Page 3 of Masked Intentions in Pelican Point
I stiffen. "I'm not wounded."
His gaze drops, unapologetic, to where my blouse hides the bandaged graze. "You're healing. There's a difference. But you're not at full strength. So why you?"
"Because I don't fail," I snap. "Because Ryan Murphy is an old friend, and because Fitz trusts me."
"Or he knows you won't listen and will throw yourself into danger regardless. Better to keep you on a leash."
I bristle. "I don't do pet play, and you don't know me well enough to make that sort of assumption."
"Maybe not yet, but I think I'm starting to." His eyes gleam with challenge, daring me to deny it.
After settling my bags in one of the guest suites, the house grows quieter. I piggyback onto Murphy's security system and run another sweep of the grounds. Nolan follows, relentless as a shadow. We trade quips about the grotesque gargoyles perched along the roofline, about the ridiculous opulence of the wine cellar, and the even more impressive collection of single malt. Somewhere between the sarcasm and tension, laughter slips free. It surprises me, sharp and bright, and Nolan's answering grin hits me harder than I'd like.
We step onto a terrace, moonlight spilling silver across the lawn that rolls gently towards the dunes. The ocean crashes in the distance, the salt tang of the air clinging to my skin. Palm fronds rustle, mixing with the constant hush of waves against the hard-packed sand beyond the seawall. The faint call of a night heron drifts across the water, the sound eerie and grounding all at once. Nolan stops close enough that his shoulder brushes mine.
"Tell me the truth," he says softly. "Why did you really take this assignment?"
"Because Fitz ordered me to."
"Not good enough."
I exhale, eyes on the horizon. "Because I needed space. Because nearly dying changes things. Because guarding a mask is easier than guarding the people I've already lost."
Silence stretches. Then Nolan says, "There it is. The truth under all that sass."
I glance up sharply. "Careful, Nolan. You dig too deep, you might not like what you find."
His expression turns serious, commanding. "I always like what I find. Especially when it's worth the fight."
Heat coils in my belly, sudden and overwhelming. For a moment, I imagine closing the distance, tasting him, letting him pin me against the stone balustrade and prove every ounce of dominance burning in his gaze. I swallow hard, stepping back before the temptation wins.
The moonlight casts Nolan’s profile in sharp relief. He’s too close, shoulder brushing mine, his voice steady but edged with command.
"I always like what I find," he says.
The banked embers of arousal I’ve been feeling burst into an open flame. For a reckless heartbeat, I don’t just imagine closing the distance—I do it. My mouth finds his, defiant and hungry, and the sound he makes is pure possession. He hauls me tight against him, his chest hard and unyielding beneath my palms. The kiss is raw, brutal in its honesty, and when his tongue sweeps against mine, the world tilts.
The balustrade digs into my back as he presses me against the stone. One of his hands fists in my hair, angling my head just the way he wants it, the other sliding beneath the hem of my blouse. His fingers find bare skin, warm and rough, and my breath shudders in his mouth.
"Tell me to stop," he growls, his voice low, torn between threat and plea.
"You’d hate it if I did," I whisper back. My nails rake down his back, daring him to prove me wrong.
He does. His thigh wedges between mine, forcing them apart, and when he rocks against me I nearly forget why I’m here. The scrape of his stubble against my throat as he nuzzles and kisses me leave me feeling somehow marked and claimed. The surge of arousal that follows is undeniable. My hips grind against him, shameless, and he curses, hot and desperate.
"Trouble," he mutters against my skin. "God, you’re going to wreck me."
I don’t answer. My body does, arching into him, begging for more. The ocean roars beyond the seawall, salt air sharp in my lungs, but all I taste is him—heat, want, command. His fingers skim higher beneath my blouse, finding the lace that hides nothing, and when his thumb circles my nipple I gasp, biting down on his shoulder to keep from crying out.
The mask gleams in the glass case just inside, catching moonlight like a watching eye. Its jeweled gaze feels too knowing, too present, but I can’t stop. Won’t stop. My hands fumble at Nolan’s belt, pulling him closer, reckless enough to forget why we’re here in the first place.
The terrace door creaks. Footsteps. Avoice calling for Murphy. We break apart like guilty teenagers, chests heaving, lips swollen, heat crackling between us.
"Later," he promises, voice ragged, eyes dark enough to drown me.
And God help me—I want later more than I want air.
"Don't flatter yourself," I manage. "You're still insufferable."
