White Heat (27 page)

It was like standing inside a perfect, gender-neutral gift box.

A blue-green velvet chaise was spotlit by a reading lamp that matched the bronze table lamp on a small Queen Anne desk across the room. It was elegant and sophisticated. And all Emily cared about was a shower, and seeing Max.

Tossing her tote on the foot of the bed, she bent down and unzipped her boots, then kicked them off. Happy to be out of heels, she wiggled her toes. The chocolate colored carpet was lush and soft underfoot. Ah. Happy toes.

Someone had left her suitcase—the one she’d packed a lifetime ago to take to Seattle—on a folding rack. Her clothes had been pressed and hung in a freestanding armoire.

“Thank you, whoever you are.” Figuring that if her clothes were hung up, the mysterious somebodies had probably taken her toiletries to the bathroom, she went to check.

“Okay. I could live in here.” The glass—fronted shower stall, tiled in ocean-colored, iridescent mosaic glass tiles, took up the entire back wall, and was big enough for six or eight people. There was a sunken tub, too, but she preferred showering, and this one was going to be hers, all hers for at least half an hour, or when the hot water ran out.

Stripping, Emily tossed her clothes in the corner and turned on all twelve massaging showerheads. The steam would come next. Taking her shampoo in with her, she closed the door and lifted her face to the spray. Only one thing could make this even more blissful—

The door snicked open, letting in a draft of cool air.

Perfect, perfect timing. “Hello, Max.”

Fourteen

‘‘WE HAVE A SERIOUS WATER RESTRICTION IN THIS SECTION of the building,” Max told her sternly, stepping into the shower stall and shutting the door. He was gloriously naked. He plucked the plastic bottle out of her hand, and poured a dollop of rose-scented shampoo into his own palm.

Water sluiced over his tanned chest, and clung lovingly to the crisp dark hair arrowing down his body to his groin. He was
very
happy to see her.

She arched a brow “And I suppose operatives have to double up to conserve water?”

He turned her around, so her back was toward him, then slid his fingers into her wet hair, cradling her head between his soapy palms. “Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for God and country” His hard penis pressed against the cleft of her ass as he wedged a knee between her thighs.

“I suddenly feel
very
patriotic,” she murmured throatily, resting her butt against his throbbing erection as he massaged shampoo into her hair with strong fingers. Bliss.

Her concentration was in no way divided just because he was shampooing and trailing a cool tongue across her shoulder at the same time. The sensation of him laying her skin while she was off balance in his arms was highly erotic, and it said a lot about their relationship.

Not that she wanted to analyze the symbolism of this position at the moment.

For now it was just another way to express how much she lo— she caught herself—wanted him.
She turned around, curling her fingers around his broad shoulders for purchase as he kissed his way over and around her sensitive breasts, his fingers spread on her back, bending her away from him and bracing her as his mouth moved slowly, maddeningly down her body. He sucked a nipple into the warmth of his mouth, nibbling the tight bud with his teeth, stroking it with the slightly rough surface of his tongue until she moaned. And all the oxygen was sucked out of her lungs at the piercingly sweet sensation.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she managed, as his lips moved slowly down to her belly button while he supported her over his arm. He was, apparently, fascinated by her tattoo. “But all the blood is draining to my head.”

Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her upright. “Sorry about that. Better accessibility.”
His wet skin gleamed as water splashed over his shoulders. “I think we’d have excellent accessibility—to each other—if we were
supine.
Don’t you?”

“Next time.”

“Kiss me’ she demanded, pressing her body to his.

His skin felt hot, and slick with the water pouring over his shoulders and down his body. The rough hair on his chest and groin rubbed at her sensitive skin until she wanted to purr like a cat.

“Oh, you’ll be thoroughly kissed – all over, before we’re done tonight,” he murmured, pushing soapy hair off her face before he bent his head. Her mouth opened under his, and she tasted shampoo and Max. His tongue moved in a deep rhythm that she instantly and eagerly matched.

She wound her arms around his neck, anchoring herself by fisting strands of his too long, wet hair in both hands. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach his mouth, but the elevated position aligned her mound with the thick length of his penis, and her hips undulated slightly to get as close to him as possible. Heated pleasure radiated from every point of contact, and she moaned softly into his mouth.

One big hand traveled up her wet back moving up to cup the back of her head, the other moved down to stroke her ass.

“You turn me inside out,” she whispered against his mouth, loving knowing that she was responsible for making him so hard, that he’d been aroused the second he saw her. She teased him with a little shimmy of her hips, and thrilled when he made a rough sound, almost a growl.

The shower stall was as steamy as the tropics. Max crowded her against the cool mosaic tiled wall as he watched her with a fiercely heated expression in his glittering green eyes. “How many times do you think I can make you come in the next hour?” He nuzzled the arch of her throat as his hand cupped her breast. His thumb made a lazy circle around the hardness of her nipple, as his teeth scored a tingling path up her jaw. His mouth brushed hers. Once. Twice. Teasing. Taunting.

“Hmm.” she skimmed a hand down his side, then slid her palm around and over the tight mound of his behind under the pulsing spray of a dozen showerheads. “How many times do you think
I
can make
you
come in the next five minutes?” she taunted, her voice thick. His rough palm moved from her breast down her side to her hip and across her belly.

“Soft skin,” he murmured, nibbling her lower lip as his fingers brushed her silky triangle of curls. “Are you wet for me, sweetheart? Will you come in my hand if I do . . . this?”

Making a small raw sound, she shuddered as his fingers parted her slick folds. Emily’s knees melted as he slid first one, then two fingers deep inside her, stroking the ultra sensitive flesh that was already pulsating with the beginning of a climax.

“Like that?” Max murmured as her entire body tensed and shuddered around his hand. He pressed his palm hard against her cut and she came hard, crying out his name as her internal muscles clenched around his fingers.

Her head spun, and her nails dug into his shoulders as wave after wave rolled through her, leaving her weak. She dropped her forehead to his chest. “Score one for you.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, she felt drugged with pleasure. His laughter vibrated against her lips.

Dragging her mouth across the hard plane of his chest she closed her lips over his nipple, loving the way he sucked in a sharp breath in response. He wedged his knee between her legs and she whimpered as sensation jolted through her nerve endings. Using her tongue she outlined and stroked his nipple until it was as hard and stiff as hers became when he did the same to her.

He buried his fingers in her hair. She slowly and methodically layered kisses down his sternum to his navel, gliding her hands down his hips as she moved lower and lower, making sure she had as much contact as possible as she slid her body down his. She curled her tongue around the rim of his navel and felt him shudder. Then followed the arrow of hair down to his groin.

Her fingers found him first. Hot and silken and curved high and hard against his belly, jutting from a thatch of silky black hair. She closed her hand around him as she sank to her knees. Then took him into her mouth, loving the taste and texture of him.

She kept up the suction and a steady pressure of push-pull until his fingers tunneled in her hair, and he jerked her to her feet.

“Witch,” he said hoarsely, shoving her up against the wall and hooking one strong hand under her knee to pull it up around his waist.

Crushing her mouth under his, Max positioned himself at her opening, then plunged inside her wet heat. She wrapped both legs around his waist, almost pulling them off balance, but Max pressed her between his body and the wall as he pounded into her, giving no quarter. Emily came again in a huge wave of sensation that went on and on.

Max shouted out his climax, his body almost crushing hers against the tile as he continued to move, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief.

It took a while, and two more climaxes, before Max hauled Emily out of the shower. Her skin was flushed and dews her eyes heavy-lidded and sexy as hell. “I’ll never be able to walk again,” she said faintly as he lay her on the bed and followed her down.

“I’ll carry you.”

She curled a heavy arm around his neck and pulled him half over her damp body. “Don’t you think”—she said thickly, kissing his eyelid—”that carrying me around with you while you work will limit your job performance?”

Not if he carried her in his heart, Max thought, stunned that the thought had entered his brain.
Fucking forget it,
he told himself flatly. He was a T-FLAC operative. T-FLAC operatives weren’t domesticated. That was fact.

Rolling over, he pulled her against his side, wrapping his arms around her slender body. He’d like to flatter himself that she’d miss him when he left. But she’d get over it. She had before. Got herself “almost” engaged to Franco.

She’d be fine, Max thought, feeling feral and out of sorts and ruining a perfectly good orgasm buzz by overanalyzing things. Stupid. She’d forget him in a few weeks. Maybe a few months. She’d move on. She’d meet some artsy-fartsy guy, get married, have a bunch of artistic kids, and live happily every-fucking-after.

And he’d be . . . goddamned
fine
.

But just to tide him over when she was gone, in case he forgot the texture of her hair, or the way her upper lip dipped, or the way her dark eyes widened when he touched her here. And here. And there—

Max made love to her again. Slowly.

“Uncle!” she cried weakly when he was done imprinting her on his brain.

“We’re going to have to build you up, woman. No stamina.”

She punched him halfheartedly, her eyes fluttering closed.

“An ant could hit harder than that.” He smiled against her still damp hair as he pulled her against his chest. Stroking his palm down the small of her back.

Suddenly the monitor across the room blinked, and Daklin and Navarro were in the room with them via satellite.

Horrified, Emily jerked upright, grabbing a pillow to cover herself. “Oh, my God!” she whispered. “Tell me they can’t see us?!”

“They can’t. What do you have?” Max asked, crossing his ankles, and pulling her against his body. He stroked the silky skin of her bare arm, feeling the cool weight of her breasts against his chest.

“First the bad news—”

“Let me guess,” Max said dryly. “Savage is no longer in Portland?”

“Why do you even
need
a team, Aries?” Daklin wanted to know. “I’m guessing you’re also aware she was the one taking potshots at you at the Denver airport?”

“I figured she wanted to get Cooper out of the picture, take her place, and have easy access to Emily,” Max told them.

“Yeah,” Daklin agreed. “We figured that, too. Man, it’s too fucking bad she’s using that fine mind for evil. She managed to give the two members of her Portland team who were following her the slip at the airport. Fifteen minutes was all she needed. They picked her up again without being any the wiser.”

“Considering that it was their
job
to keep eyes on her at all times, bring them both in for desk duty This is fucking bullshit. What about her connection to the bombings?” Max asked.

“Are you asking because you want to know, or because you want to know if
we
know? Because frankly, Daklin and I haven’t a fucking clue. Not yet anyway.”

Max inhaled the sweet rose fragrance of Emily’s hair. “Know where she is?”

“Don’t be insulting.”

Max chuckled. “That’s what I thought. Not answering questions I bet.”

“Not yet,” Navarro said grimly.

“Strip her,” Emily said sitting up, and scratching her upper arm, her face animated. “Strip her and look at her back.”

There was a pause, before Daklin said respectfully, “We know she’ll have the black rose tattooed there.”

“If she’s so smart, and can outwit the lot of you, I can’t imagine her working for someone else, can you? She’d want to be the boss. She’d want the biggest, most flashy rose of them all, don’t you think? AJ said she was vain.”

“Yeah—?”

“If her tattoo of the rose is bigger, likely she’s head of the group. If it’s the same she’s just one of the worker bees.” Rubbing her right arm, she glanced up at Max, her big brown eyes glowing. “Right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. It was simple and quick. “Strip the bitch butt naked. I’ll go video.
This
I want to see.”

The monitor went dark. “That’s very disconcerting, having people pop in and out of the room when we’re naked.”

“They can’t see us.”

“Bet they know what we were doing.”

“Are
doing.”

She laughed. “That wasn’t a bet or a challenge you know. We could actually
sleep
.”

“Later. Maybe we shouldn’t play Russian Roulette, and use a condom this time? What do you think?”

“I think it’s a little late in the day to close that barn door but, why not?” She stretched her arms lazily over her head and stretched like a well-satiated cat. “Are they ribbed?” she asked hopefully.

Max grinned as he got up and went to open the armoire to search for the packets. He shot a subtle glance at his watch. Couple more hours with her wouldn’t hurt.

“How come all your clothes look clean and pressed?” she demanded as he came back to bed with a couple of foil packets.