Ice Cold (30 page)

Honey straightened, tangled hair all over the place. Rafael forced his boots to remain rooted where he stood. Her skin looked impossibly smooth; he knew it felt as satiny as it looked. And tasted like nothing he’d ever tasted before. She was one of a kind.

“Did Nielson give us an ID?”

“Negative. But you know her. She’ll have something to us within hours. I imagine she’s made it the lab’s top priority.”

She went over to the table where she’d left the laptop. “She’s good at getting people motivated,” she said absently, tapping keys.

Since she didn’t mention if she’d received intel on Savage, Rafael didn’t bother asking.

She took out a small makeup pouch before sitting in the straight-backed chair. Glancing at him over her shoulder, she tucked the edge of the towel more firmly between her breasts and asked, “Are you going to just stand there and watch me?”

The idea had enormous appeal. “Can I?”

“I suppose so.
May
you? No. I want to get ready, and I need to get into character.”

“I’ll grab a quick shower.”

She turned to a small mirror she’d balanced on top of a tissue box so it was almost eye level. “If you’re not out here in twenty minutes, I’ll go without you.”

TWENTY-THREE

 W 
hile Rafael took a quick shower, Honey finished drying her hair, applied makeup with a heavy hand, then donned the black wig. Six minutes. Would’ve been less if she hadn’t been distracted, listening to the water running in the other room.
Bet he wouldn’t turn me down if I barged in there and joined him.

She grinned, adding a little more color to her too-pale cheeks to compensate for the dark hair. She reminded herself why they were there and what was at stake. But her thoughts skittered like drops of water in a hot frying pan.

She was in trouble. Big, big trouble. This . . . She wasn’t even sure what to call it. Affairs were for married people. Sex? A booty call. Yeah. A booty call. Dangerous, in so many ways it made her dizzy. She’d vowed never to be that vulnerable again.

She didn’t do vulnerable. Ever.

Yet here she was. Lusting after the man after only having sex with him twice. How pathetic and stupid of her.

Hadn’t she learned this lesson already?

She’d had three lovers, the first two relationships short-lived, and the third not even a relationship. She stared at her face in the small circle of the mirror, the mascara wand poised over one eye. “You’re just another notch, you know that, don’t you?”

Of course she was. But at least sex with Navarro was uncomplicated—in a complicated kind of way. She was surprised at herself for falling into his bed so quickly.

It had taken con man Cole Nordstrom three months of concerted effort to get her into
his
bed. She’d adored him, showered him with expensive gifts, and held off on sex because she wanted the first time to be with a man who loved her. She’d erroneously thought Cole was the one. It hadn’t been worth the buildup. Sex four times.

She’d tried, she really did, but there was no spark, nothing that revved her engines or kept the pistons firing. Feeling like a complete failure in the love department, she’d done everything she could think of to make it work.

Oblivious to her complete lack of sexual feelings, taking her fake responses at face value, Cole proposed, claiming she was the love of his life. Those were powerful words to a woman without family, who lived alone on a ranch in the middle of thousands of acres with no one for company but an old man and a herd of cows.

He’d scented her vulnerability like a goddamned bloodhound, and she’d fallen for his con—hook, line, and sinker—because she
wanted
to believe him.

Love was Honey’s Holy Grail. So what if she didn’t feel what books told her she should be feeling during sex? They loved each other and talked about the life they’d build together.

While she was away on an op, he’d approached Pollack with photographs he claimed were of her having sex with a group of men. His asking price not to show the press Robert Winston and Roxann Pottratz’s daughter in flagrante delicto was ten million dollars.

He’d known her net worth before “accidentally” bumping into her at the pharmacy in town. Pollack had handed him his ass. He was long gone by the time she made it home, leaving Pollack to break the news. And her heart.

Love looked fantastic from the outside, but she’d realized it was beyond her reach. She’d stopped looking.

Years later, she’d almost run the local veterinarian over with her truck when she’d gone to pick up winter feed. One thing led to another. Mike was a nice enough guy, but it turned out he was eager to help her spend her inheritance. It took a while to realize that he, too, considered her an ATM machine with a vagina.

Sex with Doctor Mike hadn’t lit her fire in any way, shape, or form, either. And God only knew, she’d done her best to respond. He’d never, not once, realized she was faking her responses. She’d made a point of mentioning it that last night as he walking out. He’d called her a liar. No one could act that well.

They say ‘third time’s the charm.’ “The Spanish Stallion” was the only one who’d called her bluff.

When Navarro handed her the comm with Nielson’s text, Honey felt dread, not satisfaction. Even though she’d known Savage was behind everything, it didn’t make her happy to realize someone she’d trusted with her life, not to mention
friendship,
was responsible for them chasing their tails all over Europe. Catherine’s Machiavellian behavior creeped her out.

Reinforcing Honey’s inability to make those human connections other people seemed to have with such ease.

The shower stopped.

Before he came out to find her standing there slack-jawed as she imagined him wet and naked. Nude, Honey hastily strapped on the prosthesis, over her still slightly damp skin, then pulled the long column of silk jersey dress over her head, smoothing it over her thighs. She’d have to dress all over again, so it was silly to want to cover her nakedness when he’d seen every part of her up close and personal.

The bathroom door opened, emitting a cloud of steam and a gleaming Navarro. Stopping dead two feet into the bedroom, he stared at her. Tightly leashed power hummed around him as his eyes stroked her body in the clingy black dress.

“Jesus, Winston.” The low words strangled as he dragged glazed eyes back to her face. With his tanned skin stretched over hard muscle and lean sinews, gleaming black hair slicked off his handsome face, Rafael Navarro almost brought Honey to her knees.

It took forever for her gaze to skim up his body to land on
his
face. “What?” Her tongue wasn’t cooperating at all. At least not to talk.

“Laurie Peterson,” he whispered thickly. “You bring a man to his knees.” Padding toward her, he held her gaze as he stopped in front of her. “You. That dress. Your baby bump . . .”

Crazy, crazy man. Her mood floated like a helium balloon, her laugh sounded strained even to her own ears. She skimmed a finger across his lower lip. He licked it and a zing of current shot to her nipples and pooled between her legs. “I was thinking exactly the same thi—”

Closing his hands on her hips, he drew her against him, the belly between them. Her hand splayed on his chest. “What do you think you’re do—
Rafael
!” Beneath her palm, she felt his pounding heart, his damp skin. Clinging diamond droplets of water sparkling in the rough hair matting his chest and sheened his skin making it look like bronze satin.

She did her best to ignore her body’s responses and suggestions. “We have to go downstai—”

He yanked her in the last inch, covered her mouth with his, and kissed her for several juicy minutes. Honey gave as good as she got, and what she got was first class. Fisting his hair, she welcomed him in every way she knew how. The man knew how to kiss, and he enjoyed his work. She pressed against him, feeling how much he wanted her, rubbing her aching nipples against the hard plane of his chest.

They parted, both panting as if they’d run a marathon.

Wiping moisture off her lower lip with the edge of his thumb, he held her gaze, humor and heat dancing in his eyes. “Plenty of time.”

Her heart was racing; her fingers shook. Her skin, feeling too small for her body, prickled as she brushed her other hand on his freshly shaven jaw, inhaling the unique smell of his skin, unmasked by soap or cologne, “—to get downstairs and scout out the hotel!” she finished as if they hadn’t stopped the world to kiss.
Entrances, exits, hiding places, stairwells—

“Under thirty minutes.” His voice was low, husky, and way too persuasive.

“This is unprofessional. We have a bomber to catch.” She tried to glare, but it was a complete waste of time since he was so busy kissing her neck he wasn’t looking at her. Not to mention her voice was barely audible because it was impossible to catch her breath, “Do not—”

Hands on her hips, mouth scaling her arched throat, he walked her backward, crowding her until her back slammed against the wall. His lips crushed hers, the spark turning into a forest fire. Plunging the fingers of one hand in her hair, he held her head as his tongue pushed into her mouth. Honey met it with her own, welcoming, hungry for more. Even as he kissed her as though she was his last meal on Earth, he was bunching up her dress in both hands. Cool air whispered against the exposed skin, making her shiver from the combination of blistering heat and cold.

Shoving the fabric up her bare legs, he pressed his knee high against the juncture of her thighs. His skin felt scalding hot against the coolness of hers. Shuddering at the contact exactly where she needed it, Honey arched her back, pressing herself against the hardness. It wasn’t enough. Not even close.

She whimpered, sliding her hand to the back of his head, mimicking his moves, gripping the wet strands to hold his head where she wanted him. Then she realized that holding his head wasn’t what she needed to be doing.

Her entire body buzzed with electricity as he nipped her upper lip with the hard edge of his teeth, then laved the sting before entering and conquering again. She skimmed her fingers down his side, over jagged scars and satin-smooth skin to the hard jut of his hip, then lower, over crisp hair to find him rock-hard.

He was the only man who’d ever kissed her like this. Ever made her feel. . .this. He ravished her mouth as if he couldn’t get enough. “Someone has to be—”
Sensible. Aware.

His mouth silenced her as he crushed his lips on hers yet again. Who the hell cared? They still had twenty-five minutes. Honey dived back into the delicious tastes and textures of him. She forgot for a moment the whys and why nots. Forgot that she didn’t know how she was supposed to feel, because she just…felt. His tongue swept into her mouth, hot and slick, ravenous and greedy. Fingers raking through his hair, helpless to resist, Honey kissed him back. He tasted of scotch, he tasted of lust. He tasted of
want
.

She framed his face with her hands as they devoured each other, stroking his smooth cheeks with her thumbs.

His large hands slid around her hips to cup her ass, pulling her tightly against him. He was hard, and long, and her body jerked in response. Ruching the dress further up her thighs, he gathered the thin fabric in his fists, drawing it farther up her body. Yanking the dress over her head, he skimmed his palms over her ass cheek. “No panties? Winston, I’m shocked.”

“This from a man who’s bareassed nak—”

His fingers dug painfully into her naked butt as he shifted, sweeping his hand down her thigh to drag her knee to rest on his hip. Body open and exposed to his heat, Honey slid her hand between them. His warm, moist breath feathered across her throat as the blunt tip of his shaft nudged against her lower belly.

Closing her fingers around the thick length of him, she felt the responding jerk as his hips surged forward. “Hells bells, Navarro.” Lifting her eyes to his, Honey smiled wickedly. “Have you been taking supplements in the last few hours?”

He grinned. “Same size as it was a few hours ago. Getting it where it wants to go is just a matter of finesse.”

“And geometry,” she managed but conversation was way overrated. “I want this in me. Now!” The order was breathless as she guided him to her entrance.

He surged inside her, penetrating her more deeply than she imagined possible. Digging her short nails into the hard muscles of his shoulders, she held on as her body pulled him deeper with each tight, pulsing surge in ever-increasing waves of pleasure.

He stole her breath, making her deaf and blind as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her body. It was so intense, so sustained, that she might’ve cried out; maybe she fainted. Unaware of anything but that incredible sensation surging through her every nerve ending, she could do nothing but feel. It was like skydiving without a parachute and plummeting to Earth’s gravitational pull in the dark.

Then the light came, bright and blinding, like pyrotechnics on New Year’s Eve. Honey screamed his name.