Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

S he couldn't decide if this was the new Truman or not. Impulsive? New Truman. Seeking justice? Old Truman. Sexy as hell? Both.

She’d been about to ask him why…why had he taken her side this time? Why had he helped her get away? Why was he still helping her?

There was a reason—she knew it in her gut, but she couldn’t pinpoint it.

It wasn’t just about believing she was innocent.

Was it?

There was always this pull between them. That tug. The electricity that followed him wherever he went.

She’d been addicted to it.

Maybe she still was.

Before she could question his true motives—it couldn’t be that he still had feelings for her, could it?—he’d pulled her into his lap, and here she was.

Kissing him.

It felt damn good, too.

In the back of her mind, she knew she should make him stop. He'd already thrown away everything for her… and he was an important person. He thwarted terrorists. Arrested criminals. Kept Britain safe.

She was a simple gemologist. Outside of being a wanted criminal, she was a nobody. Exactly how she preferred it.

What if he failed at proving her innocence? What if he’d thrown away his life for her, and it was all for nothing?

Worse…what if he succeeded ? What if he proved she hadn’t committed any of those crimes and justice was served? Where would they be then? She’d be free, he’d be reinstated as a spy, and what…? They’d live happily ever after?

There was no such thing in her world.

But for this moment, with his warm, skillful lips working their way to her earlobe and down her neck, she was willing to press pause on that line of thinking. Later . She’d think about it later.

“You’re bleeding,” she murmured, running her fingers down his ribs to the bandage. “You’ve torn your stitches.”

He brushed his lips over that sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met. “Nothing major,” he murmured against her skin.

Goosebumps raced over her arms, down her back. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, tugging him closer. A growing hardness pressed against her bottom. “There’s certainly something down there that’s major.”

He chuckled, his fingers peeling her tank top strap out of his way as he continued his trek across her skin. “Too soon?”

Her body—so desperate for his touch after all this time—kept blanking out her brain. “Too soon for what?”

He slipped the other strap down her arm, holding her gaze. “This. Us. I betrayed your trust. Accused you of terrible things. Held you at gunpoint. You have every right to hate me.”

His skin was warm, almost hot. His muscles twitched under her palms as she ran her hands down his pecs, his flat abs. “If I hate you, will you try even harder to make me happy?”

His grin was dirty. “Everything in my power.”

The gleam in his eyes told her he wasn’t lying. It also told her he was waiting for her permission to continue kissing her. Would it go further than that? Only if she wanted it to.

She touched his hair, his jaw. Ran a finger along the waistband of his pants, teasing. Making him wait… Making him wonder.

He sucked in a breath at her touch. The desire in his eyes flamed hotter.

And still he waited.

Tracing his abs with a light touch, she watched his reaction. How long could he hold out? Her other hand went to his bicep and traveled up his shoulder to his neck.

He’d always been ticklish. He squirmed. “You’re a vixen, you know that?”

“What are we doing?” she asked softly.

He quirked a brow. “Did prison wipe your mind? It’s called making out. Seems like an ideal thing to do while we wait.”

She smiled. “You know what I mean.”

He caught her wrists and drew her hands to his chest. “I have hangups when it comes to trusting people. My childhood, my current job…when I found that stolen ring in your bag that morning, I lost my shit. I thought you’d deceived me, and that’s my worst fear—giving my heart to someone and having them use it against me.”

Resting her forehead against his, she shut her eyes. “It’s not all your fault, you know. With my background and family, it was an obvious conclusion to jump to.”

“I’d never told anyone the truth about who I was or what I was working on. I fell for you so damn hard that I shoved that personal rule aside. Shared more about my real life than was allowed.” He released her hands and lifted her chin to force her to look at him. “I took the biggest risk of my career by being mostly truthful with you, and then I found out you were the daughter of the woman running the Red Hearts.”

“If the situation had been reversed, I probably would have jumped to the same conclusion—that I’d wheedled my way into your life to learn what you knew about them so I could feed the information back to my mother. I wasn’t truthful with you, but I also had a lot to hide.”

“It wasn’t my usual mission. There were…extenuating circumstances. I wish I could tell you everything, but it’s better you don’t know.”

“Because if I did, you’d have to kill me?”

He smiled, running his hand down her arm. “I want a fresh start."

"With me?"

His eyes were deep and unfathomable. "With everything."

"I don't understand. You mean, even with your career?"

He glanced away, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "It hasn't been the same for a while. Not since that night in your loft. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and maybe it's time I got out of the game."

She had no words. Cupping his cheek, she turned his face so they were eye to eye once more. "I'd like a fresh start, too. When this is over."

"How about we give it a running start?" His grin spoke volumes.

Her toes curled. "What if Dolan comes back and catches us?"

"I'll kill him.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat, and she drove her tongue into his mouth on a kiss.

He was ready for it. He sank his teeth into her lower lip, devouring her mouth as he slid his hands under her tank. He found her breasts, and her breath caught when he gave both a squeeze. “Boy, have I missed these,” he said with a ragged breath in her ear.

She shuddered. Breaking away from his magic lips long enough to yank the thing over her head, she tossed it to the floor and arched into him, giving him better access. While he kissed the bare skin of her neck and shoulders, he massaged each one, flicking his thumb over the nipples.

She whimpered. "They've missed you, too."

A growl issued from his throat, and then he was lifting her out of the chair. It was only natural to wrap her legs around his hips, grasping his strong back as he planted her on the desk and shoved himself between her legs.

She heard things crashing but decided to ignore them. This might be her one and only chance to have the best sex of her life again before rotting in another cell.

A tiny flicker of hope took root in her heart, though, over his words. A fresh start .

She doubted that people like the two of them got such a gift. They were going to end up on the run for the rest of their lives, or…

She didn't want to think about that. Not now.

Her hand went to his throbbing member, which stood at attention. She gave him a squeeze. He groaned and, if possible, became harder under her touch.

It was a good thing he wore sweatpants with some give to them. She suspected if he'd been wearing his usual trousers, he would have busted the zipper, he was so big and so ready.

She needed to feel him. Skin to skin. "Take these off,” she insisted, tugging at the waistband.

"Always so bossy." But he did what she ordered, shucking them aside.

And there was his glorious erection, jutting from his strong, muscular thighs. She swallowed hard, remembering what it felt like to kiss him there, to lick him, to make him beg her to put her mouth on him.

Seeing the gleam in her eye, he kissed her hard before sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh of her shoulder. Moving lower, he caught one of her breasts between his lips, sucking it into his mouth and circling his tongue over the nipple. Over and over, pure torture, until she panted for him to do more.

She tried to reach for him, needing to feel him in her hands, but he brushed her eager fingers away. "Me first," he said and then began devouring her other breast.

Her blood pulsed in her veins, and she arched into his mouth. Everything spun around them, and she jammed her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer.

It wasn't enough. The ache between her thighs was too much. She needed relief. She was nearly ready to climax, and he hadn't even touched her there.

Sensing her growing desperation, he lowered his head to lick a path down her belly, stopping at the edge of her yoga pants. His hands stroked her thighs, and he eyed that bullseye between them.

She was breathing hard. "What are you waiting for?"

He glanced up from under a lock of hair that had fallen down his forehead, giving her that feral smile that made her blood run hot. “Don't rush me. I want to enjoy this."

He drew her to her feet and shoved the yoga pants down. Pinning her where she stood, he stroked the lacy panties she had taken from the apartment, following the edge of one leg to her inner thigh. "Say please."

So like him to drag this out. To taunt her.

Then again, it's what she liked to do to him, as well.

Two of a kind.

At that moment, however, she wasn't about to play nice. "Just wait till it's my turn," she threatened. She gripped his hand firmly and smacked it against the spot begging for his touch. " Please ," she growled.

His laugh was deep and loud, echoing in the space. He stroked her through the fabric, and she nearly came right there. "I love a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it."

The world around her went white, his fingers and thumb working her through the lace like an old pro. He knew what she liked, what made her come hard and fast.

Her hands landed on the desk to brace herself as he slipped his fingers under the material. “You're so wet,” he growled. “Wet and ready for me, luv?”

She was more than ready. She whimpered again, thrusting her hips. “Take what you want," she pleaded. "Just give me what I want."

He touched and stroked her. He knew how much pressure to apply, when to slow down, speed up, and stop completely, keeping her from going over the edge until he wanted her to.

She was seconds from imploding. The torture was too much. This time, she begged for real. "Please." It came out low and breathy. Ragged. “ Please ."

He was breathing harder, too, and she derived satisfaction from knowing he was enjoying this as much as she was. She knew it for certain when he removed his talented hand and replaced it with his mouth.

Her cry of pleasure echoed in her ears, and she once again sunk her fingers into his hair. Everything in her exploded at the feel of his tongue on that sensitive bundle of nerves, and it was a good thing he was gripping her hips because she might’ve taken out all of Dolan's equipment.

The climax rolled on and on, thanks to his tongue milking it. When she could finally breathe again, he cradled her head against his chest, his hand making slow circles on her back.

“We’re not…done,” she managed to whisper.

But when she spread her legs wider and tugged him and his enormous erection to her, he tensed. “I don’t have a condom.”

Her laugh was dry. “A spy, prepared for every scenario, but not this one?”

His hands caught her by the back of her head, and he ravaged her mouth again. “You blindside me every time. How could I possibly be prepared for you?”

She liked that—both his skilled mouth and his words. “Surely Dolan has some around here.”

He released her and stepped back. “Bloody hell, he might. I’ll check.”

He was halfway to the door, his erection leading the way, when a bell dinged.

Stopping with a heavy sigh, he did an about-face and snagged his pants. “Of all the rotten timing.”

“What is it?” She slid off the desk, noticing the mess they’d made. The keyboards were crammed up against the monitors, one of which was dangerously close to crashing to the floor. She hopped down and scooted it to its original place, the weight of it more than she’d anticipated. She had to lean over and use both hands.

Truman smacked her playfully on her bare ass. “We will continue this,” he said. His erection was still obvious through the pants. He handed her her top. “That alarm is good news, I think.” He peered at the screen, scanning lines of cryptic text.

She tugged on the tank and shimmied into the yoga pants. “What does it mean?”

He reread a line and then made a “huh” sound.

“What?” she insisted. “Can you decipher all that gibberish?”

“Yeah,” he said and sat back with a heavy sigh. “But it’s not the message I’d hoped for.”