An Eye for Danger (49 page)

"You're holding back," I said. My fingers swept down the rigid scaffolding of his abdominals and I molded my palm over his hip.

"I was too rough with you earlier. That's not my style." Sam stayed my hand. "I don't want you to remember me like that. Not like today."

"We both have a dark side, Sam, and I don't want to be ruled by either of them." I took his hand and melted my lips against his fingers. "But you're right. Today was rough all around. So let's imprint something new."

My fingers danced up his blood-red ribs and crossed his chest, the tip of my tongue trailing through his chest hairs till his skin quaked. I nibbled his chest lightly at first, tasting his skin and rolling my tongue over his nipple till his body stirred and his erection strained against his jeans. Then I bit.

He jerked. "Okay, okay, you win."

"Careful, I might form an addiction to that." I met his gaze and then yanked the top of his jeans so all the buttons gave way.

Unbuttoning the shirt, I rose over him, cradling his hips with my thighs. When the shirt fell open, I pulled his rough hands to my chest. My eyes closed as he stroked freely, following the twists and curves of my body, his breath rushing toward my skin. His hands cradled at my thighs, pulling me a few inches forward for full contact. I shrugged out of the shirt, my body relaxing as he encouraged me to rock my hips over him. But I didn't need encouraging.

My fingertips grazed his stubble. He opened his mouth as I ran my fingers over his dry lips, thankfully unscathed by the fight. Then he pulled my fingertips into his mouth, his tongue and teeth foiling my remaining reservations.

My mind was also winding up. Gunmen could crash through the door, find us unarmed. Knowing I'd tensed, Sam pulled me down for a deep kiss, nipping at my lips as his other hand kept my body swaying against him. Then he rolled onto me, imprinting his whole body over my memories, engaging my eyes so I saw only the heat in his.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and took his mouth, but he soon broke from the kiss and slid down my body, his mouth lingering at my breasts as his hips opened a channel between my legs. He slid down further, scraping my scar, but my twitch was nearly imperceptible. And Sam was very, very distracted.

The heat of his tongue made me feel more vulnerable than agents or assassins. And more alive. He parted me with his tongue, then closed me with his teeth, then parted me again. A flick of his tongue-tip on my clit jolted me, then he suckled and hummed with amusement. The vibration of his voice sent shock waves to my core. His tongue's rotation and pressure notched up. I arched and he ensnared my legs, pulling me back for more torture, keeping me close to climax so I clawed the bed. Then a finger, then three. And his mouth. Everything thrusting at once. A voice whirled out of my throat, a voice that frightened and excited me.

Quickly, Sam rolled to his side, peeled off his layers, slipped on a new one. I wanted him to drive into me, carry me over that edge again, fall into the abyss with me. Instead, he pulled me against him and rolled onto his back, encouraging me to be on top, and restarted that gentle rocking with our hips kissing again. He was giving me the control I needed to relax and take him inside me at my own pace.

And so I took him first in my hands, feeling the breadth and fullness of him, using my own body's moisture and coiling my fingers around the base and head at once and driving him till his erection cemented and his hips pistoned against his will.

Then I slid my sex along his length, engaging and disengaging his tip in my body, drawing out the moment of penetration until, maddened, he moaned my name. His head came up, watching. Then I sank. His head fell back, and he silently cawed for air. I lingered a moment, adjusting to his girth, before my body began to dance, hips pulling forward then leveling completely, quick-rising onto my knees so I pulled him to the very tip, and then sinking again with tempered force. He was visibly fighting the instinct to draw up his legs, throw me on my back, and fuck me blind.

I inhaled the sweetness of his perspiration as he glistened in the sweltering room, my hands sliding over his torso, then pushing against his nipples so his pecs gripped in retort. Like I was sculpting him. I wanted all of him aroused, all of him on fire. Because an ember in me was about to ignite again.

His hands came up to hold me, but I stretched his arms onto the mattress, entangled our fingers and let my breasts skate against his chest as our lips and tongues fought for dominion. The beats were rising, the rhythm slipping from my control. His moans vibrated in the back of my throat, his body thrashing under me, fighting the inevitable. Finally we both let go.

***

"Let's go," said Sam.

I jolted upright. My gaze shot to the door.

Sam pulled my chin toward him. "Stop that. There's no one there." He stood over the bed buttoning his jeans, his hair wet from showering, his chest bare and dewy. "Alert doesn't mean paranoid."

"I'll consider the source."

Dropping on the bed's edge with a bounce, he started tying his boots. I worried about how long we'd slept, dozing in our post-coital curl, vulnerable to gunmen and Feds alike. We'd crashed so hard my side ached from not moving. But when I turned toward the window, no light appeared behind the curtains.

"I thought morning was supposed to come with sunlight," I said.

"Not the midnight kind." Sam leaned, planted a kiss on my lips. "Good morning, by the way."

His eyes swept over my face and I cupped his cheeks with my hands, pulling him closer, inhaling his clean smell, his minty tongue. A rush of heat flashed up my neck as he dove into my mouth. Every time Sam kissed me, it felt like the first; unexpectedly tender, simultaneously arousing, and always as satiating as a full meal. Our kiss intensified. He groaned as his hand searched beneath the sheets, found my bare hip, then my ass.

"Ah, Christ," he said and rolled onto me, so his belt buckle grazed my scar, and I gritted my teeth against the rising pain, the burning distracting me from arousal.

"We gotta go," I whispered, as he pulled my thigh wider. "Max must be frozen."

"Max is sleeping by the front door." Sam's lips nipped my neck and I squirmed, fighting the heat building in my core. My stomach was on fire for a different reason.

I pushed up to see Max's yellow body and called for him. Tail wagging, Max jumped onto the bed, licking Sam's face.

Sam dropped his hand from my breast. "Okay, that's too weird for me." He shot off the bed, pulling at the front of his pants and shaking out his leg, as if gravity could reduce the swelling. "Suit up. We roll in ten."

He pulled on the dress shirt and tucked his gun in his waistband. When I didn't jump at his command, he threw my pants in my lap.

"No kidding. Shit, shave. Get it done in two." He jerked his chin, as if saying
take me seriously
or, more likely,
don't leave me high and tight again
. As I ducked into the bathroom, Sam called, "How's your stomach?"

 
"Nice and clean." Facing the mirror, I tapped the red, swollen scar and winced. He grunted, so I changed the subject. "Thought you had to be in court. Won't they be looking for you?"

"That's a moot point now, considering you're AWOL. The ADA called for you to testify to the grand jury ahead of schedule. Odd that he moved..."

I leaned out of the bathroom, zipping the black skinny pants, and noted Sam's distant stare. That empty feeling filled my stomach. "When I played poker with Marines, we called that a 'tell.' How well do you know this assistant district attorney?"

"Obviously not well enough." He scoffed. "Probably just my paranoia."

"We can start a club." I pulled Malta's black sweater over the lacy bra from Sam. "I've been thinking about what Troy said, about daddy not coming to save you. Maybe that was code for your boss. He could be the mole."

Sam snorted. "You don't know my boss."

"Maybe you don't either. When you told James this was bad, you meant it went deep. Cops, Feds. Now an Assistant District Attorney. Keeping me in the dark isn't productive anymore, Sam. I can be more helpful to both of us if I know who my enemy is."

"You know enough already." He avoided eye contact. So I stepped to his side, a hand on his arm, waiting for him to take me seriously for once.

"I can handle the truth, Sam. What I can't handle is being a team of one. At least not while we're still together."

His jaw slid back and forth as his hand jingled something in his coat pocket. "This case," he said, his nose flaring as he drew in a quick breath. "This isn't just a couple of cops gone rogue. It's big, Jules, organized. And no, I don't want you to know the details, because you still have a shot at getting free. They would torture you if they thought you knew more. Rape you, cut you, beat you, electrocute you. And then they'd begin to really hurt you."

"So Troy, the bomb, the sniper—that was all just foreplay."

"No, they mean business. We just keep getting lucky. And that's why you need to disappear for good. Without the recording."

I sucked in my lower lip.

"We'll call from the road to make sure Howard dumps everything. And I mean everything this time, Jules."

I nodded, relieved he wasn't more angry over my making a copy, not to mention erasing his version. Maybe he didn't know his device was blank yet. And maybe I wouldn't choose to mention that now, not till I knew Howard had safely turned over the evidence to Houston.

He withdrew his hand from his pocket and over his tanned wrist he clasped the gold bracelet I'd seen him wearing at the hotel bar. When he noticed my quizzical look at the bracelet, he turned the metal plate so I could read the inscribed word:
trust.
Besides his ex-wife Cameron, I'd no idea who he'd loved or who had loved him back.

"A present," he said solemnly, "from my niece."

"Thought you didn't have any family."

"I don't." He rolled the bracelet a few times. "My sister's kid. Sweet as they come, my little niece. They went to see where Daddy worked. Tower Two. A big climb up when you come from a family like mine." He swallowed and his smile faded. "The rest is in your photos."

He pulled free, peeked through the window. Opening the door a sliver, he pointed Max into the crisp night air. My mind reeled over the thought of his niece being pulled out of the same ashes I'd photographed. But this was no time for sentiment, Sam was saying. At a moment when I wanted to soothe the rough edges of his heart, he didn't need nor want my caretaking. Maybe I could learn something from Sam about moving forward in life.

"Stay here." He flipped open a utility knife and crossed to the landing, knelt and cut invisible lines every few steps. Lines high enough that Max could slip under, low enough to cause any human to dive face-first into the railing.

I shook my head. "Thank God another guest didn't fall and break their neck."

"What guests? Told them I was inspecting the rat problem, so everyone left."

I didn't have time to balk, as Sam ushered me downstairs into the night. With a small flashlight he checked the truck's belly for plants or bombs, then loaded up our caravan, still unwilling to let me drive.

From my bra I pulled the photo of Sam and James, their boyish smiles reaching through the years, brightening the moment. I punched on the overhead light.

One glance at the image and Sam's face lit up. "That was a good day," he said, taking the photo and thumbing the edge.

"Family matters, Sam. When you're lucky enough to have any left."

A sparkle returned to his eyes, whether in honor of the memory of his days with James or in appreciation for the sentiment from me, then he nodded and slid the photo into his breast pocket.

Before we buckled up, his long arm reached to the back seat, wrenched his duffel bag onto the middle console.

"Bought you something too," he said, withdrawing a white plastic bag. "Happy birthday."

"Today's not my birthday."

"Well, it certainly was mine." He grinned and shook the bag.

"Very funny, tough guy." I snatched the gift. "Probably a box of condoms, knowing you."

Wrapped in tissue was the photo box from the airport store. My mind stilled. Under the cab light, I studied the images encircling the box, all of them familiar: a World War II sailor kissing a nurse on V-day; Clarke Gable dipping feisty Scarlett in
Gone with the Wind
; Burt Lancaster reclining in the sand under Deborah Kerr; and "The Kiss by the Hôtel de Ville" by French photographer Robert Doisneau.

Sam leaned across the console and pointed to the sailor. "That was our first kiss at your apartment." He turned the box in my hand to Scarlett bent backwards by Rhett. "And that was the one in the storage room of the bar. I was pissed, too, buddy," he said jokingly to Clark Gable.

Turning the box to the image of Deborah on top of Burt, I said, "That was upstairs. My turn."

"We're not complaining, are we, Burt?"

The final image was of two young lovers kissing on a misty Parisian street in 1950. I'd loved the photo, until I studied the masters of photography in college and learned the scene was staged. Love could look so real, then be gone in a flash.

Sam peered over my arm, his face twisting as he examined the image. "That's the 'have a nice day, dear' kiss. Guess I'll have to wait to know what that feels like." He flashed a grin and tripped the engine, and I wondered which kisses in life Sam was remembering, which ones had disappointed him, which ones inspired.

Then I read the quote on the box lid:

The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly than even the final surrender; because the kiss already has within it that surrender.
      Emil Ludwig

Sam looked into the rearview mirror. "She's smiling, Max." He nodded to the box. "We have a name for that in my business."

I stared at him, blank-faced.

"Trouble." He winked, and I understood. Emotional vulnerability for an undercover agent could mean death to his career, if not himself.