Page 55 of Silent Comrade
Red caught her hand.Control it, heprayed.Don’t hurt her. More gently than he thoughtpossible, he spun her toward him. “Youhadoffered.” Hisvision still misfired, tinting everything red, though it wasimproving. Something about the connection with Britt calmed thevirus. He blinked once. Twice. Then stared down at her.
She sucked in the hoop on her lip, that tinyaction shooting blissful tightness into his belly and lower.
“But you said, and I quote, ‘I don’tdance’.” She wrinkled her nose.
Words became more fluid as the connectionwith Britt fueled his ability to calm the viral urges. “Why don’t.You show me. How.” Bending down, his breath shifted the hair nextto her ear. As synesthesia amplified, that millimeter of aswishsound of hair moving against fabric sounded likevanilla merengue cookies tasted. Delicious. “Let me know if I’mdoing it right or not.” He gave the lightest lick to her ear.
Her sharp intake stung like bubbles of afizzy root beer. Every sense folded and blended until all heexperienced was Britt in front of him. Good God, they were both introuble.
The proper protocol when impaired ordisabled: call for backup. He turned his head enough to glimpseRodeo leaning over the railing. Waiting for the signal.Watching.
Red didn’t give the signal.
Instead, he trailed his hand down Britt’sbare arm. Her skin was satiny-soft. That simple contact furthercalmed the overwhelming viral impulses to protect, surround,defend. Touching Britt revved up other impulses. Red could maintaincontrol. He had to.
When she turned away from him, he thoughthe’d screwed up again.
Then she slipped her arm out from under hisand gripped his wrist. Britt backed up to him, her hips keepingtime with the music that Red could process once more. She brushedagainst him tentatively at first. Nerve endings sparked to lifewhere they connected. Her small hand held his wrist prisoner. Thewhisper of the skin of her back against the rough denim jacket,arrowed warmth right into his chest. The bruises visible when herclothing shifted, sent a virtual dagger into his gut. This woman.Injured on his watch. His tense arms shook with the need to wrapher up and not let go.
Britt swayed with the music’s throbbingbeat, tugging lightly on his wrist until he matched her movements.She pressed his palm to the dip in front of her hip bone andrepeated on the other side, resting her hands on top of his. Heshook with the overwhelming need to clamp onto her. To tear theclothing from her and touch every inch of her. Every muscletightened, wanting more contact. To surround her more. He neededmore of Britt. Somehow, he kept time with her undulating body.
His pelvis pressed against her butt becamethe place where Heaven met Hell.
He tightened his fingers, the tips digginginto her softness mere inches from the juncture of her thighs. Herhigh-pitched sigh cracked, nearly slicing him in two. Instead, hecurled his shoulders around her and lowered his head until her hairtickled his chin.
Bass beats and melodies flooded the spacearound them until Red’s entire world became a two-foot radius ofhis body trying to surround Britt. The rock of her hips against hisfocused his senses.
His world narrowed down to the smoky rumtasting sounds of Britt’s small frame grazing his. Trailing hishand up her arm, he leaned away long enough to sweep a palm acrossher bare back, bumping over the purse strap that went from oneshoulder across her body to the other hip. He traced the edge of abruise that peeked out over one shoulder blade. Then he rested hisfingers on her fabric-covered neck, thumb toying with the haltertie. He fought for control over a virus that wanted him to grab, tohold, to clamp down.
Control it.
Then, good God, her hands slid back to gripthe tops of his thighs, making the muscles twitch and bunch underher lightest touch, even as their bodies continued to sway. Herfingers rested too close and way too far away from what he needed.She relaxed into his chest, and he responded by cupping the frontof her shoulders and drawing her tighter to him.
He brushed his lips over her hair, taking inthe scent of hibiscus. Red nudged her head to one side with hischin, and she complied. He pressed his mouth over the skin betweenher ear and the angle of her jaw, tasting the snare drum percussionbeat of her pulse under his lips.
What mission?
For how long they moved like this, him allbut locked around her, Britt molding into his body, Red had noidea. All he knew was that the sense of connection, of rightness,nailed him in the solar plexus. His Goth pixie had turned himsoft.
She rubbed her butt against him.
Okay, not soft. Not even close. Heswallowed. At some point the ill-conceived plan to seduce her intostaying by his side for safety had turned into a dangerous game,and she might have outmaneuvered him.
He brushed his lips against the shell of herear and absorbed her full body shudder. So satisfying. Another nipand he felt her groan reverberate through his sternum, crashinginto him like ocean waves.
“How much longer do you want to stay here?”he asked, throwing in a nip of her earlobe for good measure.
Another shudder. She craned her head up andback at him. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’d like to see how we move together … inprivate.” Okay, that might be laying it on a little thick. But didit work?
“Mmm. That’s a pretty bad line.”
Oof.
Then, her satisfied cat smile soothed hisvirus as something deep inside of him settled down. She stroked histhigh, edging up so tantalizingly close to what he wanted. A scrapeof her nails on cotton pants fabric made his belly tense. “Is thispart of your job, too?”
He stumbled at a surge of light-headedness,the toe of his shoe bumping her heel. “What?”
