Authors: Leslie Jones
Gabe had lost his smile. “And then you had to map the downline.”
She toyed with the stem of her wineglass, twirling it slowly around and around. He already knew what she was going to say; she could read it in the shock and dismay in his eyes. “Yes. It took a lot for my parents to agree to it. I bought a button-Âsized tracker from the office supply store and sewed it into my clothes. My father tracked it on his Palm Treo phone. And then I substituted myself for one of the girls.”
“Holy Christ, Christina! Were you out of your ever-Âfucking mind? Women disappear forever into that cesspool of depravity! What the hellâ”
She thrust her plate away. “Ditch the outrage. How was that any more or less dangerous than going undercover in Baghdad? These were
girls
, Gabe. Fifteen, sixteen years old. I needed to stop it, if I could.”
He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Seventeen.” He repeated it in disbelief. “No training, no backup, no resources. What in God's name were your parents thinking?”
She quirked a small smile, which he did not return. “I didn't really give them much of a choice.”
“I'm assuming you knew how incredibly dangerous it was? That girls are often kept drugged to make them compliant?”
Of course she'd known that. “Fortunately, the . . . customers for these girls wanted them clean. I memorized the faces of the sellers and buyers. I was . . . sold to a billionaire as housekeeper and nanny to his three children. He put an ankle monitor on me. There was another slave in the house, a young boy, who had”â she had to stop to clear her throatâ“more intimate duties. I convinced him to leave with me, which wasn't easy, believe me. Ted had walls around his mansion, and guards with dogs patrolling it. We managed to escape, though, and I went straight to the FBI.
“I told them I'd hand them a human trafficking network, but not until they gave my parents immunity and protection. They threatened and blustered, but agreed in the end. It all worked out.”
Gabe gripped the hilt of his butter knife so hard his knuckles were white. “Holy hell. Why wasn't any of this in your file?”
She couldn't stop the smirk tugging the corners of her mouth. “After the trials, we went into Witness Protection. Madison's not my last name by birth.”
Without warning, he scraped back his chair and stood. Striding to his Army duffel bag, dropped near the sofaâÂwhere he would be sleepingâÂhe unzipped it and withdrew a small bundle, which he brought to her. “Here,” he said. “If you'll do something that dangerous, you need to be armed. It's a baby Sig for your purse. The P238 subcompact. We might be able to rig something for small-Âof-Âback carry, but, honestly, with you in those princess clothes, it would show in most of what I've seen you wear.”
She took the Sig Sauer from him, automatically checking the magazine. “Seven rounds,” she said. “Not a lot of firepower.”
“No,” he agreed. “Look at it this way, though. You having to use that means we're all dead.”
She frowned up at him. “Jesus, Gabe.”
“No, I mean it. That thing doesn't come out of your purse except as a last resort. If you pull it and someone sees, your cover's blown.”
“I get it.” She set the handgun on top of her discarded napkin.
“Are you familiar with it?”
“Yes.” She truthfully wasn't any more familiar with it than the dozens of other semi-Âautomatics she'd fired, but a handgun was a handgun, and she was a good shot. She rose from the table, taking herself and her wineglass to the sofa. Where Gabe would be sleeping.
A hand fluttered to her throat. All six-Âfoot-Âplus of hard muscle, sleep-Âmussed hair, and bedroom eyes. She swiveled to face him as he sat next to her on the sofa, curling one leg under her but not quite able to meet his eyes. After a moment, a long finger touched her chin, nudging it up.
“Look at me.” Christina obeyed the soft command. “I'm an expert in my field. I've done executive protection work before, and so have the guys I handpicked for this team. That's what I bring to the table. I shouldn't have said that before, about all of us being dead. Because it's not going to happen.”
She didn't doubt that. Delta Force operators were some of the best trained men in the world. They were very hard to kill.
Gabe shifted closer to her, taking her wineglass and leaning past her to set it on the side table. He smelled clean and somehow light, and the scent of wine on his breath made her slightly dizzy. “I'm having trouble wrapping my head around this. You were incredibly lucky. Now you're trained, but at seventeen . . . ? Experienced undercover agents go missing and are either found dead, or never found at all. I . . . Jesus, you could have . . .”
She couldn't seem to catch her breath as his palms came up to cradle her face. He was upset about something that, years ago, might have happened but hadn't. Flutters moved from her stomach to her heart.
His lips were soft as he brushed them over hers, eyes closing on a sigh. She found herself leaning into him, letting her head fall to his shoulder as he turned his head and captured her lips. Soft, drugging kisses. He tugged her closer, his fingers running up and down her arm. She shivered as his other hand cupped the back of her head.
She had not expected him to be gentle. It disarmed her like nothing else could have, and silenced the voice at the back of her mind shouting that this was the very last thing she should be doing. He kissed her like they had all the time in the world, rubbing his lips back and forth on hers for the sheer pleasure of it. He licked the corner of her mouth, and did it again when she gave a soft moan. Frissons rippled across her shoulders as his fingers brushed her skin.
Dipping into the hot recesses of her mouth, he slid his tongue across hers, tangling them together in gentle union. She shivered, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Taking it for the invitation it was, he tugged her onto his lap. Where she became very aware of the bulge in his trousers as it nestled against her bottom.
“Christina.” The soft note of entreaty did strange things to her stomach.
Humming with feminine power, she pulled his dress shirt from the waistband of his trousers; he helped her. She ran her hands under it, finding bare skin. Finally! The fingers that had itched to touch him for days smoothed across his stomach. He was silk over steel, his abs clenching as her nails ran across his skin. A sound sloughed out of him.
“Again,” he muttered, bringing one of his hands over the top of hers. “Do it again.”
She did, fingers shaking with the need to surround herself with his scent, his feel, his taste. She ran her fingertips up his rock-Âhard chest. His light hair was springy, but the look he gave her was dark and carnal. His hand followed hers up his body until he found her breast pressed into his side, and he paused there, his fingertips brushing across it so lightly she found herself pushing closer, wanting his hand hard on her breast. Instead, he reached down to tug her blouse from her skirt. His long, tapered fingers unfastened the last button first, then moved up her body, his knuckles brushing against sensitized flesh as he worked each tiny stud loose. His concentration was absolute. She felt the heat of his look like a physical caress. When he reached the top, he rubbed his knuckles across her collarbone as he slowly spread the material.
Resisting the urge to cover her chest, Christina instead forced herself to meet his eyes. His gaze scorched her, approval glittering in their depth. Emboldened, she straightened her shoulders, slowly thrusting her breasts forward. Dark promise poured from him as he swept a tongue across his lower lip. Without thinking, she leaned forward to capture that tongue and pull it into her mouth, drawing a hiss from his lips. He crushed her to him, his arms strong bands, his mouth voracious as he ravaged her mouth with kisses. His hands slid up her spine, under the material of the blouse she still wore, and paused at her bra strap. The material loosened.
“Do you have any idea how damned sexy you look, half naked and in my arms?” His voice was hoarse. The truth was, she felt wanton and wild with her blouse open and bra undone. Her hands went to the tie of her wraparound skirt. His beat hers there, nudging hers aside so that he could tug the clip free.
“Come here,” he commanded, picking her up by the waist and turning her so that she straddled him. The wraparound skirt parted and slid up her thighs, allowing her to sink onto the smooth material of his trousers. She rocked against him, and he responded by gripping her hips. “Kiss me.”
Their lips met and dueled. Christina felt feverish as his hands slid to her breasts, cupping them through the peach lace. His thumbs brushed across her nipples. They hardened instantly. She swallowed a moan, bracing her hands on his shoulders, pulling back to look at him. His eyes were wild, almost desperate, and he closed them on a groan.
“Gabe. Look at me.”
Â
G
ABE
CLOSED
HIS
eyes, resting his forehead on her shoulder, shaking as he struggled for control. Finally, he simply wrapped his arms around her and held on. She stroked his hair.
Her fingers sliding against his scalp felt amazing. But he couldn't do this. Not again. Was it cowardice, this need for control? The need to limit lovemaking to the physical? No emotions involved. It wasn't fair to Christina. Women needed affection. Reassurance.
He couldn't give her those things. Wouldn't, no matter how much he might later regret the lost opportunity.
He could give her pleasure, but never his heart. Leanne's betrayal had hardened him. He'd loved her, or thought he did. Never again.
He pulled back, not quite meeting her eyes. Pulling her blouse off her arms, he snagged her bra as well, leaving her naked from the waist up. Sliding his hands up her ribs, he cupped her breasts again, bending to lick across a nipple. She shuddered. He did it again, then drew it into his mouth and suckled, teasing and rolling the nub with his teeth. She gasped and arched.
Inching his hands up her thighs, underneath her skirt, he tortured them both with his leisurely exploration. She reached down, pulled her skirt away and let it fall to the floor. His thumbs reached the apex of her thighs and lingered there, scant millimeters from where he wanted them, but he held himself still as she squirmed and uttered a noise of protest. Finally, he allowed the pads of his thumbs to brush across her core. She cried out, pushing forward, and he pulled his hands away, teasing her. He wanted her wild for him; too wild to realize he'd closed his emotions down. She was incredibly perceptive, and he didn't want her to know.
“Gabe?” She looked uneasily at him. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” He tried to make his voice teasing. “You have my undivided attention.”
She was nearly naked, while he was still fully dressed. Bringing her hands up, she tried to cover herself, but he gripped her wrists lightly and pulled them down again.
“Let me look at you. Your body is a miracle.” He hadn't meant to say it; it just slipped out. She just flat out did it for him. He just couldn't let her know how vulnerable he felt.
She burrowed close, cuddling into his chest. Damn it! She felt that something was off; she just didn't know what.
To distract her, he nibbled along her neck to her ear, and ran his tongue lightly around the delicate shell, pulling another shiver from her. Then, so fast she barely had time to register it, he reversed their positions, laying her along the sofa and nestling between her legs with a groan of delight. Even as she tried to slow him down, tried to still his hands, he pulled her knee up and ground into her.
“Stop. Gabe, stop. I need to . . . think . . .”
He ran his fingers up into her hair, controlling her head for a long, lingering, seductive kiss. “The absolute last thing you need to be doing right now is thinking,” he said in a rough voice. Him, too. “Let me make you feel good.”
That evidently wasn't what she wanted to hear. She pushed against his shoulders and levered herself partway from under him. He stilled his hands and let them drop away.
“What is it?” he asked. But he knew. And, somehow, she did, too.
Christina covered her breasts with shaking hands. “What are we doing here, Gabe? What is this?”
“Christ,” he groaned, his head dropping down to rest on her stomach. “It's been too long for you if you can't figure out what I'm doing.” He ran his hands down her hips to her thighs, hoping her desire would cloud her mind, but she yanked her feet free and pulled them to her chest.
“I'm serious.”
“I was afraid of that.” He pushed himself upright, again not quite meeting her eyes. “What's the problem?”
Christina looked like her head might explode. “What's the
problem
? For starters, we work together. Don't you have rules about that?”
He adjusted himself, trying to get comfortable. His face burned. She had every right to be upset. It was for the best anyway. Getting involved with her physically on any level was a piss-Âpoor idea. Now he just had to fix their working relationship so there wouldn't be any fallout from tonight's activities.
“Nah. I'm allowed to screw Tag if I want to. Which I
so
don't.” He tried a smile, but Christina glared. He realized she sensed she was being played. “You're thinking of an executive protector getting involved with his principal, like Kevin Costner did with that singer in that movie.”
“Whitney Houston,” she said absently.
“Yeah. That one. It's bullshit. A professional would never do that. But you're not my principal. You're my teammate.”
“So, what?” she said, head rearing back. “Tag's not available, so you jump me instead? Is that what this is?”
“Why does it have to
be
something? Why can't we just be two Âpeople enjoying a night?”
Her expression of hurt nearly undid him. He forced himself to release her when she stood, grabbing her bra and putting it on. “No, thanks.”
He ran a hand through his overlong hair, scraping it back from his forehead and then letting it flop forward again. “You're turned on. I did that to you. Let me take care of you.”
“Just sex?” she asked. He kept his face expressionless. “Just two teammates relieving stress, no emotions involved?”
His eyes narrowed and his teeth clamped together. “It's not like that,” he snapped, but his eyes shifted away from her because that's exactly what it was like. What he'd made it, because that's not how it had started out.
“Get out.”
He stood to face her. “It would be good between us. Why deny yourself?”
Only pleasure. No strings attached.
She planted her hands on her hips, but she looked like she might cry. “Dinner's over. Dessert just got canceled.”
A muscle moved in his jaw. “Have it your way. This couch is occupied, though, so unless you want to finish what we started, I suggest you get the hell out of here and go to bed.”
“You're an ass, Gabriel Morgan.”
She scooped up her clothes, turned on her heel, and stomped into the bedroom. It was for the best, he told himself. But he knew he would get no sleep tonight.