My Spy: Last Spy Standing (27 page)

“There’s nothing we can’t handle together.”

His voice held warmth and comfort and strength, so she asked the question she hadn’t dared ask even herself until now. “You think Billy is still alive?”

“If he’s anything like you or Jamie, they couldn’t take him out with a bazooka.”

That put a smile on her face. And then, all of a sudden, those stupid tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She rubbed them away with the heel of her hand, but more came. Great. Just great. So much for her tough-chick image.

She didn’t cry. Ever. She’d lost that annoying habit growing up. Having to duke it out with eight brothers on a daily basis had taught her to never show weakness. They teased her mercilessly if she so much as slowed down because of a scraped knee or busted finger.

Mitch brushed the pad of his thumb along her face, right through the streaks of moisture.

Wonderful. Now he knew that she was a complete mess.

But he didn’t tease her or laugh at her. He kissed her.

Chapter Ten

Another man might have told himself he was only kissing Megan to distract her from their troubles, but Mitch had always employed brutal honesty when it came to women. They confused him enough without game playing, so he never lied to them, or to himself.

He wasn’t tasting Megan’s lips like he was a starving man to comfort her. He was doing it because he wanted to. Because he wanted her.

“We’ll get them out. Don’t worry about it. I don’t leave men behind. Not ever,” he whispered against her mouth.

She burrowed against him and he folded his arms around her, wanting to protect her even though he knew she hated that, that she didn’t need protection. She was the most self-sufficient woman he’d ever met. She’d survived a year in a jungle camp with dozens of hardened criminals. That said something about her. She was nobody’s damsel in distress.

He went back for another taste of her soft lips.

He wouldn’t have minded if she needed him a little. He didn’t have much to offer a woman beyond his protection. He couldn’t offer a fancy house or a steady relationship or pretty words. He’d always been awkward around women, and he wasn’t exactly the playboy type.

She tasted like mango. She tended to go for fruit during meals, and he couldn’t blame her. Cantina fare wasn’t exactly haute cuisine. Every meal that came out of those blackened pots was a raffle ticket to dysentery or food poisoning.

The sweet mango taste of her was intoxicating. He’d never thought that a taste could go straight to a man’s head, but it did. For the rest of his life, mango would be his favorite food, he was pretty sure.

He drank her in, holding on to control. He didn’t want to go too far. Or too fast. She wasn’t like the other women he had run into over the years, not that there were many. He’d been working special ops at the beginning, in military units where women weren’t allowed. Even now, in the SDDU, they were the exception to the rule. And since most missions were lone-wolf ops, it wasn’t as if he got to hang out with them all that often.

He didn’t have many opportunities to hone his seduction skills. For most of his adult life, he’d been busy fighting for his country. So being here now with Megan, trying to negotiate the rules of their cooperation while trying to negotiate the rules of their attraction, was new to him.

They broke apart for air. She shifted slightly away. Now she would tell him that this was a big mistake, he thought, a protest all ready on his lips. But instead she whispered a question.

“Did you once leave someone important to you behind? Is that why you make sure it won’t ever happen again? Was it a woman?”

She’d been thinking about that? He was definitely clueless about women. Did their brains never stop?

He let her go and rubbed his hand over his face. The one he’d left behind...

He didn’t want to go there. Not ever. But maybe because of the darkness—or more likely because of Megan—the words poured out from a cold, locked-away part of him.

“My mother is an alcoholic, the mean kind. My father is a drug addict. I had a sister, Cindy. She was much younger than me.” Fifteen years, to be exact. “When Cindy was about a year old, my father sold her for drugs.” A vast emptiness opened up inside his chest, a cold place where only his nightmares lived.

She moved closer and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“My father was too out of it to remember where he took her or who he gave her to. I ran away from home to look for her. But I never found her. The police never had a clue, either.” He put his arms around her and held her tight. “I’ve never given up, but...God, it’s been twenty years.”

She pressed her lips to the side of his stubbled cheek and he drank in the comfort. Inside his heart, a couple of barricades crumbled.

“So this is why getting Zak home is a religion to you, no matter what a twit the kid is, no matter how I begged. I get it.” She moved her head and lined up her lips with his. Didn’t kiss him. Just left their mouths touching like that.

The gesture was sweet and erotic at the same time, just like the woman. And the thing was, he really did believe that she understood him.

He pressed closer and deepened the kiss. She gave him everything.

Long minutes passed as their passion heated to a fever pitch. He ran his hands over her back and arms, not sure what to do next. This was the time when women wanted to hear something romantic. He wished he were better at this.
Go with the truth.
“I don’t want to stop.”

She stilled.

Great.
Why couldn’t he have thought up something sweet?

But the next second she pressed closer to him, making his body harder in an instant. “I don’t want you to stop, either.”

The thrill of that simple sentence shot right through him. He cupped her breasts as arousal, gratitude and other, more complicated, emotions swirled inside him.

This was dangerous,
he thought. He knew this woman. Wouldn’t easily forget her. He cared about her. When did that happen? Didn’t matter, he supposed. It was the bare truth.

So don’t mess it up.
He didn’t intend to. He planned on stopping way before the point of no return. He just wanted another feel of her amazing breasts. Just one more second to soak up the sensation as they pressed into his palms.

Her hand slipped under his shirt and rested against his abdomen. Her slim fingers drove him to distraction. She moved up to his chest, and as she ran her palm over his nipple, he sucked in a sharp breath.

When she began unbuttoning his shirt, he did nothing to stop her. He’d been shirtless with her before. They weren’t going too far. Yet.

His hands moved reluctantly to give her room to maneuver and ended up at the hem of her tank top. He hesitated. She moved back a little and arched her back to help him. He pulled up the stretchy material inch by slow inch, taking her unbuttoned shirt with it, pulling it all over her head.

His eyes were used to the dark enough now to see the outline of her perfect breasts. The thin line of light coming in under the door helped, too, and he was more grateful for that little light than he’d been for anything in a long time. Her nipples were swollen and ready, and drew his lips like magnets.

He didn’t even try to resist. He could have been happy like this, alternating between her breasts and mouth, for the rest of his life, he thought. Then her head dropped back, her back arched and her hand slipped down between his pants and his skin.

All of a sudden, he didn’t have enough air to breathe.

His body flexed against hers. Those slim fingers wrapped around him.

This would be a good time to stop.

He was glad to know that a few of his brain cells were still working. Part of his brain remained alert to their surroundings and the danger around them, listening for the men outside, making sure the one in front of the door kept snoring. The rest of his brain had drowned in testosterone and need.

No. He couldn’t let that happen. That would be irresponsible.

“We’re going to stop now,” he said.

“No,” she told him. Her fingers tightened around him in emphasis.

Okay, not yet. She was right. They were still in control. They could wait a little and stop later.

Her scent and the feel of her filled him completely. When she undid his belt buckle for better access, he lost his breath. She was a whiz with the zipper. She was a whiz with pretty much everything, so he shouldn’t have been surprised.

His most impatient body part sprang free. His pants, halfway down his thighs now, limited his movement. In the cramped storage room, they couldn’t lie down and stretch out comfortably. He felt as if they were playing some erotic version of Twister.

He went for her pants and tugged them down, wanting to make her feel as good as she made him feel. With one hand on her breast and another between her legs, he turned her and backed her up until she sat on his lap, with him kneeling behind her.

His hard need nestled against the smooth skin of her backside, the exquisite sensation filling him up with steam. She leaned her head back to rest it on his shoulder, offering her neck to his lips. At the same time, she rubbed her bottom against him.

“We can’t,” he begged on a raspy whisper. She was pushing him beyond his limits. But they
could.
The duffel bag he’d fished from under the bed in the other room hid a little present.

He had left the package of condoms at the bottom of the bag because they could be useful on their way out of the jungle. Condoms could keep an injury protected if they had to cross a river. They could also be used to collect water. They were elastic enough to make a sling out of for hunting, if he ran out of bullets. Condoms had enough uses that they were a standard part of survivor kits.

“Right.” She drew a slow, shuddering breath and lifted her head from his shoulder, leaning away from him. “This is beyond idiotic. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Don’t apologize.” His voice held a low rasp that hadn’t been there before. He quietly cleared his throat. “You’re an amazing woman. I—” What? He couldn’t help himself? He hated jerks who said things like that.

A real man could always help himself, always made sure his woman was safe, that he did what was best for her.

Not that Megan Cassidy was his woman.

He wanted to put some distance between them but he didn’t seem to be able to let her go. His arms wouldn’t release her.

He pressed a kiss to her nape, but instead of letting her go when he was done, he ended up scraping his teeth along her skin.

She trembled, swallowing a moan before it had a chance to become fully audible.

“Mitch?” The heat in her voice proved to be his undoing.

“I want to.” He didn’t breathe. “Tell me to go to hell.”

Instead, she slid back for more full body contact. His eyes crossed. He didn’t care. She had her back to him and it was dark. He didn’t have to worry about looking attractive. Or even sane. Which he obviously wasn’t just now.

He reached for the condom. “I found something in the other room,” he whispered.

She probably figured out what when she heard the crinkling sound of the packaging rip, because she made a noise that could only be described as grateful relief. She lifted away to give him room.

He sheathed himself, still not fully able to believe that they were going to do this. Now. Here.

“Your brother Jamie is going to shoot a hole in my head the size of a railroad tunnel when he finds out I touched his sister,” he said, half hoping that saying it out loud might knock some sense into him at the last second.

It didn’t.

“Might as well make it worth all the grief he’s going to give us,” Megan suggested practically.

The next second she was lowering herself onto his hardness.

He gripped her hips, stopped her when he was pressed against her entrance.

There was still time...

Then there wasn’t.

His body moved forward on its own accord, and he slid into her wet heat, slowly, to give her time to adjust.

If the room had exploded just then, he would have died a happy man. And that was saying something, because he would have left his mission incomplete, and he didn’t believe in that kind of thing.

She felt amazing. Perfect. Hot. Every move she made blew his mind, until his entire focus was narrowed to the friction between their bodies.

Pressure built. Tension escalated.

“Mitch,” she breathed his name a second before her inner muscles began convulsing around him, pushing him over the edge.

All he saw was white heat. All he could hear was his own heartbeat drumming inside his ears.

How did I get so lucky?
he thought, as he held her tight, waiting for their heart rates to calm.

A shuffling sound in front of the door interrupted their bliss. “Did you hear that noise?” a surly voice asked.

The men had turned off the radio. The snoring had stopped.

Mitch went for his weapon. Megan moved, too, then stilled again, took his hand and pulled it forward, pressed it to the floor near her knee. He felt some kind of a latch.

It could be a latch door to a crawl space below the building. He ran his finger around the edges, looking for a handhold.

It was nailed down.

She slid off his lap. He missed her immediately, but he had no time to pause and think about that or what they’d done and what it had meant.

His knife was in his hand already, and he pried up the two large nails with the tip. He felt for the edges of the door, opened it, tossed the duffel bag down and lowered himself without even pulling up his pants all the way.

The doorknob wiggled.

He reached up and guided Megan down. She pulled the trapdoor closed behind her as she tumbled on top of him.

* * *

T
HEY
CROUCHED
NEXT
TO
each other silently. Megan’s whole body tingled. She could still feel Mitch’s hands on her skin. Back there, what had happened... Nobody had ever... She’d never felt... Wow.

She blinked hard, trying to refocus on their current situation. Moonlight shone through a gap in the wood boards that edged the crawl space to the right. Beyond that, everything else was shrouded in darkness. Neither of them moved. Not yet.

“Probably rats again,” a man said above them. “Can’t get rid of the stupid vermin for nothin’. How many times did I tell you idiots not to bring any food back here?”

Then she heard the door close.

Mitch rustled next to her, probably working his pants up. She’d done that before she’d slipped down after him. Now she dragged on her shirt, trying not to think about all the poisonous snakes, spiders, bugs and plants that might be all around them.

She shifted toward the light. Mitch’s hand shot out and held her back. He went first, taking on most of the danger.

Her brain still buzzed with pleasure. Her heart tickled as she took in his wide shoulders, silhouetted in front of her.

He was protecting her.

She hated when he did that. Still, she found it difficult to work up any indignation when she was still boneless from the mind-blowing sex they’d just had.