She screamed. He bucked. And they came in a long, sweeping, exhausting orgasm.
CHAPTER 5
PAIGE FELT POWERFUL. Like she could do anything, lift a building or sing opera or fly.
Tucking herself under the covers, she eyed the reason her toes were still tingling and her heart was soaring, appreciating the sight of Zach’s glossy tanned backside as he went to clean up. Her nerves quivered at the strong flex of his buttocks as he walked.
Zach.
She felt light-headed and weak, and her hands itched with anxiousness to feel him again. As he emerged from the bathroom and fetched his guns from the chair, he plucked up his jeans from where they’d fallen, as well.
For a moment, she dreaded he’d slip them on— ergo, she must dress, too— but instead he draped them across the back of a chair. A bevy of butterflies fluttered inside her as he returned to her naked. Somber, almost shy, and gloriously, toetinglingly naked.
She sat up a little, committing his face to memory; his inky hair rumpled from her hands, his lips fattened and reddened from her mouth, the hint of a beard shadowing his jaw.
He set his guns on the nightstand and plopped down next to her, and her mind raced with wishes and thoughts. Would he kiss her again? Lick her? Bite her? Cuddle?
Aww, he cuddled. And kissed her forehead, her nose, lingered on her lips as one arm encircled her shoulders. “Sweet. You’re so sweet, Paige.”
Suppressing a sigh, Paige went willingly as he propped his head against the mirror and pinned her to his side. “So we’d never done that before?” she whispered up at him, feeling exquisite and wonderful.
Smiling tenderly, he swiped the pad of his thumb across the bridge of her nose. “In my dreams.”
Hers was a wistful smile. She couldn’t resist touching him, couldn’t help but notice how he couldn’t resist trailing his fingers down her arm, either. “Why do you carry two guns?”
He used his free hand to lift one, then the other. “Your baby. Your backup.”
She reached out to stroke the cool, hard metal of the one he held out. The smaller gun, not quite black but obscure and gleaming. “Is it . . . loaded?”
“Yeah. But the safety’s on, see?” He showed her the little catch, then bounced the gun in one big hand. “Here. You’re curious?” She nodded, curled her hand around the grip as Zach trailed her onto his lap. She said, “It’s heavy.”
His arms enveloped her from behind. He seemed fascinated by a spot behind her ear and teased it lightly with his lips. “Do you want to know how to use one? I could teach you.”
She thought of how safe she felt with him, and of how unsafe she would feel tomorrow . . . next week . . . without him. And nodded. “Teach me.” Teach me to kill if I need to. She glanced past her shoulder as he gently pried the gun away. “I’m a photographer, I should have good aim,” she said.
His brows rose— his smile so utterly charming, she felt it tickle the bottom of her feet. He set the gun aside. “A photographer.”
She shifted on his lap and stroked his hard face with her fingertips, smiling in return. “And why is that amusing, may I ask?”
Her thumb stroked the plump flesh of his bottom lip first, and when his smile faded, she leaned in and kissed him. Kissed him as though that firm, ardent mouth were hers. He clamped a hand on her nape and held her to him, making the kiss longer, drawing it out more. “It’s not,” he rasped. “Amusing. It’s perfect. You always had an eye for spotting beauty in things.”
An eye for him, she was sure, and goodness, her camera would love him. Would capture the strength in his jawline, the striking black of his eyebrows and lashes. She swung more fully to face him and leisurely traced the scars at his ribs. Even those seemed beautiful, poignant somehow, sleek and pale against his sun-kissed skin. “Ever been shot?”
One large hand heavily petted the top of her head, his fingers leisurely untangling her hair. “Not yet.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “You sound like you expect to be.”
He smiled a slow, languorous smile, one that said It’s my job.
“And this?” She fingered the longer scar, felt him stir against her at her caress.
Both his hands delved into her hair, fingers stroking her scalp. “Unfortunate encounter when I patrolled. Stab wounds, five of them, punctured a lung, it was hell.”
A string of goose bumps rushed down the length of her arms. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I wanted it.”
> Her eyes widened in outrage. “You wanted it?”