The Perfect Hostage (A Super Agent Novella) (Entangled Edge) (4 page)

“The team is covered. Relax.”

They loaded the gifts, some of the leftovers, and a very pregnant Zara into Lawson’s vehicle. She and Lucie hugged and promised to call each other.

And then it was just Lucie and John, watching them drive away.

Chapter Four

John watched as Lucie closed the door, set the security system, and turned to him with a nervous smile on her face. “What should we do first?”

Screw each other blind
.

Whoa, boy
. “Um, what do
you
want to do first?”

Her eyes widened slightly, as if she were surprised he would ask.

Did she think he lacked that much control? That he would grab her and strip her naked right here in front of God and country instead of waiting for her to make the first move?

Her assessment was spot on, then. Grabbing her, he brought her up against his body. Kissed her. Hard.

Too hard.

He didn’t know what he thought she’d do. Back away? Slap him? Tell him to slow down? Beg for more? After all, she hadn’t hesitated in the kitchen.

Exhaling hard, she drew back. “Give me your phone.”

He scanned her face, her lips, her neck. What was she up to? “Why?”

Her answer was to crook her fingers in a
give it to me
gesture.

Whatever it took to get her naked. He fished the cell phone from his pocket, handed it to her. Smiling, she walked across the floor to the fireplace and shut off the phone. Laid it on the mantel. Hers was already there. “No phones. Not this weekend.”

Hardball. Now they were well and truly alone. No interruptions. No outside influences. Just her and him.

It felt weird. Being disconnected from the world and being so connected to a
person
.

Since that person was Lucie, it also felt right.

Shit
. His chest tightened. For a second, he had to focus on breathing. That kind of connection was off-limits. The physical stuff? Yeah, he could handle that. But that was it. He’d get her naked, get his hands and his mouth on her. Drive her wild just one more time. And then he’d stay the fuck away.

He stalked toward her. “Aren’t you hot with all those clothes on?”

A repeat of the kitchen incident, she fell into his arms, going after him as fast he did her. He positioned her against the wall, hiking up the skirt of her dress with no small amount of force. He wanted her, and he was living for the here and now. Tomorrow was a long time away.

In the here and now, she wanted him, too, by the way she was kissing him back. She ripped off his shirt, for good this time, and threw it on the floor. Spread her legs and brought one of his hands down to her panties.

His fingers stroked the soft silk and she moaned, rubbing herself against him and urging his fingers on.

Happy to oblige.

He shoved the black silk down her legs until it fell on her pink shoes. A fitting contrast. Her perfect legs, his BDUs. Her manicured nails, his clean but stained ones from years in the field.

Her future as a billionaire’s daughter. His past as a fucked-up redneck with no family and a chip on his shoulder.

She was going to regret this tomorrow, sure as shit. He’d rescued her from a terrorist and now she had some type of hero worship going on, but it was time to exorcise that demon once and for all. This rendezvous needed to wake her up to the reality that he didn’t belong in her world, her life. He’d be nothing more than a mistake. An embarrassing mistake she’d brush under the rug at her feet when she realized he wasn’t the hero she’d made him out to be.

Nevertheless, the thought ripped at his heart. He stopped kissing her, stopped touching her. “Lucie, are you sure about this?”

Hands around his neck, she met his gaze with half-lidded, determined eyes. Or was that anger he saw flash in them?

She was pissed? Because he’d slowed things down and took time to ask her what she wanted? He would never understand women.

Gripping his neck tighter, she drew his face to hers. “I need you, John. Now.”

Call to duty.

His fingers found the spot they sought and Lucie melted. She said something in French he didn’t understand, but he understood her body language.

A few more strokes and she whimpered. His erection jumped at the sound. She caught his hand and moved his fingers in a quicker rhythm, her other hand cupping him through his BDUs.

Heaven.

She climaxed. As she went over, arching her back, John slid a finger inside. Slick. Wet.
So perfect.

Her body arched harder at the invasion and she clung to him, shifting away, and begging for more at the same time.

More it was.

Her legs sagged and he lifted her, carrying her to the immense sofa. Her shoes fell off as he walked, and he kicked off his boots as well. At the sofa, he lifted the dress over her head, fumbled with her bra as his eyes devoured her breasts. Once freed, they popped into his hands and his mouth caught one, then the other, needing to taste her.

She unfastened his pants and he made quick work of losing them, letting his gaze linger on her body, naked and glowing in the light from the fireplace. A small, sly smile spread over her lips as he tossed off the last bits of his clothing and stood there admiring her body while his was on full display.

In a flash she moved on him, her eyes focused on his erection. Before she went down on her knees, he caught her by the wrist. “Not this time, darlin’. This time you belong to me.”

Drawing him to the sofa, she lay down, spreading her legs wide. “Hard. Deep. Fast.”

Orders? She was giving
him
orders?

How about that
. “Yes, ma’am.”

He snagged a condom from his wallet and put it on, her eyes still trained on his cock. She reached out to help roll it on, and his erection danced under her fingers. Pinning her greedy hand to her side, he climbed onto the sofa. She laughed, a light, sexy sound that filled him with a need so strong, he almost buried himself in her soft folds with one thrust. Instead, he brought the laughter to an abrupt halt by slowly, inch by inch, pushing himself inside her.

She bucked, trying to make him move faster.

He didn’t.

What he did do was sink deeper. All…the…way…

Home.

Her legs went round him, clamping him tight. Her hips rose to meet his. “Oh, John.”

Home
. The word rattled around in his head. He tried not to think about it. About anything but the sex, but Lucie was so perfect beneath him, her voice so right in his ear, all he could do was think.

Lucie. Home.
My
home
.

Not a place. A person.

The thought shocked him. Instinctively, he reared back.

He didn’t go far. Lucie’s legs clamped tighter, refusing to let him go. When he looked in her eyes, the word knocked around in his brain again.

Home.

Fuck.

He didn’t want a home. Didn’t need one.

Didn’t need anyone. Never had.

Stop thinking
, he demanded of his frontal lobe.
Take no prisoners
.

He kissed her deeply, thoroughly. Began his descent again, slowing her down, forcing her to match his rhythm. Drawing himself out, he kept control of her hips, kissed her neck, and tweaked a nipple.

Her eyes were glazed. Was that a sheen of tears in them or was the firelight casting weird shadows?

Had he hurt her? Been too rough? Shit. “You okay?” he whispered.

“Better than okay.” She confirmed it by tweaking one of his nipples in return and trailing kisses over his cheek and down his neck. “But I need more.”

Ordering him around again. He was starting to like it. He released her wrist, reached between them, and touched her. Right.
There
.

Bingo. She whimpered again and the sexy sound made him realize he was close. Too close. But she was, too. Maybe it was time to give the lady what she wanted.

He drove himself in, ramping up his touch at the same time. She moved with him, eyes still open and watching him. “Harder.”

Out. In. Lucie’s sweet heat taking him fully. Releasing and begging for more.

Another retreat. Another advance.

“John—”

Bam
, she exploded. Gritting his teeth to hold back his own release, he rode the orgasm with her, milking it. After a few seconds, she looked at him, spread her legs wider, and breathed softly. “Come for me.”

Another order. One he couldn’t help but follow. He came in a rush, blinding and perfect in its pleasure. Lust and love crashing together and taking the edge off the anger always riding him. Freeing him from the past. Planting a seed of hope for the future.

Home.

Slowing his breathing, he blocked the thought, wrapped her in his arms and shifted their bodies to take his weight off her.

Lucie snuggled into his chest. “
Le petit mort
,” she murmured with a sigh. “So good.”

He might have been from Texas, but he knew what the French idiom meant.
A little death
. The moment of release.

He’d released more than months of sexual frustration. More than anger. More, in fact, than he could identify. His heart felt lighter. His brain, calmer.

Rubbing her back, he smiled into the shadows that had fallen during their lovemaking, the coming hours stretching out in front of him like a shiny, new coin dying to be spent. The night wasn’t over yet, so when she moved against him a few minutes later, he kissed her, caressed her breasts, and nuzzled her neck.

He was ready for his next set of orders.

…

John stood at the master suite window early the next morning looking down on his truck. The familiar itch burning under his skin told him it was time to leave. The pain knotting itself like a rope in his chest when he considered it said different.

He’d gone out to the truck to retrieve his overnight bag and found himself hesitating at the door. So easy to jump in and drive away, but he didn’t want to. Now he stared at the footprints in the snow leading back and forth and thought about Lucie. Every time he walked away, he ended up coming back.

In the adjacent bathroom, he heard the shower start. Her voice called to him over the noise, “What do you want for breakfast?”

The image of Lucie, warm and wet under the hot water, made his body harden. “You,” he answered.

She laughed. “You like eggs, yes? I brought bacon, too.”

Who would’ve thought he’d still be here, talking about something as ordinary as what to have for breakfast? All night they’d talked and laughed and fucked, that same easiness between them that John had never felt with another woman.

An easiness that scared him.

Yet, here he was, discussing breakfast options. Outside, his truck sat in a bed of snow. It would take an hour to unbury it, clear off the drive. Meanwhile, the storm raged, daring him to try. But it was nothing compared to the storm inside his heart.

A smart man would hightail it to the shower, grab the soap, and wash her back and all those other body parts he loved so much. A smart man would go cook the eggs and bacon and work hard to make her laugh again.

But then, a smart man would enjoy the way she looked at him all the time with her heart in her eyes. Those beautiful, emotion-filled eyes…she was hungry for love, not just sex, and while he’d pretended it didn’t matter, it did.

Shit
. Why was he still here?

Because once I had her in front of me again, once I tasted her lips and heard those
words—John, I need
you—I couldn’t let her go. I couldn’t leave
.

Not this time.

Running away was for pussies. In the line of duty, he’d never run from anything. In his private life, it was just the opposite. He was tired of running from people, from his own fucking emotions. Maybe with Lucie he didn’t have to.

Home.

He glanced at the truck again. The freedom it offered suddenly didn’t appeal.

Wandering over to the open bathroom door, he took a deep breath. Leaned on the jamb. He didn’t have to leave. He could stay, explore this thing—whatever it was—with Lucie, and not panic.

“Eggs and bacon would be perfect,” he said, watching her through the frosted glass. Ordinary conversation the morning after. A first for him. He liked it.

“I’ll make some scones, too,” she said, washing her hair. She leaned back into the water stream, her breasts on glorious display behind the glass.

John’s cock twitched, but he stayed rooted where he was, forcing himself to soak in this ordinary, mundane moment of “normal.” The type of normal he’d never had.

Was this what Lawson had with Zara?

John’s chest still felt tight, and the itch to leave lingered under his skin, but normal wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. In fact, he felt…content.

Huh. Another first.

Lost in his thoughts, he was surprised when the shower shut off. Lucie opened the door, grabbed a towel, and stepped out. When she saw his face, her brows knit into a frown. “If you don’t like scones, I’ll make toast.”

“Um…sure.” He tried to concentrate on the breakfast selection, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to freeze this moment. “Lucie?”

She toweled her wet hair, the frown dissipating. “Yes?”

Standing still, he just stared at her, trying to work out what he’d been thinking. Wanting to tell her that he was staying, that he hoped to stay longer than breakfast. Longer, maybe, than the weekend.

He started to speak, stopped.
Tell her.

Wrapping the towel around her body, she noticed his struggle, and her eyes grew wary. “What is it?”

His jaw clamped tight as a vise, refusing to let the words out.

She stepped toward him. “
Ça va
? Are you okay?”

Backing up, he shook his head. No, he wasn’t fucking okay. A knot had formed in his chest. He was stupid, foolish.

Scared.

Don’t be a pussy.

“I’m… I want to…” Jesus. What was wrong with him?

Her face fell, the light in her eyes dimming. “You are leaving then? Before breakfast?”

The hurt in her voice was too much. Way too much. They’d been here before—him bailing—so what else did she expect? He turned, faced the wall, wanting to put his fist in it.