Bait (21 page)

He stopped her from shrugging out of her bra. The wispy, lacy thing was a soft blue. He stroked his fingers across the fabric, feeling it catch very slightly on the callouses of his fingers. She made a noise and tried to push her breasts farther into his hands, but he pulled back. When she stilled, he resumed his exploration. At last, he gave in to her moaned demands and brushed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, already peaked and flushed with arousal. She gasped and arched closer, so he did it again. Unable to stop himself, he bent his head to suckle one breast, his teeth worrying the bud. She cried out, a sharp sound that drew stark male satisfaction from him. He tasted her other nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth and sucked hard on it. She bucked against him.

“Like that. Oh, yeah. Again.” She dug her hands into his hair, trying to force his mouth back to her breasts. He pulled away, blowing across her nipples, sensitizing them. She urged him closer, but he stayed where he was until, with a frustrated groan, she released his hair and gave him control.

Reaching around with both hands, he trapped her against his chest as he slid the little hooks free. The bra parted in tiny increments, baring her to his searing gaze a little at a time. She whimpered. Good.

When he finally dropped the delicate material from her breasts, he exhaled hard. “Magnificent. You're one incredibly sexy package.”

She gave a full-­body wriggle that jolted him half out of his chair. He completed the movement, picking her up and settling her onto the table. She leaned back on her elbows, gazing at him with dilated pupils, her face flushed. She rolled her hips, giving him access to the button on her jeans.

He popped it and tugged down her zipper. Her panties matched her bra. He stroked a finger across it. She jumped.

“I want to touch you,” she whispered. “Like you're touching me.”

“Later.”

He curled his fingers into the waistband of her jeans and stripped her out of them, then slowly, so slowly, slid off her panties. When he could see all of her, he stopped and stared his fill, his eyes hot and predatory as they roamed her body. He rested his hands at the tops of her thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive inner flesh. Back and forth, light little strokes designed to light her on fire.

“More,” she gasped. “More.”

“Not yet,” he growled. He shucked off his shoes and pushed his pants down his hips. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him in. Her heat scorched him, and that was all she wrote. He grabbed for his wallet and the condom inside, ripped it open with his teeth, and flung away the wrapper. He sheathed himself in seconds.

Pushing her flat against the table, he pulled her to the edge of the wood, spread her legs with his hips, and pressed forward. She lifted her legs and again wrapped them around his waist, and this time, he slid home.

“Uhn,” she gasped. “Yeah. Oh, God, you feel so good, Gabe.”

He couldn't speak, couldn't see. Could only feel her incredible heat, her legs pulling him in tighter, deeper. She was passion and flame, searing him as he plunged into her over and over. She was right there with him, squirming and writhing under him. He lost control, pistoning frantically and praying she came before he did.

She arched beneath him, crying out his name over and over as she shuddered and shook. He followed her over the edge, face buried in her breasts as he drove himself impossibly deeply and froze. His muscles seized as he orgasmed, the sensations so intense his vision grayed.

 

Chapter Twenty-One

C
HRISTINA
SPRAWLED
,
BONELESS
, on top of the kitchen table. Gabe rested on top of her, his face pillowed on her breasts. All too soon, however, her back began to protest the awkward angle. She stirred, and Gabe lifted himself off her.

“Too heavy?” he asked, voice thick. He looked down at their bodies, where they were still joined, and gave that peculiarly male grin of satisfaction. “You are one hot piece of ass.”

His tone had been gentle, teasing, and she found herself laughing as he gathered her into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and into a bedroom. He laid her on the bed and stretched out next to her, one finger idly caressing her from shoulder to hip. She rolled onto her side to face him.

“What am I going to do with you, Gabe?” she murmured.

“Keep me?” he said. His face immediately closed down, as though the words had startled him. She touched his shoulder reassuringly, and he caught her hand, turning it over to press a kiss into her palm.

“For a while.” The thought of commitment unnerved him, it seemed. Her, too. But he'd said the words, and she mulled over the implications in her mind. After a few minutes, Gabe swung his legs over the side of the bed. Christina stroked his back. He pulled away from her and left the room. Before she could worry, though, he reappeared with his pants, sliding his cell phone out of a pocket. He punched in some numbers.

“Hey, Tag. Just checking in. You guys make it okay? Yeah? Good. When do you go wheels up?” He listened and frowned. “How come? What . . . yeah. No, nada. Should I . . .” His grip on the phone tightened. “Thanks.” He disconnected.

“Problem?”

Gabe glanced her way without quite meeting her eyes. Wow, he really had scared himself with his earlier comment. “Maybe. The guys are boarding now. Jace recalled them. I'm not . . . so far, I haven't been called. But you know that could change at any minute, right?”

“Of course.” She kept her voice noncommittal. “But, you know, if we're in the middle of doing it, you have to make me come before you dash out the door.”

A surprised laugh burst from him. “Deal.” He sat next to her on the bed and pressed more numbers on the keypad. “Trev. Anything new on the guy we caught?” He listened and rolled his eyes, laughing a little. “Yeah. Let me know, okay?” He tossed the phone onto the bedside table.

“Nothing yet?”

“Well, they did leave less than an hour ago,” he said. “I just want full closure.”

“What's bothering you?”

Gabe twisted around and stretched out beside her again, this time playing with her hair. “You let it go curly again.”

Christina batted at his hands halfheartedly. “What if I like looking like a princess?”

Gabe cocked a curious look at her. “Do you? 'Cause I'll love your hair either way.”

Her stomach dropped into freefall. He'd used the L-­word. Not toward her, it was true, only her hair. She didn't want to read anything into it. Better to ignore it. “Nah. Takes too much work. I'm happy to go back to being just me.”

Gabe laughed again, shaking his head. “You couldn't ever be ‘just'.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, pleased. “So, seriously, what's bugging you about this?”

Gabe scratched his chin. “Well, let's look at the facts. Aart Jansens, on order from Émile Bonnet, shoots to miss in Brussels, hoping to scare the princess into hiding, which he does. You take her place, and both Jansens and Bonnet follow you to Grasvlakten, where Jansens sets up for a second shot at you. Only a second team gets to you first, and in the firefight, Jansens comes down on our side and saves the day.”

“He denies hiring the second team,” Christina said. “And we don't know what Bonnet admitted, if anything.”

“Yeah,” he said, clearly unhappy. “If the third man, the prisoner, talks, we might not even be told what he says. I'm concerned Ronnie's still in danger.”

“Gabe, there's nothing we can do about that. We're off the mission. We've been told to get out.”

“I hate leaving things unfinished. Like you lying here. I think I'll just keep you here, chained to my bed.”

Christina stretched, luxuriating like a cat. “I could be okay with that. As long as I can handcuff you, too.”

“Then who would bring you food? And feed it to you. Slowly.” Gabe bent his head and licked across the top of her breast. “I wonder if they have any honey in the pantry?”

Christina's laugh was breathy, and ended on a moan. “Or . . . or more whipped cream, but it's my turn . . . ungh.”

Gabe leaned over her, gripped her wrists lightly, and stretched them high over her head. He transferred both wrists into one of his, and started a seductive onslaught that had her twisting. Their first time had been urgent and intense. This time, he set the pace.

“Seems I like it slow and sensual, too.”

“You like my touch,” he said. “I'm hot for yours, too.”

He traced around her lips, allowing her to suck a finger into her mouth and scrape her teeth across the pad. The finger trailed over her lower lip and down, over her chin and to her collarbone. He explored her breasts, staying maddeningly away from her aching nipples, and when he stroked the soft skin under them, she groaned her frustration.

He stroked each rib in turn, causing her to flail as it tickled. When he stroked down to her hipbone, though, she bucked and gasped, trying to get his fingers where she really wanted them. He held her wrists firmly but gently.

As his fingers skimmed over the juncture at her thighs, she jumped at the electricity of his touch. “Please, Gabe,” she pleaded mindlessly. “Please.”

He released her wrists and replaced his fingers with his mouth. “I intend to. Please you.” Starting at the top again, he kissed each eyelid closed, nipped at the corner of her mouth, and nuzzled her cheek. When she turned her head blindly, seeking his mouth, he pulled away, following the same path with his mouth that he'd just traveled with his fingers. He dipped his tongue into her navel, causing her stomach to contract. He nipped her hip, sliding his hands under her knees and pulling her around, draping her legs over his shoulders.

“Gabe, Jesus, God, please, there . . . now.”

But he seemed determined to drive her out of her mind. He blew across her curls, and rubbed his cheek over the soft hair. Her hips rose involuntarily, seeking relief, but he moved his head back. “Lie still,” he commanded. “Hands above your head.”

Surprisingly, she found herself eager to obey. The edge of danger in his voice sliced through her nerve endings and raised goose bumps on her skin. Finally,
finally
, he spread her open with his big hands and dipped his head.

The first touch of his tongue had her gasping and arching. He tormented her with long, slow licks, interspersed with gentle nips at the insides of her thighs. He flicked the tip of his tongue across her tight nub, holding her in place easily as she jumped. When his teeth closed over it, she cried out.

“Gabe, please. God, please.”

She was sobbing and writhing. He plunged his tongue inside her and stroked, then replaced his mouth with his finger. Her back bowed. He inserted a second finger and caressed her from the inside while his tongue laved her sensitive bud. She couldn't have stopped the orgasm if her life depended on it. Shrieking her release, she disobeyed his command and wrapped her fingers through his overlong hair, gripping a little too hard as she convulsed again and again.

Before the tremors had subsided, he prowled up her body, keeping her legs on his shoulders. Somehow he managed to grab another condom and roll it on. When he touched her sensitized opening, she gasped again. He pushed inside her in one long glide, dipping his head to capture her lips with his own. She met him kiss for kiss, their tongues dueling and dancing as he stroked in and out of her. He seemed in no hurry, and Christina threw her head back and just rode the sensation. In this position, he could penetrate her deeply. As he increased his tempo, it should have hurt, but the sensations were too overwhelming. She burned with pleasure, with sensation, with emotion. She rode the edge between pleasure and pain, rolling her hips to urge him on. He kept that maddeningly slow pace. She lowered her head to gaze at him. His eyes were tightly closed, the cords on his neck standing out as he focused on maintaining control.

She rolled her hips again, grabbing the sides of his face to pull him in close. “Now,” she practically growled. “Now, Gabe.”

He opened his eyes, looked deeply into hers, and began to thrust as fast as she could draw breath. No, scratch that. She couldn't catch her breath, just rolled along on the storm of his desire. She threw her head back.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “I want to see you when you come.”

That was enough to push her over the edge. The hot pulses of pleasure spasmed her body. He groaned and came with her, the cords on his neck standing out as he gazed into her very soul.

When they both floated back to earth, he rested his forehead against hers. “I think I'm addicted to you,” he whispered, closing his eyes. He turned his head away and eased off her, collapsing onto the bed. Christina let her legs flop onto the comforter. She was so sated she could barely think. They lay together and maybe dozed.

When the air-­conditioner began to chill them, Gabe slid out of bed and flipped the comforter over her. “I'm going to go look for food,” he said. She watched him pad from the room, naked, and made a contented noise. She was asleep before he ever came back into the room.

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

C
HRIS
TINA
SLIPPED
ON
her underwear and one of Gabe's T-­shirts, and made coffee while she waited for him to return. A satisfied grin tugged at her mouth. As she had known he would be, he was an amazing lover. He'd lit her on fire until she'd been a raging inferno, then brought her to the heights of pleasure. She sat at the kitchen table and looked out the window. What did it all mean, though?

“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.” Laughing a little as she repeated Heather's words, she turned the cup around and around in her hands, not drinking the coffee as she searched her feelings.

She'd fallen in love with him.

She'd known since Grasvlakten; she just hadn't wanted to admit it to herself. His uncompromising protection, unexpected gentleness, and commitment to his mission and his teammates all appealed to her. He had learned to listen when she spoke, and to take her opinions seriously. And he'd admitted to being jealous when she'd danced with Julian. That had to mean something, right?

Gabe wanted her; he'd proven that in spades. He cared for her, too. She knew it, despite his shabby treatment after dinner that night at the villa. Had his feelings been so strong the only way he knew how to deal with them was to withdraw emotionally?

Was he looking for a fling, though, or something more?

The knock at the front door had her jumping to her feet. He'd been quick at the grocery store! Maybe he'd been that anxious to get back to her. She raced down the hallway, heart leaping.

With a hand on the knob, her training took over, and she peered out the side window, just in case. A dark shadow shifted just out of her periphery. Adrenaline slammed though her as she realized, belatedly, that Gabe had a key. He would not have knocked.

She didn't wait to find out who was at the door. Turning, she ran for the bedroom and her purse, where the baby Sig nestled. Just as she reached the room, a dull crash thumped from the kitchen. Whoever it was had gone around to the back door. Rather than kick it in, he had simply broken the glass pane, and was no doubt even now reaching through to unlock the dead bolt.

It could be a random robbery, but Christina didn't really believe that. Someone had found the safe house.

The small residence had two access points, front and back. With Trevor's team in the house, they could have covered both directions. She wracked her brains. Not knowing who or how many, would it be better to try to force her way out or shoot it out inside the house when the person came in?

The faint creak of the kitchen door made the decision for her. She thumbed the safety off the Sig Sauer and crept down the hallway, back sliding against the wall. She waited, heart pounding. The house remained silent.

A slam against the front door made her jump. They would be able to force the door open, she had no doubt. This suburban home had been chosen for its anonymity, not its ruggedness. If she did nothing, she would be flanked on both sides.

Left with little choice, she threw herself around the corner into the kitchen. Two men wearing ski masks raised their weapons, one stepping back in surprise. She pulled the trigger in rapid succession. The man on the left collapsed. The other one rushed her, tackling her around the middle and bodily taking her to the floor. Her head smacked against the linoleum hard enough that she saw stars. He snatched the handgun from her and threw it in one smooth motion. It bounced and spun crazily across the tiles.

Undaunted, Christina smashed her palm into his nose. He rolled away from her, grunting and cursing. She went with him, digging into his pockets, looking for anything that would help Gabe find her. She would lose, ultimately. Three against one were bad odds even for a Delta Force operator; she would go down fighting, but go down she would. Her fingers curled around some paper, and she pulled it out and dropped it onto the floor even as she brought her knee up, missing his groin by a hair's breath as he turned his hips.

The Taser caught her high on her shoulders. She spasmed under fifty thousand volts of electricity, back bowing as her muscles short-­circuited, pain streaking through her body. When it was over, she flopped onto her back, gasping, knowing she needed to get up, face her attackers, fight. Cursing the lethargy in her muscles, she made it to her hands and knees. She looked up into the face of the third man, who had stripped off his ski mask.

He grinned, and triggered the Taser again.