfection.
"Why are you here?" She shuffled over to the coffeepot and picked up the waiting cup.
She heard his sigh behind her. She didn't trust Clint when he was being nice. Which said something about their non-relationship.
It sucked.
"I promised Reno I'd look after you while he was gone." Clint cleared his throat with uncharacteristic nervousness.
She restrained the urge to throw the cup of coffee at him.
"I'll lie for you and tell him what a great job you did when he gets home." And in the meantime she would figure out how to heal the lacerations he was inflicting on her heart.
"Morganna..."
She turned, watching as he wiped his hand over his face, his expression somber as he lifted his eyes to her. Not just somber, his blue eyes were dark with emotion, with a rare tenderness that never failed to clench her heart.
God, she loved him. And at times it just seemed so hopeless.
"Look, I just want to talk sensibly. Can we do that? Just once?" he asked.
"I always talk sensibly, Clint. You can just never get past the fact that while I'm doing so, I'm making you hard," she pointed out sadly. "That's not my fault."
He lowered his head, rubbing fiercely between his eyes as he grimaced.
"I'm trying here, Morganna. Can't you?" The irritation faded from his expression as he stared back at her sincerely. "Just for a few minutes?"
"Have you changed your mind about working with me?" That betrayal was the worst he had dealt her so far.
"I can't do that." Regret filled his voice.
She breathed in roughly, fighting past the pain that rose in her chest, thickened her throat.
"Then we don't have anything to talk about," she told him evenly. "You wasted your time this morning, Clint. The donuts were a nice try, though."
She moved to the box of donuts, lifting the lid and removing one as she glanced back at him. He was watching her silently, calculating.
Damn him, he knew how she felt, knew how weak she was toward him.- Surely he wouldn't try to use that against her now?
She knew Clint, to the bottom of her soul. What he couldn't get yelling at her he would try to "reason" her into. Sadly, his male reasoning sucked, which meant she wasn't in any danger of agreeing with him. He hadn't tried sexual coercion. Yet.
Moving back to her coffee, she leaned against the counter, crossed her ankles, and bit into the near-orgasmically delightful confection. His eyes followed every move.
"You're not going to even try to understand, are you?" he asked quietly.
"That you're being unreasonable?" She licked the thick, fluffy cream from her lip with a flick of her tongue. "I understand that completely, Clint. I actually expect it from you."
A frown marred his brow. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means that since the moment you caught me wearing makeup and dressing like a girl instead of a tomboy, you've resented me. You see me as a pretty, worthless party girl without a brain in her little head. Unfortunately, I'm not willing to play into your image of that forever. I've actually grown quite sick of it."
Morganna picked up her coffee, sipping at the hot brew as she watched his expression closely.
"That's not true."
"Of course it's true." She smiled gently, inhaling a ragged breath. "You think I'm just like your mother. Unable to settle down or care for her children while her husband is off fighting wars."
There. It was out in the open. Morganna steeled herself against the hard expression that came over his face, the ice in his eyes. God, she hated it when he looked at her like that.
"This has nothing to do with her."
"Of course it does. It always has." She shrugged, fighting back the tears, the pain. "Do you think I haven't realized what the problem was all along, Clint? You believe I'll screw around on you while you're gone, simply because I wear makeup and like to dance. Because she did. As far as you're concerned, I have no more honor than she did."
"You're reaching, Morganna." He shook his head.
"Am I?" Her smile was forced, as was the calm edge of her voice. "I don't know, Clint. The evidence is pretty overwhelming from where I sit. We were getting along fine when I was a little tomboy chasing after you. Once I started wearing makeup and having a life outside you, you hated me."
"I don't hate you." ,
"You can't keep your hands off me and you hate yourself as well as me for it."
Her heart was racing as his brows lowered ominously, his expression becoming darker. "Morganna. That has nothing to do with this operation-"
"Of course it does." She lifted her chin defiantly. She was not going to cry over him again. She had spent weeks crying a year ago when she made the mistake of going to his apartment to comfort him after his buddy's death. "It has everything to do with it. How can a party girl, one step above a tramp, possibly contribute anything worthwhile to such an important cause? I'm a hazard to the entire operation, aren't I, Clint? It doesn't matter that I've been training for this for years. That I fought for this assignment a
nd that it means something to me. All that matters to you is that you can't handle it."
"Because you're inexperienced and that will get you killed." His jaw clenched almost violently. "You're not cut out for this life."
She stared back at him silently for long moments. She didn't fight the pain he could cause her. It would rise and ebb, like the tide. What tore at her heart now would ease to no more than a dull ache in a few weeks.
"Taking me off this assignment isn't going to make a difference," she finally said. "When I return to the agency, the commander will find me something else. Perhaps not something that means as much to me, but something I believe in. What will you do then, Clint?"
He didn't answer her. Clint rose slowly from his chair instead, his expression blank, though his eyes churned with emotion as he watched her.
"Don't make the mistake of coming back to one of those clubs tonight," he announced, his voice hard.
She tossed the donut to the top of the box as she stiffened defiantly. "Don't make orders you can't enforce, Clint. It is a free country here, you know."
"Don't you underestimate me, Morganna." He towered over her, glowering down at her from his lofty height with arrogant confidence. "I will put a stop to this."
"Why?" Her fists clenched as anger enveloped her. "Why do you even care, Clint?"
"Because it's no more than I would expect from Reno if it were Raven acting so damned foolishly," he growled. "I won't let you risk your life, Morganna."
"And you don't? Has either Raven or I demanded that you leave the military and take a nice safe little job shuffling papers? Your double standards suck, Clint."
"Then they suck," he retorted, his voice harsh. "Dammit, Morganna, you're asking too much of me."
"And you're a liar," she raged back rashly. "This isn't about Reno, or friendship, or anything else. The fact of the matter is that you can't admit how much you care about me, so you're just going to jerk me out of something I've worked my ass off for. Your selfishness amazes me, Clint."
"Bullshit!"
"The hell it is." She was in his face and didn't even realize how she'd gotten there. Her finger jabbed into his chest as she stared up at him challengingly. "You won't work with me because you know if you did, you couldn't keep your hands off me or your stone-cold heart safe. That's your problem. Walk away like you always do. But no, you have to destroy my dreams while you're at it."
"My problem is spoiled little girls who think they're bulletproof," he snarled, catching her wrist and holding it in the manacle of his fingers. "My problem is your damned stubbornness. I can't even talk to you."
"Because you never see anything beyond your own needs," she cried out raggedly. "You think you can lay down laws and I'll obey you like I did when I was a child. I'm not a child anymore."
"That's more than obvious every time you parade around half-dressed in one of those fucking clubs," he bit out. "You're a walking, talking signal for sex and you know it."
"And you hate it because you can't ignore me. Because it just makes you hungrier. You can't stand if, Clint, because you want me just as bad as I want you. Until it's like a sickness you can't get rid of."
"Damn you," he groaned. "God damn you, Morganna."
He jerked her into his arms, his lips slamming down on hers, grinding against her as the breath tore from her chest. Desperation fueled his kiss, desperation and fury. She could understand that. She had enough of it herself.
Rather than fighting him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she arched to him, certain she could crawl right beneath his flesh if he continued to consume her with his lips as he was doing.
She moaned with aching need as a growl of hunger tore from his chest. His hands were on her hips, lifting her to him as her back met the wall and his cock notched heatedly between her thighs.
The rough denim of his jeans and the fragile material of her pajama bottoms did nothing to protect her from the hard shaft pressing against her. She could feel the dampness flowing from her, the tight clench of her vaginal muscles, and the flaming need that overtook her.
Morganna wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands spearing into his hair to hold him closer to her, to relish every inch of the hard body pressed into hers and the calloused palms clenching against her rear.
"Open," he growled against her lips as she held them closed. "Now."
His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips before one hand left her rear, his fingers gripping her jaw and exerting just enough pressure to force her teeth open.
A shiver of debilitating arousal shot through her at the dominant forcefulness. She shuddered in his grip as his tongue forged past her lips and sent fire rushing through her body. The heat of his touch, his kiss, seared her, tore through her senses, and enveloped her in a need so intense she didn't know if she would survive it.
She wrapped her legs around his lean hips as they ground against her, moving her body in counterpoint to his, the friction against her clit sending impulses of pleasure so intense throughout her body that she knew climax was only seconds away.
His lips devoured hers, slanting against them as his tongue fed from her. Morganna met his kiss with a greater demand of her own. Years of aching, unslaked arousal were like an animal clawing at her womb. She needed him, helplessly, desperately.
"You make me crazy," he groaned as his lips tore from hers, his hands moving against her as his body held her firmly in place against the wall.
His hands pushed beneath her sleep top, jerking it above her breasts as his palms covered them, drawing an incoherent cry from her lips as she writhed against him, determined to find release before he changed his mind. Again.
"I love your breasts. They get so tight and hard for my touch, your nipples flushing that pretty ruby red." His head lowered as the fierce throb of lust in his voice sent tremors quaking through her.
When his lips surrounded one hard point, Morganna saw stars. He wasn't gentle, but she didn't want gentle. She didn't need gentle. She needed this, his teeth gripping the hard point, nipping at it erotically before his lips surrounded it, his cheeks drawing on her with a friction that slammed pulse points of pleasure through her vagina. She needed to come. She needed just a moment of release, just one driving orgasm from his touch, and she could go on, because she was smart enough, intuitive enough, to know Clint would never give in this easily.
HE WAS DROWNING IN HER. What was it about Morganna that destroyed his self-control, that tore through his determination to be patient, to be calm with her? What made her so different from any other woman?
Whatever it was, it went to his head faster than the strongest liquor. It made him crave the taste of her, the feel of her. Her hands tearing at the collar of his shirt so her sharp little teeth could rake across the column of his neck, her hot hands pulling the material of his shirt to give her better access.
Driving lust bit into his balls as his cock surged with an edge of hunger so keen, so violent, it sent shock waves racing through his mind, further eroding his control.
He released the swollen tip of her breast to ease back, holding her in place with his hips as he jerked his shirt from his pants, her hands moving for the buttons.
"Just a few more minutes," she whispered desperately, panting for air as her stormy eyes met his. "Just a few more minutes, Clint. Please. Please don't stop yet."
The need he saw in her reflection destroyed him. Had a woman ever stared back at him with such stark hunger, with such desperation? Her face was flushed with it, her lips swollen, her expression tight with her race to orgasm as she ground the hot mound of her sex against the ridge of his cock. He should stop now. He knew he should stop now. As her hand tore at the buttons of his shirt, some releasing, some popping free, and the edges spread to her inquisitive little hands, he knew he should stop.
Instead, his lips were lowering to hers, taking them fiercely as her nails bit into his muscles, raking across them with fiery heat.
He couldn't leave her aching,
but he couldn't take her. His hands clenched on her hips as his lips and tongue tasted hers, and he fell deeper into the intoxicating sensations he found only with her.
He ground himself tighter between her thighs, feeling the moist heat echoing against his erection. God, he needed her. He needed inside her, driving deep and hard into the wet, hot depths of her pussy. Just once, the animal lust howled inside him. Just one time. But he knew one time would never be enough.
"Come here." He tore his lips from hers, snarling with the demand he could feel rising between them.
He loosened her thighs, forcing her to lower her legs to the floor despite her whimper, and went to his knees before her.
He was met with the sight of that silky bare skin between the top and her pajama bottoms. Her shallow belly button, glistening with the gold of her belly ring. He pressed his cheek against the heated flesh, then turned his head until his lips were opening on it. Soft, sweet Morganna. He licked at her, blowing his breath over the damp flesh as she shivered in his grip.
His tongue laved the soft skin; his hands clenched in the elastic band of the bottoms and slowly pulled them down her thighs. He had to taste her. How many times had he dreamed of it? Of feeling the hot syrup of her desire against his tongue as she unraveled in his hold?
Her bare mound glistened with her juices as he forced her legs apart, his fingers spreading the soft folds for his mouth.
"I have a bed," she cried out, even as her hips arched to him. "Oh God, Clint, I won't be able to stand up."
"I'll hold you up," he muttered, moving a hand between her thighs as his tongue arrowed in on the ripe flesh awaiting him.
Her keening cry filled his senses as the soft, sweet taste of her exploded against his tongue and the tight, hot grip of her sex began to surround his questing fingers. She was a wet, silken vise around the two fingers he began to work inside her, drenching them with the heated slide of her juices. Beneath his tongue, her clit swelled in anticipation, and her hips writhed against his touch.