Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (32 page)

Instead of taking her fast and hard, and pounding into her until he was spent, as he planned, she turned her beautiful face to the side and sighed his name. He couldn’t just gaze at her profile while he pumped into her. When he bent to kiss her ear, her mouth found his. She reached behind her back and his, holding him to her with his forearm. He changed the pace of his body to give him time to savor the taste of her mouth.

Next thing he knew he was holding her tightly across her chest with one arm, his fingers kneading her breasts, while his other hand reached around and he was softly fingering her where they were joined. The hard fuck he had planned became an extended caress of the joining of two bodies that perfectly fit together, the kind of caress that spelled love even more than words. As her moans grew louder, he used the pads of his index finger and thumb to work her clitoris, gently thrusting up and flexing into her, until she lifted her hands, palms flat on the wall, and arched her hips back as she climaxed, meeting his thrusts with a backwards hip motion. “Zeus. Oh. Zeus.”

Upon hearing his name, the tight, pulsing feel of her walls drew an extended climax from him, every moment of it making the heartache she caused him worthwhile. As he arched into her and peaked, he knew that he could handle any amount of pain she caused, as long as it came with such exquisite, mind-numbing release.

After, he held her as they both leaned against the wall. “Why is sex always so good with you?” Eyes closed, she whispered her question as though she wasn’t expecting an answer.

“Not sex. Don’t you understand?” Planting kisses along her hairline, he wasn’t afraid to admit the truth to himself, or to her. “Whenever I touch you, I’m making love.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

London, England

Sunday, February 6

Annoying as hell rhythmic beats of low background music resonated throughout
Tapas de los Dioses
. A bottle of Dom Perignon produced a soft pop as the cork came out. Zeus had positioned himself so he could see Sam and McDougall in his peripheral vision. Stationed fifteen paces away from her in the intimate Soho restaurant, Zeus was both too far, and too close

Eye aversion was a learned skill. He’d done enough time in his early career as a bodyguard to know how not to look directly at the package. And he couldn’t forget that Sam was the package. Not the woman he loved, but the person he was tasked to protect.

He knew how to observe everything they did, everything that needed to be seen in the narrow, rectangular restaurant, without staring. His direct gaze was on the door leading to the street, and his back was to the right of the door that led to the kitchen.

Sam would stand out wherever she was, and in whatever she wore. Tonight, seated in one of ten, six-top crescent-shaped booths in the stark black and cream restaurant, she was breathtakingly beautiful. She wore a sea-foam green, softly touchable-looking sweater dress that exposed her collarbones and conformed to every luscious curve. Close up, the color made her eyes look like light, exquisite jade. Tonight, but for the drive over, he wasn’t the one getting to enjoy the color of her eyes. McDougall was so fucking close to her he was almost occupying the same space.

Backup, asshole, she isn’t on the menu tonight.

But she is.

And the fact that Zeus had to stand here, stoic and invisible while it all happened, ate at his gut.

Soft light from chandeliers in a variety of styles and sizes hung over crescent-shaped booths. Candles on the table where Sam and McDougall sat added to golden light that reflected off her creamy skin. A white marble bar top extending the full length of the south wall, was backed by illuminated glass shelves that made bottles of liquor look like an art installation.

Her smile—directed at McDougall—was radiant. It hurt his fucking heart to see her look at another man that way. Fingernails scraping along a chalkboard would have grated on his nerves less.

McDougall had orchestrated a relaxed meal. Chef Diego, a rising star in the world of celebrity chefs, had closed his newest restaurant for the private dinner. Private as in: Sam, McDougall, and eight bodyguards. Four agents from EDGE, and four Black Raven agents, including Zeus. The remainder of the restaurant, with its white tablecloths and fresh flowers on each table, was dim. The warm light on the happy couple made their table for two the focus of the room, and the focus of Zeus’s attention, whether he liked it or not.

Not.

According to Ragno, before becoming a chef with a flair for creating restaurants that became instant hits, Daniel Diego had gone to Harvard for his undergraduate degree in marketing. He’d met McDougall there, and they’d become friends. The good-looking chef, of medium build and stature, with slick-backed, jet-black hair, had popped the cork for the couple himself and was pouring the golden liquid into two crystal flutes.

“Please, stay and dine with us,” Sam said to Diego, her voice carrying across the empty space, to where Zeus stood like a fifth wheel, his dick in his hand.

“Samantha, I’m the chef. I’m actually cooking tonight. Your security teams insisted on minimal personnel.” Diego chuckled. “Which means I have to actually work.”

“At least have a glass of champagne with us,” she insisted, “then cook.”

“Don’t even try to resist her, Diego. Pour yourself a glass of champagne and sit for a few minutes.” McDougall’s voice was deep. Authoritative. Steady. Confident.

Fuck.

Of course his voice would be perfect.

“My guiding principle with Samantha is to give her what she wants. She doesn’t ask for much, but what she wants, she will get. One way, or another.”

Amen.

Did he know that just a few hours ago Sam had melted in his arms? Did McDougall give a damn that when she came, it was Zeus’s name she called?
Over and fucking over again?

Diego lifted his hand. At his signal, a waiter brought him a crystal flute. He poured himself a glass, and sat in the booth next to Sam.

Hell. This night will last forever.

Since Zeus had thrown the suicide bomber over the bridge on Thursday evening, he and Sam hadn’t been able to get enough of each other when the doors were closed and when both could take a break from their never-ending work. They hadn’t talked more about personal issues, which was fine with him, because in the early hours of Friday morning he’d said what he needed to say.

On Friday afternoon, the last day of the trial in Paris, the judges ruled on the motions they considered on Thursday. The judges denied the Colombian motion for a mistrial, granted the French motion to enlarge the record, and granted Sam’s motion to interview Vladimer Stollen.

Later that evening, in bed, between other activities, they’d worked their way through a box of almond, strawberry, coconut, and chocolate macarons to celebrate Sam’s victories on the motions. Zeus had enjoyed pointing out that U.K. Judge Normand, the male judge who couldn’t tear his eyes from her as she argued, voted in Sam’s favor on each of the arguments she’d made.

With proceedings beginning in London on Monday morning, the Amicus team had transitioned to London on Saturday morning. Sam’s suite of rooms had a set up similar to her rooms in Paris—which meant there was plenty of private space for him and Sam to go at it upon their arrival in London the day before.

She hadn’t given any indication she was interested in further conversation. She was damn well smart enough to understand what he meant when he told her the ball was in her court. And he damn well knew her continued silence regarding personal issues with him, and now her glittering eyes and light, happy, positively-fucking-floating demeanor with Prince Charming, was a response.

Her body
.

It was all she had offered, and it was what he hadn’t been too proud to take. Until now, as her soft laughter drifted to him, he swore to himself he was done.

D-O-N-E.

Under other circumstances, Zeus would’ve liked McDougall. Would’ve liked that intel painted him as a smart, hard-worker who honestly cared about his constituents. Would have liked that so far McDougall was navigating the murky D.C. waters with integrity, which wasn’t always the norm. Would have liked the fact that though the guy came from a rarified world of privilege and money, he seemed like a normal guy. The kind of guy who was happy that his brother had become a star NFL quarterback, the kind who went to sporting events and cheered, wearing a jersey and baseball cap, with popcorn in hand.

The kind who truly loved his golden retriever, Tricks, who photographers captured as they walked the D.C. streets. The kind of guy who was smart enough not to be photographed with every good-looking woman who had to be lining up to be with him. The kind of guy who tried hard to keep his personal life under wraps, though being with Sam at every charity and political event in D.C. had lifted some of the wrapping.

Hell.
He would’ve liked that so far, in person, the guy seemed a bit quiet and subdued, as though he was a steady, well-grounded thinker. Zeus would’ve even liked the guy’s easy smile—which reminded Zeus of his brother Gabe’s smile—and the dimples that made McDougall look not only handsome, but approachable.

Would’ve liked him but for the fact that Sam had made it perfectly clear she wasn’t breaking up with the guy and planned to eventually marry him.

Hell, but the guy even has a dimple on his chin.

Zeus guessed women melted when they saw it. To Zeus, the dimple made the man look like his chin was a butt.

In addition to the sea-foam green sweater dress that Justin was going to watch slip from her body, Sam wore the red lipstick that drove Zeus crazy. The color he’d dubbed Sex-and-Blowjobs-Red.

Had she done that on purpose? She goddamn knew the lipstick lit him up, because she’d teased him with it the night before, applying a layer of dewy gloss over her red-kissed lips, before easing her beautiful, moist, mouth onto his hard, strain—

“Zeus?” Ragno’s timing was perfect. Flashbacking, with crystal-clear hindsight, about the best blowjob he’d ever received in his life was pretty goddamn stupid under these circumstances.

“Yep.”

“Your ears only. Where are you positioned?”

“Raven’s view.” Meaning my eyes are on my client, who was sitting between Diego and McDougall, both of whom were focused on her as she laughed at something Diego said.

Ragno’s sigh of exasperation filtered over the airwaves. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Doing my job.” He shifted on his feet, nodding to an EDGE agent as he stepped through the swinging door that led to the kitchen.

“Jenkins could’ve taken the lead tonight.”

“Best if I see this.”

It will help me get over her, so I’m standing up, like a man, taking the punch on my solid, square chin, which doesn’t have a fucking ridiculous butt-looking dimple. And which is only made of glass with her.

“So how can I help you get through it?” Tone low, voice worried, Ragno sounded like she wasn’t going away.

Glancing at Sam, he watched Diego lean closer to her. The dark-eyed man bent to kiss her on the cheek, but instead of Diego’s eyes lingering on Sam, they were focused on McDougall, whose blue eyes held Diego’s gaze. It was a long enough moment for something to click for Zeus. He shrugged it off.

Sam giggled at something they said.

Giggling?

Holy shit. Sam didn’t giggle.

Not with you, dumbshit.

“Zeus?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Diego walked towards Zeus, to the kitchen door. Before pushing the door open, Diego leaned into Zeus, patted him on the arm, and with a welcoming grin, said, “I’m preparing enough food for all of the security. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Appreciate it. But we don’t eat on duty.” As Diego slipped through the swinging door, Zeus said, “Ragno. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Zeus, you’re my Polaris.”

He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Sweet of you.”

“Hell—you’re Polaris for everyone at Black Raven. Our North Star. Our guiding light. Steady. Always there, giving comfort in your absolute pragmatic brilliance, bravery, stoicism, and wisdom.”

“Hell, you really are worried about me.”

“Yes. This is the first time I’ve ever known you to be shaken. So, whether you like it or not, I’m not going anywhere until Senator McDougall is on his jet and headed back to the States. Flight pattern says his wheels will be up at 8 a.m. Sam plans to depart his hotel at 6:30 a.m. Means you have ten and a half more hours to deal with them together.”

“Not just the next ten and a half hours. A lifetime.” Self-pity bubbled up from his feet and spilled from his mouth before he could stop it. “Never should’ve taken this fucking job.”

“You’ll shake her off. She’s got issues, Zeus. Issues that she’s got to want to overcome. For some reason, you bring out every single one of her insecurities. She feels safer with him. That’s all you’re seeing tonight.”

“I know.” He drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Payback’s a bitch. I made a mess of things years ago. This is what karma is handing me. I’m really only getting what I deserve. You don’t have to babysit me.”

“Not babysitting you. Just taking this little walk through your personal hell with you. Friends do such things.”

He exhaled, watching as McDougall and Sam finished their champagne and a waiter stepped forward to pour more. She was laughing at something McDougall said, and her laughter faded to a giggle.

Jesus. Fucking. H. Christ.

Next to the night his father had died, this was going to be the longest night of his entire freaking life.

The. Longest.

He needed to think about something other than the way Sam looked so comfortable and happy with McDougall. The way their eyes held when they talked. The way she laughed with him, the absolute ease they seemed to have with each other, the way they appeared as though they were the best of friends. The way her eyes shone with happiness with McDougall, but how with him, the shine came from unshed tears.

He makes her happy, dumb fuck, while you make her come and you make her cry. What kind of life could that possibly add up to?

Dammit, he wasn’t going to make it through the night if all he did was think of how damn good they looked together and how she looked more effervescent than the goddamn champagne. Diego’s lingering look on McDougall hadn’t been all that odd. Diego was world-famous, and didn’t hide the fact that he was gay. What was odd about that lingering glance was the way McDougall returned the glance.

And there were other facts—
holy fuck
!

Turning and walking to the far corner of the bar, Zeus found a vantage point on Sam’s table that was as far away as he could be. They were out of earshot, and so was he. No EDGE agents were within earshot, and the Black Raven agents were all stationed elsewhere. He lowered his voice to a whisper that only Ragno would be able to detect through the mic. “Could McDougall be gay?”