She wanted to keep this simple, but she wasn’t sure she could and that caused more than enough anxiety. She couldn’t get bogged down. She had more than a job to do…she lived and breathed the need for revenge against the man who had murdered her sister, a man who should have been upholding the law. There would be no rest for her until she put a bullet in him.
She pulled into the condo complex and parked the car. With a jingle of her keys, she opened the door and slipped out of the driver’s seat. Heading up the path into the lobby of the building, Hemingway followed. Up the elevator to her suite, she unlocked the door and stepped inside the spacious condo. The first thing she did was pull open the balcony doors. The view was stunning, even at night. A hop and skip away lay the beach and beyond that the always moving ocean.
The cool breeze didn’t do much to bank the fire burning against her skin.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice low and whiskey-hoarse as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck.
“Who would you be letting down?” she whispered, wanting to know what drove him beyond his patriotic aspirations and testing his own mettle. There was always more. There was always the emotional, deep-seated need that pushed people to do the things they did. She was well aware that sometimes those ingrained desires got people killed.
“Plenty,” he whispered back.
She had to smile. He didn’t want to be any more vulnerable to her than she wanted to be to him. She guessed that was her fault for trying to keep everything uncomplicated. So why was she trying to complicate this? It was about sex. That’s why they were here. It had nothing to do with his dreams of becoming a Navy SEAL. Her mission simply led her here to this place for this revolution in her career. A career she had loved and still did. When she killed the man who had murdered Madison, she would lose that too. But her vendetta had nothing to do with her. It was all about Maddy.
She pulled her top over her head and shimmied out of her pants and underwear until she was standing bare-assed naked in the moonlight, but even though he couldn’t see it, she was covered in armor.
“You and me, sandman, having fun. Yeah?”
“Hell yeah,” he murmured. “I can’t stop thinking about what it was like to be inside you.”
Shea moaned, sinking into the memory, and turned her face toward his.
“And how you tasted.” He ran his tongue down her throat to her nipple, sucking gently. Her head dropped back. “Everything,” he said darkly and scraped his teeth over the sensitive nub, then took her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss, increasing her desire.
“Bedroom?”
“Down the hall to the right.” He picked her up, his clothes rough against her sensitive skin. She wanted him naked. Just looking at him caused a primal hunger to have him closer. She didn’t need a seduction and yet craved it.
He moved down the hall and turned into her bedroom. He set her down on the mattress, but she reared up and stripped off his shirt, his skin smelling clean and delicious.
His hands spanned her ribcage, pulling her near, and on her knees, she reached for his waistband. His stomach flexed when she touched his skin. His hands mapped the curve of her butt as she unsnapped and unzipped, pushing the jeans off him. He worked them and his briefs down and off while she took in her fill of hard, delineated muscles, wanting him so much. Then he dragged her into his arms, his mouth devouring her until kissing wasn’t enough.
She met his gaze and felt something shattering between them, pieces cut, a few falling away, and when she reached between them, he stopped her, catching her hands.
“Oh, no, not so fast,” he murmured.
He didn’t give her a choice and kissed her with slow deliberation, drinking in more than a kiss with a man she’d just found. His arms closed slowly around her, drawing her against him, and she could feel his heart in it, trying to deny that her heart was anywhere near his. Something was different than all the throwaway men she’d had ever since Maddy’s death. The heat between them steadily grew, and he stretched her over his arm, tasting her flesh, his hand slipping and diving. Her hands explored him, finding him an adventure in contours and investigated with the persistence of a woman who knew what she wanted, especially enjoying the journey.
He pushed her back onto the bed and joined her, his hands skimming her thighs to her toes, a soft brush over her center, eliciting a soft groan from him and a hard gasp from her. He smiled, moved lower, finding the curve of her hip, making her restless.
Shea had lost any thoughts she might have had except More, please and don’t stop. When his hand moved between her thighs, parting her so gently, the desire spiraled through her with the rush of liquid. He slipped a finger inside her.
She gasped. “Sandman.”
“Atticus,” he rasped. “My first name is Atticus.”
Her skin vibrated with a hot pulse as he teased her with exquisite skill, her skin tingling and damp under his hand. Then his mouth found her, his tongue slicking over soft flesh and Shea watched him, fascinated, then was lost in the sensation. He circled her delicate core, and she thrust her hips in wanton pleasure, the impact felt in the tips of her nipples, beading hard, and coalescing in her center with a vengeance.
There was no holding back. She reared up, pushing at his shoulders almost violently, forcing him back. She straddled his thighs, his erection thick and full as she circled him. He released a wonderful man-groan, deep and raspy, and she smoothed her fingers over the tip, molding him as she inched up higher. She rocked, her wet center slicking him, and his eyes flared.
“Damn, woman, you’re killing me.”
She kept touching him, circling him, sliding. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth and his expletives were barely audible. She rose, her thighs flexing as she guided him. Her gaze locked with his, she sank down.
His hand swept over her hair, holding her face. She could barely breathe, her eyes glazing over. She’d been alone so long. Not just the solitude of her job, but in her soul, she’d felt betrayed and abandoned, cheated out of her sister. She clung to him, arms locked tight.
“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered.
His hold tightened, and he buried his face in the curve of her throat, his hands soothing her spine. She kissed his throat, his shoulder, then her mouth found his, the air between them heavy with the pulse of desire, an ache pushing beyond the heart. They moved and Shea couldn’t drag her gaze away from his, didn’t want to, as she absorbed the beauty of him. As much as she wanted it to be about the lust, she had to admit, staring into his eyes shadowed in the dark, she wanted this to be more than sex and satisfaction, and with each hard thrust of his body into hers, she felt her blood move slower and pull in her soul.
Hemingway held her, something inside her feeling his unraveling as his hand swept her spine, his touch demanding on her body.
“I thought about this too much,” he said.
“Me too, even when I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”
“Somehow, I knew.” His words whispered over her lips. “I just knew.”
Shea’s throat clamped like a fist and his kiss soothed it, their bodies pushing into each other. Her fingertips followed the lines of his face, her breath shuddered, and she clutched him, fused with him with each deep stroke. Nothing mattered, not even the pain, revenge or evil in her world. She had Hemingway and didn’t want to think beyond this moment.