Spread Your Wings: Men in Blue, Book 4 (17 page)

She flinched. It hadn’t quite set in yet that someone had tried to hurt them. No…
kill
them. Twice. More than herself, she worried about the guys and whatever wackadoodle they’d seriously pissed off. If something happened to them…

Clint stepped between her and the door, his gun drawn but held flush at his thigh, invisible to anyone in the entrance to the room. Matt took in the stance and nodded. The way they worked seamlessly together on the force had her squirming. If only they could capitalize on that groove in their personal lives, they’d be set.

It would be just like last night.

Except better, because she’d know who it was rocking her world.

Matt pressed his face to the door, using the peephole before permitting the bellman to wheel her belongings into the center of the room. In less than ten seconds they’d unloaded the cart, encouraging the man to be on his way with what looked like a big tip. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure, sir.” He dipped his hat toward the open menu on the desk. “Would you like me to take an order to the kitchen for you? I can fast track it if you like. The best cook downstairs, Greta, is my wife.”

“That’d be great. But, seriously, call me Matt.” He probably didn’t mean to rattle the guy’s bones when he clapped him on the shoulder.

“Yes, sir. Matt.” The bellman nodded. “I’ll be back with your food as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.” Jambrea added, her stomach growling loud enough to make the guys chuckle.

As soon as the door shut, she rummaged through a box. The arm of a worn, comfy T-shirt hung out of it. She’d gotten the thing as a souvenir when she’d run—somewhat slower than her old boot camp pace—in a charity race for wounded veterans last summer. After retrieving the soft cotton and a pair of yoga pants, she spun on her heel, heading for the open door that could only lead to the bathroom.

She hadn’t made it more than two steps into the sanctuary before she gasped at the overwhelming beauty and serenity surrounding her.

Clint and Matt piled in behind her, guns again held at the ready.

“What is it?” Matt swept from side to side while Clint covered him.

“Sorry, no national emergency. It’s…beautiful, that’s all.” She sniffled and blinked back tears. How could things be so messed up and yet so terrific in her life all at once?

It ticked her off that she couldn’t savor the moment, or her company.

“Wow.” Once the guys determined no threat had followed them into their haven, Clint took a better look at the amenities. An enormous shower with a clear glass front and tinted glass looking out onto the city took up one wall. It had rainfall showerheads on each side and a bevy of chrome sprayers dotting the entire surface. “Looks like you could have one hell of a party in there. I think I’ll try it out.”

He didn’t waste a second before setting his gun on the sink, after double-checking the safety, then whipping his shirt off. His tan skin, embellished with a three-quarter sleeve tattoo on his right arm, had her entranced. The black and red dragon wrapped around him flexed and danced as he moved.

Totally understandable. She was pretty sure she’d writhed like that when she’d surrounded him too. The memory of his cock, sliding into her for the first time, was indelibly marked on her soul. What if it was also the last time?

Did she want it to be?

Or had she had enough of fabulous one-night-stands to last her a lifetime?

If she was honest, she knew the answer without a doubt. She needed another taste of these sexy cops. Preferably sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, her brain wouldn’t disengage long enough to permit her to do something so foolish until she ironed out some of the serious wrinkles chafing between them.

“I guess I’m left waiting for the food?” Matt wrinkled his nose. “I’m starving and I hate cold eggs. But there’s no way I’m touching anything I put in my mouth before I wash this stench-by-association off. Can we hurry it up?”

“I have a timesaver. Let’s do this all at once. Simulclean. It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked. Oh, wait…I haven’t actually gotten a good look at you guys.” Jambrea smirked. “I need the tub to keep my bandage dry. But nothing says you two can’t take either end of the shower. I’d like that view better than the skyscape over there anyway.”

She stared at Matt, daring him to blink first. He did. Then he glanced at Clint from beneath those lush lashes that belied his gruff exterior.

“It’s not like we haven’t done this a million times at the gym.” Clint shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be weird. You stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine. I’m not going to molest you or anything, asshole.”

Matt took a second more to consider before he growled as he stripped his tight-fitting black T-shirt from his immense chest. Imagining those muscles sweaty from a strong workout did nothing at all to cool Jambrea down.

She practically skipped over to the claw-foot tub, then rotated the flashy handles until it began to fill. From a basket hanging on the side, she plucked a glass bottle and cracked it open, taking a sniff. Rosemary and lavender essences delighted her nose.

Anything would smell better than garbage, to be honest.

A dollop into the stream of water seeded a fragrant cloud of mist that hung over the area. She bit her lip and looked up in time to see Clint and Matt divesting themselves of their jeans. Unbuttoned, unzipped and uninhibited, they slid their thumbs in their waistbands and shucked the low-rise denim damn near simultaneously. A couple quick flicks and their socks landed in a little pile on the polished floor.

With their backs to each other, they both turned their heads to the side to focus on her.

“Your turn, wild thing.” Matt winked at her.

“Didn’t think that one through, did you?” Clint grinned. “I’m up for an encore performance. I didn’t finish adoring you before you took off last night. Good thing these shower doors are glass.”

Matt grumbled as he followed his partner into the enormous stall. “Don’t remind me. And don’t go bragging about how
up
you are. It’s kind of a regular occurrence.”

“No kidding. At least since we met Jambi.” Clint didn’t bother acknowledging his partner with a glare or even his middle finger, which Jambrea thought kind of a likely response. Instead he kept his gaze locked on her. “I’ve been hard so much I’m afraid I’m going to get stuck this way. Not that I’m complaining. Better than the other way around. Though it does make my uniform pretty uncomfortable. And I’m getting tired of carrying my hat around like a shield over my crotch. The guys don’t need any more material for ragging on me.”

“No, you give us plenty of that on your own.” Matt flicked on his shower.

Jambrea swallowed hard as she studied his high, tight ass and tree-trunk thighs when he reached over and adjusted some of the fixtures.

“Go ahead, wild thing.” Clint smiled at her. “Seriously. You don’t want to miss out on warm breakfast. Although I’d bring it to you in here if you want to soak. You’ve got to be sore.”

She choked as she gingerly removed her clothes—both to avoid tugging on her arm and to keep from getting any of the rank slime on her hands. At least any more than she had to. When Clint’s concern soaked in, she blushed. “Was it that obvious I haven’t been with anyone in a long time?”

Matt cursed and dropped his soap.

“What?” Clint tilted his head. The honest curiosity in his captivating eyes deterred her from devouring the visual banquet before her. Nothing could be more alluring to her than getting them on the same page. Finally.

Jambrea wiggled her lace panties down her hips, noticing how Clint’s throat flexed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. She dipped a toe in the almost-too-hot water and sighed. Using her good arm, she steadied herself and sank beneath the layer of bubbles forming.

“Jambi, I think Clint was talking about your swan dive into last week’s lo mein. Or possibly the damage to your arm.” Matt spoke slowly, as if he chose his words carefully. “How long has it been?”

She scrubbed her hands vigorously with the artisanal soap provided then buried her face in them, breathing deep of the fresh scent. “Oh. Shit. Never mind.”

“No.” Clint surprised her with his determination. Inflexible wasn’t how she would normally describe him. But he didn’t blink as he hastily scrubbed shampoo into his short hair. Suds tracked down his neck and over his pecs, making her lick her lips, wishing she could have him for breakfast. “Hiding shit hasn’t worked for us so far. And this is important. We could have hurt you.”

Insulated from them, Jambrea felt like she could stare her fill. The scenery made for a pleasant distraction from the humiliation sure to follow. Tenacious, they’d never leave this alone.

“Jesus, Jambi.” Matt scoured his abs as if he was trying to wash away some imaginary sin. “I’m not exactly an average guy. Why wouldn’t Lily have warned us?”

“Because she knew I could handle you both?” She settled into the curved porcelain, allowing it to cradle her, imparting some much-needed comfort while keeping her arm resting on the brim. “Because your overprotectiveness seems to be hurting us all instead of helping?”

“Maybe.” Clint sighed as he nodded. He rinsed and stepped from the shower without bothering to dry off. Instead, he knelt beside her, taking the soap from her restless fingers. “But you haven’t answered us. When was the last time you were intimate with someone?”

Matt’s low growl didn’t scare her. Not when she was about to reveal just how special their liaison had been to her. How could he be jealous of a single one-night-stand that happened a decade ago?

“Almost ten years,” she murmured as she traced the intricate detailing on the lip of the tub with idle flicks of one nail.

Clint closed his hand around hers gently, drawing it to his lips so he could nibble on her knuckles. “Jambi—”

“Not so wild now, am I?” She allowed herself to look at him. Into his gaze. It seemed senseless to withhold information at this point. “And honestly, that was a one-time thing. If your hymen could regenerate itself, I’d be a born-again virgin by now.”

It was bad when he didn’t laugh. Wasn’t it?

Matt startled her when he knelt beside Clint then rested his hand on her bent knee. He stroked the sensitive skin there with his damp thumb, which glided back and forth lightly. “Who could be crazy enough not to fight for you? For more?”

“It’s complicated.” She shrugged with her good shoulder. “We were in the military together. He had a…special assignment. I never heard from him again.”

It surprised her when tears stung her eyes. Would they think she was stupid to cling to the ghost of a temporary lover for so long? Maybe they’d run when they realized how stalkerish she could become.

They didn’t.

“And you were loyal to him, all that time?” Matt winced. “Sometimes you have to know when to give up on people, Jambi. Or maybe you’ve learned that by now. Is that why you kicked us out after the wedding?”

“Not that you fucking listened,” she grumbled, but part of her perked up as she recalled their groggy “good mornings” and their tousled hair.

“We’re not quitting when it comes to us. This.” Clint took over for her, washing her with a tenderness she hadn’t realized him capable of before. He used his hands, not a cloth, lathering them before gliding them over all of her that he could reach.

About the time his fingers caressed her breasts—which betrayed her with hardened nipples—Matt urged her to scoot forward until he could lay her back. He supported her neck in order to wet her hair. He sat her up as Clint rubbed her more than cleanliness alone could dictate.

And then Matt massaged her scalp as he worked shampoo into her short locks. “You’re so beautiful.”

His reverent touches told her more than his words.

As if Clint could sense her getting overwhelmed with the possibility of something she’d had to write off in order to protect her squishy, emotional center, he cut in, cracking the jokes that made him so easy to be around. “I know I am, thanks.”

Matt groaned and knocked his shoulder into Clint, nearly toppling his friend. For a minute it was as if they forgot they were naked and nearly pressed full-length against each other. In that instant, all that mattered was her.

Jambrea couldn’t say she disliked their attention.

Except right then a rap sounded from the other room, followed by the bellman calling, “Room service.”

From the pitch of his near-shout, she wondered how many times he’d already announced himself.

“I’ve got it.” Matt rocketed to his feet, snagging one of the plush robes off the back of the door along with their dirty clothes, which the hotel would launder. “Hurry, though. You really do need to eat.”

“That’s probably Matt-talk for, ‘Don’t ravish her in the bathtub, fucknugget.’” Clint wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“Damn straight. Unless you want a code one-eight-seven on your hands.” Matt cinched the belt at his waist the best he could.

“That means murder,” Clint said in a stage whisper.

It was impossible to take Matt seriously when the fluffy fabric didn’t remotely cover all his important bits. Well, at least he had nothing to be ashamed of. His bits were intimidating.

Clint and Jambrea cracked up together at the sight of him stomping into the other room, a towel clutched in the gap between the fuzzy lapels. When their gazes intersected, she quieted, but the smile etched on her face refused to flee.