Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 (10 page)

“Not usually, no.”

“But now?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to close this deal.”

“First rule of business.” She stood and flopped onto the bed, stretching out on her back in a distinctly feline move. “Sometimes you just have to take what you want.”

“Sold.”

He’d run from gunfire more slowly than he covered the short distance to the bed, dropping onto the mattress and scooping her into his embrace. She smiled up at him and for a second he paused, taking in this beauty in his arms.

Then he kissed her.

She tasted different from any other woman—sweeter, bolder, stronger. Like opening the curtains to let in the first bright rays of a summer morning. Like popping the cork on a chilled bottle of champagne after a long Saturday on the boat.

“This is how it works with me,” he murmured when he managed to pull his lips away. “I ask where I can touch you. You say yes or no.”

She nodded, eyes glimmering under the overhead light.

He shifted onto his side, trailing his fingers over her smooth skin to find the soft swell of her breast. “Can I touch you here?”

In answer she reached behind her back, unclasped her bra and tossed it over his shoulder.

Suddenly the cabin seemed short on oxygen, and his breathing quickened as he surveyed her lavishly plump breasts, their rose-colored peaks proving he wasn’t alone in his excitement. He lowered his face to take each one between his lips in turn, his tongue coaxing her flesh to rigidity.

He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the taste of berries and vanilla, letting her throaty moans of pleasure resonate through his body. When he raised his head her gaze locked with his, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed.

He slid his hand down her stomach, enjoying the way her eyes widened. Deftly he unbuttoned her jeans, then inched his fingertips beneath the lace-edged waist of her underwear.

“Can I touch you here?”

She crossed one arm behind her head, propping herself up to watch. She parted her thighs, running her tongue over her lips. Then she nodded.

His moved his hand lower, his eyes never leaving hers. His fingers crept over her sloping mound, trailed through the curls whose softness rivaled the silky cloth brushing his knuckles. With his index finger he traced the indentation signaling the entrance to her most intimate place, and his heartbeat stuttered at the dampness he found there.

Nicola’s teeth pressed into her lower lip. Keeping her gaze leveled to his, she brought her hand to her breast and caressed it, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

His mouth went as dry as the Kalahari, a remarkable contrast to the warm, wet valley beneath his hand. As he pressed his finger deeper between her soft folds, he lowered his thumb to rest as lightly as possible on her hot, swollen nub.

“And here? Can I touch you here?”

“Yes.”

It was more a plea than a confirmation, and he was happy to oblige. He drew slow circles with his thumb while he let his forefinger slip inside her folds, teasing the inner lips that were slick with moisture.

A soft moan escaped Nicola’s throat, and though her eyes narrowed and her gaze lost its focus, she didn’t look away. He had to smile. He loved her insistence on staring him down, on letting him see exactly what he was doing to her and almost daring him to push her further. It was as endearing as it was sexy, and he marveled again at the remarkable woman beneath his hand. He was in control, but only because she’d allowed him to be—and she wanted him to remember that.

He’d remember, all right. And in the meantime, he planned to take full advantage.

He changed rhythm, moving faster but at intervals, stopping completely in between. He savored the resulting increase in the rise and fall of those outstanding breasts and the glimmering sheen of sweat that broke out across her creamy skin.

She widened her legs, thrusting against his hand, as if silently begging him to push her over the top. For several minutes he resisted, maintaining his deliberately taunting motion, denying her the completion she so clearly sought.

But he couldn’t hold back for long. She was too delicious in her hunger, too tantalizing in her desperation, and he was overwhelmed by a desire to give her everything she wanted, everything he had.

He leaned over, cupping the back of her head with his free hand and pressing his lips to hers, unable to resist one more indulgent, quenching taste of that sumptuous mouth. Her fingers tightened in his hair, insistent with need, demanding he kiss her harder, longer.

He pulled back and licked his lips. Kissing her was fast becoming his favorite pastime, but he wanted to see her—wanted to watch her fall over the edge of his making.

He increased the pressure of his thumb and plunged two fingers inside her.

The sound that ripped from her was more beautiful than any birdsong, any symphony, any crashing ocean waves he’d ever heard. Part release, part ecstasy, it was the sound of whole-body fulfillment. For the first time since they’d hit the bed her eyes squeezed shut, and she arched her back and clamped her thighs against his hand and grabbed his wrist, her fist tightening as though it were the lifeline tethering her fast-escaping spirit to her shuddering body.

He knew he wore a broad, satisfied grin, but he couldn’t seem to tone it down. Her muscles relaxed, freeing his hand, and he stretched out beside her trembling form. She rolled over and pressed her face into his chest, flattened shaky palms against his skin. He held her close, pushing a few strands of copper-colored hair off her forehead and brushing a kiss over the place they’d vacated.

When she finally glanced up at him her expression was sheepish. “We’re both still wearing our jeans.”

“And our boots.” He nudged his toe against hers.

“I didn’t mean to be so selfish. Do you want me to—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m good.” Actually he had a hard-on that would rival some of the diamonds that came out of his father’s mines, but that wasn’t her problem. Watching her enjoyment was worth fifty politely obliging hand jobs. His pleasure could wait until next time.

If there was a next time.

“Are you sure?” Her hand found his belt buckle, snapping him out of his momentary diversion into maudlin thinking. Of course there’d be a next time—neither of them would be leaving anytime soon, not until they got to the bottom of the increasingly complicated Hambani story. And after that, well—they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

“You’re a talented man, Sergeant Copley.” She slipped the leather strap out of the metal buckle and plucked at the button beneath. “I’m not usually so, not normally that…” She paused, forehead creasing as she searched for the word.

“
Wanton
,” she declared eventually, tugging open his fly. “In fact, most of the time I—”

This time her sentence was interrupted by an almighty yawn. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she blinked several times as if waking herself up.

“You’re exhausted. I’ll defer your end of the deal—with interest.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

He started to sit up, but she tugged him back down to the bed.

“You don’t have to run off. Stay a while. Let me enjoy having a man in my bed.”

Her lids dropped and the smile curving her lips was drowsy. In five minutes she’d be asleep—and he’d never be able to pry himself away from her supple, dozing figure.

“I should go.”

“Why?”

He said the first thing that came to his mind. “Uh, I snore.”

“Liar. These walls are paper-thin. I can hear you fluff your pillow. Well, I would if you didn’t toss it on the ground every night before you got into bed.”

He gaped, hastily trying to recollect anything compromising she might’ve heard through the wall.

“Why do you do that? Don’t you love these five-star-quality linens?” She indicated one of the lumpy, deflated pillows on the narrow bed.

“In the selection process for the Special Task Force we spent a lot of time outside, sleeping on the ground. I guess I got used to it.”

“Was it hard to get in?”

“Hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“I read a bit about it online last night. It sounds like you guys are SWAT and the SAS and Navy SEALs all rolled into one underfunded police division.”

“That’s a good way of putting it.”

“Tell me about this.” She propped herself up on her elbows and reached around to trace the swooping falcon tattooed on his left shoulder blade.

“It’s a bird of prey, landing to intervene in mortal danger. It’s from my badge—the Special Task Force operator’s badge.”

“I wouldn’t have figured you for the tattoo type.”

“My job’s the most important thing in my life,” he replied simply.

“So what does it take to—” Another yawn broke up her sentence, and he decided it really was time to go. He stood and retrieved his shirt from the floor, shaking it to dispel any insect invaders before pulling it over his arms.

“Warren.”

He turned to find Nicola sitting upright on the bed, unabashedly topless, her expression devoid of all the humor that had softened it only seconds earlier. “You know I can handle myself, right?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not a fearful person. The explosion in the shed, the crowd at the settlement—I kept my cool, didn’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I hope you won’t judge me when I say that not only would I enjoy the pleasure of your company, I would feel a whole lot safer if you spent the night.”

He froze mid-button, frowning across the room at her. Had he heard her correctly? That if he stayed with her tonight, she’d feel
safer
?

He thought of all the dates that had gone sour when he revealed his profession, the way women’s voices flattened as they recounted tales of being pulled over and asked for bribes by corrupt cops, the number of times he’d had to explain he wasn’t at Marikana and had nothing to do with the brutal massacre that occurred there. He remembered the graduate student who found an ammo clip in his bedside table and stormed out of the house, the marketing manager he never saw again after he was called to examine a suspect device in the middle of the night, and the schoolteacher who begged him to wear his uniform to bed and was inconsolably disappointed when she realized it was camouflage, not patrolman blue. More often than not his job was the ultimate deal-breaker when it came to his love life—until now.

Until Nicola.

“I’m not trying to flatter you into staying, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she added, evidently unnerved by his silence. “It’s just, we don’t know who’s out there these days, and even though you’re only a wall away, I’d sleep better if you were by my side.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

Her grin could’ve powered Hambani for a week. “Really?”

“Sure. And you can have both pillows.”

Ten minutes later Nicola was dressed in a camisole and cotton shorts, he’d stripped down to his boxers, and he’d left a gap in the mosquito net just big enough for her to reach through and turn off the bedside lamp.

“Ready?” she asked. He nodded. She flicked the switch and the cabin plunged into darkness, silent but for the slight rustle as she drew the mosquito net into place.

The narrow mattress seemed even smaller when he tried to occupy only half of it, but after a second of repositioning she rolled over and flung her wrist across his chest, suggesting she didn’t mind sharing the space. He slid his arm around her waist and tugged her close, enjoying the warm, soft weight of her body.

“Thank you for an enjoyable and diverting evening, Sergeant,” she murmured, her voice already thick with drowsiness.

“Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

Within seconds her breathing was deep and regular, her form limp against his side. He squeezed her gently, tucked his other arm behind his head and stared at the netting above the bed.

All things considered, being suspended wasn’t half bad.

The shrill beep of the alarm on Nicola’s phone was so jarringly unfamiliar that Warren’s hand was on his gun before he realized he was awake.

“Take it easy, Rambo.” She leaned across him to shove aside the mosquito net and turn off the alarm, then flopped back onto the mattress.

“Sorry.” He replaced the weapon and rolled over, gathering her into his arms. The first streaks of reddish dawn penetrated the thin curtains, lighting a fiery collection of coppers and oranges and golds in her hair.

“Are you always so high-strung first thing in the morning?”

“Only when I wake up in a strange place.”

“How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in months,” he answered honestly.

She smiled, smoothing the pad of her thumb over his lower lip. “I woke up in the middle of the night. You were sleeping on your side, with such a serious expression on this handsome face. I considered ravishing you there and then, but decided I’d prefer you to be conscious when that moment arrives.”

“Smart, sexy and generous, too.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, then pulled her against him so she could feel the effect of her words.

“Would you say that moment is imminent?”

“Could be on its way,” she purred, trailing her forefinger down the side of his jaw.

Then she was gone, abruptly standing up from the bed and ducking under the mosquito net to shove her feet in a pair of flip-flops and pad toward the door.

“One of the ladies from the canteen has started leaving fresh milk by my door, for my coffee. Let me grab it before the ants have a field day.”

He stretched languidly, watching the tempting twitch of her butt in those tight shorts. “Well, aren’t you special? No one leaves me anything. How do I sign up for the five-star treatment?”

“Try smiling once in a while.” She threw the bolt on the door.

“Hilarious. Now if you said—”

Nicola’s piercing scream had him out of the bed and at her side in seconds, Glock armed and raised in his hand.

“Warren,” she pleaded, pressing her face into his bare chest and squeezing her eyes shut. “What the hell is going on?”

He surveyed the dim horizon—nothing. No retreating footsteps, no leaves rustling in the wake of someone’s departure, just a few early-rising birds and the distant rumble of mining equipment. Whoever had been here was long gone.