Ice Cold (23 page)

His charm was insidious, as insidious as the feeling of well-being she had when his hand closed around her filthy, bloody foot, and his thumb did a gentle pass over the small wounds. For some reason, she felt hardly any pain from the cuts and from the sensation coming back as her foot warmed.

The only man who’d ever touched her tenderly without the expected payoff of sex afterward was Pollack. “Not smart.” She blinked moisture from her eyes and glanced out of the window, narrowing her field of vision so she couldn’t see him behind her. She didn’t recognize the woman reflected there. She didn’t like the need and want reflected on that woman’s face.

“Really not smart.” She turned her head to look at him again and her gaze lit on his mobile mouth.
Mistake. Big mistake.
Small sparklers of excitement sizzled through her bloodstream and centered in her breasts and between her legs where moisture pooled in preparation for—

Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Get a grip, Winston! Be a professional, even if he can’t.

“You’re overthinking. Close your eyes and relax.” He leaned over her leg to wring out a washcloth in the hot water. His chest pressed against her cold foot, hard and solid. For a nanosecond, she felt the steady beat of his heart against her bare toes. The beat transferred, but hers was faster and lot more erratic. Grateful when he straightened, she let out a small breath then sucked it in again when he draped the hot cloth over her instep and toes, holding it there with his palm. Internal thermometer rising rapidly, she barely felt the heat. She was definitely feeling no pain. Oh hell.

Slouched back in her seat, shoulder against the bulkhead, she cocked a brow and gave him a mocking look. “I’m quite capable of walking twenty feet to the head, Navarro.” The hum and vibrations of the jet engines seemed to
thrum
through her body like a tuning fork, joining the
flub-dub-flub-dub
of her heartbeat. She shot a quick glance at the closed cockpit door. No help there.

“Blinston has a plane to fly. He won’t come back here,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “It’s a debt of honor.”

“What? Flying the plane?”

He smiled. “Tending your injuries.”

Liquid heat surged through her body as he wrung out the soapy washcloth and started bathing her foot. She’d never felt anything so sensual in her life as that soap-slick, slightly rough, wet cloth gliding over her instep. “This is completely unnecessary. Here, give me that—” Her voice sounded too husky to her own ears, and she was pleased to scowl at him when he grabbed her wrist as she leaned forward to take the washcloth.

“I want to do it. What’s the harm?”

Let me count the ways.
She swallowed hard, trying to regain her cool demeanor. “Fine. Knock yourself out, Navarro.” She retreated against the bulkhead and tried to relax, but his touch had every muscle ratcheting and coiling. His shiny, silky hair curtained his face. Her fingers itched to reach out and push the cool strands back so she could see his face.

Right now, she was her own worst enemy. She sternly reminded herself she couldn’t be vulnerable if she didn’t allow herself to feel that way. She was in control, here.
Yeah, right
.

Honey wasn’t willing to grant her fantasies more weight than the reality. Obviously, he was in a teasing mood. If she ran, he’d give chase. It was the nature of a predator. If she stayed put, he’d tire of the game and let her be. Letting him stro-
wash
her feet was the easiest way for her to win the game.
You are such a liar.

“It’s my own fault for not wearing appropriate shoes.”

“Yeah, well, walking by myself down a dark street the other night was my own fault as well.” He glanced up and smiled. “Two wrongs make tending each other necessary.”

Honey’s entire body responded to that smile. She felt every heavy
thud
of her heart as if she were about to go into battle. She gave him a sour look and hardened her heart. “How many other operatives’ feet have you cleaned?”

He rinsed out the cloth and soaped up again. “Including yours? One.”

She crossed her arms, pressing them against her aching nipples as he tossed the cloth in the trashcan with a plop and instead, soaped his hands. He ran his soapy fingers between her toes, over her instep, and around her ankle. She felt every stroke and glide of his fingers as if he was touching her between her legs. Slick. Hot. Wet.

“This will—” It was hard to concentrate on talking when her entire focus was on the foot cradled in his lap. “This will set a precedent, you know,” she said as firmly as she was able. “All your partners will expect this royal treatment.” She was too sensible to be seduced just because he was touching her this way. She had to hang on to her reason.

“I’ll take that under advisement.” The feel of his clever fingers caressing her sole made her heart race, and her brain began to go fuzzy.
Damn.
She tightened her arms around her own body, but it didn’t relieve the pressure of need. He washed, she tried not to get turned on. He rinsed the foot with clean water from the second trashcan then gently patted it dry. “Next.”

“Three Black Rose assets,” she said desperately, trying to regain her equilibrium before she melted into a lustful pool on the seat. “This proves Catherine is involved, doesn’t it? I have a theory—”

“Can it wait?” He tugged at her other foot to bring it onto his lap. “Flight time’s two hours, I’d like to enjoy my moment with your feet before we get back to business.” He gave her a suggestive grin and turned his attention to her foot.

Honey cleared the constriction in her throat. The rigid bar of his penis was evident through the towel spread across his lap, and feeling his arousal sparked her own to the next level. “You know this isn’t wise, Navarro . . .”

His eyes, blazing and black as night, rose to meet hers. “Fools rush in . . .” He soaped his hands and concentrated on the task at hand, but this time, he wasn’t looking at her feet, he was gazing into her eyes. Honey felt every slippery glide of his fingers on her feet in other more intimate places. She was wet and having a hard time maintaining her casually slouched position sprawled across the wide seat.

Navarro kept his eyes on hers as he reached for the towel, rinsed and dried her foot, and then began to rub it, finding the knots in the muscles and easing them out with his powerful hands. She couldn’t help looking at those hands and wishing they were elsewhere.
Higher; go higher.

Time to put a firm stop to where her mind and hormones were trying to take her. Straightening, she tried to pull her feet back to her own seat. He shook his head gently, holding on and massaging them with strong sure strokes. “That’s good. Thanks. I’m going to shower anyw—”

Navarro leaned over, grabbed her hand, and yanked hard. Honey was unprepared for the blazing speed with which he hauled her across the seats so her knees straddled his lap and her chest collided with his. She didn’t have time to drag in a protesting breath before he speared both hands into her hair on either side of her head and kissed her passionately. His mouth crushed hers with bruising force, hot and ravaging, not waiting for her compliance, just taking what he wanted.

With her last glimmer of self-preservation, she desperately wanted to pretend she didn’t want him just as much, but she couldn’t swallow that big a lie. Every molecule in her body vibrated with the contact, and she pressed her moist heat against the hard length of him. It wasn’t enough and she ground her hips down, eliciting a moan of answering need from him. His hair flowed like water through her fingers as she tangled her fingers in the silky strands and she kissed him back.

God help her. She
enjoyed
touching him. The tensile strength of his muscles, the prickly sensation of his rough beard against her cheek, the glide of his tongue over hers made her hotter than she had ever been in her life. Liquid fire traveled at the speed of light through her bloodstream, making her dizzy, euphoric, and completely open to casting caution to the wind.

Eyes glittering, he lifted his head, only a layer of moisture and a breath separating their lips, just far enough to whisper thickly, “You’re so beautiful you take my breath away.” He dipped his head to brush his lips over hers. “You make me crazy with wanting you; you know that, Honey Winston?”

He brought his mouth down again as she made a small sound of . . . refusal? Acquiescence? Pleasure? Desire? Hell, she wasn’t sure anymore.

Her heart
thudded
wildly, and it was hard to draw a steady breath into her constricted lungs. She spread her hand over his chest and applied the slightest amount of pressure. His heartbeat thudded against her palm. Honey held him at bay. “I don’t want you to get serious about me, Navarro.”

His lips curved over hers. “No?” He nibbled her lower lip, making her shudder and almost lose her train of thought.

“First,” she said, trying to keep it light, “we work together. Office romances never work, you know that.”

“Sex for recreation is good,” he said agreeably, nuzzling her neck, his hot breath tickling her skin. “Gets rid of tension, floods the body with endorphins.” He trailed damp kisses to her ear, then swirled his tongue around the outer rim before tickling a damp pattern inside the swirls.

Her body turned to liquid, and she shuddered as his warm breath and clever tongue flickered over the sensitive skin beside her ear.

There was a nanosecond where she knew she should protest, but that moment was lost as his lips found hers again. Fisting her fingers in his hair, she arched against him and held on for the ride.

Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

Honey’s head swirled dizzily then she realized Navarro had gotten to his feet with her wrapped around him like a Velcro plush toy. Tightening her ankles in the small of his back, she wrapped her arms around his neck, molding her mouth around his upper lip, gently sucking, reveling as his hips jolted beneath her. Without missing a beat, he reciprocated, mirroring her action. She in turn ground down on his erection. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. The pressure and need to feel him against her most sensitive spot only intensified. His strides lengthened and the cabin lights burned golden behind her closed lids.

He ran his tongue across the roof of her mouth, toying with her. Both won as he didn’t break his stride, just continued kissing her and moving quickly, his fingers gripping her ass while he strode between the seats. The lights fuzzed until her back slammed into the door of the aft cabin. It gave way, opening into warm darkness.

Still kissing, they fell onto one of the narrow beds. Navarro braced his arms at the last second so he didn’t squash her. Not that Honey would’ve noticed or cared.

The hard ridge of his erection pressed against her, restrained by their jeans and the two, thin, confining layers of LockOut. She needed to feel skin on skin, without anything separating them, and wanted his hardness deep inside her.

Releasing her hold around his neck, Honey skimmed her hands down his sides and bunched the soft cotton of his shirt in her fists, trying to pull it up his torso. “We have jobs to do. Inattention could get us killed.” Oh damn; her voice was way too high and breathy for anything she said to be taken seriously.

“Not at this precise moment,” he pointed out, using the fleeting opportunity when their mouths weren’t fused to yank her sweater over her head and assisted her impatient fingers with stripping off his T-shirt. Very efficient of him. Both garments landed somewhere on the floor.

“We’re thirty thousand feet in the air with nothing more dangerous to do than exactly what we’re doing.” His smile was wicked. “I promise to be very attentive.” He held up a hand, the other busy unzipping her jeans. “But only when we’re in bed alone. I promise that when we’re back on the job, I won’t try to kiss your neck,” and he suited action to words, his breath hot and humid against the tendons of her throat. “Or put my hand here”—clever fingers stroked down over her breast, still covered in LockOut, lingering to press firmly over her nipple as he whispered against her ear—“if we’re chasing tangos across the rooftops of Paris or having a shootout in Beirut.”

LockOut was quick and easy to get into, but getting out of the body-hugging fabric was another form of torture when she wanted to feel bare skin
immediately
. “Getting out of this is almost impossible if one’s in a hurry.” And yes. She was in a damned hurry. The man was taking
forever
to get to the point as he peeled it inch by inch off her body.

“I’ll always be in a hurry to get you out of your LockOut, Winston. Hang on. Let me—No you—Okay. One at a time.” He laughed as their eager fingers tangled. “This needs coordination and patience.”

He tugged at the stretch fabric, finding the hidden fasteners across her shoulder as she did the same, her fingers not nearly agile enough as she found the fasteners and tried, ineffectively, to rip them free. She told herself to slow down, if only for a few seconds. She could put on Lockout in the field in the dark, and she could remove it from him the same way. Practice made perfect. God, he felt perfect.