Spy to Die For (Assassins Guild) (3 page)

Then she slipped her hand from his and pushed her way inside the bar.

It was crowded and smelled of beer. The actual bar itself had a self-serve section, and she was grateful. People pushed against her, talking, laughing, trying to find room to stand.

She glanced out the door. He had gotten the table and was watching her.

Her heart pounded. When was the last time she had been this impulsive?

When was the last time she had had fun?

She couldn’t remember.

She smiled at him, then turned to the bar and ordered their drinks.

She was beautiful. Jack had to give her that. The mysterious and forceful Skye was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—and he had seen a lot of beautiful women.

She negotiated her way through the crowd inside the bar, working her way to the self-serve section. She looked tall in there next to all the space jockeys. Tall, and thin, and stunning.

She wasn’t tall. She was, in fact, a tiny little thing. Her hand had felt fragile in his.

Her black hair was cut short around her head, forming a cap around her face. She could hide behind that wedge of hair if she had to. Her eyes were as black as her hair, blacker maybe, like pieces of space that starlight couldn’t reach.

Yes, he was waxing poetic over a woman he had just met. And yes, it scared him.

He tried to ignore women whenever possible. They were trouble. But this woman was impossible to ignore.

She came out of the bar holding a drink in each hand. She had gotten something yellow and fizzy. He had gotten the special soda, which was just root beer, made with both wintergreen and real cherry tree bark that got shipped in.

Or maybe the combination of all the artificial flavors mixed just right. Maybe it was all hype. Whatever the case, he liked the special soda on Krell almost as much as he liked the Starcatcher’s burgers. Less than he already liked this woman.

Whose last name he didn’t know.

She set the drinks down in front of him then climbed into a chair. It was noisy here, with the conversation inside and out, plus some pounding music that he didn’t recognize.

“Not good for talking,” he said.

“Then why talk?” she asked and leaned forward.

Before he knew what had happened, she kissed him. Her lips were warm and firm. She hesitated for just a minute, as if asking his permission.

He thought about pulling away—he couldn’t remember the last relationship he’d had (well, he could, and he didn’t want to think about it)—but he waited too long. Besides, his mouth opened slightly, and she took advantage of it, her tongue sliding in and exploring his.

She tasted like lemon, and he realized she had taken a sip of her fizzy drink. Then he stopped analyzing and just kissed her back. Somehow his hand left the table and cupped that wedge of soft black hair, somehow his other hand caught her shoulder and pulled her just a bit forward, somehow he leaned in so hard the table slid aside.

Her hands cupped his cheeks, holding him in place. The kiss took forever—a good forever—the kind of forever in which time slowed down and each second felt like an hour. He savored the feel of her, the taste of her, the way she threw herself into the kiss, just like she had thrown herself into that burger.

He had never been kissed like that, not once in all of his thirty-two years, and then, suddenly, it was over.

“Wow,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “Screw the drink. You want to see if you fit in my room?”

At first, he wasn’t sure if he heard her right. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who propositioned a man after an hour’s conversation. Then he realized he didn’t know what kind of woman did that. He had assumptions, and apparently she didn’t fit into them.

He swallowed, still tasting her, not sure how to respond. Her room? Here?

She sighed and shook her head slightly. “I surprised you.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“And you’re probably involved with someone.”

“No.” He sounded stunned. He probably looked stunned too. No woman had ever done this to him before, not so fast, not—at least—without one of his friends behind it all or as part of a job (her job). Hookers weren’t uncommon on space stations like this, but then, hookers almost never looked like Skye. At least, not on space stations like this.

“And you’ve got scruples or something,” she said, the light going out of her eyes.

“Um, yeah, I mean, no, I mean—ah hell.” He didn’t know what he meant. He didn’t know what she meant.

“Look,” she said, leaning toward him, her elbow on the table, her hand dropping down dangerously close to his thigh. “I travel a lot. I spend a ton of time alone. I’ve learned to take things when they present themselves. You presented yourself, and I thought—well, you know what I thought. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You didn’t,” he managed. “Insult me, that is.”

She raised her head, looking surprised.

“You startled me.” He didn’t want to admit that no woman had ever come onto him like this before—at least, not since his early years, after he left Tranquility House, the horribly misnamed government home for orphaned and abandoned children that he had gotten stuck in. During those post-Tranquility years, there had been a lot of drinking and a lot of posturing and a lot of morning-after regrets.

He couldn’t drink now, not with his job, not the way things were—not that he’d ever enjoyed it—and he hadn’t put himself in a position to be around interesting women in a long, long time, and even then—

“Ah, hell. I just…” There it was, the near-admission. He didn’t want her to know that other women never found him this attractive. “I just wasn’t thinking…”

“I hope you weren’t,” she said with a tentative smile.

He smiled back. “I mean, I—we—were flirting, and I thought it wouldn’t go beyond that.”

“Because you have someone back home, wherever home is. Because you don’t travel much. Because you’re worried that this’ll get back to her, and you’ll get in trouble, and—”

“No,” he said. “I travel a lot.”

Why he responded to that, he’d never know. He could have objected to anything that she said. It was all wrong.

“Then you understand that sometimes you just have to take the leap because you’ll regret it for the rest of your life,” she said.

“I’m a leap?” His brain was still working sluggishly from that kiss.

She grinned. “Yeah. You’re a leap. One I’d love to try.”

His cheeks warmed.

“The universe is a big place, and we probably will never get this chance again. I’m not asking to go to your place. Hell, I’m not even asking what you do. If you don’t want to go to my room, we can get one for both of us. I’ll even pay…”

Her voice trailed off. Then she sighed.

“I’m embarrassing myself, aren’t I?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “No, you’re not. I just—um—you know, normally, I’m a really articulate guy.”

She smiled.

“But I don’t have words.” He took her hand. “So screw words. Let’s go to your room and see if I fit.”

Jack had never seen a room like this before, not on Krell. The first time he’d come here, nearly a decade ago, he’d rented a room and it had been as filthy as the Starcatcher. The bed smelled like the previous occupant (maybe the dozen previous occupants) and he had slept in a chair that night.

From that moment on, he slept in his ship.

This room, though, this room… wasn’t a room. It was a suite. Two rooms and a bathroom. Two
clean
rooms and a bathroom. So clean the place actually glistened. The air still smelled of lemon—not because of Skye’s drink, but because of some kind of mix in the room’s environmental controls (a mix she had probably chosen)—and there wasn’t grime or dust or dirt anywhere to be seen.

She walked in ahead of him, and her presence made the room seem big. She stood like a princess among the matching couch and chairs, her back silhouetted against a wall screen that she had shut off.

The room had no windows, which was not a surprise, since there weren’t many windows anywhere on Krell. No one wanted to see out, and no one wanted any incoming ship to see in. Most people came to Krell on business they didn’t want anyone else to know about, so seeing and being seen were not high on Krell’s priority list.

Still, he had no idea that a rented suite like this existed here. Although he should have known it. A lot of rich criminals spent a lot of time here, and those people liked being comfortable.

Jack hovered at the door. Skye smiled at him. The smile lit up her black eyes. It made him want to smile back.

He didn’t. His heart pounded.

He knew nothing about her. And she was in one of the expensive suites. She said she traveled a lot. What if she did so for her work—her illegal work?

She tilted her head slightly. “Are you changing your mind? Because I think you will fit.”

Her hand brushed her thigh ever so slightly. She wasn’t talking about the room; they had both known that from the beginning.

He could back out now and fantasize about this forever. Or regret it forever. She had promised him no strings, promised just a moment in time, and he hadn’t had a moment—a good moment—in more than a year.

He smiled, hoping it didn’t look too hesitant, then ducked under the door frame and stepped into the living room part of the suite. He could stand upright, but the top of his head brushed against the ceiling.

“Wow,” she said. “I would have thought you’d have to bend just a bit.”

He was bending. He was bending all of his personal rules. His heart pounded—not just from nerves, but from her nearness. He wanted to touch her, but for the first time since he met her, he felt shy.

“Are you changing your mind?” This time, her tone was different. The teasing quality had left. She looked serious for the first time since he met her. That seriousness aged her just enough to make him realize she was closer to his age than he thought. She had a lot of experience, just like he did.

“I… um… don’t do this usually,” he said.

Her eyes sparkled. “Most women would think that a good thing.”

“You don’t?” he asked.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her. “I think we’re stepping out of our lives here, so what we usually do and don’t do doesn’t matter.”

His breath caught. She didn’t normally do this either? Was that what she had implied?

He took her other hand and bent his head. She tilted hers toward him, and his lips touched hers.

This time, the kiss was gentle. He explored, tasting her, softly touching the inside of her mouth. She opened to him and didn’t move—not her hands, not her body—just her tongue answering his.

He took her arms and wrapped them around him. Then he tugged her as close as possible, feeling her athletic form against his. Her hands rose up his back, pulling him down just a bit more.

But if he bent farther, he couldn’t feel her against him, and he didn’t want to lose that. So he lifted her, settling her on his hips, letting her feel how aroused he was.

And he was aroused. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. He wanted to slam her into the wall, pull off her clothes, and take her right here, but he didn’t. He needed to move slowly, to remember this, to take it one step at a time.

She shifted against him, her thighs pulling her even closer. He could feel her through her very thin pants.

“Hurry,” she said against him.

“No,” he breathed. Then kissed her again.

“Please,” she said into his mouth.

He shook his head, deliberately taking his time, shaking with the effort to maintain control.

She yanked her head back, slid her hands around his front, and opened his shirt. Her palms pressed inside, her skin warm on his, and he nearly lost all control right there.

“Now,” she said.

“Bed?” he asked, not sure if he could handle more words than that.

“Couch,” she said decisively, then unwrapped her legs from him and put her feet on the floor.

He felt her loss as if he had lost part of himself. She tossed off her shirt, revealing small upturned breasts. As he reached for them, she slapped his hands away with a smile.

“You said slow, remember?” she said. Then she wriggled out of her pants. She was trim except for her wide hips. A small wedge of black hair pointed the way.

He reached for her again, but she danced out of his grasp. It took his sluggish brain a moment to understand: she wanted his clothes off as well.

He yanked off his shirt, opened his pants, and nearly tripped as he stepped out of them. His penis bobbed forward, announcing itself, and he wondered, with a flush, if he was too big for her. She looked so much smaller without clothes.

She grabbed him, and pulled him into her warm and willing mouth, and it took every measure of control he had to hold on. He was going to take his time, he reminded himself. He was. He. Was.

Then her mouth left him. “Pick me up,” she said, and he did.

She settled on him like she had before, only this time no fabric barred his way. He wanted to make sure she was ready, but she didn’t seem to care. She slid onto him, as warm and willing and wet as her mouth had been.

Then he lost all rational thought, moving with her, moving against her. She controlled the rhythm, or maybe he did, and she came against him, adding to it. She made a soft cry—not anything like he would have expected—her head flung back in sheer pleasure, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He came too, losing himself inside her.

It felt like he was falling. Then he realized he was. His knees were wobbling, his legs giving out from the unusual effort. He staggered to the couch and sat naked on the rough fabric, her legs still wrapped around him.

She brought her head forward and nestled her face in the crook of his neck.

“My God,” she said against him. “You fit perfectly.”

And he did.

She had spoken out loud. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud.

But she was so shocked at how good she felt, and part of that was how good she felt
with
him
still
inside
her
.

When she had first seen him without his pants, she had a momentary thought:
My
God, he’s as long as he is tall
. But she found that intriguing—she’d never ever really thought about tall men before or how they were built.

He was built beautifully. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, which surprised her, since he had worn such loose clothing that she had thought him out of shape. He wasn’t. He even had well-defined abs, which no one could get with enhancements. His broad shoulders accentuated his narrow hips and muscular legs.

He had to work hard to maintain that shape, and yet he had hidden it under bulky clothing. The clothing had also aged him. He looked younger naked.

Not that she’d been able to reflect on that much in the heat of the moment. In that moment, she had taken him in her mouth just to see if his length was an illusion as well.

It hadn’t been. In fact, when his penis had touched her lips, it had jumped just a little, as if it were trying to grow harder.

And—sweetly—he had wanted to take his time, probably to please her. She was already pleased, so she made sure she controlled things.

He hadn’t minded. In fact, he seemed to enjoy himself.

He held her against him, their hearts beating together. Odd that she noted the heartbeats first, before she realized that they were also taking breaths at the same time.

That had never happened to her before. Nor had she ever relaxed like this before, not after having sex, not after being so vulnerable.

Not that she had ever been this vulnerable before either.

That thought made her sit up and push some damp hair out of her face. His cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes even bluer. He looked open to her, and she had thought him open before.

Such a sweet man, such a gentle man.

The sex had confirmed her impression, not changed it.

She had an ability to see people clearly. Not necessarily all their flaws and faults, but their essences, their cores. She never lost sight of their humanity either, which made it impossible for her to become an assassin.

Her parents, with the help of the man they had hired to pretend to be her uncle, had dumped her on the grounds of the Assassins Guild on Kordita when she was ten, and the Guild had both saved her life and trained her to be an assassin.

The cost of the training, and the room and board, had left her indebted to the Guild. They had done this because they thought she was angry enough and smart enough and asocial enough to be an assassin. But she wasn’t. Angry, yes. Smart, yes. Asocial, no.

Something about her prevented her from seeing any human being as someone to be destroyed—no matter how evil. And she knew people could be evil. All of the targets of the Assassins Guild were supposed to be evil.

Everyone connected with the Guild, from the lowliest instructor to the Guild’s director, Kerani Ammons, had told her that as if they believed it. In fact, Director Ammons’s eyes had glowed with fervor, as if she had thought destroying evil was part of the Guild’s mission.

It was now Skye’s job to make sure the targets actually were evil. She vetted them. She had only two years left on her contract with the Guild, and then she was on her own.

She couldn’t wait for that.

She ran a hand along Jack’s face, the stubble on his cheek scratching her palm. She had never in her entire life been so attracted to someone. She certainly hadn’t admitted anything, made careless statements like she had done with him, or even blurted out her thoughts.

He shifted beneath her, putting his hands on her hips, and she realized he was adjusting her. He was growing hard again.

He smiled, then dipped his head down and sucked on her breast. Pleasure spiked through her all the way down from her nipple to her womb. She moaned again, and tried to move his face. She wanted to taste him. He lifted his head for just a moment, eyes twinkling, then captured the other breast.

She was going to have an orgasm right there—and then, with that thought, she did. Long and slow and thrumming through her. Her breath sounded ragged. She grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place, yet somehow he moved from breast to breast as if he couldn’t figure out which tasted better.

Then he wrapped his arms around her, and turned her over without losing their connection. He slowly moved inside her, his gaze on hers, those blue eyes holding her in place as his face reddened with pleasure.

She wanted to watch him have this orgasm, but she couldn’t, because she had another. The slowness triggered something deep inside her, something she’d never felt, some kind of slow-motion quake that she hadn’t known her body capable of.

She tried to regain control, tried to move faster, but he slid his hands to her hips and held her there while he was on his knees, rocking in and out, out and in, until she wanted to scream.

It took longer than she thought possible—either she had several orgasms one after the other, or she had the longest one of her entire life. Just when she thought she might die from it all, he gasped, smiled half-apologetically, and poured into her, making her feel even warmer, wetter, and fuller inside.

He leaned forward, landing on his elbows, as if he was afraid he’d crush her.

“My God,” she said. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice shaking. “But you may have corrupted me forever.”

“Me?” she asked. “You—”

He kissed her. Really kissed her, not one of those pecks men so often gave her after sex.

“I have to move,” he said, and she thought he meant he was going to slip out of her. Instead, he pushed himself up on his hands, and that was when she realized he had twisted himself into the strangest position just to stay on the couch. It was too small for him, like everything in this room.

Except her.

“The bed’s bigger,” she said.

“Good for it,” he said as he tried to stand. Instead, he fell against the couch, then slid onto the floor.

She tilted his head back and kissed him upside down. It was such a novel sensation for both of them that rest became impossible.

They gave up all thoughts of bed and concentrated only on each other.

For the first time in her life, she trusted someone completely.

If only for a few hours. A few blissful hours she would never trade for anything in the entire universe.