Swept Away (25 page)

His arms wrapped around her from behind, same position a couple might assume to watch TV in bed or to sit cuddled against a palm tree next to the ocean. This wasn’t quite as relaxed as
that, but he couldn’t help noticing she hadn’t extracted herself from his embrace. She let him hold her. And he drank in the sweet scent of her hair, the soft curves of her body—and wanted more.

Shouldn’t be thinking about that—not now, dude.

What was happening to him? What the hell kind of FBI agent let himself get distracted from his
job over and over by a woman?

He knew the answer and it was simple—the kind of FBI agent who needed some time off. And the truth was, once this was all over, he’d probably be given a mandatory leave of absence.

He’d needed a leave three years ago, too, after the Reyes case in Miami. And he’d climbed
behind the wheel of Reyes’ s Porsche, which he’d promptly bought at a police auction as a
souvenir, and driven across the country. He’d seen the mountains and the canyons, the rivers
and the plains. He’d stood on a lonely Oregon beach, looking out on cold Pacific waters, and
he’d searched his soul until he knew it was almost time to go back. First, though, since he’d
gotten his head clear and his troubles worked out, he rewarded himself by jetting to Maui,
where he’d imbibed fruity concoctions from coconut shells and found a pretty hula dancer to spend a few evenings with. Then he’d finally headed back to the FBI field office in Miami and
told them he was ready to get back to work.

So that’s probably what he should do this time, too. Just get away. Soak up something besides crime and danger for a while. Refuel.

Only he shouldn’t have visited so many damn places last time, because at the moment, he
couldn’t think of anyplace else he really wanted to go.

No, at the moment, this island, where he’d found this girl who needed his protection, seemed
like the only place in the world that mattered.

The second Kat awoke, she couldn’t believe she’d actually fallen asleep again, but she
supposed she knew deep inside that as long as Brock was there, it would be safe to rest. In fact, waking up with his strong arm looped around her from behind felt far too cozy.

Despite the thick cover of trees overhead, she could sense the sky darkening, turning
everything around them more shadowy. Must be an afternoon thunderstorm brewing. Common
in Florida, but it didn’t bode well. If they had to run again, the ground would be slippery—it
wouldn’t dry under the canopy of trees as fast as in the sun.

Just then, he leaned around to peek at her. “Sleep good, kitten?”
 
She gave a short, sheepish nod. “Sorry about drifting off.”
His expression reassured her. “Good for you to rest.”
“Did I miss anything?”

He pointed to a thick trunk on the opposite rim of the gully. “See that tree? Three little green
geckos have been playing around the base of it. That’s been the highlight of the afternoon.”

His words calmed her further. “Good.”

At that moment, the first thick drops of rain began to sift down through the trees, pelting
leaves. Funny, she was the sort of girl who usually ran from the rain, covering her head if she
had to dash from her car in even a drizzle—but this, now, seemed like nothing, not even
worthy of mention. Just one more obstacle in the day. So even as the drops fell faster, harder,
finding their way through the patchy ceiling of green, and even as her chest, arms, and face
slowly became covered with trails of wetness, she and Brock both just sat in the pouring rain as if it were normal, neither of them saying a word.

She looked down at his arm, spanning her stomach, his skin becoming as saturated as her own, and thought it felt as if the rain somehow melded them together, like watery glue. Still tired, she
leaned her head back on his chest again, not opposed to melding some more.

A few minutes later, amid the downpour, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

She lifted her head from his chest, noticing instantly that the steady cadence of his heart no
longer sounded near her ear, but resisted turning to look at him because he sounded so serious.
“All right.”

He spoke low. “If we were to die here, Kat would you regret last night? Would you regret not having sex with me?”

Her chest tightened, and her own heartbeat sped up.

She could rail at him for still not respecting her engagement, or she could turn and roll her eyes
at his insistence on pressing the subject of sex, even now that they were running for their lives.
But the earnest quality to his voice kept her from it.

Instead, she thought about the question for a minute, about all the circumstances and
complications, and about the fact that they were in real danger here, danger like she’d never
been in before. And she remembered how she’d wanted him ten years ago, and how she’d wanted him just as much last night.

“Yes,” she finally said, the word coming out raspier than intended.

He slowly, slowly leaned forward until finally his cheek came to rest moist against hers.
“Kitten,” he said, rough and deep. Nothing more, just that. His breath warmed the side of her
face as he placed a soft, lingering kiss next to her ear.

And as that mere touch from his lips sizzled through her, nearly making the rain dance across
her skin, she felt him holding back.

He was no longer trying to seduce her—instead, he was trying not to.

The very air thickened around them as the hot desire that seeped from him oozed down into her
pores, as tangible as the rain that continued to soak them.

He remained still, so very still. Except for the slight, tense trembling of his arm, the heavy sigh
that left his mouth. Their faces still touched.

A glance down found that arm still latched firmly around her, and the tips of her breasts jutting
through her halter top—from cool rain and hot arousal. She wanted him—God help her, she
did. And this time it was a want that mere guilt could not assuage.

Sheer need turned her face toward his.

Oh God, what was that?

But she knew. It was something old, ancient, buried inside her for a long time, ten lengthy
years, suddenly unearthed.

Yet not real. Once upon a time, it had been very real—but not anymore. Just an old echo, a
weird reaction to all this nearness. She didn’t love him. She didn’t.

And just because you kissed someone didn’t mean you loved them. A kiss only meant passion.
Passion she couldn’t push away right now.

She never really leaned forward, and he never exactly moved in on her, either—but somehow it
happened. A slow, gentle meeting of mouths, soft, lingering. Rain on their lips making it
moister.

And then another, longer kiss. And just like she remembered from the swamp—the most
delicious of her life. Swallowing, enveloping. Brock’s kiss had the power to reach down inside
her, deep, so deep, like being touched between her thighs.

His mouth moved warm over hers, his tongue pressing inward, and she didn’t hesitate to give
him entry—she wanted to take him inside her more than she wanted to keep breathing.

And then came shorter tongue kisses, but just as passionate—like taking small, hot drinks of
him, sip after quenching sip. They were the most agonizing kisses of her life. The most
wrenching, the most engulfing. Her body surged with moisture so that she barely knew where
the rain stopped and her body’s reaction to him began.

Below, his hand on her belly slowly caressed through her top. Her own arm cradled his now,
her hand curling around his strong forearm, finally touching him, feeling his skin, beginning a
slow exploration that set off a whole new flood of longing inside her.

As they kissed—she was lost to it now, drowning in it—his thumb grazed the underside of her
breast, and she wanted to die from the pleasure. The juncture of her thighs clenched, and she
realized she was kissing him harder, even delivering a hot bite to his lower lip that elicited a
moan from him, making her spasm with still more wet heat.

His thumb raked over her nipple and this time the moan was hers, leaking from between her
lips into his warm mouth, but he kissed it away, one kiss, then another as he kneaded and
caressed, cupping her breast now, taking it full into his hand.

Oh God, how she wanted him. She’d never wanted a man this way, ever. Not even him.

She wanted to untie her top, let it fall, wanted to arch her breasts into his mouth, wanted to let
him kiss and suckle them beneath the hard, cool rain.

She wanted to lift her skirt and straddle him, wanted to tear away her own panties, wanted to
dig her knees into the dirt and ride him to oblivion.

She wanted to forget. Everything else.

Ian. Her parents. Her future.

Danger. Blown-up boats. Men with guns. Being chased.

Oh God. She wanted him with a force unequaled—yet something clicked on inside her then.
Something important.

Stopping now was probably one of the hardest things she’d ever done, a test of pure will, yet somehow she managed to cover his hand with hers and slowly, torturously, draw it back down to her waist.

The kissing ceased, both of them panting with labored breath, foreheads pressed together—and
when she spoke, her voice quaked. “I, uh, know I’d make a lousy FBI agent, but shouldn’t
we be staying a little more alert here?”

Brock drew back slightly, hissed in his breath, closed his eyes. “You’re right.”

She still wanted to kiss him. Madly. She pressed her lips ßat and tight together to help her
resist.

He let out a sigh. “You take away my edge, kitten.”

The words sent fresh warmth skittering down through her just as the rain died away, slowing
to sprinkles, then nothing. Around them, the whole forest smelled lush and earthy and wet.
With the trees creating an awning overhead, the place, more than before, felt like a world unto itself. Somewhere they were trapped.

The reminder washed away her passion, which was for the best, although it turned her
thoughts back to why they were there, hiding in a big, soggy ditch, with a thin stream running through it now a few feet below them. “What you asked before, about having regrets if we died
—do you really think we’re going to?”

His face hardened. “No,” he said, almost forcefully. “I shouldn’t even have said that, because
we’ll be Þne.”

She sighed, still suffering doubt. “Then why did you say it?”

“It was hypothetical,” he reassured her. “I just wanted to know if you’d have regrets. And now
I know.”

He looked satisÞed, although not cocky. Acknowledgment that the truth had been laid out
between them and there was no taking it back. It made her lament her honesty, even if it had led
to the most sumptuous kisses of her existence.