Miranda's Mate (11 page)

Fine
, she thought sourly.
So what if he has? I don’t own him.

Not even close, sweetheart,
her sarcastic inner maven chimed. Miranda shut her eyes. Pain washed through her. Christ, but she hoped she’d get over him—and damned soon. It hurt so god-awful much she nearly couldn’t stand it.

“What do you need?” A note of impatience crept into Garen’s voice.

“I, um, you see—”

“Spit it out, Miss Miller.”

“I want to order takeout Thai food from across the street.” Heat rose from her open collar and suffused her face. She sounded like a total dumbass. “Look. It was a bad idea. I’m sorry I—”

“I have a better idea,” he cut in smoothly. “I’m actually still upstairs. How about if I come down and take you out to dinner. We can kill two birds with one stone since there are some things I wanted to discuss with you.”

Guess I was wrong about him being lip-locked with another woman.
Her mouth gaped open and closed. She sucked air. Had he just asked her on a date?
I’m pathetic. He asked me to join him for the equivalent of a business lunch.

A sigh rattled against her ear. “Look. If you’d rather, I can run and get you Thai takeout. That way you won’t have to eat with me.”

“No. I, uh, um, I’d enjoy having company. It’s been pretty lonely since I’ve been here.”
No lonelier than when I’m at home, but he doesn’t have to know that
.

“It’s settled, then. Shall we say fifteen minutes?”

“Sure.”

She glanced at the display. He’d disconnected. Miranda sprinted for the bathroom and brushed her hair. It was thick and refused to do anything but hang in loose curls. She looped it behind her ears, peered critically at her face in the mirror, and opened the drawer that held her spartan makeup bag. She glanced at the pots of color and settled for the thinnest gloss of gold eye shadow and a pale lip tint. It would never do for him to notice she’d put on makeup for him.

“It is not a date,” she told the mirror firmly.

Yes, but it might be an opportunity.
She brushed her teeth and went back into the bedroom. She stripped off her plain, practical shirt, donned a lacy plunge bra, and slipped a formfitting, pale green jersey over it. The black slacks and tennis shoes were fine.

Before she could stop herself, she’d spritzed Spanish Amber perfume behind both ears and in the hollow between her collarbones. Mouth dry, nipples hard, clit swollen, she wondered if she’d be able to eat a thing. She’d just stuffed her phone into a small purse when Garen knocked at her door.

Garen’s nostrils twitched. He smelled Miranda’s wonderful scents the minute he walked out the stairwell door and into the corridor where her apartment was located. Rich and sensual, they hit him in the groin. He hadn’t thought he could get any harder; he’d been wrong. He wore a ridiculously oversized dark sweatshirt. It covered his shoulder holster and his erection. His face felt flushed. The sweatshirt wouldn’t hide that.

For a fleeting moment, he considered bolting back into the stairwell to compose himself. His jaw set in a determined line. It wouldn’t matter what he did. The reality of Miranda right next to him would undo any equanimity he managed to latch onto. He raised his fist and tapped on her door.

It opened so quickly he was certain she’d been poised right on the other side. The second he saw her, his eyes widened. She’d donned a clingy, moss-green top that molded to her high, firm breasts. Her nipples were visible poking against the fabric. Her newly blonde-streaked hair just brushed her shoulders. It set off her blue eyes. He’d never truly appreciated the exotic cant to her cheekbones before. They gave her a cat-like look. He inhaled and realized she’d put on perfume—for him. Lust flamed so hot he was surprised it didn’t burn him to a cinder where he stood.

She took a step toward him. “Are we ready to go, or are you just going to stand there staring at me?” A husky undertone made her voice sound like liquid honey.

Between her breasts and her voice and just the reality of having her inches from him, Garen’s carefully scripted,
Sure. I made us reservations at La Traviata
, frittered away like so much dust. He closed the distance between them, wrapped his arms around her, and slashed his mouth down over hers. Half of him expected her to judo chop him, but her mouth opened under his, and she wound her arms around his shoulders, pressing her breasts into his chest. Where it was sandwiched between them, his cock jumped against her belly.

He kicked the door shut. She straddled one of his legs between hers and ground herself against him. Her breath came fast against his mouth that was glued to hers. She made a feral sound and dropped her hands to his ass so she could pull his body tighter against her. He broke the kiss and leaned back to look at her. Eyes shut, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen from their kiss, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

His throat was so thick it was hard to talk. “Last time you said it was a mistake. I need to hear you say you want me before I lose every last bit of control and rip your clothes off.”

Her incredible eyes opened; she met his gaze. “It was a mistake. This will be too, but I’ll be damned if I care.” She let go of him, took a step backward, and pulled her top over her head. Her amazing breasts spilled over the top of a cream lace bra. She bent to unlace her shoes and toed them off, and then undid her slacks. They slid down her legs and pooled around her feet. She stepped out of them. Black curls peeked from around the edges of a matching thong panty. The crotch was dark with her juices.

Garen couldn’t tear his gaze away. He hadn’t seen her body when they’d grappled with one another in the Learjet. It was perfect. Generous breasts rode high on a shapely ribcage. Her shoulders were muscular, yet feminine at the same time. A flat stomach, flared hipbones, and long, well-formed legs took his breath away. Tongue-tied and awkward, he knew he was staring but couldn’t help himself.

“Well?” She placed her hands on those wonderful naked hips and quirked a brow. “You may be worth waiting for, but you did promise me dinner. I’ll hold you to it—afterward.”

He heard the growl form deep in his throat. In seconds, his sweatshirt, shoulder holster, and gun lay in a heap on the floor. He stepped out of his loafers and reached for the waistband of his pants, but she beat him to it. She followed his pants down and knelt before him. His cock shuddered with anticipation.

Miranda licked all around his glans, little teasing licks and nibbles that drove him mad. He wouldn’t last. Not this time, but he’d get hard again. Around Miranda, he was always hard. She took his shaft into her mouth and worked him with both hands. He captured her head to show her the rhythm he needed. Her teeth scraped delicate flesh. Not too hard, just enough to ratchet his pleasure up another few notches. She tightened her grip.

Garen’s balls snugged up against his body. He’d never experienced anything as intense as her mouth and hands urging him onward. There was heat and hunger in her movements, as if she’d imagined sucking him off in her dreams. Who knew, maybe she fantasized about him just as much as he did about her.
Not possible…
And then he stopped thinking. The wonderful sensations began in the pit of his stomach and swirled out in burning, juddering bursts. She sucked harder, draining him.

He tugged himself out of her mouth and slid to the floor next to her. He covered her passion-swollen mouth with his, tasting himself on her, and pushed her onto her back. He strung kisses down her neck. She arched her back. He pushed her bra aside and took a breast in his mouth, suckling and laving the nipple. Already hard, it stiffened more under his touch. He dipped a hand between her legs, easily bypassing the slender nylon thong. She was drenched. The musk of her arousal made him crazy with need. Never mind he’d just come.

He slithered farther down her body and took her panties off so he could settle his mouth over her swollen nub. She bucked against him and buried her hands in his hair. Her clit stiffened still more under his ministrations. She drove herself rhythmically against his mouth, crying and moaning. He slid fingers inside her pussy and felt the contractions of her orgasm squeeze him. He sucked harder, wanting to maximize her pleasure.

Once her body quieted, he knelt over her and took her hips between his hands. “Turn over.”

She opened eyes misted by heat-lust and looked at him. “We’re good to go,” she said breathlessly. “You came, I came—”

“We’re not done, Miranda. Either I’ll fuck you this way, or you can get on your hands and knees.” Desire, feral and savage, knifed through him. This woman was his. All his. Whether she knew it or not. No matter how many times he took her, it would never be enough.

With an inborn athleticism, she flipped over. The perfect globes of her perfect ass parted, displaying wet folds framed by dark curls. The rational part of him vanished. With a fierce cry he barely recognized as his voice, he wrapped a hand around his cock and drove it home inside her. He pulled nearly all the way out, swirled the tip of him around her opening, and jammed himself in to the hilt. After a dozen long, slow strokes, both of them lost it. She pressed back against him over and over.

He hung onto a ragged edge of control. She would come again, goddammit, before he did. She was close. He felt it in the tension of her muscles and saw it in the corded lines of her throat. And then she screamed and her pussy muscles milked him. He snaked a hand around and rubbed her clit to make absolutely certain she was as high as she could get. Somewhere in the midst of all that, he released inside her. Garen came hard, and he just kept coming.

They ended up in a panting, sweaty heap on the carpeted floor. “Now do I finally get dinner?” She moved out from beneath him. “After I rinse off, that is.” Miranda got to her feet in a single lithe movement. He watched her walk to the bathroom. Her body really was a study in female perfection. “Here.” A wet washcloth hurled through the air at him.

He laughed. “I can take a hint.” He got to his feet and joined her at the sink.

“It’s handy you’re a sh—um, like me. No worries about pregnancy or diseases.”

“You’re right to be cautious about what you say,” he murmured, “but I’m the only one who listens to the audio feed from the rooms here.”

She resettled her breasts in her bra and went to gather the rest of her clothes, trading her soaked thong for a clean one. He dressed too. Miranda looked as if she wanted to say something, so he gave her space. Bag over her shoulder, she walked to the door and turned to face him. “I don’t know what this thing between us is, but maybe what we just did will lay it to rest.” She dropped her gaze, inhaled sharply, and then looked at him again. “I can’t work for you and fuck you. It’s just wrong. Never mind Company policy. But I can’t stop thinking about you, either.”

“Miranda—” He started to tell her he loved her, that they’d figure something out, but she shook her head.

“No, hear me out. What happened in the airplane was sort of like an appetizer. Maybe actually getting naked together and sating ourselves will mean I can reclaim myself.”

He swallowed. “Do you feel like you’ve had enough of me?”

Her cheeks turned crimson. “No, but maybe it’s because we’re standing in a room that reeks of lust and sex.”

He tossed his head back and laughed. “You win, Miss Miller. Lead out and we’ll get a late dinner.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’d made us reservations at La Traviata. It won’t matter we’re late. I booked a private room for the evening.” Garen followed her out the door.
Maybe it’s better to think like she does,
he told himself.
I have no fucking idea how to address either the office romance or lycan/Lucifer problems.

He’d been surprised she never followed up on their conversation from the forest outside the Index cabin. Maybe she decided she’d been mistaken about him looking familiar and let the whole thing drop. He hoped so.

* * * *

Miranda took another mouthful from the selection of delectable pastas on her plate. Dinner had gone well until she’d reiterated her plan to infiltrate ISL’s San Ysidro facility. Garen had made it quite clear he didn’t want her involved. She picked her next words with care and pitched her voice low. “This is one of the reasons why what we did earlier was a bad idea. You’ve gotten all protective of me. I can’t have you treating me any different from the other agents. For one thing, they’ll notice.”

“And you think they haven’t noticed us studiously avoiding one another since we got back from the East Coast?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Look. I need to work. I’m far from independently wealthy. I could go back into the Army—at least for a little while longer. Thirty-five used to be the cut-off age for new Berets, and I’d likely have to start all over.”

“Is that what you want to do?” He reached across the table for her hand, but she moved it away.

She shook her head. “Better if you don’t touch me. I like working for The Company, but if you and I can’t get back to something normal, I’ll have to leave. If you were honest with yourself, you’d understand that too.”
I feel conflicted as hell about all of this, but I’m not going to tell him that.

“Fine.” His blue eyes narrowed. “One of the things about working for me is you take orders—”

“Which is one more reason we can’t be lovers. There’s got to be some equality in love relationships. How well do you think it would work if you pulled rank—like you’re doing now—and forced my compliance on something?”

His mouth twitched. “Obviously not well at all. There are lots of good reasons why your San Ysidro idea isn’t sound. You’re just not listening to them.”

“I’m the strongest woman agent on the payroll. I’m attractive. I know I can inveigle my way inside. None of the other women who work for The Company would have as good a chance.”

“It’s too risky.”

“Me going to Amsterdam alone was risky, but you didn’t tell me
no
then. The only thing that’s changed is you got your dick inside me.” Miranda dropped her fork onto her plate. Her hand balled into a fist. Anger made her jaw tight. Worse, tears weren’t far beneath the surface.