“Okay then.” He sealed his mouth to hers, his arms locking around Amelia as she twined hers around his neck.
She kissed him again, more knowingly now, more familiar. He plunged his fingers into her hair, absorbing the texture, memorizing the feel of her. Burning to see every inch of soft feminine flesh.
Bunching up her top, he inched the fabric higher between them. She covered his hands with hers just below the gentle curve of her breasts.
“Everything’s borrowed from the rescue supplies,” she gasped breathlessly. “I’m not wearing anything particularly seductive under there. Just a generic sports bra.”
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he eased the top the rest of the way up, breaking eye contact only for the instant it took to sweep the shirt the rest of the way off.
And then he absolutely could not look away. “You make white cotton look sexier than any lace.”
The horror of the past hours faded as he drank in the curves of her br**sts hugged by the fabric, her ni**les beading in obvious arousal. Then he saw the bruises purpling her ribs, another mark on her shoulder. No doubt, there were plenty more dotting her all over after what she’d been through. He reached toward the largest on her side.
Grasping his wrist, she redirected his palm until it rested over her breast. His fingers massaged reflexively into the softness and she moaned softly in response. Encouraging him. He peeled the bra up with precision, deliberation, savoring every damn second. Her eyes sparked the hottest blue flames back at him, warning him she was every bit as on fire as he was. She stroked under his T-shirt and palmed her way up his chest, scrunching brown cotton in her hands until she cleared his head and flung away the military-issue tee.
He hauled her against him.
Skin to skin.
Bare br**sts to his chest.
Hips to hips, with too many barriers between them. And one very important barrier missing.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I need for you to wait one second.”
“Why?” she gasped.
“I need to get a condom.”
“You carry them with you to earthquake rescues?”
“Believe it or not, they’re part of the gear in a survival vest—the most efficient way to carry water.”
“Water carrier? Like a balloon? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Afraid not.” He knelt, scooping his vest off the floor. “But I’m really not in the mood to discuss survival training right now.”
“Me either.” She tugged his vest from him. “And I have a better idea than you using up the ‘water jugs’ stored in your vest.”
Amelia pointed past his ear.
He turned to look at the metal shelves behind him and found… an industrial-size box of condoms. “Holy crap. Somebody’s got ambitions. Although if we were out of this hell and had a long weekend, maybe…”
She yanked the box from the shelf. “How about you stop bragging and start proving?”
“Roger that.” He took the carton from her, tore open the top, and dug around inside.
“Hurry,” she demanded. She shoved the box back on the shelf quickly, toppling it sideways. A half dozen rained from the box onto the floor.
But he had one firmly in hand. Urgency hammering through him, he slapped it on the small corner desk behind her, put his gun safely aside on a shelf, and devoted his entire attention to Amelia.
She met him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. His hands dipped inside her pants, cupping her bottom, lifting her more fully against him. The soft pressure of her rocking her hips against his hard-on threatened to send him over the edge.
He dipped his head, taking her nipple in his mouth. Her gasp, then purring moan, sent a fresh bolt of lust shooting through him. She sagged in his arms and he secured his hold, shifting his attention to her other breast, licking, nipping, teasing. Her head fell back and she mumbled breathy encouragement, urgent requests for more.
He completely agreed.
Distantly, he heard a rattle beyond the door, low voices. His body tensed until the sounds continued past their locked haven.