Hard Landing Page 14

  Happy to indulge his whimsy, she allowed him to lower her onto the expanse of cream-colored carpet in front of the fire—close enough to partake of its light, to feel a suggestion of its heat. He came down on all fours over her and stayed that way, pausing to examine her with appreciation in his blue eyes. Max had never looked at her like that. At last, he reached wordlessly for the front of her jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them slowly.

  Breathless with anticipation and incredulity, Rebecca watched him grasp the waistband of her jeans and peel them slowly down her thighs. She lifted her hips to aid him, noting how he intentionally kept her panties in place, how seductively he drew the denim down her legs.

  He's had plenty of practice.

  Squelching her prick of envy, she focused, instead, on the velvety sweep of his fingers as he started at the arches of her feet, caressing her up the length of her calves, to the sensitive insides of her knees.

  She shivered, pleasure coiling in her belly like a spring. The worry that he would render her speechless before she had the chance to fulfill her own fantasies had her blurting, "Take your pants off."

  He feigned shock at her demand. "You mean, get naked?"

  "Now," she added, with a laugh. Coming up on her elbows, she locked her eager gaze on the front of his jeans. The bulge there left no doubt as to his arousal, a fact that thrilled her almost beyond bearing.

  With a confident smile, he released the button first. Then he tugged at the zipper, putting on a show for her as the two halves parted, revealing several inches of his erection jutting through the gap in his boxers. A hot wave of anticipation rolled through her.

  "Let me," she requested, sitting up the rest of the way.

  Anticipation flashed in his eyes as she reached out and took hold of him.

  "Becca," he groaned.

  The smooth pillar of his sex slid like silk between her fingers, thrilling her as she imagined how completely he would fill her. Clasping him in both hands, she stroked him lovingly to presage what was still to come. But after a moment, he caught her hands and pulled them away.

  "Easy, hon. I've got it bad for you right now."

  She drew back, disappointed. "No women on your last mission?" she guessed, tamping down her jealousy.

  His expression turned quizzical. "Not exactly. Actually, there haven't been any women since you made me that wager."

  She thought back. "What wager?"

  "You said I couldn't last a week without sex, remember? Well, it's been longer than that—almost three weeks, actually."

  She searched his face in astonishment. "You've been celibate that long?"

  "Yep. See, you should never challenge a SEAL, hon. We like to prove nothing is impossible for us."

  The knowledge that he'd deprived himself for so long, by his standards, sent a thrill through her. Suddenly, she longed to push him over the edge and to reward him for his restraint. She reached for him again.

  "Oh, no you don't." He rolled to his feet, standing just out of reach as he shucked off his remaining clothing. At last, he stood naked before her, all rippling muscles and smooth golden skin. The sight of him made her head spin and her heart expand. But then he lifted a shiny object to his mouth and tore into it, bringing her back to reality.

  "Good thing you thought of that," she said. Here she was, a nurse, and she hadn't given any consideration to birth control.

  He shot her a tolerant smile, while covering himself with ease of practice and no sign of being self-conscious. Then he dropped to his knees next to her, lowered his head, and kissed her until she melted back against the floor, delirious once again. And then he proceeded, at last, to peel away her panties, tossing them somewhere behind him and making her giggle, before he covered her body with his.

  Easing between her legs, he gave her a moment to adjust to his weight. His erection lay hot and heavy against her inner thigh.

  "You feel so good under me," he whispered. His eyes had never looked so blue. Then he ducked his head, delivering a kiss so intense that it caught her up in its vortex.

  She could feel his heart pumping hard against his sternum. Tension strained the muscles of his back as the head of his sex nudged her opening.

  Suddenly, he tore his mouth from hers and rested his cheek against hers, breathing hard.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "I'm supposed to kiss you all over right now, but I can't bring myself to move," he admitted with a self-deprecating laugh.

  She stroked the curls at his nape. Making love was supposed to be spontaneous, not a step-by-step process. "Then stay here." She rolled her hips in invitation.

  "I'll make it up to you," he promised.

  Clearly, his goal was to impress her, not to connect with her emotionally. Before she could say that there was nothing to make up, he surged into her with a helpless growl.

  "Oh!" Her eyelids sank shut at the thick but delicious intrusion. He withdrew and thrust again, giving rise to a primal craving that demanded more of the same.

  And then it was a mindless race to repletion. Without grace or style, Rebecca responded to his single-minded possession, driving her hips up to meet him. She dug her nails into the thick muscles of his upper back and pulled him closer. The carpet rubbed the base of her spine raw, but she scarcely felt it over the rapture that came from being filled and stretched.

  His tongue, gliding along hers, mimicked his possession. The hair on his chest teased her pebbled nipples. The effect was too intense, too overwhelming for her to find release. He gave a groan, tore his lips from hers, and buried his face in her hair, shuddering violently.

  Still poised on the edge of climax, Rebecca swallowed down her disappointment. Blinking back the tears that sprang to her eyes, she summoned a smile as he lifted his head, looking utterly dazed.

  "What the hell was that?" he asked.

  She hoped the question was rhetorical.

  "Holy shit," he breathed. Withdrawing from her warmth, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, panting like he'd sprinted to the finish line.

  Rebecca cleared her throat. "Are you okay?"

  Bronco turned his head to meet her bemused gaze. "Becca, I'm so sorry." Stretching out a hand he caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I haven't lost control like that since I was sixteen."

  She didn't know whether to be flattered or embarrassed. All she knew was that her body wanted more and it was over. But that was okay. She wouldn't have traded the experience for anything in the world. If only it could have lasted longer. Feeling slightly self-conscious, all spread out on the rug with her nipples still pert and her body throbbing for release, she looked around for her clothes.

  * * *

  Chagrin kept a steady heat in Brant's face. If first impressions were as important as people said, he'd just blown his chance to impress Rebecca.

  It was tempting to blame celibacy for his lack of control, but he had a hunch that was only half of the equation. The other half was Rebecca herself. He had never had sex with a woman whom he cared about so much. If he'd known what a difference it made, he might have tossed aside his rule to keep sex impersonal a long time ago.

  She was trying to cover herself, for Christ's sake, grasping for her blouse that was just out of reach, but he could see by her carefully blank expression and her pebbled breasts that she was far from satisfied. You selfish bastard, he called himself, aching for the opportunity to try again. Fortunately, the sight of her creamy skin in the flickering firelight sent a fresh wave of lust through him.

  "Can I use your bathroom?" He just needed to collect his poise first.

  She paused in act of dragging her clothes closer. "Of course. It's through there, in my bedroom."

  "Don't move," he ordered, glancing back at the soft pink flesh between her toned legs, and the sexy damp dark curls. "I want you exactly like that when I return. Okay?"

  She eyed him curiously but then nodded her agreement.

  In her bathroom, he disposed of the condom and
cleaned himself up in record time before giving himself a stern glare in the mirror. Ready to do better? Hooyah, Chief Adams.

  Returning to her living room, he was pleased to see she hadn't moved one inch in his absence. The surprise that widened her eyes when she saw him standing at full attention brought back his confidence. He searched his wallet for another condom and tore into it. "Let's try that again," he proposed, "in the bedroom, this time."

  "You can do it more than once?"

  The guileless question had him looking up at her. He knew that some men were one-and-done, but Mad Max seemed like he would be an overachiever, if anything. "Are you telling me that Max can't?" He held out a hand and pulled her up to stand before him.

  She shook her head. "No. He... he can't."

  She bit her bottom lip as if catching back details he had no desire to hear anyway. Suddenly he felt much better about his deplorable performance.

  "Sorry about my hurried finish." Gathering her close, he nuzzled his lips against her ear. "I'm usually not that selfish. There's just something about you that makes me go a little crazy." He pulled back to send her a rueful smile. "I'm going to make it up to you, though. I promise," he added, assessing her reaction.

  The lusty glitter in her eyes and the way she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip made him melt, especially when she nodded ever so slightly, offering him the smallest smile of desire. Christ, a man could fall in love so easily with this woman.

  Not him, though. He'd hardened himself to women's wiles a long time ago, and it'd been easy to keep them at a distance because he didn't enjoy their company, outside of the bedroom, anyway. Rebecca fell into a whole different category. He liked her in every conceivable way, and it was starting to scare the hell out of him.

  * * *

  Rebecca's anticipation rose as Bronco led her by the hand to her bedroom, where he pulled back the covers and invited her to lie back on her crisp, white sheets across the queen-sized air mattress.

  "I'm glad you didn't bring your mattress from home," he said, leading her to believe that he alone wanted to possess her on this bed.

  Standing over her a moment, he studied her with a look that struck her as possessive, at least in the light that spilled from the bathroom. Coming down on one knee, he proceeded to kiss her from her mouth on down, just as he'd promised he would. Her neck, her breasts, and the smooth plane of her abdomen all benefited from the skill and warmth of his lips and tongue. She fought to contain a cry of anticipation as he outlined the triangular pattern of her neatly trimmed mound with his tongue.

  "Please," she begged half hysterically.

  "Do you want something?" he asked with laughter in his voice.

  She squirmed, trying to get his mouth onto the apex of her sex, where the throbbing nubbin clamored for his attention.

  "Yes." The mere thought of him teasing her there with his tongue nearly sent her over the edge.

  Burying his nose against the strip of hair that crowned her pubic bone, he inhaled the scent of her arousal. "You are unbelievably sexy," he rumbled.

  A self-conscious heat glowed in her cheeks, as did a flash of anticipation. So close.

  He stroked the pad of his thumb over the slick swollen center of her desire, and her eyelids fought to stay open. And then—at last—he replaced his hand with his mouth and her self-consciousness fled as wave after wave of bliss rolled over her. Of their own accord, her hips bucked against him as his name was pulled from her lips.

  "Bronco!"

  To say that he had developed unparalleled skills in the amorous department was clearly an understatement. Yet she was the one benefitting now, as his clever tongue sent her catapulting toward a climax.

  "Wait, wait!" She didn't want it done and over with so quickly. "I want you to be with me when I—" she faltered, suddenly too modest to articulate her desires.

  He sent her a wicked grin. "Just enjoy the ride, sweet Becca. Don't worry, you'll come again."

  The promise of still another climax was all it took to make her shatter. It had taken him less than five minutes to launch her off the pinnacle into a sea of bliss.

  "You're really good at that," she said when she could speak again.

  "Spoken with such reproach," he mocked, stretching himself over her. "You ready for more?"

  "I think so," she said, feeling a little lightheaded. It had been ages since she'd climaxed, and never like that.

  He eased into her slickness, moving with slow measured strokes that awakened her senses and brought her right back to the brink of ecstasy. He didn't kiss her this time, but studied every nuance of her expression, perhaps to determine what pleased her most.

  With a desultory rhythm that kept her in a sensual stupor, he took her to the summit of ecstasy and kept her there, eliciting sounds of primal pleasure that she had never made before. Suddenly, he rolled over, taking her with him. She found herself straddling him, deeply united but free to move any way she liked.

  "It's all you, Becca," he invited.

  Having lost all inhibition, she resumed the rhythm he'd begun earlier while rolling her hips to receive every inch of him.

  His hands sought her breasts, lifting and rolling and plucking. His right thumb slipped between their bodies to stroke the cradle of her pleasure. She promptly started to unravel.

  "Bronco!" There was no way to stem the rapturous tide that swamped her without warning.

  He joined her in it, pulling her to him and growling his repletion. Her pleasure peaked and ebbed, and she spilled across his chest, utterly fulfilled and deeply content.

  All this time, she'd had no idea what making love really meant. Until now.

  A peaceful quiet fell over them, interrupted only by the sound of their breaths coming in tandem, slowing to a peaceful ebb and flow. Bronco stroked her hair with a tenderness that curled her toes. At last, she lifted her head and looked at him in the light coming from her bathroom.

  "Is it always like that for you?" she heard herself ask, only to regret the question. She didn't want his mind going to other women he'd had sex with, not while holding her.

  For an inordinately long time, he gazed back at her. "Actually, it's never been like that," he admitted on a gruff, uncertain note.

  Her heart glowed at the confession, but did he have to sound so wary about it? It was obvious he had his doubts about being involved with his commander's estranged wife. Who wouldn't?

  Kissing the corner of his mouth, she separated their bodies thinking he might want to get up as he had the last time. But, instead, he pulled her snugly against him. Wriggling closer, she settled her head comfortably on his shoulder and sighed. A huge yawn seized her. With a sense of completion unlike anything she'd ever experienced, she closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep.

  * * *

  Brant lurched awake, his heart hammering, a clammy sweat on his skin.

  Just a dream, he realized, lowering his head back down on the pillow and reorienting himself. Rebecca lay with an arm and a leg thrown over him. Her steady exhalations calmed his racing pulse.

  Closing his eyes again, he pondered the realism of his dream. He and his teammates had been drilling close-quarters hostage rescue techniques in the sturdy outdoor structure they called The Pen. Brant had volunteered to play the hostage, while Tristan Halliday acted as one of the terrorists. Brant had been tied to a chair, a bandana secured over his eyes keeping him from seeing anything but shadows. Listening to Halliday pace before him, issuing mock threats, he awaited rescue.

  Something metal rolled across the floor. A flashbang exploded, lighting the room with enough brilliance to penetrate his blindfold. Booted feet scurried toward him. Rubber bullets peppered the wall, and Halliday hit the floor with an oath. One of the rescuers bumped into Brant and whipped the blindfold off his face.

  Even in the dark, he recognized Max's blunt features. What was the CO doing participating in the training? Before he even could answer his own question, the snout of a pistol gouged his temple. The so
ft click-click of a round being advanced into the chamber provided his only warning before the gun discharged and sprayed his brains across the wall next to him.

  He'd startled awake at the unexpected violence. And now the gritty realism of the hallucination kept his heart beating unevenly. Max had fucking shot him in the head!

  He peeked at the digital clock on the other side of Rebecca. Not yet zero five hundred hours. Common sense dictated that he forget the dream and try to fall back to sleep, but the condom he was still wearing was leaking. More than that, the dream seemed to be warning him to get up.

  Brant had seen the chilling calculation in his CO's gray eyes several times already. Now that he was cognizant of what the man was up to in his spare time—killing for a price—he had to consider the possibility that he might become Max's next target.

  Rebecca stirred. Smoothing a hand down her naked back, Brant memorized the texture of her skin. He kissed her temple, inhaling the scent of peppermint sticks and woman's musk one last time.

  This is good-bye, he realized, and his throat closed up with unexpected loss.

  It wasn't as if he hadn't anticipated this moment. One way or another, he'd known he was going to have to bow out of her life. He just hadn't realized it would be this soon or this hard, but things had escalated between them at a record pace.

  He eased out of the bed, taking pains not to wake her. Crossing to the bathroom, he shut the door and washed up with the lights off. Then he passed through her room on his way to her door, fighting not to glance in her direction. In the living area, he dressed in his cast-off clothing, jammed his feet into his tennis shoes, and retrieved her sketch of Tony.

  Autumn-crisp air brought him more sharply awake as he peeked outside, half-expecting to see Max's Tahoe idling where it had been last night. A mockingbird twittered at the first suggestion of light to pearl the sky. Patting his pocket for his car keys, he took one last look back at Rebecca's apartment.

  Regret held his heart in a painful vise. If he didn't like her so much, this wouldn't be so damn hard, but he did. He liked her more than he wanted to admit. And he needed to get to the bottom of this mystery before something awful happened to either one of them.