Face of Danger

  She heard the water running in the sink.

  “Are you making me leave for good?” When he didn’t answer, she got up and walked to the bathroom, standing in the doorway to watch him stick his whole head under the faucet. “What about the evidence we’ve been asked to find, Lang?”

  “We’ll come back.” He turned his head, soaping his face and neck. “I just want to get you out of here for a day while some other agents scour the property by light of day. We’re missing something.”

  She didn’t argue; she could use a break from this house. “Why don’t you just take a shower?”

  “Can’t.” He stood up and gave his head a shake that would have made Stella proud. “Unless you stand there and watch.”

  Fire licked through her belly. “That can be arranged.”

  He froze in the act of grabbing the towel, his gaze dropping over the T-shirt and jeans. “Why are you in here and not your room?”

  “I just wanted to be close to you.”

  He still didn’t dry his face, but just looked at her as droplets sluiced over cheeks that hadn’t seen their usual razor in a long time. “Why?”

  “I just wanted to be close to the man who saved my life.”

  “What do you mean by close?”

  She wet her lips, ignored her thumping heart. “As close as we can get.”

  He stepped toward her, eyes burning green-gold in the dim light. “One brush with death and you change your mind?”

  “I’ve had some time to think,” she said slowly. “And I… I decided that maybe… you were right.”

  He studied her for a long minute, heat and sweat and something wildly intoxicating rolling off him. The scent of sex.

  “I thought you were shot,” he said gruffly. “For like the third time in two days, I fucking thought you were dead.”

  “I bet you were mad.”

  “Mad?” He slapped his hands on the doorjamb, his chest inches from her, his biceps tense like he could break the molding off the doorway if he wanted to. “Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it. Why the hell don’t you stay put when I tell you to stay put?”

  “I heard the dog. Anyway, he could have shot me there, too.”

  “You could have been killed, Vivi.”

  “Tell me something I haven’t figured out while I was trapped up here like Rapunzel with the girl guard while all the guys looked for the perp.”

  He grunted, animal like, pure frustration. “All the guys are FBI agents, armed and trained and willing to die for you.”

  She’d never win that one. “I saved your dog, didn’t I?”

  “She’s not mine.” He let his hands fall and land on her shoulders, plucking at the T-shirt. “But this is.”

  “I borrowed it.”

  “Take it off.”

  Her knees actually buckled at the order. “You want it back?”

  “I want it off.”

  And, dear God, she wanted to take it off. Deep inside, an ache twisted. Lusty and low, superseding everything else.

  She stared at him, taking a few steps backward into the room, but he didn’t let go of her shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  His eyes went smoky. “Good. Keep thinking about me.” He walked her backward until she reached the bed. No smile on his face, no humor in his eyes. Dead serious, pure Lang. “Think about me while you take off my shirt.”

  She sat when her knees hit the bed, fingering the bottom of the T-shirt as she looked up at him. “I have to say something first. I have one… rule.”

  He lifted his brow. “You follow rules now?”

  She had to feel… safe, or she couldn’t do this. That was her only stipulation. She had to know she had an escape if her brain betrayed her body and freaked out. “If I say stop, you stop.”

  “Here’s my rule.” He pressed knees against the bed, holding hers between his as he eased her backward. “You shouldn’t say go if you’re gonna say stop.”

  Her gaze slipping to his sleep pants, the tent even bigger than it was before, the tip of his hard-on already straining the waistband. Her throat went dry. “If I did say stop, like if I had to…” she whispered. “I just want you to know it’s not because I’m teasing you. It’s just because… I changed my mind.”

  He braced himself over her, all muscle and man, hard and ready. Her whole body liquefied with want. She fell back on the bed, unable to fight the need to writhe against him and release the pressure that was building between her legs.

  “If you change your mind, let me know. Until then, take my shirt off.”

  With shaky fingers, she lifted the cotton hem, watching his eyes move down to devour the sight. She revealed her stomach, her ribs, her breasts. His jaw loosened, his pupils darkened, his breath slowed to a ragged pull.

  “All the way,” he said.

  She slipped it over her head, dragging the long, damp hair through, unintentionally making the extensions fan out next to her face. She held the undershirt up in one hand.

  “Here’s your shirt, Lang.”

  He took it and threw it across the room. “Now the jeans.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at her tone.

  What was the matter? What could she tell him? That she’d never… No, if she told him to stop, he’d stop. But she also knew he’d demand to know what she’d refuse to tell.

  “What is it, Vivi?”

  “Ummm… I forgot to wear underpants.”

  That made one side of his mouth hitch up with sexy interest. “Yeah? Let me see.”

  She reached for the jeans snap, popped it, and unzipped, never taking her eyes from his.

  But he looked down, inhaling slowly as she pushed the jeans down, slowly lifting her hips to help her reveal everything to him.

  Everything.

  “Christ, you’re gorgeous.” He barely breathed the words, and they obliterated every argument threatening to make an appearance in her head.

  He dragged the jeans off her body and tossed them with the shirt.

  Then she lay completely naked before him, barely able to take the next breath. Could he hear her heart clobbering her chest? Could he hear the blood rushing through her? Could he possibly know what this meant to her?

  “So why’d you change your mind?” he asked, kneeling above her, burning every inch with his eyes, splaying his fingers over her body, like a maestro about to play.

  “I haven’t, yet.”

  “I mean about sex. A few hours ago you said you were morally opposed to friends with benefits. Now you’re pretty friendly.”

  “The friend saved my life.”

  His hands came down and closed over her fists, which, she only realized then, were clutching the comforter. “I don’t need you to reward me.”

  “I’m not rewarding you.”

  His eyes grew smoky as he took another slow trip over every inch of her. “Then what are you doing?”

  “Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.” Like sixteen years. “So please kiss me. Please.”

  “I will.” He almost smiled, his eyes tapering. “I’m trying to decide where to start.”

  She closed her eyes. “Anywhere you want.”

  He lowered his head to her mouth, but skimmed away before they made contact, blowing soft air over her throat, collarbone, her cleavage. His tongue flicked over her breast, and she sucked in a breath, but he moved south, a kiss on her stomach, a brush of lips over the scar of her gunshot wound, navel, the scrape of his cheek right on her pelvic bone.

  She let go of the comforter, moved her hands to his shoulders.

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “This is where I want to start.”

  Yes. Oh, God, yes. This.

  He blew on her first, like he was warming her up, getting her ready. She bowed her back, whispered his name, and braced for impact.

  His tongue was surprisingly cool against the heat of her flesh, but powerful and unrelenting. He sucked and licked, the sensation o
f his mouth against her making her groan with abandon.

  Glorious.

  Her body hummed under his mouth, rocking into his lips, a rhythm so natural and elemental she just surrendered to it.

  He curled his tongue around her most sensitive spot before slipping in a little deeper. He held her thigh with one sure hand and manipulated her clit with the other.

  Mother of God, was this what she’d been missing?

  She cried his name softly, begged for more, squirmed and writhed and gasped for breaths of air that just weren’t there.

  Her orgasm flared under his lips. She transferred her grip from his shoulder to his head, hanging on for dear life as all the sensations coiled deep inside her, throbbing like the low rumble of thunder, building to a crescendo, racking her when she exploded in his mouth.

  Endless, unstoppable, overwhelming… pleasure.

  She cried out, her head back, her body helpless, her fantasies fulfilled and everything else—everything—wiped away by his competent, relentless tongue.

  Grabbing his shoulders, she crunched her upper body to see him, sweat and sex rolling off her as the waves subsided and the aftershocks slowed. Until there was nothing left but a tingle between her thighs, a thumping of her chest, a few torn attempts at steady breathing.

  He stayed between her legs for what seemed like forever, still kissing, still licking, still adoring her.

  How did he know? How did he know that was exactly what she needed?

  Finally, he crawled up her body, more kisses on the way, until he reached her face.

  “I want a shower,” he said, his voice tight.

  She widened her eyes. “A cold one?”

  “Wouldn’t help. I just want to be clean for you. Because once I get inside you, I don’t intend to get out of this bed again.”

  Her body still throbbed with the orgasm, and the heat of the words.

  “Come with me, Vivi.”

  “I don’t want to do it in the shower on… our first time.”

  “I promise, we’re not going to do it in the shower. But I’m not leaving you alone. Sit on the counter and don’t leave my sight.” He kissed her and helped her up. “Come on. I’ve been climbing through the brush and mud. You deserve better than that.”

  Oh, God. Did he have to be so perfect? Couldn’t he just be that guy who wanted to fuck and fly?

  No. And he never would be. Not to her. “Okay.”

  Colt couldn’t get in the shower fast enough and it had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the dirt on his body. That wasn’t what stopped him from taking what he wanted so bad his dick was ready to explode and his balls were so high they smacked his teeth.

  Everything had changed in the last two hours.

  Able to see Vivi through the glass, he stepped into the vicious spray. He braced his hands on the wall and let the water wash over him; it was cold, but had very little effect on his libido.

  So her brush with death made her want to have casual sex.

  And her brush with death made him realize that there was nothing casual about it.

  Because maybe it was better to have loved and lost, but it was really fucking stupid to do it twice.

  “You never told me you were engaged.”

  He almost choked. So he had heard correctly when he’d walked into the room. Goddamn Iverson and her big mouth.

  It was time Vivi knew the truth. “You never asked.”

  “It seems like something you’d tell a friend.”

  A friend with benes like he was about to get. “I was engaged,” he said simply. “And I told you before, she was killed in the line of duty.”

  “What happened to you?”

  He was grateful the watery glass obscured his face through the shower door. Just in case he couldn’t hide the old pain well enough.

  “I survived,” he said simply. Even that dark, dark night when he’d played with a Glock too close to his own head. “It was five years ago. I’ve learned to cope.”

  “Where did it happen?”

  “South Dorchester,” he said, scrubbing so much harder than necessary with the bar of soap. “Drug bust.” On June 17, 2006. 2:54 a.m. Not that he relived it every day or anything.

  “Have you been with a woman since?”

  He rinsed and swiped the glass to make sure she did see his look of incredulity. “In five years? Yeah.” Hadn’t felt anything, but he’d done the deed. Until tonight when he’d felt something and didn’t want to. “Does it matter?” he asked.

  “I’m just curious.”

  “I’m still human.”

  “So you’ve been with women, but they didn’t matter?”

  He popped the door open to remove every barrier. “Where are you going with this, Vivi?”

  “I just want to know if it’s difficult.”

  Something exploded in his head. “If what’s difficult? To lose your fiancée? To hold the person you planned to spend the rest of your life with as she’s bleeding out on the street? To know you might have saved her if you’d done something different?”

  She paled, staring at him. “I meant… sex. With someone who didn’t matter.”

  He closed his eyes, disgusted with himself for losing it. “You know what, Vivi? Maybe this is a bad idea.”

  Her jaw loosened a little. “Yeah,” she said softly, reaching for a towel he thought she was going to hand to her but used to cover her naked body instead. “You’re probably right.”

  She slipped off the counter and walked into the room, wrapping the towel around her.

  “Vivi!” He twisted the faucets and shut off the water.

  “Relax, Lang. No killers in the room.”

  Holy hell, how had this happened? It didn’t matter how—it had. How could he go in that room and finish what they started, faking that it meant nothing to him? He heard her rustling in the bed, heard the sheets sigh. Or maybe that was her.

  Because neither one of them was cut out for casual, commitment-free sex.

  And neither one of them really wanted it.

  But they really wanted each other, so where did that leave them? Where did that leave Colt, a man who’d sworn off commitments with any woman, not to mention reckless risk-takers who didn’t always obey orders?

  He dried quickly, brushed his teeth, picked up a razor, and put it back down again. Fuck it.

  He turned out the light and walked into the darkened bedroom. There, Vivi Angelino was in his bed, ready, willing, and probably naked.

  Against everything he thought he knew about himself, he dropped onto the sofa with the dog.

  He waited, but she never asked him to join her. Because he would have. He would have silenced the voices in his head just to quell the aching in his body. But this was Vivi. And she never did what he expected.

  Wasn’t that part of what he—

  Yeah. It was.

  CHAPTER 13

  On some level, it was a relief when Vivi and Lang boarded the private plane to Boston, with two other agents acting as “Cara’s” bodyguards. She didn’t want to be alone in that cabin with Lang, not after the sleepless night they’d spent ten feet apart.

  You shouldn’t sleep with someone you won’t tell your secrets to, Vivi decided. No matter how badly you want to.

  Which meant she could remain the world’s oldest almost-but-for-one-horrific-incident virgin for a long time. Because no one would squeeze that secret out of her, not even Lang.

  Who appeared to be hiding a few of his own.

  They were supposed to fly into Logan, but changed the flight plan midair—the things the FBI could do—to avoid media, landing at Hanscom airfield outside of Boston.

  As she stepped off the plane she inhaled deeply, the suburban Boston air so different from the salty, swampy smells of Nantucket. Here the earliest hint of the spring thaw gave the air an earthy scent, clean and crisp. It smelled like grass and clouds and home.

  “You know I grew up about ten minutes from here,” she said as she and Lang walked toward a ca
r that was waiting for them after saying good-bye to the two agents heading into the Boston office separately.

  “Your family’s still there, right? In Sudbury?”

  “Well, my Aunt Fran and Uncle Jim still live in the house with my great-uncle Nino. All the seven kids have moved out.”

  “Really?” He gave her a sideways look.

  Didn’t he know all this? “Well, I’m not one of the Rossi kids, per se, obviously. But Zach and I arrived when we were ten, so it’s our childhood home, post-Italy.”

  “I know that, Vivi. That’s not what I was wondering about.”

  “What were you wondering about?”

  He opened the passenger door of a nondescript black sedan, very much like the one he drove. As if it didn’t scream Fed all over it. “I have an idea.”

  She got in and he closed her door without elaborating.

  “What is it?” she demanded when he got behind the wheel and started the engine.

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “What?”

  “And don’t call anyone and tell them,” he said, reaching over to stop her from moving. “I don’t want anyone to know where you are until you get there.”

  “No one but Nino is home,” she assured him. “My aunt and uncle are down at their condo in Florida for the whole month of March, and you don’t have to worry about Nino. He won’t call the Enquirer and rat on me.”

  “Just a precaution,” he said. “You’ll stay there all day and I’ll come back and get you this evening.”

  Now that she didn’t like. “Where are you going?”

  “Into town, maybe do some sniffing around on RE Global, check on my cases.”

  “Without me?”

  “Yes.” He held up a hand to stop the argument already bubbling up in her throat. “You need to stay in hiding, Cara.”

  She didn’t like it, but knew better than to argue right then. And it was fine not to call Nino. He’d be thrilled to see her, as always, probably cooking something and wishing there were still all those mouths to feed.

  Just the idea of seeing him, of being home, made her feel better. Home wasn’t a brown brick apartment building in Brookline, though she’d lived on the fourth floor of that apartment right off Beacon Street for long enough to grow some substantive roots. Home was that cornflower blue Colonial tucked into rolling hills and surrounded by hundred-year-old oaks, perched over a pond big enough to be called “the lake” by the family that rowed and fished and skated on it with the neighbors.