Barefoot With a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 2) (25 page)

It wasn’t too dark to notice
that
, she thought wryly. Not too dark to appreciate the cuts and dips of his muscular body, the way a lock of hair fell over his forehead, or how the shadows formed in the hollows of his unshaven jaw. Not too dark to admire the strength in shoulders that rose and fell in one of those sighs that sounded like it came from his soul, not his lungs.

Something clicked between his fingers.

The rosary. She inched up, and instantly he turned to her, sensing she was awake.

“I wish I could remember…” His voice was raspy, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours or…something was choking him.

She sat up very slowly. “Ten Hail Marys and a few Glory Bes, I think.”

“I mean, what was so special about this rosary? There was something that Isadora said. She collected them, I think.”

Chessie filed that totally surprising fact about Gabe’s lover in her head and reached for Mal. “Did you sleep?”

“Not like you. I admit I checked for breathing a few times.”

She smiled. “I was really tired.”

He let the rosary fall into her bag on the floor and turned his full attention to her. “I tried to call Gabe but couldn’t get through. I showered and got you some food.” He angled his head to the dresser and a brown paper bag. “
Medianoches
, like the lady requested.”

“You’re the best.” Without thinking, she reached out and stroked the side of his head, her fingers sliding through his hair, the dim light catching one of the few silver threads. She half expected him to move out of her touch, but he did just the opposite, leaning into her hand.

“How’d you get gray hair?” she asked. “You’re not even forty.”

“Prison,” he answered simply.

“So you were all dark-haired before you did time?”

He didn’t answer.

“Will you tell me why you went to prison?” She stroked his hair again, feeling intimate and calm and very close at that moment.

“A crime.”

She leaned back on the pillow, staying close to him. “I just refuse to believe you’re a common thief.”

“Nothing common about half a million dollars,” he said wryly.

“Mal. Tell me the truth.”

He stayed silent for a long time, but finally turned to her, taking her hand in his. “Someone needed help for her family.”

She wasn’t at all surprised to hear that, but maybe a bit taken aback by the sharp sense of relief it sent through her. She hadn’t realized how
much
she didn’t want him to be anything less than…noble.

“So it was some Robin Hood action? Stole from the government to help the poor?” Noble, but still wrong.

“Something like that.” He rolled down on the bed, turning flat on his back. “I hate what you think of me.”

The admission twisted something deep inside of her. He
cared
what she thought of him?

“You hate that I think you went to prison for stealing something to help out a family? Yeah, you’re horrible.”

He smiled, his eyes closed, his expression serene. She reclined next to him, on her side so she could keep looking at him. And touching him, stroking his hard muscles and the soft black hair on his bare chest with her fingertips.

“Tell me something, Mal,” she whispered. “Tell me a secret.”

“Define secret.”

“Oh no you don’t.” She tapped his pec. “Talk to me.”

He turned just enough to regard her through half-shuttered eyes. “I’ve never had a family.” His confession, whispered in the dark and coming up from that same place in his soul that had him sighing, made a little rip in her heart. “And you were right about me being jealous of yours. I can’t get that question out of my head.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I hit a sore spot. I didn’t mean to, really.”

He ran a knuckle over her cheek. “I know. You just care. You’re a caring woman. It’s really…attractive.”

“And here I just thought you liked my smart mouth and busy fingers.” She realized what she’d said and laughed. “I mean, my sass and computer talents.”

“I like them all,” he said, leaning closer to her. “I like the hell out of you and your sweet mouth and soft spot for kids you just met.”

She smiled. “I would take Gabrielita and raise her and love her in a”—she patted his chest—“heartbeat.”

He turned a little, stroking her hair, the intimacy so natural and organic, she didn’t question any of it. “They can’t all be that lucky.”

“You weren’t, were you? Did you go to foster homes, or what?”

“I was in a few, but my mother always pulled her act together enough to get me back.”

“So she did love you,” Chessie said.

“Love isn’t enough.” He twirled a strand of her hair through his fingers. “You have to sacrifice for kids. You have to be willing to put them first. You have to recognize the responsibility that they are.”

Chessie felt her jaw loosen. That was
exactly
how she felt, but her strong beliefs stemmed from living in a family that did just that, and wanting to replicate that. His background might be different, but the end result—the way he thought—was the same.

“You look so surprised,” he said.

“You constantly surprise me.”

He didn’t answer, but pulled her all the way into him, guiding her head to rest on his chest. While he stroked her hair, she listened to the sound of his steady, strong heartbeat and each slow intake of breath. She could feel his muscles under her cheek and had a perfect view of his chest and abs and the dusting of hair running right into the unbuttoned jeans.

Slowly, lightly, she rubbed a circle over his heart, more tender this time. “There’s some good stuff in here, Mal Harris.”

“I’m not that good, Francesca.” He shifted his body, lining them up more, closer to her mouth, close enough to feel his breath. “Nothing I’m thinking about is good right now.” He pressed his lips to hers. “In fact, it’s…
hopeless
.”

She smiled into the kiss. “It’s like we have our own secret password.”

“Yeah. Except it’s no secret…” He slid farther on top of her, an enormous erection pressing against her stomach.

But it was
hopeless
. Trying to remember that and not think of this as anything except the casual, meaningless, impossible-to-resist fling in the field that it was, Chessie tunneled her fingers into his hair and tightened her grip on his head.

She kissed with all she had, opening her mouth and arching her back and sliding one leg over his to offer herself.

His hand worked under her T-shirt, burning her skin at the first touch, making her whimper with need as he cupped her breast and circled her nipple.

It was a lie, she realized with a start. She’d never be able to have sex with him and not hope for…something. Even if it was just that they would have more time together.

But she kissed him anyway and decided that just made them even. He didn’t tell her everything last time they had sex, like the fact that he suspected she was a spy.

And she wasn’t telling him everything now, like the fact that she suspected she really cared for him and what was about to happen was exactly the polar opposite of hopeless sex.

* * *

Mal rolled over to get more of her. More of her mouth and tongue against his and more of her sweet body in his hands. Except more wouldn’t be enough. He wanted it
all
.

Chessie moaned with invitation and affection, easing him on top of her, letting their bodies mold in the most natural way. He kissed her again and again. Each time she tasted a little different. Sometimes sweet, sometimes peppery, sometimes a flavor he’d never experienced.

And still he wanted more.

Against her, his erection grew even harder, straining his zipper, already throbbing for release. That’s all this was, right? A release for both of them. A way to shake off the day’s work and the challenges of this trip and this country and this life. A way to be…partners.

So he took it. Took all of it and all of her.

He had her top off in seconds, and then her bra. He groaned at the sight and feel of her breasts, nipples budded and dark with color. He suckled, pulling her into his mouth and earning a gasp of pleasure as she rocked her hips.

“You like that,” he murmured, happy that he could make her feel so good.

“Define like.”

He laughed and headed south, working on her jeans as she was unzipping his. She slipped her hand in and closed her fingers around his shaft, sending a shock through his system.

“And you like that,” she teased with kisses on his chest, each one making him fall a little harder for her.

She pushed his jeans down and used both hands to stroke him, temporarily paralyzing his efforts to get her undressed. He couldn’t think about anything but the heat of her hands, the way she worked his cock, up and down, around the tip.

Release threatened way too soon.

“Don’t,” he muttered, trying to pull out of her hand. “Wait.”

“I can’t.” She ignored him, stroking harder. “I won’t wait.”

He almost laughed at her determination, but other sensations got in the way. Heat and blood and an ache that started low in his back and deep in his balls.

“You made me come in the car,” she said, pushing him onto his back.

“That was different. I don’t want to be done…yet.” He bit the last word, fighting the urge to just give in and let her stroke and…oh, kiss him. Down his stomach, her tongue flicking, her hands caressing…her mouth on him.

“Francesca.” He dug his fingers into her hair, holding her head, guiding her…just for a second. A few seconds. A minute. He rocked into her kisses and let her suck lightly, then harder. “Stop it.”

He pushed her head away, so close to coming he could barely see her through eyes he had to squeeze shut.

“Condom,” he muttered, reaching toward a nightstand like one would magically appear.

“In my bag.” They both said it at exactly the same second.

He laughed softly, rolling to grab whatever bag was closest. “We both brought them.”

“Talk about hopeful.”

He grabbed the box and tossed it on the bed. “Don’t talk at all,” he ordered.

She held his gaze, long and hot, and he could read everything in her expression, as clear as if she said the words.
This isn’t hopeless.
He should have known.

He should have known because he felt the same way. Damn it.

Kneeling over her, silent, he tore the box, grabbed a packet, and started to slide it over his engorged dick, refusing to look at her while he did, hating that his hands didn’t feel steady.

But then she reached out and touched him, taking over, rolling the condom down.

“C’mere,” she said huskily, drawing him down. As he got on top of her, she wrapped her legs around his hips and met his gaze. “I can’t wait anymore.”

He closed his eyes and found his way into her, arching enough to watch her face as he entered her body, holding back before he plunged in. Pleasure swamped him, silencing everything. She was hot, tight perfection. Beautiful and willing and warm and wet.

And he was so lost he couldn’t have remembered his name if he’d had to.

This didn’t need a label, but it had one. And it sure as hell wasn’t “hopeless.”

Not when she murmured sexy words and scraped her nails over his back. Not when she bowed her back and invited him deeper inside her. And when she bit her lip and cried out and a climax clawed at his conscience and crushed his senses…it was full of hope.

Fucking overloaded with hope.

He silenced that by listening to the sultry sounds of her orgasm. She moaned and whimpered and fought for control, losing it as completely as he did until they both collapsed in a heap of satisfaction and, damn it, hope.

It was Chessie’s secret power, and he was drowning in it. And all he wanted in the whole world was more.

And more and more.

“We’re not done yet,” he whispered huskily in her ear.

“We have all night,” she agreed.

But that wasn’t what he meant. Not what he meant at all.

Chapter Twenty

The
municipal
finally opened mid-morning the next day, along with the palms of the three people who showed up for work. Mal greased them liberally, making slow progress until they were finally allowed into a file library.

He hadn’t been kidding about the paper.

Chessie turned slowly, blinking at boxes upon boxes, file cabinets, and loose papers piled on the floor. She felt a slow burn of frustration roll through her—the first time she’d felt anything other than satisfaction since they’d fallen asleep together, woke up in the middle of the night for another round, and repeated it all at dawn.

That whole no-strings thing? It sure felt like it was getting a little stringy. But she couldn’t think about it today, not now that she’d gotten what she wanted most: access to real information.

Sort of real. Sort of information. Regardless, she threw herself into the process of finding a trail that would lead to a four-year-old boy who would call her Aunt Chessie.