DEDICATION
To one of my favorite cities,
I miss you.
EPIGRAPH
“So far you’ve survived 100 percent of your worst days. You’re doing great.”
– Unknown
CHAPTER ONE
The cold prickle of an unknown threat hung as heavy as the August heat. Jason Green surveyed the narrow backyard that anchored his girlfriend’s home. He placed the second foil-wrapped russet potato on the grill and shut the lid. Radiating heat distorted the bushes against the fence, and with his guard up, Jason stepped back and searched again. Nothing was out of place, and he knew of no outstanding dangers. Though in his line of work, threats rarely gave warning.
His methodical inspection stopped on the patio, and he grinned at the center of his world. Roxana Carter.
“Smells amazing.” She repositioned an outdoor pillow on the over-sized patio lounger and stretched her legs before returning to her magazine.
“Oh yeah?” His gaze lingered as she pointed her toes then relaxed them, recrossing her feet at the ankles. “I haven’t thrown the steaks on yet.”
“Whoops.” Roxana coyly peered over the top of the magazine. “I must’ve meant the view was amazing.”
He laughed. The woman had sworn her life’s mission wasn’t to stroke his ego, but damn if Roxana didn’t make him feel like a million bucks. “Cute, babe.”
“I call it like I see it.”
He couldn’t argue with that, but he teased, “Since when?”
She blew him a kiss. “Are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”
Unable to mask his anticipation, he returned to the grill. “What makes you ask that?”
“Oh, no reason.” The pages of her magazine flipped before she mumbled, “Just thought hell had frozen over or something.”
Jason bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Earlier that afternoon, he’d surprised Roxana by altering their Sunday tradition of cold beers and grilled chicken for homemade mojitos and strip steaks. If she had suspicions as to why he opted for rum and expensive cuts of meat over their usual, she kept them to herself. Then again, when had she left him wondering about her thoughts and suspicions? His excitement multiplied.
When they’d first met, he’d wondered if she talked to fill the quiet. That wasn’t the case. Roxana simply had a lot to say. Opinions and worries intermixed with a narrative of her day and sharp rhetoric served as a line of defense against anxiety. Her candid compliments could be as honest as her critiques could be brutal.
Jason double-checked the grill’s temperature gauge and then drank from the mojito he’d made with the mint from her herb garden. The ice cubes clinked in the tall glass, and he set it down, re-examining the perimeter of the yard. Once again, no looming dangers.
Even if there was a problem, he’d prepared Roxana’s house for any imaginable emergency. Tornados and earthquakes? Check and check. Angry clients and spillover from dangerous jobs? He had those covered too. Every day, she walked by weapons, directions, tactical arrangements, and evacuation plans hidden in plain sight.
He believed in over-preparation, though today, his behavior leaned toward paranoid. Jason rubbed the back of his neck. Professionally, everything would change soon. Personally, he had a lot on the line. His pulse jumped—and understanding hit. He wasn’t paranoid. This was a killer case of impatient butterflies. He almost laughed.
“Are you putting the steaks on now?” Roxana called.
His chest tightened at the sound of her voice all but confirming his realization. Jason calculated that the potatoes needed at least forty minutes on the grill and threw a dish towel over the marinating vegetables before he turned. “Not yet.”
“Wait. Don’t move.” She held up a hand. “Stay there. I’m watching the view.”
He never stopped smiling around her. “My view’s better.”
“I know you’re lying,” she wagged her index finger, “’cause I feel like a melted marshmallow pretending to read a magazine.”
The pressure in his chest doubled, and the hairs along the back of his neck stood. “Pretending?”
“Remember? I was gawking at your ass—I mean,” she lifted her eyebrows, “I was watching the view.”
She had the come-hither look down. Jason crossed the flagstone patio and took a seat on the corner of the over-sized lounger. She set her feet in his lap, and he knew the specific order of event for tonight was doomed. “You’re hard to resist, babe.”
“Lucky me.” A sweet, pink hue flushed over her cheeks. “What’s on the grill?”
“Potatoes.” Jason grasped her foot between his hands, one hand cupping her arch and the other holding her still as she tensed. Roxana hated to be tickled. Finding it painful, she would kick involuntarily if an errant stroke teased her skin. Years ago, she’d warned him against touching her feet. He’d warned her that someday he would. Someday had come, and together, they’d discovered the erotic upside to her hypersensitive nerve endings. Jason waited for the quivering buck in her leg to calm. “They take a while to cook.”
Tall, silhouetted trees surrounded the backyard and cast lazy shadows over the patio. She tossed the magazine onto the flagstone patio. “We have time to kill?”
Jason answered with his hands and pressed against the sides of her foot just behind her toes. Gently, he squeezed and rolled until her head dropped back against the pillow.
“You’re so good to me,” she whispered.
He could say the same. Roxana was a giver. A caretaker at heart. He’d never met anyone that gave without a reason. He was nothing like that, and as it turned out, Jason found his greatest pleasure came in giving Roxana what she needed.
On her next sigh, he palmed the ball of her foot and braced his fingers against the underside of her toes, lazily stretching and flexing until Roxana’s eyelashes fluttered. He enjoyed the way tension and relaxation warred through her long limbs. When he was confident she was ready for more, Jason flattened his thumb at the top of her arch.
Her hips squirmed. “Careful.”
“Always.” One misstep on his part would ruin her enjoyment. Too anxious of a thought or a muscle too tight would steal her reward. Balance was central to their game while bringing Roxana to the near-painful edge of satisfaction aroused him.
Eyes closed, she gripped the side of the lounge chair. Her nipples pressed against her shirt. “God, that’s good.”
He intensified the compressions and savored the unsteady rise and falls of her chest, and his vivid imagination played a reel of erotic images of her naked, swollen breasts and rocking hips. The monumental task of restraint was half of his fun. Desire fired down his neck. He wanted to strip her shorts off her legs and nuzzle his face between her thighs. His mouth watered for her sweet, slick pussy.
But he couldn’t yet. They both needed her to reach a needy frenzy. Then would he touch and take, lick and kiss and play until Roxana bucked against his mouth and tongue.
Jason focused on his goal, dragging the seconds into eternity. He massaged the tight arch of her foot, compressing when she squirmed, flexing when she tensed, squeezing and kneading with each of her wanton moans.