“You haven’t been in the country for seven years.” She raised a brow.
Not true. He’d visited on three different occasions. Day trips, in and out. Evidently, they weren’t watching him closely enough.
Her thumb trailed along his bottom lip, her eyes locked on the movement. “Where have you been all this time?”
“Enjoying retirement.”
“You might’ve retired from a legitimate career, but I know you’re working with the Colombian cartel. You’ve made a name for yourself, Cole Hartman. How does it feel to be notorious in the criminal underworld?”
That was the intel she had on him? The gossip of crime lords and traffickers? He’d put most of those rumors out there himself. All smoke and mirrors to embellish the truth, incite fear, and mislead enemies away from what he was actually doing.
She had no idea he was part of a vigilante group or that his earlier career was in an organization that no one knew existed. That meant she didn’t have connections in the intelligence sectors. So how did she have access to those high-tech bugs?
“Who do you work for?” He nipped at her finger on his lip.
She yanked her hand back. “Tell me who bought—”
“No. I’m not going to tell you what you want to know, and you’re not going to let me go. We’re at an impasse, Lydia.” He flexed his thigh beneath her pert ass. “How long have I been here?”
“Thirty-one days.”
“How much time do you have left to complete the assignment?”
“Enough.”
“There’s always a deadline.” He made a tsking sound. “Something has to give.”
“You.” Her lashes lowered, fanning over porcelain cheekbones before lifting to expose the force of her magnetic glare. “You have to give.”
“When I don’t, you’ll take. Am I right?” He glanced at his restraints, his vulnerable position. “How much are you willing to take? How far down this dark hole are you willing to go?”
How evil are you, Lydia?
“All the way.” She slid off his lap and opened the button on his jeans. Then the zipper. Her eyes found his, and she yanked on the wet denim.
His stomach coiled. His skin grew hot, and his pulse took off at a sprint.
Enduring the soapy caress of her hands below his waist would be the absolute best and worst thing that could happen. It needed to happen. They needed to get personal and intimate and fucking filthy together, so he could break her open and fuck the stubbornness out of her.
At the same time, he had to remember that she was using the same strategy on him. She intended to ply him with her body, and all the while, he would let her believe she was the one in control.
Remaining aloof, he gave her no reaction as she wrestled with the heavy wet fabric. Her tits rose with shallow inhalations, the gorgeous swells testing the confines of her corset, testing him.
He didn’t move or lift his weight to help, but that didn’t stop her tenacious hands. Keeping a firm hold on his waistband, she wrenched the jeans down his legs and off, exposing the hardening evidence of his arousal.
Yeah, his fucking cock was excited.
Seven years of built-up excitement.
Physically, he was ready and raring to go.
Emotionally, he would never be up for it. He missed his girl. He just…
Christ, he deeply, unendurably missed her.
He shoved down all thoughts of Danni, concealing them behind a mask of indifference. But he couldn’t hide the erection. It jutted upward like a damn flagpole, begging for soft hands, a hot mouth, and a wet-ass pussy.
She didn’t spare him a glance and instead directed her attention to his largest and oldest tattoo. The black snake wrapped around his thigh from knee to hip, its head angled toward his foot with shimmering scales inked in meticulous detail.
“What’s the story on this?” She traced a finger along the curve of the serpent’s spine, making him harder, hotter.
“I’ll tell you about the snake if you tell me about the swallow.”
Her hand went to her chest and dropped just as quickly, her expression empty.
He was convinced now, more than ever, that she wasn’t a trained sex spy. While she excelled at putting on an act, she hadn’t mastered the unresponsive austerity of a swallow. She reacted emotionally on impulse. It was subtle, but he caught the little twitches and nuances before she blanked her face.
Maybe she was pretending to be a swallow? But for what reason? The same reason she left him in the dark to fantasize about her for a month?
Because she was fucking with him. Or trying to.
He relaxed against the pallet, curious to see what she would do next.
She washed him. Starting at his feet, she worked her way up his legs. When he halfheartedly tried to kick her, she gripped his knee to hold him down and slid her fingers along his inner thigh.
Heat swept through him as her hands roamed where Danni’s had gone before. In rigid silence, he watched her clean his cock and learn the shape of him, her fingers traveling the same path Danni’s mouth had been so many times, so long ago.
He fought down the noises that tried to crawl from his throat. Noises of objection. And consent. And reprehensible guilt.
His molars clenched tight, his breaths snapping past his teeth in choppy bursts. Pleasure fused with torment, his body warring with his mind. He wanted it. He didn’t want it.
He needed to focus before he fucking lost it.
The ends of her hair brushed his skin, tickling his legs as she lathered and laved. There was no seduction in her touch, the scrubbing efficient and impersonal. Coldly detached.
She wasn’t trying to tease him. This was a bath, nothing more. Yet, it was everything.
He throbbed, burning for her. He thought he might die if he didn’t get inside her. At the same time, he didn’t want her. She was the wrong woman. She wasn’t his girl.
Christ, he needed to man the fuck up and get over that. Right now.
Logic over emotion, his mind was in control.
He was going to survive. And to do that, he had to do her.
It was just sex.
If Cole remained in control, if he kept himself detached, he could use it as a weapon.
Not an easy undertaking with Lydia’s warmth bearing down upon him, so achingly close, shocking his system. Her sweet cherry scent drugged his inhales. Her beauty, even smothered in makeup, drew him in like a supernatural spell.
She washed every inch of his rigid cock, his balls, and farther back, into the recesses of his crack, her fingers like tiny knives slicing their way through his dignity.
Then she took away her touch, her intoxicating heat, and stepped back. With the hose in hand, she sprayed him off like an animal, her stance and expression matching the blast of the water. Cold, aggressive, merciless.
Something felt off about her. She was normally closed-off, but this was different. She suddenly looked way too wooden, her gaze too unfocused, as if she’d retreated into her head. Either she was trying to put herself in a zone, or she was having second thoughts about seducing him.
By the time she shut off the water, she’d completely killed his erection.
The hose dangled from her hand, her gaze fixed over his shoulder, staring at nothing.
“Lydia.”
She blinked. Her brow creased, and her eyes went to his mouth, then lower, taking a winding trip from his chest to his soft dick. “I don’t want to do this.”