Chapter Fourteen

He wasn’t going to let it go. She could tell by the way that slow, cocky grin split his face. And she’d forfeited the upper hand by backing away from the discussion, revealing her discomfort with the topic.

It was uncomfortable, dammit. Uncomfortable on a physical level, because she couldn’t even sit on the hard kitchen chair without feeling the aftereffects of last night and craving relief from the need he’d stoked but not satisfied. Uncomfortable on an emotional level, because she didn’t want to need him for anything beyond the assignment, even from a purely physical standpoint. It disturbed their nonexistent equilibrium.

“You’re all flustered just thinking about it, aren’t ya, choux?”

“Bored,” she countered, sipped her coffee, and prayed her expression reflected as much, but she felt some telltale heat in her cheeks. Why couldn’t he put a damn shirt on? Feeling the need to fluster him some, too, she added, “Sorry, cooyon, but in the grand scheme of things, the sex just wasn’t that noteworthy to me. What is noteworthy is that I figured out why you keep pushing me aside and putting yourself out front.”

That wiped the grin off his face. “I don’t.”

“You do.” She held up her index finger. “It’s okay for you to be alone with our targets, but you work it so I get to sit in the house.”

“I already explained—”

She held up a second finger to silence him. He wasn’t going to fast-talk his way out of this. “It’s okay for you to sleep off a rough night alone in your truck, but not okay for me to get a ride home from a bar with our targets.” Figuring her point worked better in threes, she held up another finger. “According to you, it’s okay for you to square off with an intruder, but I’m supposed to jump out the window and call for backup.” She dropped her hand to the table and splayed her fingers over the smooth wood. “You’re trying to protect me. You know firsthand that things can go sideways and get dangerous. Nobody was there to protect you when it happened to you, and it left scars. You’re trying to make sure it doesn’t happen to me.”

Instead of arguing, which she anticipated, he simply tipped his head. “I did take an oath to serve and protect.”

“So did I, Swain.” She couldn’t quite hold the exasperation out of her voice. “Also, I’m not a seventeen-year-old kid with nothing to rely on but my wits and an unfit father. I’m a trained, tested, and duly sworn officer of the law.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “These protective instincts of yours are misplaced when they’re aimed at me. I can hold my own just fine. Not only hold my own, Swain; I can protect you. That’s part of the reason there are two of us on this assignment, right?”

He dropped his head and ran his hand over the back of his neck, then released a breath and looked up at her from beneath his lashes. Those blue eyes held a resolve-melting mix of chagrin and “Aw shucks, ma’am.” “Right.”

“Right,” she repeated and did her best to hold onto her puddling resolve. “Glad we got that settled, because, at the risk of wounding your ego, in my opinion, it’s a hell of a lot more noteworthy than the sex.”

As soon as she mentioned sex, his expression shifted back to cocky cooyon and his blue eyes turned to strategic weapons of seduction. He braced his forearms on the table and leaned in. “My ego can withstand the hit. It’s been willingly taking a beating on your account since the first day of basic, but I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

As casually as possible, she slung her arm around the back of her chair and leaned away—anything to put some space between them, so she wasn’t tempted by the scent of freshly showered, freshly shaved Swain. “What secret?”

His eyes locked on hers. “It was noteworthy to me.”

“Yeah, right. You weren’t even sober.” She laughed, but something weak and stupid fluttered in her stomach. Damn blue eyes. “Go ahead and tuck it into the pages of your blurry memory book, along with your legions of other one-night-stands.” Since the harsh truth of her own words didn’t stop the fluttering, she grabbed her mug and stood. “Thanks for the coffee. I need to shower.”

He stood, too, still smiling, and moved his big, muscular, stupidly appealing self into her path. With a finger under her chin, he tipped her face up to his. “Wanna know why it was noteworthy to me?”

“You finally bagged a biracial chick?”

She didn’t know what kind of reaction she expected, but not a laugh, which was what she got.

“Nah, choux. That’s not it.”

Not it because he’d already slept with a veritable rainbow of women, or because skin color didn’t factor into his analysis of noteworthy fucks?

“Fine.” She lifted her chin away from his touch. “Enlighten me. Why was last night noteworthy?”

“Well, firstly, but not primarily, it’s noteworthy because I usually use protection—”

“I’m on the pill.” The flutter in her stomach stilled, thank God. She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “And I’m healthy. You don’t have to worry about any downstream consequences.”

“I already knew you were on the pill, Eden, and I wasn’t worried about a thing. I mentioned it because I thought you might be worried, what with my legions of one-night stands. For the record, I’m healthy, too. I had a full physical before I started the academy. Further for the record, I’ve never ‘bagged’ a chick. I’ve dated. I’ve hooked up, on occasion, but however you want to put it, legions overstates things quite a bit. Gathering intelligence from the field on behalf of the Marines runs more to meetings in caves with a bunch of hairy dudes. It’s not exactly James Bond.”

His explanation made her feel petty for suggesting he man-whored his way through life—although, in her defense, up until now he’d definitely done nothing to discourage the impression. Unwilling to apologize for buying into his reputation, she focused on the other thing he’d said. “How did you know I’m on the pill?”

“We share a bathroom, choux.”

“Uh-uh. I put my personal things away.” Only a little offended, she nonetheless poked a finger into his sternum. “Stay out of my stuff, Swain.” As exit lines went, she didn’t think she could improve on it, so she stepped past him, intending to get on with her morning. He snagged her arm and tugged her around. She managed to stop short of bumping into his bare chest.

“Don’t you wanna know the primary reason I consider last night noteworthy?”

The grin was back, and the wicked glint in his eyes, and the drawl in his voice.

Aloof, Eden. You’re aloof to all this. “Not particularly.”

“Because I can’t stop wondering.”

She inhaled, just to prove his proximity did nothing for her, but the scent of soap and shampoo sent her mind into the shower with him. “Wondering what?”

His voice went low. “What it’s going to be like when I fuck you deeply and thoroughly—the way I neglected to do last night. Aren’t you wondering, too?” His breath caressed her cheek, and she very nearly shivered.

Oh, yes. Yes, she did wonder. She’d spent the better part of last night wondering so much she could barely stand to be in her own skin this morning. “No. Nope. No wondering here.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Liar.”

“Egomaniac.”

“Touché, but you’ve got a lot of little tells.” He lightly touched the hollow of her throat. “Like this right here.”

“It’s a pulse, Swain. We all have one.”

“It’s a fast pulse. It says you’re amped up, as someone gets when she’s not a good liar. It says…hold on”—he turned and put his ear close to her throat—“it says, ‘Eden’s wondering.’”

“Eden is not wondering—”

“Shh.” His hair brushed her throat as he pretended to listen, causing a sensation so exquisite she couldn’t hold back the shiver. “It says, ‘Eden’s wondering what it would be like if I stripped us both naked and ran my mouth all over her body. Eden’s wondering if she could boss me around a bit, tell me where to linger—where to use my lips, where to use my tongue, where to be so gentle she can barely stand it, and where to be so rough she wants to scream.’”

“Swain…” Okay, that sounded less like a warning and more like a plea.

He took hold of her arms, just above her elbows. Not forcefully—she could definitely slide out of his grasp—but like a request. One she couldn’t find the strength to refuse.

“Eden’s wondering if I’ll beg her pussy for a chance to make up for being so selfish last night. Will I beg with my lips and tongue? Will I beg fast, or slow, or keep her guessing? Most importantly, will I beg for as long as it takes?”

Eden was going to melt into a puddle on the kitchen floor.

He drew back so their noses nearly touched and inhaled deeply. “Yes.”

His eyes were hypnotic. So blue. “Yes?” she murmured.

He swept the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “Yes, Eden, I will beg for as long as it takes.”

Oh, dear. She opened her mouth, completely unsure of what would come out. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Sweet Jesus, she didn’t think it was a good idea?

“Think about this, choux. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel good. Trust me.”

“I think…” The “trust me” filtered into her brain, and the one remaining self-preserving cell responded with a reminder. She was already further down that road than she’d intended to go.

Right. Her body wept, but the spell was broken. “I need a shower.”

Retreat was the safe choice, and she took it, slipping out of his hold, hurrying down the hall, not stopping until she was securely on the other side of the locked bathroom door. Locked to keep him out. Out of her space. Out of her head.

Come on, Eden, at least be honest. You didn’t lock the door to keep him out.

No. She’d locked it to keep herself in.

…

Since jacking off in the kitchen to the sound of Eden showering struck him as pathetic, Swain put on a shirt, grabbed his keys, and headed to the Pep Boys in Florence to do something about her car. He shot a text to her before he left, just to let her know where he’d gone. Like a good partner, because why end up on the couch for no decent reason?

The drive gave him thinking time. All in all, he wasn’t unhappy with how their conversation had gone. She might not like it, but she was wondering. Maybe not as much as he was wondering, but she was wondering. He remembered her hasty retreat to the shower and smiled. Curiosity was a powerful thing. It compelled people to cross oceans or shoot themselves into outer space. Surely it could drive Eden to find out what he could do for her when he wasn’t half stoned and shaking off a nightmare.

Hopefully curiosity proved powerful enough to bring her to him soon, because this op wasn’t going to take much longer, by his estimate. After this trip, Eden’s car would fit her cover, and she’d be mobile. She could spend her time shopping up a storm around town and telling everyone how excited she was about her big, fat, Bluelick wedding. They’d continue socializing with the boys, building that bond. Wednesday afternoon, they’d meet with Kenny’s mom and get the price tag on the reception, and then he’d go running to them, crying poverty and praying for a way to get the money. Those two would cave. True, they hadn’t given up anything but a laugh last night when he’d pointed to their half-smoked joint and said, “How much do you pay for that shit? Bet the guy who sells it to you can get his fiancée whatever overpriced bullshit she wants.”

Dobie would trip all over himself to please Eden. If necessary, she could flat-out ask him to set up a meet with his source. He’d do it. Whether the source would agree to a meeting was still an unknown, but he’d yet to meet a holder of illicit goods who wasn’t looking for a trustworthy distributor, meaning one who wouldn’t help himself to some percentage of the inventory. Thanks to last night, Kenny and Dobie would swear he wouldn’t touch a single leaf.

So, yeah, by next week at this time, the op could be over. After that, who knew? Eden would settle into her role in Bluelick PD. He would tackle the day-ins and day-outs of the county sheriff’s department. He’d rented a cabin way over on the outskirts of the county line, to be close to HQ but far enough away to enjoy some solitude. But he could break the lease and find something in Bluelick if…

If what? If she wants to squander her time on an ex-grifter who doesn’t have the pedigree to polish her shoes?

Okay, Jesus, he knew his limits, but she might spend time on a guy who could give her an orgasm on demand.

You’d have to prove that to her, because last night you fell a fucking mile short of convincing.

Which brought him back to curiosity and how much he had riding on it.

Pep Boys paid off in the form of a bejeweled license plate holder that read I’m not spoiled…just well taken care of, an assortment of window stickers and body decals he could age with a razor blade, and a rearview mirror charm—a pair of pink, fuzzy dice. She’d hate every bit of it, but nothing couldn’t be removed when the op was over.

He spent the drive home imagining her reaction to everything he planned to do to her blank canvas of a car, enjoying her probable responses so much he almost slammed into the black Honda parked halfway down the driveway. What were they doing here? Was Eden handling them? His entire body tightened. He pulled to the side, off the driveway. Forgetting the bag, he swung out of the Bronco and strode up to the house. And there they were, sitting on the porch. Kenny’s and Dobie’s chairs tightly flanked Eden’s, and all three of them looked at something in her lap. She wore…holy Christ…the white robe and possibly nothing else. Bare feet. Bare legs. Bare arms. Any part of her not draped in white silk was bare.

Three heads turned his way when he took the porch steps. Something of the rampant, territorial lust he felt inside him must have shown on his face, because three sets of eyes rounded. He threw his keys across the porch, where they landed with a violent clatter. “Go home,” he growled to Kenny and Dobie as he stepped over Kenny’s legs and picked Eden up out of her chair. A tattered Brides magazine tumbled to the concrete, and he would have been amused at the idea of her sitting out there, forcing her uninvited guests to give their opinions on bridal gowns, if he wasn’t so driven to remind them that she was his.

At least as far as their cover went.

“What the…?” Eden managed, before he brought his lips down on hers. She went stiff for a moment—a long moment—but then moaned into his mouth and melted against him. A sultry blend of scented body lotion and warm skin clouded his brain. He half-carried, half-hauled her across the porch and wrestled the screen door out of his way. When his first and second attempts to twist the knob for the front door failed, he simply braced her against the wood, fitted his hips between her splayed thighs, and sucked her tongue into his mouth. She moaned again and bucked against him, pressing her hot center against the fly of his jeans.

Inside. He had to get her inside. With one hand buried in her hair and her body pinned between his and the door, he twisted the old knob hard. If gave without warning, and he staggered through, holding on to Eden and digging his heels into the hardwood to keep them from falling. The screen door slammed closed. A vision of Kenny and Dobie scrambling for a better view compelled him to rebalance her and kick the solid door shut.

Then he carried her to the stairs, fell to his knees, and dropped her a couple of steps above him. She clung to him, all arms and legs and slippery, silk-covered curves, while he tried to touch her everywhere at once. After a rushed, breathless moment, he gave in to the need to take the pulse of this thing. “Eden?”

She dragged a hand through his hair, yanked his head back, and stared into his eyes. “Don’t talk. Nothing you say is going to make me respect you for pulling this caveman crap or myself for being so wound up it’s actually working.”

“Can I just say I respect that?”

Good answer, apparently, because she dragged his mouth back to hers and had her way with his tongue.

Pulse taken.

He had her robe half open before the thought of two potheads outside with their noses pressed to the fan-shaped glass in the door entered his head. He crawled up another step to cover her more fully and broke the no-talking rule. “I won’t let them see you, choux,” he muttered between trailing kisses down the column of her throat. “I won’t let that happen.”

Her hands clasped his head and guided his mouth lower. The back of her head dropped to a step with a thunk. “I don’t care. Just…oh, God…yes.”

He closed his mouth over her nipple—the tight point poking through the thin white camisole she wore—and rolled it between his lips while her fingernails raked his scalp, then released it long enough to shove the stretchy fabric out of his way and lave the bare tip with his tongue.

Her hips lifted, grinding her soft center against the front of his jeans, torturing the ridge of his cock battened there.

“Jesus. That felt so good I’m gonna have to do it again.” He laved. She writhed. His cock pounded from the brief impact. “And again.” This time he took her nipple fully into his mouth, took more, took as much of her breast as humanly possible and exploited all the opulent softness, working his jaw in time to the rocking of her hips, because every time he moved, she released a breathless moan. “More,” she gasped, “lower.” Her hands exerted downward pressure on his head.

Her wish? His command. He kissed his way along her slender torso, her fluttering stomach, and spared a moment to yank his jeans open and get some relief from the metal button anchors drilling dents in his cock. Not a moment too soon, because it thickened to new proportions at the sight of the white scrap of lace decorating her pussy. Suddenly reverent, he touched the damp panel between her thighs and stroked the shadow-soft flesh beneath. She groaned.

“You are so fucking gorgeous, choux.” Unable to resist, he touched her again. The wetness there drew a sympathetic response from his body. The salty taste of anticipation filled his mouth. Fluid as hot as a drop of liquid nitrogen beaded at the tip of his cock. “So. Fucking. Gorgeous.”

She didn’t raise her head to make eye contact, which he imagined would take the form of an imperious glare, but her knees battered his shoulders, conveying her impatience with the compliments. Her hands grew heavy on his head. “Save the sweet talk, cooyon. Talk isn’t what I want from your mouth.”

“Fair enough. I’ll talk to your pussy instead. We’ll have a long, deep conversation right here on the stairs, with your legs over my shoulders”—he arranged them accordingly—“and my dick hanging out, just crying to get in on the discussion.”

Fingers tightened in his hair and exerted an upward pull. “Swain…”

“Uh-uh-uh.” He resisted her effort to change the course of things. “We’re not gonna let him get a word in edgewise, since he jumped the gun last night. Not until I’m done saying what needs to be said.”

Lowering himself push-up style, he brought his face to the target. “This could take some time.” Bracing both knees and a forearm on various stairs, he twisted a finger into the lace and pulled it aside. She moaned and tightened her legs on his shoulders, lifting herself to him.

“Patience, choux. I didn’t do a proper introduction last night.” He proceeded to correct the oversight with a brief, entirely polite kiss to the tidy strip of dark hair guarding the goods. “Marc Swain,” he said over her frustrated whimper. “Sorry I didn’t get to this…before.” Another kiss, longer, to the pillows of flesh protecting even softer territory within. Another impatient moan. Another flex of her legs, in an attempt to position herself so his mouth was where she needed it. “I hope you don’t feel too neglected, but”—he placed a kiss on the other side, but his lips stretched into a smile when she cursed and squirmed—“I’m fixin’ to make it up to you right now.” He slowly kissed the very back of her pussy. Muscles clenched and quivered under his mouth. Velvety flesh parted like an invitation.

“God dammit, Swain. Now.” The flat of her hand smacked the step supporting his arm. “Right now.”

He fused his mouth to her, caught her busy hips in his hands, and gave her clit a hard, fast tongue lashing. Within seconds, her breaths became labored. Frayed and pitchy on the exhale.

“Like those noises you make, choux,” he muttered before diving back in to dole out more attention on her clit. “I like them a lot. But what I’d really like to hear is you calling my name while I suck an orgasm right out of this pretty little pussy. Do that for me.”

Determined to make it happen, he surged up, pushed her onto a higher stair, and doubled his efforts. Her tightly crossed legs draped down his back. Ten fingers tangled in his hair. Everything under his lips turned so hot, so wet, and so fucking restless, precision became impossible. He forfeited it and gave himself to the frenzy—tonguing her everywhere, kissing, licking, sucking whatever he could get his mouth on. His hips rocked to the rhythm of her riding his mouth, the crown of his cock occasionally making contact with a riser. If he didn’t watch it, he was going to hurt something…or come with his face between her legs, fucking a stair.

Eden’s voice filtered through the sound of blood rushing in his ears. “Jesus. Sweet Jesus, Swain. I’m going to…I’m going to…I’m going to—”