Page 28 of Her Reluctant Hero
Chapter Five
Isabella jolted at the pounding on the door. Her nerves were already stretched tight from the endless grilling of the agents wanting to know what she knew about the death of Eric Reyes—or Cortez, as Alex and the soldiers called him. She couldn’t tell them, couldn’t relive that horror, not even for the good of the country, for the relief of his family. That she’d witnessed it was enough punishment.
They’d finally let her go, had escorted her here to the hotel outside the embassy, and she’d had a shower with actual soap for the first time in—had it only been three days since she’d left Santiago’s? Still, she felt more human, more hopeful, after cleaning up. But now they were back for her.
She looked through the peephole, saw the top of a bent head.
She jumped, choking back a scream when he pounded again.
“Open up, Goddess.”
Shepard.
Still shaking, she unlatched the door and turned the knob. Shepard swayed in the doorway, clearly drunk, but when he lifted his eyes to hers, she recognized his vulnerability in his sad eyes, downturned mouth.
“Shepard, what is it?”
But he didn’t speak, just stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him. He slid a hand under her hair, bending to kiss her in the same movement.
She’d longed to know how he would taste, but tequila had had no part in her imagination. Not like this. When she pushed at his shoulders, he eased back to look at her, his eyes heavy lidded and filled with pain.
Then he whispered, “Isabella. I need you.”
She didn’t want his words to mean anything. She’d heard them before from men who didn’t even know her name. She had dreamed of Shepard being different, that he might actually love her, would take care of her the way he loved and cared for Rebecca. But she was scared to hope.
Still, hope had her curling her fingers around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers.
His mouth was hard, like the rest of him, hot, commanding. His stubble rasped her tender lips as he closed his hands around her waist, his calluses snagging the silky fabric of her robe.
Then he pulled it apart.
She grasped his wrists. “Rebecca.” She wouldn’t betray another woman.
He frowned. “It’s over.”
The hope flared brighter and she was ashamed of herself for a moment. Shepard was hurting, Rebecca too, and she was taking advantage of it. He wouldn’t like her any better in the morning than he had twelve hours ago but she didn’t care. If it was all she could have, she was fine with that. She wanted to know what it was to be with someone who made her feel safe.
His tongue in her mouth was skilled, daring, moving in strokes and sweeps that had her toes curling into the plush carpet. When he parted the robe a little more, the roughness of his clothes rasped her skin.
She wanted more.
He backed her up until her hips bumped the edge of the dresser, and she reached to balance herself. His fingers tangled her hair and he tugged her head back, releasing her mouth and following the line of her throat with his lips.
She moaned and felt him smile against her skin.
Then he went lower, tracing that bared strip of skin between her breasts, pausing only long enough to release the robe’s tie, then down her belly.
His hot breath sent shivers over her skin. He parted her legs and his mouth was on her with the same manner of command as he’d kissed her, his lips drawing, his tongue darting, stroking her swollen flesh with amazing accuracy.
The orgasm hit her hard. She came with a keening cry, arching backwards, gripping the dresser, but he didn’t stop, draining every bit of pleasure from her, adding his fingers, alternately stroking and penetrating her until she came harder, the room spinning, the only solid thing holding her up was Shepard.
As casually as if he hadn’t destroyed her, he stood, watching as she sprawled helplessly in front of him, boneless. He kissed her again, his mouth wet with her, peeling her robe away, sharpening her desire. She clutched at him, sliding her hands up under his T-shirt to feel the ridges of muscle, to urge him to undress.
He stripped off his shirt and she reached for him, wanting to touch, feel, claim, but he moved back, shucking off his pants too. The erection she’d seen at the waterfall was just as magnificent, but he’d sheathed himself before she could touch him.
“Turn around,” he said, and she did, on shaky legs.
He pressed a hand between her shoulder blades, bending her over the dresser so she was face to face with her own reflection in the mirror. Then he parted her legs and entered her with a powerful thrust.
