She went over to her father
’s liquor cabinet and started poking through the bottles. She found the single malt, holding it up with a triumphant grin, poured them both a drink. He took the heavy crystal tumblers from her hands before she could take a sip.
“
Slow down. You’re going to make yourself ill.” He put the drinks on the coffee table, trying to talk her out of self-destruct.
“
I don’t care.” Tears welled up out of nowhere and her frantic blinking tore at a part of himself he’d long thought dead. “There’s something I need to forget tonight, Alex. And trust me, I’m not even half drunk enough to do that yet.”
“
So you want to get hammered and fuck me blind so you don’t have to remember?” He’d hoped the blunt words would snap her back to reality but instead he saw her soul drowning in her big amber eyes.
“
Yes,” she said simply.
T
hat single word was like a kick in the gut. So he did another stupid thing. He kissed her, diving from about a thousand feet and landing with a silky glide of tongues. She tasted just as good as she had when they were outside on the sidewalk, like whiskey, rich, sophisticated and so damn hot it seared his flesh. His pulse pounded and he pulled back, breathing hard. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t being honest. If she found out he’d lied to her after they had sex—tonight of all nights—she’d be furious. She deserved better than being fucked over by a lowlife like him.
He stroked her hair off her forehead and the touch made her quiver.
“I have to go.”
She pressed her lips together and pulled out of his arms.
“Fine.” Then she skirted around him, grabbed her coat off the couch and walked stiffly to the door.
“
Where are you going?” But, shit, he already knew.
“
Back to the bar.” She was barefoot but didn’t seem to notice as she struggled into her big wool coat. “I told you, I just want to forget for one night.”
“
Forget what?” His mouth went dry, choking on deception. Maybe he could keep her here by talking.
“
Everything
.”
Christ
. Part of him wanted to shake her, make her appreciate the risks she was taking just by drinking too much, let alone seducing some stranger. But being lectured on life choices by an assassin was too hypocritical, even for him.
She held her head high but tears glittered in her eyes.
He’d made her feel bad.
Great
. Dread settled over him. Dread and an odd sense of defeat. The arousal of his body stretched his nerves taut. He could ignore his own needs; it was hers that crushed him. He eyed the liquor, picked up one glass and knocked it back, then picked up the other and did the same.
If you can’t beat ‘em..
.
He understood the need to forget, to block out vast chunks of life
—he’d give every last cent to eradicate certain parts of his memory—the death of his buddies in Afghanistan; the torture inflicted in Morocco; the faces of the men he’d eliminated in an effort to make the world a better place. Unfortunately there wasn’t enough money in the world to obliterate some things.
She stood by the door, watching him.
Sad and hurting.
This wasn
’t love or romance. This was sex. And he hadn’t had sex in so long he could barely remember what it felt like. Now he wanted it—wanted her—with an intensity that should have scared him. He had too many secrets to get involved with anyone, least of all Special Agent Mallory Rooney, but it seemed that where she was concerned he made one bad decision after another.
A one night stand.
It might destroy
what little was left of his soul but he had a terrible feeling it would be worth it.
He removed his jacket and pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossed it across the room. Her eyes flashed with shock as they locked onto his body and then his scars. There was the chance she
’d be so repulsed she’d kick his ass out the door which would solve both their problems.
The light in her eyes wasn
’t repulsion. It was empathy. Compassion. Lust.
Okay then
.
“
Afghanistan?” she asked.
“
Some.” He couldn’t tell her the truth, but lying would be equally impossible, even when she was drunk and hopefully wouldn’t remember a word. That revelation startled the shit out of him.
Tonight she needed someone to help her forget and he was going to take one for the team like a good little soldier. What the hell harm could it do? He
’d sate the need that raged through his veins and be gone in under an hour. She’d be home, safe and asleep and would have survived another heartbreaking anniversary.
Win-win.
He walked toward her and she watched him with keen awareness. She drew in a deep breath, those pert breasts of hers pressing against the black silk, making his fingers itch to touch. They both knew this was happening now. They were both onboard with where this was going. Because this wasn’t about him. She just needed a warm body.
Any
body. He could do that. He could be anybody—he just couldn’t be
somebody
.
He stopped in front of her and she dropped her coat to the floor. He traced a finger across the delicate jut of her collarbone. She held her breath. Her skin was soft as rose petals, far more erotic than black silk. His heart expanded in his chest. Something about touching her made him remember what it felt like to stand in front of a firing-squad.
So scared his mouth turned to dust.
“
Breathe,” he reminded them both.
She sucked in a lungful of air and he couldn
’t resist spanning his hands beneath her breasts and then cupping each one in his palms. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, once, twice, watching the peaks bead beneath the slippery fabric of her dress. Watched her eyes darken with arousal. Her head fell back against the wall, mouth open, eyes closed, and she was quite simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. A moan came from her lips and he was instantly hard. He stood with his knee between hers and eased up that dress to get a view of mile-long legs encased in lace-edged stockings. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Touching the skin of her inner thigh was the most amazing thing he’d ever experienced.
He kissed her, those perfect pink lips so beautifully soft and giving he wanted to
groan. Her tongue touched his in a sensuous sweep that made his heart punch like gunfire against his ribs. His lips found her neck, teeth scraping sweet alabaster skin. He made himself move slowly, sliding his hands over the curves of her breasts, the indent of her hips and the perfect roundness of her ass. Her fingers curled around his nape and up into his hair, pulling him closer. Slowly, so slowly the effort was killing him, he eased one finger inside her panties and slipped into the wet volcanic heat of her center. She went up on tiptoes, hands gripping his shoulders, eyes and mouth going wide in shock. Unable to resist her mouth, he kissed her again, desperate to taste every inch of her body but needing his mouth on hers. He withdrew and slid inside again, keeping up a steady rhythm until she writhed against his palm. She was tight and gasped as he thrust just a little bit deeper.
“
Too much?” His voice sounded nothing like him. He’d heard this version before, in that prison in Morocco. His inner animal tearing loose, but this time it was from pleasure not pain.
She shook her head and her nails dug into his shoulders.
“More,” she demanded. Then she kissed his neck, bit down hard enough to make him laugh.
She could put her mark on him anytime.
Her breath scorched his skin and he ached at the thought of her turning that pretty mouth on the rest of him the way he wanted to put his mouth on her. He smoothed wetness over her female folds and pressed his palm hard against the sensitive nerves of her clitoris. Her muscles spasmed in reaction. Legs shook. Or maybe that was him. He withdrew and lifted her higher, spreading her legs, making space for himself and rocking against her in a rhythm that made his pulse pound. Heat burst through his skin. Fire burned along his veins.
He kissed her, hungr
ily. She kissed him back, consumed him with mindless frenzy. Something snapped inside. Whatever measure of control he’d developed over the years broke. He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to be good or noble or let her come and leave. It was wrong but nothing mattered except burying himself hilt-deep inside this woman. He dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Digging one-handed into one of the compartments, cards and cash spilling, until he found the foil package and dropped the wallet to the floor. He let go of her mouth and tore into the package with his teeth. She tried to fumble with his zipper but he eased away, putting her feet gently on the floor as he covered himself and protected them both.
She reached for him but he grabbed her hand.
“If you touch me it’s all over. I’ve never wanted to have sex with anyone as much I want to have sex with you right now.”
“
Good. Hurry.” She looked at him with eyes the exact color as the whiskey they’d drunk.
He wanted to tear off her clothes, lay her on a bed and fuck her from top to toe. He also wanted to make love to her until
she passed out. The bedroom was way too far away. He dragged her dress up to her waist. Breathing heavily against her ear, he gathered her silk panties in his fist. “Are you sure this is what you want, Mallory?”
She nodded and he ripped the panties clean off. Her fingernails bit into his biceps. He didn
’t care. She lifted one stocking-clad leg and wrapped it around his hip and he positioned himself at her core and, unable to hold back, thrust deep inside. The pleasure was instantaneous, as was the panic, because he was totally fucked.
“
You’re so tight.” And he’d taken her against a wall.
Moron
. “Am I hurting you?” He went to withdraw but she clutched him tighter.
She shook her head, squirming
to get closer. “More,” she demanded and nibbled his jaw. Her nails scratched his back, digging into his skin with the sort of pain that aroused him more than he’d ever imagined possible. He wrapped his hand around her other leg and locked them both around his waist. And then every pulsing inch of him was embedded inside her, blasted by the velvet clench of wet heat.
“
Okay?” he asked.
Okay
didn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling. He was pretty sure the word for it hadn’t been invented yet.
“
Oh, yes.”
Sweat broke out along his brow as he moved inside her. Trapped against the door by his body, her hips strained to meet his thrust for thrust. His brain started to implode. There was nothing but her heat and her eyes and the control she exerted over his entire being
just by existing. He was sucked deeper and deeper into the vortex that was Mallory Rooney and he never wanted it to end. She started to come and every good thought or image he’d ever experienced coalesced in his brain and detonated like fireworks as she cried out, sobbing his name. Two more thrusts and her orgasm dragged him over the ledge. He came with an explosive crash that nearly brought him to his knees, a primeval shudder ripping through his frame, heart jack-hammering in his concrete chest.
His skin felt like he
’d been electrified. His lungs felt like they’d never again catch a full breath. And then she started to cry.
***
The world started spinning. At first Mallory thought it was the drink even though she was starting to sober up way too fast. She was in her bedroom. Alex was searching for the zipper in her dress and then slipping it from her shoulders, undressing her. She was surprised he hadn’t run screaming from the apartment.
Seduced by the crazy lady.
Roll up, roll up.
She squeezed her eyes against scalding hot tears that reduced her to an emotional mess when all she
’d wanted was to forget. No matter what she did this day always ended in tears. The whole time she and Alex had been having sex she’d been able to ignore the date and what it represented. As soon as they’d finished, the guilt had smashed back into her like a wrecking ball.
He pulled away. Why wouldn
’t he? He must think she was a slutty lush with a screw loose. But she wasn’t crying because Alex might think badly of her. She and Payton had shared a special connection. When she’d been taken, it had been like losing a limb. She missed her sister. She really missed her sister. And she’d been the lucky one.
Tears kept coming.
Tears that drained her of energy and light. Shame washed over her. Not about sex. Sex wasn’t important when you lined it up next to the loss or death of a young girl. She was ashamed she hadn’t solved the mystery, that despite their almost psychic connection she’d never been able to find her twin. She wanted to crawl under the bedspread and stay there for the whole weekend, or just drown in a bottle—but that was more dangerous. She covered her eyes with her hands. “God, I’m so sorry.”
“
Shush.” He pressed his hands to her shoulders and kissed her cheek. She leaned into that kiss. He unhooked her bra and then removed her stockings. She should have been embarrassed to stand there naked but she didn’t care. It reminded her he’d made her forget everything earlier, and maybe he could make her forget again.
She ran her hands over his torso. He had the most amazing body and exploring it was a million times better than thinking about what some sick animal had done to a nine-year old girl, eighteen years ago.
She traced a scar. How had he gotten all these wounds?
He grabbed her hands.
“Let me clean up and we’ll talk.” He went into the bathroom.
T
he last thing she wanted to do was to talk so she headed back into the living room for another drink. Alex caught her before she got there.