“Any idea of who would want to kill your team?”
She set the tablet on the nightstand. “No clue.”
“Tell me about Project Endurance.”
“Endurance was my ticket to being someone special, someone who would have had a hand in helping thousands of people. And it was supposed to launch my career.” She anchored the heels of her shoes on the wooden plank holding the bed’s box spring and propped her elbows on her upraised knees. She dropped her head in her hands. “But all it did was paste a big F on my academic record.”
The loss, the defeat, the acceptance in her voice compelled him to place a hand on her back. He made big, sweeping circles. “You’re not a failure, Riley.”
“You can’t strip me from the process. Somewhere along the way, I got it wrong. The interviews, the analysis, the observation—I don’t know. But at some point, I confused treatment for cure.” She steepled her fingers together and pressed them to her upper lip. “I killed my career before it ever got underway.”
“Another opportunity will come along.”
“Not after word of my failed project gets out. Ethnobotany is a small community.”
“People have short memories. Concentrate on your survey work for the next few months, then put some feelers out.”
“I’m using about a tenth of my brain.”
“I thought you enjoyed surveying the conservation area.”
“I do. But it’s not a career or what I spent years in college training for.”
“Does the work help Britt?”
“It will, once all the data is compiled.”
“Then you’re not a failure.”
“You don’t understand.” She surged off the bed and prowled the narrow space between the dresser and where he sat. “I’m meant to do more than count plants.”
“And you will, when the time is right.” He hooked an arm around her waist, halting her. Twisting her to face him, he rested a hand on her hip. “Don’t let one failed project derail you.”
She placed her hands on his forearms. “Endurance was my life for several years, then it wasn’t. Just when I was starting to put Costa Rica behind me, I’m being thrown back into it. But it’s a version I don’t recognize.”
Tightening his grip on her hips, he urged her even closer. With him sitting, she had a few inches of height on him. Yet he could feel the soft wisp of her breath on his face.
One of her small hands lifted to cover his jaw. “My world is spinning on a precipice of something I don’t understand.”
“I won’t let you fall.”
“What if I drag you down with me?”
“Not gonna happen.”
She set her forehead against his; her fingers sifted through the short hairs at the base of his neck. “You don’t need this. You’ve seen and lived through enough conflict to last ten lifetimes.”
He brushed a hand over her head. “Maybe none as worthy as this one.”
All it took was a slight tilt of his chin to cover her lips. He pressed his tongue into her mouth, and she accepted the invasion. Toyed with it. Heat speared down his chest and threaded into his groin. He kept the kiss slow and hot and thorough, savoring the silken texture of her tongue, the sweet taste of her essence.
Easing back, he lowered them both to the bed, never breaking contact, never letting her go. She shifted until her knees were braced on the outside of his hips. Her hot core hovered over his straining cock. The scent of her desire roared through him like an ancient call to action.
But tonight was about comfort, not taking her hard and fast until they both lay panting and sated.
Her beautiful, curious mouth swept over his cheek to his ear. She teased the sensitive lobe with her tongue and teeth, sending a clenching ache to his balls. She laved a slow trail down to his neck, where her teeth scraped over his throbbing pulse. At each pleasure point, she whispered something beneath her breath. Too low for him to hear.
His cock bucked, and his fingertips dug into her hips, mooring his control to those ten points of contact. If he touched her in the way he wanted, he would unleash on her.
It had been too long since he’d had sex, too long since he’d allowed himself to feel anything at all.
She sat up, and her bottom cocooned the length of him.
“Ah, fuck.” The words burst out of his mouth as a rush of pure need speared through him. He thrust against her warm center, wishing he was deep inside.
Lust fogged his brain for several seconds, so he didn’t immediately key in on her rigid stillness. When her motionless statement finally broke through the haze, he cracked his eyes open and found her staring at him, wide-eyed and… unsure.
He studied her, taking the time to settle his raging heart and to gather up the fragments of his wits. Everything crystallized into a single realization.
“You’ve never been with a man.”
34
If a black hole had opened up beside her, Riley would have jumped in, headfirst.
Coen had somehow figured out she was a virgin. Already his features were hardening back into his warrior’s mask.
What had she done—or not done—to give herself away?
The book she’d gulped down last night—A Man’s Top 8 Erogenous Zones—had sworn the scalp, earlobes, and neck were great places to get the party started. But when she’d sat up to gauge her level of success, Coen had let out a gut-wrenching noise, as if she’d hurt him.
Had she nipped his neck too hard?
Humiliation, stark and burning, disintegrated the nervous thrum that had guided her thoughts and body moments before. She whipped off the bed and stormed into the bathroom.
One look at her scarlet cheeks had her turning on the cold water and splashing it on her face. She grabbed the hand towel from the rack and blotted her skin dry.
Her arms shook, legs trembled, everything from the inside out was vibrating. She dropped onto the toilet and forced calm into her body.
For the love of God, she couldn’t even please a man without mucking it up. Not even after reading a step-by-step instructional manual. Maybe she should have watched a video instead.
She’d been so hopeful that Coen was the one. The one to break through her mental barrier that wouldn’t release her to pleasure. Other than the brief glimpse she had in her Jeep, no guy had ever been able to distract her long enough to keep her thoughts on him and not on the hundred other things that sailed through her mind at any given moment. The ticker tape had almost stopped tonight until she saw the look of pain on his face—followed by his yell.
Through her self-recrimination, a foreign scent filled her nose. She sniffed, then sniffed harder. Her gaze dropped to her crotch.
When she shifted, the sharp, musky scent intensified—and that’s when she noticed the moisture between her legs.
“Riley?”
Coen’s low, gentle voice jerked her upright.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt—”
“Give me a minute.”
She wrenched her jeans and panties off, tossing the latter into the wicker hamper. After cleaning herself up, she pulled on a pair of yoga pants she found hanging behind the door.
A glance in the mirror told her she’d managed to get ninety percent of her swagger back, but the pink still tingeing her cheeks shone like battle scars.
Hand on the doorknob, she inhaled a bracing breath before pushing herself back into hell.
The inferno, all two hundred plus pounds of raw male, waited for her just outside the door.
With his arms folded and feet braced shoulder-width apart, he gave her body a frank assessment with one thorough sweep up to her eyes and down to her toes.
Without conscious thought, she mimicked his stance and forced herself to hold his stare. Although not happy about how she’d killed such an amazing moment, she wouldn’t apologize for her inexperience.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Things got a little… out of hand.”
Out of hand. Soul-sucking heat crept up her neck again. Unable to hold eye contact any longer, she strode over to the tablet to see if Camilla had responded, before heading into the living room.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She located her keys and purse on the couch, where she’d hurled them earlier in her rush to get to her tablet. “Driving you back to the center.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“There’s no reason for you to stay.”
“I disagree.”
“Coen—”
“You’re in danger, Riley.”
Her chest heaved on a relieved breath. This she could deal with.
“I’m going to share the information with Maggie tomorrow.”
“Which leaves you vulnerable tonight.”
She thought back to the times when she had the sense that someone was watching her. All creations of her imagination? Or preludes to her death?
Either way, she wasn’t sharing this space with him. The bungalow wasn’t dinky, but it wasn’t big enough for the both of them.
“I’ll make sure all the doors and windows are locked.”
“And I’ll take the couch.”
“No.” An irrational fear took root in the pit of her stomach. She needed to get him out of her space.
“Riley, I’m not arguing about this. Your sister would blow my nuts off if I left you alone after what happened tonight.”
“There’s no reason for someone to want to kill me.”
“What about your colleagues? Did someone have reason to kill them?”
“How would I know? Just because I worked with them, it doesn’t mean I knew their secrets.”
“Have any of your college friends or other colleagues—outside the Costa Rican project—died?”
She shifted her attention away, looking at everything and nothing at all. “Not that I’m aware of, but I wouldn’t have known about these three if not for Camilla.”
“We’ll sort it out tomorrow. Tonight I’m taking watch.”
Part of her, the logical part, settled at the knowledge that Coen would protect her through the night. Once she’d gotten past the initial shock of losing so many friends, her mind had stalled on what all this meant to her until Coen started picking through the pieces. Then the danger had become clear—and terrifying.
But the other part of her, the feminine part, feared Coen more than a faceless murderer. Feared how quickly things had advanced between them. Feared how much she enjoyed being near him. Feared how little time he had left before rejoining his unit.
Determination hardened his eyes, and Riley recognized that she wouldn’t be able to budge him off his course. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. What a muckety-muck of a muck.
Not bothering to veil her displeasure, she marched into her bedroom and fished out a pillow, sheet, and light blanket. She returned to the living room and handed over the bundle.
His fingers brushed hers, and when her eyes flashed up to his, she knew he’d made contact on purpose. She just didn’t know why and couldn’t summon the brain power to figure it out.
“There’s another bathroom attached to the guest room.” She pointed down the hall, across from her bedroom. “Everything you need should be inside.”
If it had been anyone else, she would have attempted to coax him into the spare bedroom. But he wanted the couch, so he’d get the damned couch.
“The fridge is stocked, too, in case you get the midnight munchies.”
Now she was babbling. Time to split.
“Good night, Coen.”
Before she could close her bedroom door, he said, “Riley.”
She peered out and found him in the same place, holding his bundle of bedding. Something about the sight made her throat close.
“We need to talk about what happened.”
“I know, but not tonight.”
She closed the door and pressed her forehead against the cool wooden panel. A barrier. A solid barrier to stop her from running into that room, into his arms, and finishing what she’d screwed up the first time.
Muckety-muck. Muck.
35
Unable to sleep, Coen prowled the shadowed bungalow, checking windows and doors, peering around window treatments, and raking shaking fingers through his hair.
The sensation of Riley’s tongue on his skin seared his mind. Every flick, every stroke, every hot manipulation made him forget all the reasons he shouldn’t make love to her.
Would she welcome a casual, no-commitment relationship until he was called up for his next mission? Would there be a next mission? Would the colonel take one look at him and see the demons that still seethed beneath his flesh.
The incident with Riley in the parking lot had made him realize he wasn’t going to be able to conquer the aftereffects of Ecuador on his own.
The other night, Riley’s voice had soothed him, allowed him to rest, uninterrupted, for a few hours. Maybe he should give the Yoga Nidra a try. After Reid had mentioned it, he had looked up the practice and instructor. Reid had been right. Nidra appeared to be more about calming the spirit than tangling up the body.
Maybe it was time to try something new. Because the bullshit sandwich he’d been feeding himself had gone rank.
Thirty days. He’d been given thirty days to come to terms with what happened in Ecuador, yet he felt no closer to normal than when he’d hammered in the first tent stake.
Serving was all he knew. The structure, camaraderie, and sense of purpose sustained him in ways civilian life couldn’t. But lately he’d felt something was missing. A missing link he’d never noticed before.
Closing his eyes, he freed his senses to take in his surroundings. Although he detected a hint of jasmine, the scent was older, less prominent than the sweet tang of orange blossoms. The muscles in his chest loosened, allowing him to take a deeper inhalation, to fill every dark pocket inside him with Riley’s essence.
He should have thanked her for helping him through his night terrors the other evening, but he sensed she didn’t want to discuss it. For his sake? Or hers?
Scrubbing his face with one hand, he wished he could brush away the growing ache to be with Riley as easily.
And there was the rub. He didn’t want to be rid of her. In fact, the more he was in her presence, the more he wanted to be there.
It was more than his protective instincts kicking in, though they were flaring off the charts.
Long before he’d failed his team, he’d been plagued by a void he couldn’t explain. A void that had been there for far too long.
When he was with Riley, that hollowness disappeared. The darkness abated.
Her fearlessness and intelligence and laughter and annoying questions—he wanted them all. Every day. Every evening. Every minute.
As the realization of what all that meant penetrated, he turned toward her closed bedroom door, heart pounding.
Shit.
36
Riley stared at her big sister, waiting for the explosion.
For ten minutes, Maggie had sat quietly listening to her tale. But a volcano of activity stirred beneath the sheriff’s calm façade. Most wouldn’t notice the subtle shift in her sister’s features. Only those, like her, who’d tested her sister’s patience on more than one occasion would recognize the signs of all hell breaking loose.
“Let me get this straight,” Maggie said. “You received a text last night from your former Costa Rican assistant that provided several links. Links directing you to three dead colleagues. Colleagues who worked on the same project as you in Central America. And this assistant hasn’t responded to your messages.” She tapped a fingernail on her desk. “And you waited until this morning to tell me.”
Riley dared not glance at the man who stood sentinel behind her. He’d tried to get her to contact Maggie last night, but she hadn’t wanted to deal with this issue, especially on top of her botched seduction.
/> True to his word, Coen had kept watch over her last night. However, instead of sleeping on the couch, he’d made a pallet in front of her bedroom door. A fact she’d learned in the middle of the night when she’d tried to sneak out of her room to fetch her forgotten phone.
After tossing and turning and checking her text messages for hours, she’d finally called defeat and decided to get her phone to see if it was completely destroyed. All she had to do was tiptoe into the living room, grab her purse off the table, and skedaddle back to her bedroom. One minute tops.
It had been a great plan until she’d opened her door and tripped over a human boulder.
Coen had caught her before she’d face-planted into the opposite wall. She’d been so stunned by the whole ordeal that she never retrieved her phone. Using her tablet, she’d worked long into the night.
She’d only been asleep for a couple of hours when the mouthwatering aroma of bacon, eggs, and toast wafted beneath her door. The damn man had made her breakfast. It had been good. Real good.
And if all that hadn’t been awkward and sweet enough, he’d insisted on accompanying her to the sheriff’s department. To his credit, he hadn’t said a word beyond greeting Maggie and asking about the poachers and rental car. Right Flank still hadn’t given up his friends, but she’d found out that the Audi had been rented to a Vince Henley. But the clerk who’d checked him out had only been on the job two days and had forgotten to make a photocopy of his driver’s license.
Since then, Coen had stood at attention near her side—spine straight, chin high, and hands clasped behind his back.
A few days ago, time could have been kept by the sameness of her life. Not anymore. Now her world’s axis had tilted and swayed and damn neared toppled onto its ass.
Maggie snapped her fingers in Riley’s face. “Stay with me here.”
Riley rewound the last minute until she landed on Maggie’s question. “That about sums it up.”
“Did you get the text before or after Mom and Dad’s dinner?”
“After. When I took Coen home.”
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