Maverick (Elite Ops 2)

“I needed…” She waved her hand to the door and swallowed tightly. “A moment.”

“The crowd out there can get overwhelming.” He spoke and his lips were firm and full. Wide, tempting lips. What would it be like, she wondered, to kiss a man? She hadn’t been touched since she was eighteen years old. The kisses she had known before then had been sloppy, inexperienced. What would it be like to kiss a man? A man who knew a woman’s body.

And this man would know. Sexual experience oozed from his pores in a subtle aura that had drawn the glance of every female who could see him as he walked toward the table earlier.

She licked her lips again. She should speak; she knew she should. She should say something.

“I’m sorry.” Her smile was nervous; she was shaking on the inside, equal parts fear and the flush of need racing through her. “I must seem like a lunatic.”

His head tilted to the side, his black eyes watched her with a hint of fire. “On the contrary,” he stated as he pushed away from the wall and drew his hands from his pockets. “You seem like a lovely young woman uncertain with the animal your friends have introduced you to.” For the first time a smile touched his lips. It was wry, a bit mocking. “They’re used to dealing with testosterone overload, I believe. Those men of theirs are like teenage boys pushing and shoving at each other for dominance. They don’t consider the effect it would have on someone unused to the phenomenon.”

She almost laughed. The sound stuck in her throat as her gaze slipped to his lips again. Her breathing was rough, heavy. She didn’t understand the sensations suddenly rioting through her, and they were frightening. Terrifying.

He moved closer, a subtle shift of his body, and only inches separated them as she stared up at him, aware of too many things at once. The feel of his body, the heat surrounding her. The strength of him. The clash of need and fear inside her.

“I’m sorry.” She brushed at her hair nervously, then watched in shock as his hand lifted.

Like a frightened doe she stared up at him as though expecting the bullet at any second, Micah thought as he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear for her.

The strands were as soft as silk, warm beneath his fingertips.

Risa froze at the light caress, and he was aware of the conflicting emotions, the fears that were tearing through her. Beneath her makeup her face was pale; he could see the hint of panic in her darkening eyes, as well as the arousal.

Yes, arousal. Her body, awakening and demanding touch, comfort, ease. But there were also the lingering effects of that fucking drug they had pumped her full of. Whore’s Dust didn’t just flush from the system. The synthetic drug attached to the brain, forced the body to feel arousal at the most inopportune times.

Her medical records told the tale. There were still minute quantities of the drug in her system, even eight years later. It didn’t have the same hold on her that it had had on Noah, who had suffered continued injections for nearly two years. But it was there, and it affected the female body in different ways than it did the male body.

“They’ll get worried if we don’t return soon,” Micah told her, forcing his voice to remain even, allowing his gaze to stroke her face as his fingers wished to. “We should join our friends, don’t you think?”

She stared back at him, her lips parted, her eyes dilated as a flush of need mantled her cheekbones.

“If we don’t,” he allowed his voice to lower, “then I’m going to kiss you, Miss Clay. And I’m certain you’d find offense should I take such liberties so soon.”

He almost winced. Fuck. His accent was slipping free with her. A hint of the desert colored his words, and the effect of it darkened her eyes.

Where the hell was the ice he kept firmly in place inside his soul? Where was the careful control that was so much a part of him?

“I’m sure I would,” she whispered, but her tongue licked over her lips, a quick little foray, dampening them for him.

Was she growing slick? he wondered. Was her body preparing for him? Micah urged himself to caution, but he was also a man who had lived and died by knowing how to read a body.

This night was to establish interest. To see if she could tolerate the thought of what must be done in the coming days. If her body language was anything to go by, then tolerating it would be no problem.

“I’m going to kiss you, Risa,” he warned her one last time. “Move away from me and we’ll return to the others. Otherwise, those pretty pouting lips are going to belong to me.”

Belong to him? Risa blinked back at him, her lips parting. But…It was safe here, right? One kiss.

“I—” She tried to speak, tried to think. She didn’t want to appear whorish, but what else was she going to appear to be before the night was over? It was her night, damn it! He was a stranger. He would remain a stranger after the night was over. That was all that was important.

One night.

“One kiss,” she whispered, shocked, amazed at her own daring.

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticcing at the side as his hand came up, cupped her neck, and his thumb whispered over her lips.

His head lowered until she felt his breath against her lips, the warmth of him sinking into her.

“I want to watch your eyes as I kiss you,” his voice whispered through her. “I want to feel your lips, Risa, soft and sweet, and taste the nectar of your tongue. I want to taste you, and know the essence of you.” He looked around, a teasing smile quirking his lips. “Impossible here, wouldn’t you agree?”