Her rant left her breathless. Even more so the longer he just stood there staring back at her, saying nothing. His eyes were distant. Already he was putting up walls, just as he’d told her he always did. Even knowing he was protecting himself from the hurt of losing his mother, of history repeating itself with his self-destructive relationships, here he went all over again.
He’d already decided, damn him.
Every gasp was a trial. She’d lost one man she loved… Ah shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!
She wasn’t falling in love with Liam. She was already there. Yes, she loved him, so much that losing him could devastate her, wipe her out. She’d barely survived Caden’s death. Oh God, it had been so much easier believing she’d lost her one soul mate, and that therefore her heart would never be at risk again.
She’d been dead wrong.
The screen door creaked open again, fast, banging against the cabin wall. Cuervo burst through and onto the porch.
“Agent Cramer just gave the all clear. Meal’s over. Time to report in.”
***
“Agent Cramer, step into my office,” General Ted Sullivan barked from his open door.
The day was going to hell fast, and he was running out of time to stop a plan two years in the making from unraveling because of one insignificant lieutenant who just wouldn’t go the f**k away.
Which left him to deal with what he could. Grab control wherever possible. Line up his allies and eliminate the obstacles.
Special Agent Sylvia Cramer had been his staunchest ally when he first arrived here. Ideologically, they’d been on the same page about the proper realignment of the satellite missile defense program and how badly the program needed a regime change. They’d spent hours after work discussing, theorizing on the effectiveness of different strategies. Her input on the effect such changes would have on the intelligence-gathering community were inspired.
He’d found a kindred spirit. He hadn’t doubted her loyalty, her willingness to do anything he asked—until Liam McCabe and Rachel Flores turned up missing.
Either Sylvia Cramer wasn’t as good an agent as he thought or Liam McCabe was far better than he’d anticipated. The culmination of too much work depended on the exchange of information at this summit going off without a hitch. He needed confirmation that people were loyal to the death.
Special Agent Sylvia Cramer glided into his office on her mile-long legs in red high heels. Her hair a bit mussed, but not a wrinkle in her skirt and blouse. The perfect professional. Until she wasn’t.
He closed the door behind her.
And locked it.
Time to find out if she’d betrayed him, too.
Sylvia pivoted on her heel, one perfectly plucked eyebrow arching slowly. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s common courtesy to ask a lady first.”
He planted his hand on the door, his body grazing hers. “And since when do you want to be treated like a lady? Correct me if I’m wrong”—he tunneled his palm under her skirt and up her leg to the band of her silky thigh-high stockings—“but I was under the impression you wanted something entirely different from me.”
Her leather purse slid from her shoulder to the floor.
He slipped his hand into her thong and thrust two fingers deep inside her. Her body clamped around him. Tight. But dry.
“Too fast for you?” He pulled her closer with just those two fingers until the tips pressed against just… the right… spot.
Her lashes fluttered and she stumbled back against the door before regaining her balance, her hands flat against his chest. The slick juices of her arousal began to cream his fingers.
Damn straight, he knew what to do. He wasn’t taking advantage of anyone. He always pleasured the hell out of her before they finished any encounter. He might be her superior, but she wasn’t in his chain of command. Not a thing wrong with what they’d been doing the past month, since a late night spent working together had led to a shift in their relationship, a mutually satisfying shift.
He kissed the side of her neck, never her mouth. He hated the taste of cigarettes and she’d been sneaking smoke breaks more and more often lately. Stress. Came with the job. They all had their methods for working it out. Some exercised. Some drank. Sylvia smoked.
And this was his way of releasing tension.
He moved his fingers inside her, nudged the collar of her blouse with his chin until he could grab the strap of her bra with his teeth and inch it aside. The scent of her filled the air and he lifted his head, tipping his face to catch a whiff of her, going harder, knowing how she couldn’t resist him. He slipped his fingers in and out, faster, until her nails dug into his shirt.
Sylvia panted softly. “We haven’t been together in a few days. I thought you were angry.”
“Over what?” he asked, even though he knew.