He cruised up to 80, in his element. He’d taken every need-for-speed driving course the Agency would send him to and he’d been the star pupil in every one. He was born to drive. He didn’t have a single worry that he wouldn’t get them to the clinic alive. Well, maybe one.
“Pray that a deer doesn’t decide to cross our path.” He glanced over at Willow to see how she was reacting to his driving.
Most women would have told him to slow down. Not Willow, she had a small smile on her face, as if enjoying herself and remembering something pleasant. If she weren’t so worried about Spookie, Jack was sure she’d have been smiling full out and laughing.
They sped through town and out onto the open highway, where he accelerated to over 100. The roads were nearly deserted at that hour and any car he came upon he passed easily. Someone gave him the finger. He caught only a glimpse of it as he flew by them. Probably everyone he passed was calling him a maniac. He hoped none of them called the cops.
“Take the next exit.” Willow pointed.
Good girl. She knew what she was doing. Giving him as much time as possible to prepare for the turn.
He took the exit, barely slowing down.
“Right at the light.” She sounded calm and almost content as he took the corner on two wheels. “Left at the next. Then straight-ahead two miles. Second driveway on the right.” She glanced at her watch and back at him with a look of awe and knowing. As if she’d pinned him as being Jack. As if it were old times again, before his untimely death, and they were out practicing his spy driving, in other words joyriding.
She was one woman in a million, the kind who never told her husband to slow down or not follow so closely. He loved that woman. Her look of approval made his heart sing.
Spookie whimpered, bringing back the gravity of the situation.
“There.” Willow pointed to a neon sign advertising twenty-four-hour veterinary care.
Jack slowed just slightly and then, for no reason, decided to show off. Just shy of the driveway, he pulled the hand brake, swung the wheel, and performed a perfect bootlegger turn, sliding backward into a parking spot perfectly within the lines.
Willow glanced at her watch. “Nine minutes and thirty-five seconds. A man who keeps his promise. Not bad.” She beamed at him and jumped out of the car almost before it came to a complete stop. “I called ahead. They’re expecting us.”
Us. The word sounded good, even to a loner like him. Willow was the only “us” he’d really ever wanted to be a part of. Her and the Agency.
Jack jumped out, beeped the car locked, and held open the clinic door for Willow and Spookie. He stared at the dog, trying to determine how she looked. Better, he thought. At least, not worse.
He was no veterinarian, but he knew about animals, biology, and chemistry. Spookie would make it. Or maybe that was only wishful thinking.
The vet’s assistant was waiting for them. “They’re here!” she called back to the doctor before nodding to Willow. “Follow me.”
Jack followed without thinking.
The assistant stopped him short. “Just one person goes back with the patient, please.” Her gaze bounced between them. “Which will it be? The mama or the daddy?”
Jack cleared his throat and stepped back, feeling out of sorts and out of synch with the way life had become. He’d almost blown his cover again. As if the driving hadn’t given him away. Willow had always told him that no one drove like he did. His driving was practically so unique, it could have identified him as easily as his fingerprint.
“I’m just the neighbor who gave them a ride.” He looked at Willow. “I’ll wait here.”
She didn’t see him. She’d already turned and was following the assistant back to the surgery. It was probably all for the best. Jack was looking at Willow in a way he shouldn’t be.
* * *
By the time the vet finished his examination and ministrations, Spookie was already looking perkier.
“You gave her activated charcoal?” Dr. Broderick looked at Willow.
“Yes, Jack, I mean, my neighbor, Con, told me to.”
The doctor nodded approvingly. “Probably saved this little dog’s life. Make sure you thank him properly.”
Oh, she intended to. Jack was her hero. Always had been. And yes, by his driving she was sure Con was Jack. Who else could take a city corner so smoothly at 70 miles per hour and not even break a sweat? Oh, maybe Drew, but she doubted it. Jack had always been the best driver among his group of spies.
“I will,” she said.
“You can take her home. Watch her, but I’m sure she’ll be fine.” He rubbed Spookie’s tummy and Spookie gave a weak but happy bark. He handed her to Willow. “My assistant will give you instructions.” He showed Willow the way out.
Jack was waiting for them in the lobby. He sat, legs splayed wide, feet planted firmly, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. In profile, his nose was different, but everything from his posture to his being was Jack. He looked military and handsome, the way Willow had been remembering him.
And he’d dropped out of his cover character for her. Because of her and Spookie. Because he still cared. Or so Willow told herself. She just had to get him to admit it. Which meant, she had to get him to make love to her. Yes, it still boiled down to that.
She no longer wanted to sleep with him to prove he was Jack, though it would be the final proof. She wanted to sleep with him because he was Jack. It was as simple as that.
He looked up at her. As their eyes locked, a look of relief washed over him.
“She’s fine,” Willow said. “Take us home. Can you get us there in less than ten?”
She was implying she couldn’t wait. She hoped he caught her message. She wasn’t letting him go this time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Willow insisted on carrying Spookie, who had fallen asleep on the ride. Jack walked them to her door.
Willow handed him her keys. “Will you help me get her settled in?”
Willow looked at him with those hero-worship, bedroom eyes. It was all he could do to swallow, let alone talk.
He nodded. “Sure.” He unlocked the door and let them in.
“She sleeps in the bedroom with me.” Willow nodded toward the hallway.
Was that innuendo he heard in Willow’s voice? As in, he’d be welcome to sleep there, too? Jack swallowed hard. This was a notoriously bad idea. But what was a guy to do? Appear hard-hearted? He followed her down the hall.
Willow turned into her bedroom, which smelled sweet, like her perfume. Obviously Spookie hadn’t made it to this room during her bout with the cocoa.
Willow stood above Spookie’s dog bed. “Here. Take her while I get her bed ready.”
The bed looked fine to him, but he took his dog gratefully. When Willow smiled at him, he realized that’s what she intended. She was giving him the gift of a cuddle with his pup.
He watched while she arranged a soft blanket for Spookie. When Willow indicated she was ready, he kneeled and gently put Spookie to bed.
They stood over her, side by side, watching their dog sleep like two anxious parents over a crib. There should have been a crib. They should have had kids before he died. There was a lot of stuff they should have done before he’d passed into the ether of the cover of death.
Willow looked up at him. The light was off in the room, but a shaft of light shone in from the hall. Backlit, she looked like an angel. His angel. Her green eyes caught the light and sparkled. He could stare at her forever.
“You saved her life.” Willow touched his arm gently to show her gratitude.
He shrugged.
She pulled him around to face her. “You’re my hero.” She cupped his face and gently went up on her toes until her lips met his.
All right, asshole, step away from the girl, he told himself. But he couldn’t make himself move. He was afraid if he did, he’d lose all control and simply throw her on the bed and take her.
She kissed
him softly, provocatively, in the way that he liked, the way that always made him groan.
He should move away, just step away from the temptation and danger Willow posed. He knew where this was going. Particularly if he didn’t get his ass out of here this instant. He made a fist and squeezed it tight, trying to control his baser urges.
There was a point in every mission when Jack rationalized the risks he was about to take. This was this mission’s moment and the rationalization was a doozy he wouldn’t have considered if he hadn’t been in a needing his wife with a passion that kills lust-induced emotional frenzy. He’d gone way beyond the point of no return or taking a suicide pill.
He’d have to try to compartmentalize. Make love to her as Con and hope Con didn’t have an involuntary chuff. Or could somehow cover it.
Willow slid her arms around his neck and cuddled up against him. The simple fact of being so near her, in her loving embrace, made his toes tingle and the rest of him burn.
Oh no, no, no, no, no, he was losing control.
Sappy love songs talk about aching for a woman’s touch. He was aching now. All over, but one long, hard part of him particularly.
He knew how Willow liked to be kissed—softly at first, building to lip-bruising passion. Jack didn’t trust Con to show any restraint once he started kissing, so he remained fixed in a place, a statue afraid to move.
“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered into his ear. “Let yourself go.” She rubbed up against him and ran her fingers through his hair.
Willow knew how to torment him. The feel of her fingers in his hair had always soothed him and calmed the storm of emotions he felt after a mission. Her touch now was anything but calming. Goose bumps rose on his arms. Every part of him ached to take her.
She tilted her head and studied him, her eyes dancing with mirth and passion. “You Italian lovers are more reserved than I’ve been led to believe. I thought you liked to talk with your hands. Talk to me now, Con.”
“Right now, I’m happy just listening.” His voice came out hoarse.
“Listen well.” She pulled his shirt loose from his jeans and ran her hands up his bare back. Before he could move, she dragged her nails down his back, roughly, until he shuddered.
“Like what you’re hearing?” she said.
Damn her, she knew what he liked and she was playing dirty, trying to get him to break his cover. He was on the edge as it was, hanging on by the thinnest thread of self-control, trying to remember his training on resisting torture. Sadly, NCS had never trained him to resist mind-numbing, mind-bending pleasure.
She unbuttoned his shirt. He stood as still as the David, and definitely more erect, itching, aching to touch her as he tried to remember everything he’d been taught about how not to crack under interrogation. He had to imagine he was someplace else. Not here, alone with the wife he loved and longed for. He couldn’t act, not even as Con, until he was certain he wouldn’t crack.
She could torture him with pleasure, but he would not move.
“It must be excruciating standing still. Dance with me.” She danced him around until he faced her closed closet doors—her mirrored closet doors.
When she had him in perfect mirror-viewing position, she kicked off her shoes and shimmied out of her jeans as he stood mesmerized by the movement of her hips. And then by the sight of a thong panty that disappeared between the shapely cheeks of her butt.
She pulled her blouse over her head, drawing his gaze from the mirror to her body. She held the blouse out at arm’s length by a finger. And then with a seductive, teasing smile dropped it onto the floor and winked.
She wore a see-through lace bra that matched the tiny triangle of her thong panty. He couldn’t breathe. If she made one more move toward him, he was done for.
Time for some mental evasive action. He forced his thoughts to places they shouldn’t roam. Back to how bad he was for Willow.
The thoughts came a second too late and were too obvious in his expression. Willow knew his coping tactics. A frown passed quickly over her face and then her eyes lit with determination.
She slid her hands over his chest and pulled his shirt off his shoulders and arms, dropping it to the floor as she bent to suck his nipples.
He had a perfect view in the mirror of her hair falling over her back, her narrow waist, and her bare bottom as her tongue teased his nipples.
He groaned and his breath caught. “What about the dog? Won’t she see?”
“You Europeans really aren’t living up to your rep. I thought you had no body or embarrassment issues. Don’t tell me you’re shy about a little dog watching us?” Willow gave his nipple another quick lick.
He threw his head back. His mouth was dry. “I don’t want to disturb her.”
“Don’t worry.” Willow unzipped his jeans and thrust her hand down them, grabbing and stroking his bulging member. “We won’t. The vet gave her something to make her sleep so she could rest and recover.”
Jack had always told her it turned him on when she took charge and she’d taken his admission to heart.
Shit.
“Besides, I think it’s time she learned something about the birds and the bees.”
Willow was definitely playing dirty and going for broke, not caring whether he thought she was a bad girl or not. She’d once told him women were intimidated during sex because they wanted their men to see them as good-girl girlfriend/wife material. He was intrigued to see how far she’d take this act, knowing it would mean his downfall.
It would be hell to stop her now. He liked this game of heavenly torture, wanting to see just how far she’d go to make a point. His flesh was willing and his spirit weak with desire. He wanted her.
She stood up straight, reached behind her, unlatched her bra, pulled it off, let it fall to the floor, and smiled. “Don’t move.”
As if he could.
She went to the nightstand and removed a tube of sexual lubricant. A new tube, Jack couldn’t help noticing. A brand-new tube.
She used the lid to pierce it. Piercing gave him a mental image he tried to resist.
In the dim light he couldn’t read the label, but he got the feeling, from the way she was grinning, it was something that would do him in.
She walked over, boldly, like a femme fatale spy on a mission, and pulled his member out, sliding her lubricated hand along it with one hard, smooth stroke after another while he watched her do it in the mirror and gasped with pleasure. Then she put her other hand on and stroked with both. And then …
* * *
Every couple has a signature sex move. This was theirs. Willow watched Jack’s eyes as she put her second hand on him. Sure enough, recognition lit them. He knew what was coming. His eyes dilated. And not just from the dark.
Resist this, Jack.
She’d used the heated, for men’s pleasure, lubricant. She’d bought it hoping she’d get a chance to use it on Jack, to prove he was Jack.
He was showing unusual restraint. This had to be killing him. At least, she hoped it was. She wanted to break him. She had to get him to toss his cover aside again and she was going to use every dirty trick in the book.
She began to twist her hands in different directions as she corkscrewed them up his shaft. Jack gasped and froze. But she refused to stop. Twisting. Stroking.
“Damn it,” he muttered, and pulled her hands free from him.
He slid out of his jeans and underwear, scooped her into his arms, and carried her to the bed.
My hero, she thought, wanting him to ravish her completely, utterly, totally. Give me everything you’ve got, Jack. Show me that you’re the man I know you are.
He tossed her onto her back on the bed with her head to the foot of it so that he had a perfect view of them in the mirror.
“A man can only take so much.” His voice was ragged.
He stared down at her, smoothed her hair as it fanned out on the bed, stooped, and gently kissed her mouth, her neck, trailing down to her breasts, ki
ssing them in the way Jack knew how to do.
She cupped his head and arched against him. “Now, take me now.” She was ready, so ready.
He didn’t need any more encouragement. He lifted his head and watched them shadowed in the mirror. Grinned. And plunged in.
It had been two years. She felt like the first time, only with none of the pain.
And then it was just the two of them lost in pleasure—her and Jack on top of her, thrusting in the way he knew gave her the most pleasure. Quick. Hard and dirty. Fast.
Suddenly slowing, lingering, gentle. Thrusting and pausing. Cupping her bottom so that he could slide in deeply to the spot that always made her gasp with ecstasy.
She didn’t have much experience with other lovers. But no one but Jack could move like this, move her like this.
She clamped her legs around him, pressing him deeply into her. Her legs fit around his long waist just as perfectly as they had around Jack’s.
She knew the feel of her husband. And this was him. Even though his body was scarred and his chest hair was gone, he was unequivocally Jack.
She sighed and moaned.
Jack stiffened. She could feel him getting ready to crash over the edge of delight. He completely covered her, thrusting fast, and hard.
She bit his shoulder and grabbed his butt, holding on hard as the pleasure built and built. She gasped. “Jack, Jack, Jack!”
He grunted as he climaxed and collapsed on top of her. But he made absolutely no chuffing sound. None.
Willow’s heart sank. “Jack?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Willow felt as tight as a virgin, Jack realized with happy satisfaction. She probably hadn’t had sex in two years.
The thought, and his name on her lips, made him unaccountably happy. And then he heard the doubt, saw it written on her face, and realized …
He hadn’t chuffed. What the hell had happened? It surprised him as much as it did her. The explosion in Ciudad, which had given him a foreign accent and a gravelly voice, had stolen his chuff. He was no longer her tiger.