Barefoot With a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 2) (3 page)

She glanced up at the man on her right and caught him eyeing her as well. Silent in their secret companionship with only the background sounds of unhappy phone calls and explanations still going on inside the overly warm van, it was like they were magnetically pulled to each other.

“You need anything to make it through the night?” he asked.

Um…sex. Lots of it.
“
I’ll buy a toothbrush and can sleep in my clothes.” Or naked. She swallowed, her throat dry.

“You can borrow a T-shirt, if you want.”

His voice, with just enough of a timbre of implication, rolled over her, warming her so much that she turned to the rain-streaked windows, tempted to press her cheek against the cool glass. Instead, she let the blur of the Atlanta airport pass by.

Chessie had never had a one-night stand, didn’t do the hookup thing that was considered the norm among many thirty-year-olds. The whole idea was just too damn spontaneous for a planner like her. But this situation was different. Weird. Electrified. Off anything that resembled a plan.

Screw a plan.

No, no.
She fought a secret smile and a tingling in her lower half. A plan was not what she wanted to screw tonight.

“Here we are,” Mal said, shifting slightly in his seat, making her unable to think about anything except how his leg felt pressed against her. It was hard, thick, and strong. She’d never really thought about a man’s leg before. She was a shoulder and biceps kind of girl. But his leg…

Lust had clearly fried her motherboard.

He met her look with the slightest hint of amusement in his dark eyes. Like he knew something about her that even she didn’t know. That was part of his appeal, she noticed. Always a very subtle, tacit hint that he knew what she was thinking.

And she was thinking about legs. And…other parts.

She let out a sigh as the van pulled under the hotel overhang, the lights of the lobby looking warm and inviting on the cool, December night.

“You okay?” Mal asked, leaning close to her ear so his breath fluttered some of her hair and launched a landslide of goose bumps.

“Yeah, sure. I mean…” She wet her lips and looked up at him. “Are you?”

They were dancing around the obvious.
Are we doing this or not?

He broke into a slow grin that made her stomach feel like a butterfly garden during a windstorm. “Define okay, Francesca.”

And did he have to say her much-hated name in a way that sounded like a warm breeze over flower petals? She wanted him to say it again and again, in her ear, against her mouth, as he got on top of her and—

“Out to the right, please,” the driver barked as he stopped the van and silenced her thoughts.

Blood thrummed in her head as she waited her turn to climb out from the corner at the way back, but Mal was on her right, so he had to go first, giving her a bird’s-eye view of his ass in jeans.

A gorgeous ass. A strong ass. An ass custom-made for a woman’s first one-night stand. She couldn’t wait to get a handful of that ass.

And why the hell shouldn’t she? No one even knew where she was, not a brother, cousin, or overprotective grandfather to put the brakes on this hairpin turn the night was about to take.

He stood on the sidewalk, giving her a hand as she hopped out of the van. And then he kept holding it as they walked into the lobby. His palm was rough and masculine, his fingers strong and protective.

Her heart flipped around helplessly, like that of a teenage girl about to get felt up for the first time. The whole thing was so sexy and illicit, so blissfully impromptu.

The registration line was long, and they ended up separated for a bit while they each checked in. Yes, it was nice not to be forced into an awkward discussion over sharing a room in front of the hotel staff, but the brief separation also left her uncertain if hot sex with a stranger was in her immediate future.

With her key in hand, she met him across the lobby, where he stood holding his own key and his brown duffel bag. Oh shit, moment of truth. Didn’t these things usually happen after too much booze? At least enough to fend off some kind of anxiety attack in which she would blab on about how she’d never done this before?

But he just stared at her, a challenge in his eyes. No smile, now, but the corner of his mouth turned up with an unspoken question.

“I, um, need to go in here,” she said, hating the bout of nerves that clutched her. She turned to the tiny convenience store, already full of several of their vanmates. “To get…stuff.”

“All right.” He didn’t move, but didn’t offer to wait, clearly leaving the next step up to her. That was another thing she liked; he wasn’t aggressive. He was letting her call the shots, but all along, there was that secret suggestion that he was the one in control.

It made her dizzy.

She headed into the little store, rounding a rack of books to get to the toiletries in the back. She picked up a toothbrush, travel-size toothpaste, and skimmed the rest of the items, imagining what she’d need for one night.

Trojans
.

She stared at the box.

“Francesca.” A hand landed on her shoulder, making her startle and turn to see an unexpected fierceness in his narrowed eyes. “You can call this thing quits any time you want.”

This thing? Quits? Her heart dipped. “What if I don’t want to…call it quits?”

He didn’t move his hand or make any effort to step away. Instead, he studied her face to the point of uncomfortable scrutiny. “I mean you don’t have to.”

She gave an awkward laugh. “I know I don’t have to. I…want to. I mean, not if you don’t, but I like you, and I’m…” She closed her eyes and let out a ragged sigh. “You’re not making this whole seduction thing very easy.”

His eyes flashed for a second, and he inched back, almost as if this news surprised him. He didn’t know where this was headed.

“Francesca.” He added some pressure to her shoulders. “You’re not who I think you are…are you?”

What the hell? Who did he think she was? An easy lay, of course. She’d practically thrown her panties at him. She wasn’t, normally. But nothing was normal about tonight. “Is that some kind of trick question?”

He stared so hard it felt as if he were trying to see right through her. And from the look on his face, he did. At least, his expression changed in some immeasurable way. That challenge disappeared from his eyes, and he almost looked…like he was seeing her for the first time.

“I thought…” Her voice caught. “I misread you…this.” She shook her head and tried to step away. “Sorry.”

“No, no. I’m the one who misread you.” Very slowly, he skimmed his hand down the length of her arm, burning every centimeter he touched with promise.

She didn’t answer—
couldn’t
trust her shaky voice—but held his gaze, his face so close she could kiss him by moving one, maybe two, inches closer. And, good God, she wanted to.

She took a slow breath and closed her eyes, steadying herself. Before she opened them, he brushed her lips with the softest kiss. “I’m in 318,” he whispered before slipping away, disappearing into the lobby, and rounding the corner to the elevators.

She stood there for a good thirty seconds, trying to find her balance. There was nothing balanced about this, but…

She bought the condoms.

* * *

Holy shit, he was off his game. A
spy
? She was no more a spy than his grandmother. How could he have been so wrong?

She couldn’t fake that reaction to his question. Her eyes were pure and honest, and she wasn’t trailing him or trying to get information. She was a damned beautiful computer tech traveling to Florida, stuck in a hotel on a rainy night…as hungry for the pure release of sex as he was.

What a fucking idiot you are, Mal Harris.

He stood over the sink, his hands under cold water, trying to wash away the frustration. He
wanted
her. Sure, it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, but it was more than that. He liked her.

And, damn it, she wanted him, based on every physical response he’d been trained to read in a woman. Hell, it didn’t take CIA schooling to see the way her eyes devoured him or hear the quick intake of breath when they not-so-accidentally touched.

He bent over and splashed his face. All that time he spent analyzing her and surmising her motives when he should have been—

A soft knock on the door made him stand up straight.

He smiled like he had the day they unlocked his cell. Hell yeah. Second chance.

He looked through the peephole, catching her looking from side to side. Before, he would have assumed she was looking for her partner, or even sending a signal. She self-consciously touched the button of her sweater, which paranoid Mal would have thought meant she was adjusting a mic.

And he’d have been wrong.

His hand trembled just a little as he fumbled with the lock, a sign of just how badly he wanted this woman.

He took a slow breath and opened the door, letting her speak first.

Uncertainty played at the edges of her features as she held up two bottles of beer. “We didn’t get to finish our drink.”

He took one and let her in and closed the door, snapping the security bar.

She took a few steps into the room and put her beer, handbag, and a plastic bag on the desk.

“You seem—”

“I don’t usually—”

They talked right over each other, and she gave a self-conscious laugh. “You first.”

“You don’t usually what?” he asked.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the dresser. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here.”

He took a few steps closer, noticing the slightest quiver in her chin and a wariness behind her glasses. How could he have missed that?

“Yes, you are.” He slipped off the specs and set them on the dresser, not surprised to confirm she was nearsighted, not
fake
-sighted. “And you want a T-shirt.”

“Or something to sleep in.” She took a slow, uneven breath, staring up at him as he placed his hands on her cheeks and jaw, easily feeling the thump of her pulse.

“Sleep with me,” he whispered. “And don’t wear anything.”

She angled her head, biting her lower lip as she studied him. “I’m not, you know, the most experienced traveler in this airport hotel, but I’m pretty sure that’s why I came here.”

That made him smile. Okay, so the only thing she was a rookie at might be casual sex. Good thing for her, he wasn’t feeling
casual
at all.

“You have no idea how glad I am that you did.” He slid his hands down her throat, and that pulse jacked up even more. She breathed again, her chest rising and falling, her lips parted, her pupils wide with arousal.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

He stroked her jaw and lower lip, reveling in their smoothness, and the absolute rare moment of trusting someone. Someone beautiful and sexy and willing to take his pain away tonight.

“I think that from the moment I met you, I wasn’t thinking straight, Francesca.”

She leaned into him, offering her full body. “I love the way you say my name.”

He lowered his head and almost kissed her, wanting to delay the gratification of the first taste, wanting to make every move of this dance last as long as possible. But she wanted no part of waiting, closing the space like she demanded to be kissed, molding into him, wrapping her arms around him, taking ownership like…like, well, no rookie.

“Francesca,” he murmured against her mouth.

“The apron-wearing pizza maker.”

He laughed and slid his hands to the first button of a thin sweater. “Let’s get you out of that apron.”

She answered with a soft mew from her throat, lifting her chin to give him access to the source of the sound, a sweet, soft column of skin that tasted like pure heaven.

She spread her hands over the back of his head, guiding his kisses where she wanted them. He got stuck on the second button, distracted by the sight of more cleavage, so he spread his hands over her breasts. Budded nipples popped against the thin sweater material. He caressed and thumbed them, eliciting another moan and a slight rock of her hips into his erection. The below-the-belt contact shot fire through him, the ache squeezing need from his balls to his brain.

It had been so long…and she was perfect. Absolutely
perfect
.

“Let me help you.” She unbuttoned the flimsy sweater with slow hands, as sexy as any striptease he’d ever seen. His mouth went bone dry, and his hands itched to touch
everything
.

She let the black material fall open to reveal a lacy bra in the same color, looking up at him with nothing but raw and genuine desire. How the hell could he have ever doubted her?

He closed his eyes and shut out the question with another kiss, reckless and hungry, opening his mouth, meeting her tongue, and thoroughly palming one tender breast. He nearly cried at how good she felt, so warm and feminine and round.

She groaned and bowed her back, all permission and agreement and compliance.

He tossed the sweater somewhere behind him, turning her to walk her backward toward the bed. She paused long enough to grab the small plastic bag from the desk.