Jose felt the sensual shift in her, and God, he wanted her too. Always.
But he wasn’t so sure this was the right time or the right reason. “Stella, you’re…”
“Damn it, Jose.” She angled back to stare at him, her chest heaving. “Don’t tell me about adrenaline letdown or misplaced emotions. I do the same kind of work you do. I’ve been to all the same training and psych briefings. I get it. And I don’t care. I need this. I need you.”
She grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and yanked it upward, pressing her mouth to his heartbeat. He’d always taken such care with her, working his ass off to give her all the romance, finesse—hell, foreplay—that he could muster without losing complete control of himself.
Right now, control was tougher than ever to find. He’d been through hell today too. Not because he’d feared dying, but because he’d been scared as hell he might not make it in time to save Stella. So damn all the reasons why this was a bad, bad idea.
They were here, together, alive, and they both needed this. They needed each other.
Stella nipped his earlobe. Hard. “You’re falling behind here. Help me undress.”
She’d already gotten his shirt off and was well on her way to tugging down his camo pants. Blood slugged through his veins, surging below his belt. Stella’s touch, her words, the woman herself set him on fire. He peeled her tunic away and worked her jeans free, until they kicked the pants over near their shoes by the door. Her hands stroked his body with the familiarity of a lover, lower, cradling him. He gritted his teeth to fight back the urge to come in her hand.
Then she knelt and took him in her mouth. He palmed the wall to keep from falling. The sweep of her tongue, the moist warmth. His head fell back and he was a second away from losing total control. His hands fell to her shoulders.
Hauling her up again, he sealed their lips and their bodies, falling onto the bed. They rolled as dominance flipped back and forth between them until he pinned her, kissed his way down her neck, along her shoulder to the curve of her breast. He captured her nipple between his teeth, teasing, flicking with his tongue until she squirmed beneath, her breathy moans demanding more. He was more than willing to deliver. He reached to the bedside table and grabbed the water bottle.
Trickle by trickle, he dribbled water between her breasts. She gasped as the first droplets hit her. She hissed as he sipped them. He took that as a yes to keep right on going, down her stomach, between her legs, tasting until the bottle was empty. He flung it away and kept right on pleasuring her, which pleasured him.
She gripped his shoulders, tugged at his hair, her hands frantic until he slid up over her. Into her. And while he’d enjoyed the hell out of their all night lovemaking in the past, he already knew this was going to be hard and fast. He could barely hold onto his control now with the warm, moist clamp of her drawing him in deeper. Her legs locked around his waist and she moved with him, her eyes open and telling him she was right there with him, so close to the edge on a day that had brought them both to the brink of a cliff.
The spread and top sheet tangled in his feet, and he kicked them to the floor. Her hands flung back and she grabbed the headboard, arching up to him, crying out as she milked every last pulse from her orgasm. Watching the flush spread up her chest, goose bumps prickling along her flesh, sent a primal wave of satisfaction through him. His hands gripped over hers as he finished and knew he was only one thrust away from jetting his release hot and deep inside her.
And in the most insane thought of his already screwed up life, he imagined filling her with his baby. A growl of denial followed close on the heels of that thought. Even knowing about her birth control implant, he couldn’t stop himself.
He pulled out.
Collapsing on top of her, his release throbbing between them, he buried his face in her neck. But he couldn’t hide from himself or the knowledge that he wanted to give her more. He wanted to give her everything.
***
Stella curled up in the armchair, her head against the windowpane as she looked out at the road below, dark other than streetlamps and passing cars. The airport lights blinked two blocks away where the investigation would continue without her. Cop cars were parked at every corner, no doubt a by-product of the near miss with a deadly nerve toxin less than twenty-four hours ago.
She wrapped a kanga around her like a thin blanket, a benign cloth of blues and greens with a message along the border that probably said something like live long and prosper. Jose had bought it for her a month ago when they’d snuck away to Kenya for a weekend. Their last weekend together before she’d gone undercover with the students.
God, so much had happened since that memorable, heartbreaking night. Yet it still felt like she’d packed a lifetime of stress into this day.
Her nerves were ragged, totally shot in more ways than one. Apparently all that happened hadn’t left Jose unmarked either. She’d sensed an edge to him, a desperation even when they’d been together.
They’d had sex three times tonight. Sex. Not making love. She knew the difference. But that’s what she’d asked for from him in bed. In the shower. Then on the dresser as they’d made their way back into the room before collapsing on the mattress, exhausted enough to sleep through the demons that would haunt their dreams.
He slept still, sprawled out with the sheet twisted around his waist. Turning away from the heart-tugging sight of him, she drew the coarse cloth tighter around her, watching the lights blink—still all too aware of the man sleeping just a few feet away. Could she walk away from Jose a second time?
He had damn good reasons for his fears about a commitment, about building a family together. A part of her whispered that she should just give in, take what he offered and be grateful.
Her fists tightened until her fingernails poked holes in the fabric. Damn it, Jose was breaking her heart all over again, just like he’d done a month ago…
***
“Any idea how long you’ll be undercover as a student?”
“Not a clue.” Stella looped the blue and green sarong around her again and again, checking in the mirror to make sure she got it just right. She spun back to face Jose. “And if I did know and I told you, then I would have to kill you.”
“That’s supposed to be my line.” He slipped his hands under the edge of the kanga he’d just bought for her from a street vendor.
The Kenyan bed and breakfast by the ocean was a little hokey with its over-the-top safari room. But she enjoyed it all the same—from the zebra skin rug to the mosquito netting around the bed. Even the carved wood animals with a gloss perfection that hinted they might just well say “Made in China” on the bottom.