Covert Evidence (16 page)

D
awn had broken across the steppe by the time Ian leaned against the door of the small studio apartment and let out a deep sigh of relief. Cressida dropped onto the bed, then flopped backward. She looked damn sexy splayed out like that, but that probably wasn’t her intent. Still, he could enjoy the view.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge he’d stocked weeks ago and cracked it open. Chilled water had never tasted so good.

“Don’t bogart that bottle,” Cressida said. Her T-shirt rode up, exposing her flat belly. He was tempted to pour the water on her skin, then lap it from the pool.

He took a step toward her, intending to do just that. The attraction was mutual, and they’d both earned a break and physical release. Sure, he needed sleep, but it could wait. He stopped, remembering that when they’d kissed in Kurubaş, she called him John, which bothered him. She’d been kissing John while Ian kissed Cressida.

He didn’t want her as part of the job. He wanted
her
. And he’d be damned before he had sex with a woman he genuinely wanted while using John as an alias.

Of course, he’d never be able to tell her his real name or the real reason he’d ended up next to her on that flight. His job didn’t work that way. His
life
didn’t work that way, and being a covert operative was the only life for him. He wouldn’t do anything—
ever
—to jeopardize that. Not even fall in love.

Not that he could fall in love with Cressida—attraction, hell yeah. But love wasn’t possible. Not for him. She was part of a classified op and would never learn the truth. She’d be filed away at Langley. Another completed mission. The end.

Telling her his real name would compromise the mission, his job, his life. He couldn’t have sex with her, not unless he was John.

He handed her the bottle. She scooted up, still on her back but now leaning on a bent elbow, and took the half-full bottle. She emptied it in one long drink. “Do you have ibuprofen in that backpack?” she asked.

“Yes.” He dug into the bag and grabbed the painkiller.

She squinted at the Turkish label. “You sure this is ibuprofen?”

He nodded.

“How good is your Turkish? You sounded convincingly bad at the checkpoint.”

“I can imitate broken Turkish with a bad accent or speak flawless Turkish when need be.”

“How? Your American accent is also perfect—generic, almost regionless. Except for one point at dinner, when you used the word ‘pop’ instead of soda.”

“My Midwest background slips through sometimes.”

“Are you from Illinois?”

“Good guess.” It was also a correct guess, but he’d have told her she was right no matter what she said.

“How does a boy from Illinois develop a flawless Turkish accent?”

“I have a good ear.”

She raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, we’re talking Turkish. Plus you speak Arabic. And Kurdish. Farsi too? They can’t be easy languages to learn, let alone master.”

It wasn’t like hiding the truth mattered. She’d never find John Baker because he didn’t exist. “I grew up in Chicago, in an area that has a large Turkish and Arab population. Most of the Arabs I knew growing up were Palestinian, but our next-door neighbors were Turkish on one side and Egyptian on the other. In the Turkish family, three generations lived in a tiny two-bedroom apartment. A boy my age was part of the third generation. He was my best friend. I practically lived in his noisy, crowded apartment.” She didn’t need to know why Altan’s apartment was preferable to his own.

“I picked up the language. When
Babaanne
—my friend, Altan’s, grandmother—overheard me talking with Altan in Turkish, she decided to teach me to read and write it. Later, in college, I majored in Middle Eastern studies and took classes in several other languages of the region. My Arabic is good but not flawless. My Farsi is passing.”

“And you took your language skills and Middle Eastern studies degree and got a job in private security?” Her eyes conveyed her skepticism.

Was she finally connecting those nagging dots?

“Actually, I joined the Army first. Served with Delta Force. The GI bill paid for my college education, post Army. Between my language skills, military experience, and understanding of the Middle East, private security was a logical choice.”

She seemed to accept that, and he wondered why he’d been so frank. He didn’t have to mention Delta, but he’d wanted to. He was proud of his service, and he supposed he wanted to impress her. Stupid when this could go nowhere. “I’m going to take a shower. Get some rest.”

She nodded even as her eyes drifted closed. She had to be more exhausted than he was. He, at least, was trained for this.

In the shower, his shoulder burned under the hot spray. Pain surged across the exposed nerves. He quickly adjusted the temperature to cold. He sucked in a sharp breath and leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall and waited for the burn to recede to a low throb.

The cold spray helped his shoulder, but the rest of his body shivered. Between the throbbing in his shoulder and the icy water, thoughts of screwing Cressida evaporated, which was a bonus, he supposed.

Except he liked thinking about screwing Cressida. It was a hell of a lot more fun than thinking about how far south this mission had gone.

What was Zack’s game here? Was he herding them toward Batman or the consulate in Adana? If so, they were the last places Ian could take her. The fact that she was still alive meant Zack needed her for something, but what?

He soaped his body, wiping the grime of the explosion from his skin. Cressida’s skin was also dirty from the blast. She’d need a good deal of soap, which would slide down those slender hips and that firm, round ass, in ribbons of white suds, conforming to her curves.

Her full breasts would be perfect handfuls. He imagined the texture of her aroused nipples on his tongue. He washed his hair, allowing the cold spray to hit his face. The frigid water and his burned shoulder could no longer compete with his erection.

“Need any help?”

He turned to the sound of Cressida’s voice, wiping the water from his eyes. She’d pulled back the curtain and stood—beautifully, magnificently—naked just outside the narrow stall.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered, taking in her perfect body. Smooth skin, round, high breasts with dusty-pink nipples that made him salivate. That slender waist, and those sexy, curved hips. But most of all, he was caught by the gorgeous grin she wore as her beautiful brown eyes widened at the sight of his ready erection.

“Why yes, I think you do,” she added, her voice low and husky, which made his cock twitch. She pushed the curtain wider and stepped into the spray, then jumped in reaction to the cold. “What the
hell
?”

He slammed the water off with the side of his fist, then grabbed her before she could flee the shower stall. He nudged her back to the tile wall, and she squealed at the cold. Then he kissed her while his chilled, wet skin met her warm, perfect body. His erection pressed against her belly as his tongue slid inside her mouth. He thrust forward with his hips, enjoying the feel of her soft, smooth skin against the underside of his hard cock.

She tasted so damn sweet. His tongue entwined with hers in a hot, hurried dance. His balls tightened. He couldn’t get enough. Taste enough. Feel enough. With his hands under her ass, he lifted her, allowing his cock to slide between her thighs and press against her clit.

She broke the kiss, rocking her head back against the tile as she let out a soft moan.

“You like that?” he asked. He thrust his hips. His cock slid across her clit, then stopped with the tip at her opening. She was slick, hot. Ready.

He stroked her with his thumb while he teased her swollen opening with his eager cock. Silky wet heat enveloped him. He’d gone from fantasy to reality so damn fast, he almost wasn’t certain this was real.

She let out a very real moan, and he remembered one of reality’s greater drawbacks. “Dammit. We need a condom.”

With one arm, she gripped his good shoulder. She kissed him again and pressed her hot core against the tip of his penis. “No problem.” She panted as he pulled back to slide the tip over her clitoris again. “I had some in my suitcase.” She flashed a cunning, satisfied grin. In her free hand, she waved the square foil wrapper, identifiable in any country.

He wouldn’t have sex with her, not without birth control, not when she didn’t know his name. But they
did
have condoms. And she was naked. In his arms. What did names matter anyway? “Ian” was just the Gaelic version of “John” after all.

“You’re sure?” he asked against her lips.

“Shut up and put your cock in me.” She ripped open the wrapper with her teeth.

Still supporting her, he pulled back so she could sheathe his erection. He groaned as the condom unrolled and she stroked his cock.

His mouth caught hers, and he held her against the wall, tasting, stroking. She released his thick erection, and her hands slid up his chest as she kissed him back. She sucked on his tongue as he thrust into her mouth. He lifted her higher, positioning his cock between her hot thighs, pressing against her vagina. The tip just grazing the edge.

One thrust, and he’d be in deep.

She whimpered at the torment, and he chuckled. Her hands stroked his delts, shifted to cradle his neck, then slid over his shoulders to his back.

White-hot pain sliced through him. He jolted backward, unable to stop himself. Her warm fingers had rubbed his raw, burned flesh.

Chapter Seventeen

“I
’m sorry!” Cressida stared in shock as John’s face lost all trace of color. She’d hurt him. She knew he’d been scraped when they tumbled on the rocks, and now she wondered if he’d been hurt worse than that. He hadn’t said a word. There’d been no blood on his shirt, but then it had been dark, and she hadn’t really looked.

“You were hurt in the blast, weren’t you?”

“I’m fine. Just give me a moment.”

Thinking back, she realized that when she’d pulled back the shower curtain, his head and shoulders had been coated in shampoo. Whatever hurt him so badly, she hadn’t seen it. And then there was the frigid water. Maybe the apartment
did
have hot running water, but he’d chosen cold for a reason.

He still held her. She wiggled against him. “Put me down. We’ll finish this later.”

“No. I’m fine.”

She cupped his face and kissed him, then pulled back. He was still erect and seemed to mean it when he said he wanted to continue, but she was more worried than aroused now. “Put me down and turn around. Let me see.”

She gasped when she saw the burn. No wonder it hadn’t bled. On his left shoulder blade, a strip of skin one inch wide and three inches long had burned, blistered, and popped. “Holy shit. That must hurt like hell.”

“I’ve been able to ignore it. Except when it’s touched or hit by hot water.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She gingerly probed the healthy skin around the burn, exploring the reddened, puckered edge.

“That bad?”

“Worse. It’s a second-degree burn—nearly third. You should have told me.” She felt terrible realizing he’d finally been cooling the burn and she’d interrupted.

“We needed to get here as fast as possible. No time to fuss.”

Guilt swamped her. “You got this protecting me. I was under you while debris rained down.”

He turned in the small shower stall to face her and cupped her chin. “This is what I do, Cress.”

The way he said it triggered a tide of emotion. The last thing she needed was to start thinking there could be more here than sex. More than comfort between two people who’d been through something together.

He touched the evil eye pendant that rested against her breastbone. “Beautiful pendant—much higher quality than the usual tourist offerings. But I don’t think it’s helped us much.”

She let out a distressed laugh. “Yeah. Total juju fail.” Unease settled through her. It was odd to stand naked in the shower with him while he studied a charm given to her by a dead man. A terrorist. Who’d been murdered in her hotel room.

She’d lost her mind. She never should have stepped into John’s shower. But she’d wanted a mindless escape, to return to the moment when he’d kissed her and they’d been ready to move the action to the bedroom except thick black smoke had interrupted them.

She stepped back, out of the shower. “I should bandage your shoulder. Does this place have a first aid kit?”

“Yes.” He unrolled the condom and dropped it in the trash, then flashed her a smile. “I hope you have more of those.”

Heat gathered in her belly at his mention of their unfinished business. “I do.”

He brushed his lips across hers in a quick, warm kiss. “Good.”

She grabbed a towel from the shelf and thrust it into his hands. “Cover up before I forget you need a nurse and not to play doctor.”

He grinned. “You first.”

“I’m going to take a quick shower. When I get out, I expect to find you naked—but only from the waist up—and belly down on the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”