As long as they keep her safe, why do you care,
pendejo?
Because he did. That’s why.
A slow smile spread across her face. She set the bowl of dates aside and pushed him onto his back, pinning his wrists above his head and leaning over him, her hair spilling around their faces. “Why, Javier Corbray, are you jealous?”
“Why should I be?” She was playing at control again, and he let her have her way, enjoying the sight of her incredible breasts so close to his mouth. “They’re not here with you.
I
am.”
“That’s right.” She leaned down, brushed a kiss over his lips, her voice sexy-soft. “I’ve never kissed any of them.”
“That’s good.”
She sat back, raked her nails none too gently down his chest. “I sure as hell never let any of them spank me.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that.”
She reached back, her arm disappearing behind her, one hand closing around his half-hard cock. “I’ve never seen them naked or given them head.”
Heat filled his groin as she stroked him to readiness.
“And I’ve never had any of them inside me.” She raised herself up, lowering herself onto him, guiding his cock into her pussy, taking all of him.
Paradise.
He grasped her hips to steady her as she settled herself, leaving it to her to set the pace. “God, I love your body.”
She smiled, her expression changing to one of sensual pleasure as she rode him, her pace nice and easy, her palms resting on his chest for balance, her clit grinding against his pubic bone. “Give a girl a hand?”
But he was already on it, cupping her breasts, flicking her nipples with his thumbs, plucking them, rolling them between his fingers, gratified by her shuddering exhale—and the way she grew even wetter.
He wanted more. “Feed me.”
He slid his hands behind her, guiding her down, his mouth capturing her puckered nipples, suckling them.
She moaned, a soft, breathy sound, resting her hands against the headboard, her hips moving faster.
It was enough to drive Javier crazy, but not enough to make him come. Still, he could tell it was perfect for her, and that was good enough—for now.
Using one hand to guide her breasts, he slid the other between their bodies and pressed the pad of his thumb just above her clit, moving it in a circular motion, adding pressure.
“Yes!” She moaned out his name, riding him hard now.
He felt her vagina tighten around him, felt her body tense, and just had time to put a hand over her mouth to silence her cry before she came.
She kept up her rhythm until the tremors inside her had passed, then sagged against him, boneless and breathless.
Still hard and buried inside her, he gave her a moment to catch her breath, and then retook control, flipping her onto her back and pinning her arms over her head as she’d done to him. But, unlike her, he had the physical strength to make it real.
“It’s my turn.”
She struggled just enough to test him, her pupils dilating when she realized she truly was pinned down, hunger on her face. “Fuck me.”
He hammered into her with thrusts that shook the bed, her legs spread wide, her feet resting on his ass, her little moans like music to him. God, it felt good, being inside her like this, her sweet pussy gripping him, her amazing body his to savor. He wanted to stay just like this all night—hard, inside her, on the edge.
He looked down at her sweet face, and something strange happened.
He stopped moving and found himself reaching with one hand to cradle her cheek, sexual need melting into tenderness. He pressed his forehead to hers, their gazes locking. “
Laura.
”
Her hands slid up his chest to caress his jaw. “Kiss me.”
He did, moving inside her again, sliding in and out of her with slow strokes, aware of every breath she took, every sound she made, every emotion that stirred behind her blue eyes. “
Bella.
”
And when they came, their breathy sighs mingling in a long, desperate kiss, Javier realized he’d never felt this connected to any other woman.
It was the sound of a closing door that woke him.
Javier opened his eyes, looked down to see Laura curled up against his chest. He stroked her hair and closed his eyes—then sat upright with a jolt. “¡
Puñeta
!”
Had he missed his flight?
“Fuck!” He glanced at the clock on her nightstand, saw that it was almost seven.
Laura sat up, the sheet falling away from her bare breasts, her hair tousled. “What’s wrong?”
“I overslept.” He hadn’t meant to sleep at all, at least not in Laura’s room. “I needed to be at the airport a half hour ago, and I still have to pack.”
It wasn’t like him to be forgetful or late.
He jumped out of bed and went in search of his clothes.
She was on her feet, hurrying through the suite, handing him his jeans, a sock, his boxer briefs. “A cab will get you there in about ten minutes. If you hurry, you can make it before seven-thirty. What time does your flight leave?”
“Eight-thirty.” He dressed quickly.
“As long as you’re there at least an hour early, you should be able to make your flight. After seven-thirty, they won’t let you board.”
He finished buttoning his shirt, glancing around to see if he’d left anything else, anything that might get her into trouble.
And then it hit him.
This was goodbye.
He reached for her, drew her naked body into his arms, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I had a great time,
bella
. You’re an incredible woman.”
The words sounded meaningless, far too casual for what he was feeling. He wanted to ask for her phone number and email, wanted to give her his, wanted to tell her that he’d love to see her again, that if she ever needed him, he would be there for her. But he had agreed that their weekend would be a weekend—nothing more.
Now the weekend was over.
No strings.
Why in the hell did you agree to that,
cabrón
?
She stood on tiptoe, kissed him, the sweet scent of sex still on her skin. “Thank you, Javi. You’re the best time ever. Now go.”
He looked down at her, some part of him rooted to the spot, wanting to make this moment different, but not knowing how to do that. “Stay safe.”
She smiled. “You too—whatever it is you do.”
He handed her the extra key card, then turned and walked out of her life like he’d promised her he would.
But by the time he reached the elevators, he’d made another promise—this one to himself. One day, he would track her down.
And next time, he wouldn’t let her go so easily.
Laura sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her bathrobe around her and staring at the closed door, feeling strangely naked and alone. She’d known she would have to say goodbye to Javier today, she just hadn’t expected it to be so abrupt. Nor had she expected it to leave her feeling so …
desolate
.
She reached over, ran her hand over the sheets, the bed still warm from his body heat, his scent still on her skin. “Goodbye, Javi.”
It was the pricking of tears in her eyes that got her to her feet.
“What’s the matter with you, Nilsson?”
She wasn’t usually this sentimental. Then again, she didn’t usually hook up with men she didn’t know and spend three days having sex with them—incredible, mind-blowing sex. Most of her lovers—really, there hadn’t been all that many—had been men she’d dated before ending up in bed with them.
Javier had come out of nowhere. He’d given her more than she could have imagined. And now he was gone.
But wasn’t this what she’d wanted, what they’d both wanted?
Yes, it was. They’d met, spent three amazing days together, had incredibly satisfying sex—okay, earth-shattering sex—and now it was time to move on. She should be happy that things had gone so well, not moping around her hotel room.
She walked to the window, drew back the curtains, willing herself to think about the day ahead. She needed to hit the gym, take a shower, and then give Nico a call to get an update on her visa situation. But first she wanted breakfast. She’d just reached for the phone to place an order with room service when she saw it.
Javier’s postcard.
It sat on her nightstand, a message written in Spanish on the back along with his grandmother’s name and an address in the Bronx. He had addressed it, but he hadn’t put a stamp on it. She ran her fingers over the words he’d written and found herself smiling, her sense of desolation dissipating.
She was an investigative reporter. When she got back to the States, she would use his grandmother’s address to track him down. She would find him.
One way or another, she would find Javier Corbray.
EPILOGUE
Two months later
San Diego, California
Javier stood on his deck with a few of his Team buddies grilling burgers and brats and shooting the shit. They’d just gotten word this morning that they’d be starting a month-long workup tomorrow and deploying in thirty days.
Nate West stepped outside, the look on his face telling Javier his phone call hadn’t gone well. “Well, Rachel’s pissed. She had her heart set on the Virgin Islands.”
Javier gave his buddy a clap on the shoulder. “She needs to get used to this if she’s marrying a military man.”
“That’s what I told her.”
A Marine special operator whose team worked alongside Delta Platoon, West had become Javier’s best friend. Though Javier would never tell his buddy this to his face, he knew West could do much better than Rachel. With his personality and good looks, he could snag any woman he wanted. He didn’t need a spoiled brat for a wife.
A football flew through the air, narrowly missing Javier’s head. “Get a grip on your balls, LeBlanc!”
“Sorry, senior chief!” LeBlanc called. “That was Murphy’s fault.”
“Yeah? Fuck you.” Murphy apparently didn’t agree. “If you’d caught the football, it wouldn’t have nearly taken off senior’s head.”
“How can you be a crack sniper and throw like that?” LeBlanc fired back.
West cracked open a cold beer and handed it to Javier, a worried expression slowly replacing the amused grin his face. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s ready for this. She knew I was a special operator before we got engaged.”
If West was going to bring it up…
“Sounds like you should have a long talk about it, bro. If it’s a problem now, what’s it going to be like five years from now? I know it sounds harsh, but better a broken engagement than a divorce. Take my word for it.” Javier took a drink, looked at the bottle. “Fat Tire?”
“A Colorado microbrew—my favorite.”
The shit wasn’t half-bad.
Javier flipped the burgers one last time. “They’re done, boys.”
If there was one thing the men of Delta Platoon did efficiently besides carrying out their Team missions, it was eating. The burgers and brats were gone in a matter of minutes. The men had just gathered on the deck, waiting for Javier to share what he knew about the workup when Javier saw the clock.
It was time for her broadcast.
He headed indoors, turned on his TV, and dropped onto the sofa, another beer in his hand. He looked over his shoulder, found the guys staring after him. “My favorite news program.”
Ross grinned. “I think he’s got a thing for the Baghdad Babe.”
God, Javier hated that nickname!
He glared at Ross. “I like to keep up with world news and current events.”
Snickers.
Okay, so they weren’t buying that.
On the screen, Laura’s anchor, Gary Chapin, was introducing the topic of the night’s program, his helmet hair looking as stiff as it always did, an image of Laura in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.
Two months had gone by, and still he could remember her scent, her taste, the feel of her skin, the sound of her laughter, the gleam in her eyes. He hadn’t given up on his plan to track down her contact info. Oh, no. He’d just gotten busy.
The guys crowded around him to watch.
And then she was on the screen, looking gorgeous, just like he remembered, her long, pale blond hair held back by a barrette.
“Yeah, she is fine!”
“Hot.”
“Do you think she’s a screamer?”
Their words made Javier’s teeth grind.
¡Pendejos estupidos!
Stupid assholes!
She looked into the camera, speaking with confidence, her voice soft but strong as steel as she explained how thousands of women died each year, burned to death by their husbands and in-laws so that their husbands could remarry, winning for themselves another woman’s dowry. Though the dowry system was supposed to be illegal, the law was ignored. And in most cases, these horrible deaths were not investigated.
“That’s fucking sick,” Murphy said.
“Shhh!” Javier didn’t want to listen to Murphy.
He wanted to hear Laura.
“In the past five years, Sabira Mukhari’s organization has documented more than seven thousand five hundred cases of women being burned in ‘stove accidents’ within a two-hundred-mile radius around Islamabad and—”
A nearby door burst open, making Laura jump.
Rat-at-at-at-at-at!
AK fire.
On the TV screen, Laura screamed, dropped to the floor.
“What the fuck?” Javier was on his feet.
Men shouted in English and Arabic, her security team scrambling.
“Cover her! Cover her!”
A man in a black T-shirt threw himself over Laura, shielding her.
From somewhere, an M16 cut loose, and Javier thought one of the attackers was hit. But a man cried out, and the M16 went silent.
“Son of a fucking bitch!” Javier took two strides toward the TV screen, fists clenched, before he realized there was nothing—not a
goddamned
thing—he could do.
Her security detail was being massacred.
Rat-at-at-at-at-at!
More AK fire.
“Go, Laura!” A man cried out, groaned, blood spraying across the camera lens, women’s screams coming from the background.