Twisted (34 page)

“It’s in front.”

His gaze landed on her black-lace demi bra, and he immediately dipped his head down and kissed her breast, right through the fabric. She moaned and arched against him as his hands closed around her waist. She combed her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer. His mouth felt so good. His hands, his skin, everything about him felt good. His warm fingertips dipped into the back of her jeans and sent a shiver of lust through her.

She pulled back and looked up at him. She gripped his biceps for balance as she unzipped her boots and kicked them aside. His eyes glinted down at her, and she unbuttoned her jeans and tugged the zipper down. He pulled them down her legs, and she stepped out of them and she leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily, just as he was.

He reached for the lamp, and suddenly she was standing in a halo of light.

“Hey!” She brought her arms up to cover herself.

“I want to see you.” His voice was rough, but his hands were gentle as he took her wrists and lowered her arms to her sides. They were both soaked and winded
and flushed, and she felt self-conscious being thrust into the spotlight, even a dim one from a forty-watt bulb.

But then she watched him watching her. Her skin heated as his gaze moved over her slowly, as if he wanted to memorize her body. She wasn’t voluptuous by any stretch, but standing before him now in her lacy underwear, she felt more feminine and desirable than she had in her entire life. She’d never ignited this kind of need in someone, and the fact that she’d somehow done it with
this
man made her feel a surge of giddiness. She liked him. She respected him. And the fact that he’d come looking for her with that possessive glint in his eyes made her ridiculously happy. She should know better than to let that matter to her, but at this moment she wanted to enjoy the rush.

She grabbed his tie and pulled him to her for a kiss. His mouth was hot, fierce. His hands gripped her hips and he made a low, male sound in his throat as he pinned her against the wall. She loved the fact that she made him like this—raw and greedy—when the rest of the time he was so damn civilized.

She tugged at the knot of his tie, and together they got it loose. She pulled it from his collar and tossed it over the chair. Then she leaned against the wall and watched as he made quick work of removing his holster and belt, dumping everything on the dresser. He took a condom from his wallet and tossed it on the bed behind him.

Then he stepped closer and stood before her, watching her as he unbuttoned his cuffs. There was something so manly about the way he did it. He had thick wrists and strong hands. She eased closer and gazed up at him
as she slid her palms over the crisp fabric of his shirt and started moving her hands down the buttons and opening them one by one.

“I like watching you do that,” he said.

She lifted a brow. “I like doing it.”

She peeled off his shirt. His undershirt stretched taut over his chest. She slid her hands under it and lifted it over his head, then dropped it on the floor. She traced the contours of his chest, running her fingers through the hair and admiring how masculine he looked in the lamplight. He had a thick scar on his collarbone she hadn’t noticed last time.

“What?”

“Nice view.”

He smiled slightly as he rested his palm against the wall behind her and leaned in to kiss her. It was hot, passionate, and she curled her fingers into his hair to bring him closer. Her body thrummed with the anticipation of what she knew was coming. He was very good at this, and he made her feel good at it, too, and she wanted to enjoy it for exactly what it was.

He pressed his weight against her, then cupped his hand around her thigh and pulled it up by his hip. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts. His stubble scraped over her skin, and she arched against him, wanting more of that, too.

“Hold on to me,” he said gruffly, and she gripped his shoulders as he lifted her other leg and pinned her against the wall.

She moaned with pleasure, but the sound was muffled against his mouth. He felt solid and strong, and the ridge pressing against her was setting her on fire. He flicked
open her bra clasp now and cupped his palm around her breast.

“Mark,” she gasped.

He hitched her higher against the wall and she gasped again.

This was going too fast, much too fast. Her heart was racing now. She felt the heat building inside her, and she knew it was going to be over soon, when she’d wanted to savor it.

“Mark, the bed.”

He tightened his grip and carried her the few steps. The mattress squeaked as he rested his knee on it and eased her down. He quickly shucked the rest of his clothes as she untangled the bra from her arm and tossed it aside. He leaned on the bed again and hooked his fingers into the black lace at her hips and slid her panties down her legs.

His gaze moved over her body and then lifted to her face. “You’re beautiful.”

She went still at the compliment. He looked so serious. So sincere. He looked almost . . . sad, for some reason, as though he had regrets about being here with her.

“Hey,” she whispered. “No guilt.”

The muscle in his jaw tightened, and she knew she’d managed to read him.

“I know what this is,” she said.

“What is this?”

“Temporary.” She kissed him. “And it’s okay.”

He gazed down at her for a long moment. And then he kissed her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him in close, and moved against him to show him what she wanted. And then the sadness—if it had ever
been there—was gone. The passion was back again, taking over everything and making the entire world about this room and this moment.

Allison soaked it in. Every touch. Every sound. Every look. He was leaving tomorrow, and she couldn’t control that. But this moment was within her reach, and she knew what she wanted. She pushed his shoulders back and sat up.

“Here,” she whispered, pushing him back against the bed. She loved the look on his face as she settled onto his lap and guided his hands up her body to cup her breasts. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back and let his hands stroke her. And like before, he knew. He read every sigh and every shiver and knew just where to touch her to make the heat build.

Then he took her wrists and pulled her up the bed, so he was leaning back against the headboard. She settled on his lap again and this time she opened herself up to him and pleasure speared through her. She flattened her palms against the wall and leaned forward, rolling her hips, making the pleasure mount as he touched her and licked her and kissed her into a frenzy. She’d thought she was in control this time, but she wasn’t at all. He rocked inside of her, pushing her closer and closer to that sharp edge, making it impossible for her to turn back time. And then just when she thought it was about to end, he lifted her up and flipped her onto her back. He shifted her beneath him and plunged into her, and her world exploded into a million pinpoints of light. But instead of drifting back down to earth, the lights coalesced again as he drove himself into her over and over.

“Allison.”

She opened her eyes and saw that his face was taut. The muscles in his neck strained as he hovered over her waiting for her to—

“Yes,”
she gasped.

His muscles bunched under her hands. A sound tore from his throat as his body bucked and her world exploded all over again.

Allison had slipped out at dawn. She was so stealthy about it that when Mark woke to the sound of the door closing, his gaze automatically went to the dresser to check for his wallet. It was still there, along with his gun. The one thing missing from the room had been her.

Mark should have predicted it. He should have known her comment back at the bar about his motel room being closer had nothing to do with how hot she was for him and everything to do with her pride. She couldn’t let him make a habit of leaving first, so she’d wanted to be on
his
turf, so
she
could leave. He understood her motivations, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed off.

Now, at the airport ticket counter, Mark took out his wallet and flipped it open. He handed his credit card to the smiling agent who was charging him a ridiculous amount of money to get on the 10:50 into Reagan National. Even with no delays, the flight would barely get him to Quantico in time for his rescheduled meeting—which besides costing Mark a
fortune to attend had earned him an ass-chewing by the deputy director. Doretti didn’t appreciate having his orders ignored.

“Will that be credit or debit?” the agent asked.

“Credit,” Mark said, and she remained relentlessly cheerful as she swiped his card.

Mark stared down at his wallet and went back over the night in his head. He’d made love to Allison three times—the last one well after midnight when he’d nudged her awake and she’d eagerly pulled him on top of her. She’d wrapped those runner’s legs around him and sent him to the moon.

A few hours later, she’d left without a word.

Mark should feel relieved. No strings attached, no hurt feelings, no dramatic scenes. It was the best-case scenario—he should be glad about it.

Instead, he was edgy. And frustrated. He’d spent the entire morning with the gnawing feeling that he was making a mistake here, a big one. Damned if he could pinpoint what it was exactly, but every instinct was telling him not to leave.

“And are you checking a bag with us today, sir?”

“No.”

Mark’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he answered it without looking at the number. If it was Allison, he was going to let loose and tell her exactly what he thought of her sneaky little exit.

“Wolfe.”

“Hey.” Pause. “You sound pissed.”

It was his brother. Mark bit back a curse as he stuffed his credit card back in his wallet.

“What’s going on?” Mark asked. Liam rarely called him unless he needed something.

“You got a minute?” he asked. “I could use your help.”

The agent was smiling again. “We only have a bulkhead seat left. Hope that’s okay.”

Mark held his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he collected his paperwork and stepped away from the counter. “What do you need?”

“I hear you’re in Texas.”

“Leaving Texas.” Mark picked up his bag and looked around, reminding himself which airport he was in today.

“Damn, I was hoping you could do a quick favor for me while you’re there.”

“I’m getting on a plane. Why? What gives?” Mark cut through the mob of travelers and headed for the security gate.

“I’ve got a client in Austin. I wanted you to swing by and meet him for me, give me your take.”

“What, you don’t trust him?”

“I don’t trust anybody.”

It was a typical Liam thing to say. Typical Mark, too. They were a lot alike, and sometimes even their careers overlapped. Liam ran his own security consulting business and occasionally asked Mark for help, such as a quick profile on some nutjob who was stalking one of his clients. Or sometimes the nutjob was the client.

Mark bypassed the mile-long line and showed his badge to an official at the Authorized Personnel Only gate. The official held out a blue-gloved hand, and Mark gave him the leather folio containing his Bureau ID.

“Sorry, Liam. My flight boards in fifteen minutes.”

“Any chance you could—”

“No.”

Silence.

“Man, you are pissed. What’s the problem? I bet it’s that woman, isn’t it?”

“What woman?”

“Whoever it is you’re seeing down there.” He heard laughter in his brother’s voice, which ticked him off. “You think I didn’t notice your reaction to Trisha getting knocked up?”

“What reaction?”

“Exactly.”

The security official glanced from Mark’s face to the picture, then took his boarding pass and scribbled something. Mark watched his gloved hand and noticed that he was a lefty, just like Liam.

The man handed back the boarding pass, and Mark stared down at it. Suddenly his blood ran cold.

“Mark? You there?”

The guard waved him through, but Mark’s feet seemed cemented to the ground. Meanwhile, his thoughts were racing.

You know he’s left-handed, right?
He pictured Allison, back at the pool hall. He saw her feminine little fist coming at him in a fake punch.

“Mark?”

“Let me call you back.”

Allison turned off the pitted road leading to Jordan’s house onto the smooth asphalt of the highway. Not even noon, and already she felt wiped out. She could hardly think straight, hardly focus—and laser-sharp focus was
typically her strength. She blamed her current condition on stress, an unusual number of bumps and bruises, and not nearly enough sleep.

Last night, for example, she’d barely had any.

Tears stung her eyes, and she angrily blinked them back. God, what was wrong with her? She didn’t cry over men. It was a point of pride. And yet lately all her emotions were in turmoil. Somehow Mark Wolfe strode into her life and had managed to unlock all her most carefully guarded feelings. How had she let this happen, and in so short a time? She felt stupid and reckless and—worst of all—she felt weak.