Crave (Fallen Angels 2)

There was a beat of raw silence. And then Isaac came around the island toward her.

He kept his voice low as he approached. "When you were in the police station today, did they ask you about me?"

She seemed momentarily nonplussed. "Of course they did."

"And what did you tell them?"

"Nothing--because short of your name, I don't know a goddamn thing."

He nodded, bringing his body even closer to hers. "That man at my apartment. Did he ask about me?"

She threw her hands up. "Everyone wants to know about you--"

"And what did you tell him?"

"Nothing," she hissed.

"If someone from the CIA or the NSA comes to your door and asks about me--"

"I can't tell them anything!"

He stopped so close, he could see each inpidual lash around her stunning blue eyes. "That's right. And that's what is going to keep you alive." As she cursed and went to turn away, he grabbed her arm and snapped her back around. "That man at my apartment is a cold-blooded killer and he let you go only because he wants to send a message to me. The reason I'm not telling you anything--"

"I can lie! Damn it--why do you assume I'm naive?" She glared up at him. "You have no idea what it's been like my whole life, seeing all these shadows and never having them explained. I can lie--"

"They'll torture you. To make you talk."

That shut her up.

And he kept going. "Your father knows this. So do I--and believe me, during training I got put through an interrogation session, so I know precisely what they'll do to you. The only way I can be sure you don't get that is if you really don't have anything to say. Frankly, you're too close to this anyway--through no fault of your own."

"God . . . I hate this." The trembling in her body wasn't about fear. It was rage, pure and simple. "I just want to hit something."

"Okay." He tightened her fist and drew her arm back over her shoulder. "Take it out on me." "What--"

"Hit me. Tear my eyes out. Do anything you have to."

"Are you mad?"

"Yes. Insane." He dropped his hold on her and braced his weight, staying close . . . close enough so she could cork him a good one if she wanted to. "I'll be your punching bag, your Kevlar vest, your bodyguard . . . I'll do anything to help you get through this."

"You're crazy," she breathed.

As she stared up at him all flushed and alive, the heat in his blood surged--and took them into even more dangerous territory. For f**k's sake, like he needed to get sexed up? Now, yet again, was not the time or the place.

So naturally, he asked, "What's it going to be . . . Do you want to hit me or kiss me?"

In the wake of the demand, Grier ran her tongue over her lips and Isaac tracked the movement like a predator. Yet it was clear as he stayed where he was that what happened next was up to her.

Which proved what kind of man he was in spite of the profession he'd fallen into.

On her side, she wasn't thinking anything remotely professional. She was confused and off-kilter--this was last night all over again with the reckless buzzing. But that wasn't what compelled her now.

This could be the only time she had with him. Ever. She'd spent all afternoon wondering where he was, if he was okay . . . if she would see him again. If he was still alive. He was a stranger who had somehow become very important to her. And though the timing was horrible, you couldn't schedule the opportunities you had.

Dropping her arm, she uncoiled the fist he'd made for her, and as it came down, she wished she could keep it to herself because that was a more responsible choice. Instead, she leaned into him and put her palm between his legs. On a growl low in his throat, his hips thrust forward.

He was hard and thick.

And had to hold himself up as he swayed.

"I won't stop this time," he growled.

She tightened her grip on him. "I just want to be with you. Once."

"That can be arranged."

They met in the middle in a blaze, lips crushing, arms winding around, bodies coming together. In the dim kitchen, he picked her up and took her down onto the floor between the island and counter, rolling over at the last moment so he was the bed she lay upon. As her legs settled between his, the hard ridge of his erection dug into her and his tongue entered her mouth, taking, owning. As they kissed in desperation, his body undulated beneath her, rolling and receding, the powerful contours of him achingly familiar in spite of how little time she'd spent against him.

God, she needed more of him.

In a fumbling move, she yanked up her shirt and he was right on it, pulling down the lacy cups, freeing her ni**les, and then moving her up so that his lips latched onto one, sucking, pulling, licking. His hair was thick against her fingers as she held him to her, his mouth wet and hot, his hands grabbing her hips and digging in.

"Isaac . . ." The groan was strangled and then cut off altogether by a gasp as his palm swept between her legs and cupped her sex.

He rubbed her in tight circles as he flicked his tongue, and only the raging need to have him inside gave her the focus she needed to go for his nylon sweatpants. Shoving the waistband down, she kicked off her loafers, hooked a toe, and peeled them all the way off.

No boxers. No briefs. Nothing in the way.

Wrapping her palm around his thick shaft, she stroked him and he moved with her, counterthrusting to increase the friction. And the sound he made . . . holy heavens, the sound he made: that growl was all animal as he inhaled against her breast.

Grier sat up, his lips popping off her breast, and with a curse, she all but ripped her yoga pants and her panties off. As he gripped himself and stood his erection up, she restraddled him and sat down, lowering herself onto him, joining them together, moving his windbreaker up so she could get to more skin. The feel of him kicked her head back, but she watched his reaction, hungry to see what he looked like--and he didn't disappoint. With a great hiss, his teeth clenched and he sucked in air through them, the cords in his neck straining, his pecs popping up into tight pads.

As she took over and set the pace, it was as if she were owning him in some primal way, marking him with the sex.

"God . . . you're beautiful," he panted as his hot eyes watched her from lowered lids, tracking the movement of her br**sts as they peeked out from between the shirt and the crammed-down bra cups.

He didn't stay down for long, though. He was fast and strong and sure as he sat up and kissed her hard, pushing in even deeper and holding her to him. At first she panicked that he was stopping again, but then he burrowed into her neck and spoke to her.

"You feel so good." His Southern drawl was low and husky and it went straight into her sex, heating her even further. "You feel . . ."

He didn't finish the sentence, but slipped his big palms under her to lift her up and down, his massive biceps handling her weight as if she were nothing but a toy--

She came so hard she saw stars, a bright galaxy exploding where they were joined and sending a shower of sparkling light throughout her body. And just as he'd promised, he didn't stop this time. He went rigid and jerked against her, his arms shooting around her waist and tightening until she couldn't breathe--not that she cared about oxygen. As he twitched inside of her and shuddered against her, she sank her nails into his black windbreaker and held him.

And then it was all over.

As their breathing slowed, the stillness afterward was much the same as the departure of that great, sourceless wind: oddly traumatic.

Silence. God . . . the silence. But she couldn't think of anything to say.

"I'm sorry," he bit out roughly. "I thought this would help you."

"Oh, no . . . I--"

He shook his head, and with his tremendous strength lifted her off his body, separating them easily. In a quick move, he set her aside, yanked his waistband back up, and reached for a clean towel. After he gave the thing to her, he settled with his back against the cupboards and put his knees up, arms balanced on the tops of them, hands hanging loose.

It was then that she noticed the gun on the floor beside where they had been. And he must have seen it at the same moment she did because he grabbed the weapon and disappeared it into the windbreaker.

Squeezing her eyes shut briefly, she cleaned up quick and redressed. Then she settled in an identical pose next to him. Unlike Isaac, however, she didn't stare straight ahead; she looked at his profile. He was so beautiful in that male way, his face all angles and bone--but the weariness in him bothered her.