Page 65 of Silent Comrade
“I meant what I said earlier today aboutcoming back here with you…”
Good God, wasn’t he wounded? On a mission.This was business. Then his warm breath feathered the hair at theback of her neck.
No way. She wasn’t falling at this guy’sfeet. He’d have to prove he wanted her as Britt, not as a missiontarget to distract. Right now, he was in way too much control forher to completely believe his motives. She took in a lungful of airand blew it out, staring at the kitchen drapes covering the windowin front of her.
“This isn’t a game, Al.”
“I don’t play games.”
Damn. “Please don’t—”
He stepped away, the air around her coolingthe exposed skin on her back from the halter top. “I won’t doanything without your say-so. I swear. Mission or no mission, Ihope you realize that by now.”
He wasn’t wrong. He was just …persuasive.
It was still her choice.
God, in a perfect world she wanted himpressed up to her. Needed to feel safe in his arms. Needed to feelworthy of honest interest. Wanted to explore his body. Taste.Enjoy. Connect. Feed the hunger that continued to build. She wanteda few hours where her life hadn’t been upended, her futureuncertain.
Dropping her head, she bit her lip. Now whohad questionable motives? She couldn’t use him just to satisfy herown needs. But what if his needs and hers truly were mutual?
Britt dried her shaking hands on the toweland reached back for him, like in the club. His fingers brushedagainst hers, the lightest, most breakable touch. She couldn’t lookat him. Not yet. Too many thoughts and conflicting needs swirledinside of her. Her therapist would have a field day with the factthat she wanted him but couldn’t face him in a moment likethis.
In Britt’s logic, the fear that someonewould leave her decreased if she didn’t have to confront the personhead-on. Vulnerability decreased if she wasn’t face-to-face. See?Just saved her an hour-long session and a hundred bucks. Britt wasnothing if not thrifty. A lump formed in her throat. The connectionof his fingers curling against hers almost broke her.
Screw anxiety. Screw her baggage. Screwself-doubt. “Closer. Please,” she whispered.
In a whisper of movement, he pressed againsther backside. Kneecaps to thighs, pelvis to butt, abs and chest tothe bare skin of her back. Warmth flowed from his rigid frame intoher trembling one. She tipped her head back until it rested againstthe shirt-covered chest. His heart thudded hard enough to feel itthrough her skull.
“Al, I want—” Fearstole her words.
As she peered up at him, the kitchen lightthrew his face into stark planes and lines. He tilted his headdown, lips hovering at her temple. “Say it.” He loosely grasped herfingers. His other hand rested in a loose fist on the kitchencounter on the other side of her. She gripped the counter with herfree hand.
He didn’t move, even when she shifted fromfoot to foot, brushing her butt against his erection. He did,however, growl, deep in his throat.
That growl. That was what she wanted, and somuch more. “I want you, Al.”
“Good.” He brushed his nose along herneck.
“Wait.”
He froze.
“This is real connection, right? N-not forthe mission.” Her heart rattled against her ribs.
“Britt.” Her name sounded so good rumblingthrough his lips. “God help me, but this is a real connectioninspite ofthe mission.” Spoken like he fought his own innerconflict.
Talk about having the data needed to make aninformed decision. “Oh,” she breathed.
“Yeah. Oh.” He remained motionless, untilevery nerve ending quivered with the need for him to touch her.“You need to give me the go-ahead.”
Had she dented the metal of the sink withher grip yet? “Yes.” Her voice cracked on the single syllable.
A tiny lick at the top of her ear sent ashudder down her spine. Oh God—
He slid his hand up her bare arm to thehalter fabric that covered her neck, to cup the side of her head.In a deliberate, slow movement that she could easily pull awayfrom, he squeezed his hand into a fist of her hair, tighteningnearly to the point of pain. Then he used that grip to tilt herhead. Her knees went weak when that hot tongue laved her ear. Dampwarmth combined with his breath and the nips of his teeth clinkingagainst her earrings which sent sparks over her sensitive skin, allhad her hanging onto the sink like it was a float saving her fromdrowning in an ocean of lust.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, two braincells not involved with pleasure finally made a connection. “Aren’twe. Surveillance?” she gasped out.
