Red Zone (Red Zone 1)

“These past four days. They’ve been a gift for me. More precious than you can ever know. I’ve tasted freedom and learned how to love. All because of you. I wouldn’t take a minute back. Not one minute.”

He couldn’t speak. It was impossible because he knew if he did manage to get a word out, it would be to beg her to stay with him, something neither of them could make happen.

“Make love to me, Luke. One last time. Please.”

She didn’t have to ask. He was hers as much as she was his. And he would have told her so if any of the words in his head would make it out of his mouth. But they wouldn’t leave his lips. It would make it all too real. So, instead of words, he pressed his mouth to hers and enfolded her in his arms.

His kiss was reverent. He needed her to know how precious she was to him. That he needed her. Wanted her. Loved her. So. Fucking. Much. Too much for words. Too much to let her go. How was he going to go on without her? How was it even possible?

His arms tightened as though trying to hold her to this life. “I wish…” he managed to croak out.

“No.” Her fingers touched his lips as she stared deep into his eyes,

seeing his soul, knowing all of him. “No wishes. No regrets.”

He kissed her again, tasting every corner of her mouth. Memorizing her taste, the feel of her satin-soft lips, the small sounds of need she made when his tongue danced with hers. He kissed her with everything he had. Giving her all of him. Because he was hers. Only hers.

With a glance to make sure they were still hidden from the cameras and she was protected, he reached for her shirt. This was their time, no one else’s. He hated that he’d failed her. That she was spending the last precious minutes of her life locked up when she’d desperately wanted to be free. She should have been in a palace, in a bed of satin, with the sun shining through the windows onto her golden hair. He felt his body tense at the injustice of it all, and the rage he fought to suppress began to bubble up again.

“Shh,” she whispered as she cupped his cheek. “It’s just us. That’s all that matters.”

He forced himself to relax and concentrate on the woman in front of him. He had to make every minute of the present count, instead of being angry at a future he was helpless to change.

“Yeah, bébé, just us.”

He helped her wriggle out of her clothes, and she knelt before him, a feast for a starving man. And that’s exactly what he’d been before she came along. His eyes trailed down her body, lingering on her soft curves and porcelain skin. She was perfection. And he needed to feel her skin to skin. He reached down, grabbed his shirt, and tugged it off. His pants and boots followed fast. She studied him, watching every tiny movement.

“I love the color of your skin.” Her voice was husky with desire.

He knelt facing her, placing his palm on the curve of her stomach. Enjoying the contrast of her moonlit skin against his earthy tones.

“And your muscles.” She sounded awestruck as she ran her hands down his chest, tracing each muscle. “They make me want to bite.” The confession made her eyes widen, as though she’d surprised herself.

“You can bite all you like. I might even enjoy it.”

Her eyes darkened to midnight blue. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

…

Friday didn’t want to think about a future she couldn’t change. She’d known the chance she took when she’d poisoned herself. What she hadn’t known was that a man as wonderful as Luke Boudreaux would come into her life. She’d thought she would die alone, with no one in her life to regret leaving. She’d been wrong. If she could have one wish granted, one miracle, it would be to stay with this man. To live a long and full life in his arms. But wishing was foolish. And miracles were myth.

It was best to deal with reality, rather than unrealistic hope. And reality told her she had just over two hours to spend with Luke Boudreaux. Two hours to touch him. Two hours to love him. She ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders, feeling the firm muscle beneath the smooth, warm skin. He was a living sculpture. A study in perfection that would have been at home in any ancient art collection.

Slowly, keeping her eyes on his, she leaned in and bit his pec, just above the nipple. She felt the tension of the muscle under her teeth and heard him gasp. Strong hands threaded into her hair, holding her to him. Empowered by his reaction, she soothed the bite with her tongue before licking her way to his tiny nipple. Male nipples were such odd things, completely purposeless, yet strangely compelling.

“You’re driftin’ again.” She felt the sound rumble through his chest and into her lips. “You’d better not be planning on making my nipples strawberry flavored.”

She couldn’t help but smile against his skin. “I like your taste just fine.”

His hold tightened in her hair. “You sure? Maybe you should sample some more before you decide.”

Delighting in him, she did exactly that. Kissing and licking and biting her way down his stomach to the firm length jutting toward her.

He tugged at her hair again, angling her head to make her look up at him. “You taste my cock, bébé, and this is gonna be over before it starts.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “And here I thought you had more stamina than that.”