White Hot (7 page)

Hell, yeah.
“In a bit.” He glanced out at the crane. “Have a few things to finish up first.”

“Hmm.” She grasped the doorframe and half turned, following the direction of his gaze. “Well, Mr. Walker, when you get it up for good, come and find me.”

“That,” he said with a lazy grin, “is a promise.”

She disappeared down the ladder, and the smile spread slowly over his face.

Desire, he thought with satisfaction.
Definitely desire.

Clint came to find her later that afternoon.

Sam had been thinking about him all day. Going back and forth in her mind about what she had set in motion, alternately horrified with herself and impatient with his delay.

Good lord. Was she really going to do this?

She shouldn’t.

She
really
shouldn’t. Surely, it wasn’t too late to put a stop to things.

Was it?

Even though she was wildly attracted to Lieutenant Commander Walker, a part of her was genuinely terrified. She hadn’t been with a man since her ex-husband left over three years ago. Not even on a date, let alone…

It was a real shame she liked sex so much. Sex had been the one thing she and Jim had been good at. Really good. After fourteen years with a partner who knew her body better than she did, she missed it.

A lot.

During the last three years spent alone, she hadn’t let
herself think about how much she’d missed it. That’s why God had invented batteries, right?

But it just wasn’t the same.

She loved the feel of a man’s strong arms holding her. The hardness of his body pressed into hers. The rough scrape of his chest hair against her tender breasts. The hot, wet slide of his cock thrusting into her.

Damn.

She might not trust men anymore, but she was achingly, desperately, howl-at-the-moon lonely for the touch of a man.

This
man.

“Hi,” Clint’s voice said behind her, snapping her out of her disconcerting thoughts.

She whirled, fumbling the pen in her hand. She’d been making notations on a clipboard, standing in one of the ship’s cramped storage rooms on the orlop deck, where they kept their general supplies. “Oh! Hi.”

He snatched the flying pen in midair and handed it back to her with a smile, glancing at the clipboard.

“Inventory,” she said by way of explanation. Thankfully the transit supplies strapped onto massive metal shelves had been better secured than the cargo, so the storm hadn’t created as big a mess in the storage areas. Johnny, Frank, and Spiros had straightened them all up this morning. Sam was now doing a careful inventory to see if anything needed to be replaced. She puffed out a sigh. “Ah, the glamour of a ship captain’s job never fails to inspire awe.”

His smile twisted. “Still, beats the hell out of being tortured in a Chinese prison.”

Her eyes widened. Yikes. Where had that come from? Was he talking about himself? “You’ve been tortured?”

He lifted an easy shoulder. “Define ‘torture.’”

She blinked. Jeez, what exactly did a Naval Intelligence officer
do
, anyway? “You’re kidding, right?”

If he had been tortured, he didn’t seem particularly upset by it. “Not on this mission. Thanks to you. Again, I appreciate you trusting me.”

This
mission? She seriously wondered if he was pulling her leg. “Not trust,” she corrected.
“Believe—”

He held up a hand with a chuckle. “Ah, yes. I remember. We have, I’m guessing, trust issues?”

“You have no idea,” she said, meeting his gaze.

Okay. This was a pretty bizarre conversation. Especially if he’d come here with seduction on his mind.
Or maybe she’d just misinterpreted his signals
…

He propped a shoulder against the metal doorframe and watched her with casual interest. His stance was relaxed, his expression friendly. And yet she couldn’t help noticing that his large body blocked her way. She wasn’t getting out of the storage room without him moving to let her past.

A frisson shivered through her.
Or maybe she hadn’t misinterpreted…

“You’re fairly young to be a ship’s captain,” he remarked, tilting his head.

“Yes, well,” she began, her defenses coming up with a vengeance.
Not
the way to get into her good graces. Or her pants.

But he forestalled her tirade. “You must have worked your butt off. I know it’s not easy for a woman to push her way up the ranks in this profession,” he said, surprising her so much she just gaped at him for a few seconds.

“You could say that,” she finally responded. Most people assumed…Well, never mind what most people assumed. It wasn’t true.

He unpropped himself from the doorframe and took a step closer, nearly closing the short distance between them. “Especially a beautiful woman like you, I expect.”

She felt her lips part and her cheeks warm. “I, um—”

Conflicting emotions swirled through her. Surprise. Desire.
Fear.
God, and earlier when they flirted she’d felt so…fearless.

He reached out and touched her cheek, running his knuckles down to brush along her jawline. “Most men wouldn’t see beyond the delicate outside to the strength within.”

And he did?

“Hardly delicate,” she murmured. She was five eight and probably hadn’t been a size two since she graduated from first grade.

His fingers trailed over her lips. “Delicate, confident, and lovely.”

A spill of sizzling awareness washed through her. His fingertips were rough, but warm and supple. She imagined them on her body….“Thank you,” she whispered.

“And obviously great at what you do.”

His compliment felt like warmth flooding her belly. It had been so long since anyone had actually respected, or even noticed, her abilities. Anyone that mattered.

“If this is that seduction you promised,” she whispered, “you’re doing a hell of a job.”

His gentle smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Glad to hear it.”

She swallowed, and when his hand threaded through her hair, pulling her to him, she went willingly to meet his lips.

They were smooth and moist, tasting of temptation, and forbidden delight, and sweet love in front of a roaring fire. And persuasive male desire.

She didn’t need to be persuaded.

The kiss went on and on, easing her hesitancy, filling her with a tumbling ache of need. His arms came around her and hers went around him, feeling the hard muscles of his biceps, the press of his fingers, the pounding of his heart against her breasts. Lord, the man could kiss!

When he finally lifted his mouth, they were both breathless.

He looked at her, his eyes half-lidded and lambent with desire. “I want you,” he murmured.

Her pulse pounded.
This is it. The point of no return.

She didn’t want to stop. She wanted him, too. Like crazy.

“Did you bring protection?” she whispered shakily.

“What do you think?” His hand eased under her shirt.

She sucked in a breath as his thumb brushed her nipple.
“G-good,” she managed, uncertain if she meant his preparedness…or the skill of his touch.

His hand stilled. “I want you to know,” he said in a low rumble. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing. I mean, under circumstances like—” He shook his head. “I don’t want you to think—”

“I don’t. And I don’t, either,” she choked out, wanting nothing more than for him to continue what he’d started. She took a deep breath. “But who can resist a man who barges into your bedroom in the dead of night at gunpoint?”

He nuzzled her hair, and murmured, “Or a woman who sneaks a good, long look at you in the shower?”

She put her lips to the base of his throat and kissed him, tasting the salt of the sea, smelling the tang of his male scent. “If only I’d dared,” she admitted softly. “Might have saved me a sleepless night of regret.”

Against her cheek, his lips curved. “I’ll give you a do-over. We can go up to my stateroom right now.” He grasped her jaw between his fingers and kissed her again, slow and hot. “Because this closet isn’t the most romantic place I can think of for a seduction.”

She agreed, but shook her head. “No, not there. The crew deck is too public. I don’t really want to be seen. I—”

He cut her off with another kiss. “Hush. No need to explain. I get it—the need to keep this just between us.”

She broke the kiss and took his hand. “I have a better idea. Come on.”

She quickly led him out of the storage areas, down the passageway, and past the mechanical spaces to a small, very well-hidden room, tucked into the very aft of the ship behind the engines, the entrance of which was disguised by a small forest of bulkhead-mounted equipment and instruments. She pulled him inside the room and tugged the door shut after them, cranking down the lever that locked it. It was completely dark inside.

“What is this place?” His voice echoed thinly against the metal bulkheads, muffled by the noise of the nearby engines and the rhythmic
whump
of the propellers. If you closed
your eyes and concentrated, you could just make out the sound of churning water. The space smelled of salt, oil, and rust, and the distinctive, comforting musty odor of an old ship.

She loved it here.

“It’s my secret place,” she said into the darkness, feeling oddly vulnerable. “Where I come to escape.”

She felt him reach for her and tug, and she fell into his arms again. Excitement rushed through her as he kissed his way down the side of her throat, his hands seeking the curves of her body. She let out a soft moan.

He started to unbutton her uniform shirt. “I hope to hell there’s a bed in here,” he murmured between kisses.

“Better,” she said, untangled herself, and groped along the wall behind her for the light switch. She pressed it on. A dim glow came from an ancient fixture in the ceiling, throwing the small room into a jungle of shadows.

Clint grunted against the light, and at her urging turned to look behind him. There, suspended between the two opposite bulkheads, was a large woven hammock, complete with pillow and quilt.

He grinned.

“Ever slept in one?” she asked.

“Yep. You?”

“All the time.”

“Ever made love in one?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

His grin widened as he caught hold of her again. “Me, neither.”

“I’m game if you are,” she murmured into his ear as he walked her backward toward it.

“Every sailor should try it at least once,” his gravelly voice rumbled.

“At the very least,” she agreed breathlessly.

The backs of her knees hit the hammock. He grabbed it, shook it open, and they tumbled entwined into its depths.

They tried it.

More than once.

Making love in a hammock was different from anything Sam had ever experienced. It was closer. Deeper. More exciting.

Better.

Or maybe the hammock had nothing to do with it.

Maybe it was just Clint Walker that was better.

Because of the curve and fluidity of their hanging bed, conventional positions would not work. They had to try other, more imaginative ways of arranging their bodies to come together. More exhilarating. More stimulating and edgy.

Or maybe it was that Clint was a more exhilarating and edgy lover.

Except it wasn’t just a matter of positions. There was something more, something different lurking behind the excitement and the edge he brought to their lovemaking. It was…a
feeling
. An added depth…and not just physical. A connection she had not felt with another human being, especially a man, for a very, very long time.

“
Mmm
,” Clint groaned as the hammock swung them
back and forth like babes in a cradle after their last explosive orgasm. Which, unlike the previous ones, they’d experienced in perfect unison. “Baby, that was truly spectacular.”

She didn’t have the strength to answer with more than a long moan of agreement. Her body unfurled from him on its own, her legs sliding down from his hips in a tangle of limbs as she let him wrap himself around her, almost protectively, face-to-face within the folds of the quilt. He pulled it around them, tucked the pillow under their heads, and tugged the edges of the hammock over them, creating their own dark, warm, and very private cocoon. She was surrounded by delicious male flesh and the arousing scent of their lovemaking.
Pure heaven.