Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(37)

But sweet Jesus, the minute her tongue took matters into his mouth, the tide swept out, dragging him into dangerous water. Deep, dark, sensuous depths fraught with undertows and wicked currents.

Her lips were soft beneath his and seasoned with chocolate, like she’d helped herself to one of those cookies Pachico had flung against the wall. His arms lifted, circling her slender frame. As they tightened around her, anchoring her to his chest, his belly clenched, hunger digging in. Holy hell, he’d just discovered the aphrodisiac to end all aphrodisiacs.

Nothing, absolutely nothing compared to Faith’s lips spiked with chocolate. She was the dessert he hadn’t even known he was craving.

Their mouths clung, their tongues explored—rubbing, dancing, tasting—fanning the fever higher and higher until the fire raged through him into her and back through him again.

Christ, he wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted anyone before.

Which was why he needed to get the f*ck out, now, while he still had the discipline to do so. Much more of this kissing and he’d have her naked and on her back. Hell, the table was looking better and better by the second.

Still, it took every ounce of self-control, along with a massive surge of strength, to rip his mouth away, stand up, and deposit her on the floor.

“What’s wrong?” She wavered on the ground, her dark brown hair tangled. Her blue eyes smoky with arousal.

He dropped his gaze from the sensuality in her eyes. Big mistake, since it locked on that swollen, moist mouth of hers and refused to budge.

With a strangled groan he wrenched his eyes away, let go of her waist, and took a giant step back. Then to be safe, he just kept going. With each step his legs threatened to mutiny and reverse directions.

“Rawls . . .” Her hand lifted entreatingly. “Please, tell me what’s wrong?”

Rawls’s heart clenched. He needed to drive her off. Make sure the last thing on her mind was following him out to the woods.

“Nothin’s wrong. There’s just a time and place for”—he hesitated and then forced the word out—“f*ckin’, and this ain’t it.”

“A time and place . . .” Her voice trailed off as her brows knit. She cocked her head slightly and scanned his face.

Christ, he needed to get out of here. But she didn’t look all that hurt by his explanation. There was bewilderment more than anything in her eyes. He needed to hit harder. Confusion wouldn’t keep her away.

“I mean it didn’t mean nothin’, right? You were on my lap, and it’s the nature of the beast to wanna scratch an itch. Maybe later if—” He broke off when she straightened and rolled her eyes. Jesus, he was making a mess of this.

“Let me guess, maybe later, if the itch is still there, we can scratch it,” she snapped, straightening her shoulders with a sharp twitch.

“Well, yeah.” He backed up until the door struck his back. “Maybe, if the timin’ is right.”

“You were the one who kissed me,” she said, dry challenge in her voice.

Like he needed the reminder. He shuffled forward slightly, his hands behind his back, fingers fumbling with the door handle.

He didn’t apologize, because he wasn’t sorry. Hell, he fully intended to do it again, under different circumstances. If she’d let him anywhere near her lips again.

Since there was nothing left to say, and every second he lingered increased the danger of Pachico’s reappearance, he pivoted and yanked open the door.

“How did you know?” she asked, her voice rising. “How did you know something was going to happen to me?”

He froze with his back to her, his hand rigid on the doorknob. “I didn’t.”

“You did. I saw it on your face. You knew something was going to happen to me well in advance. How?”

“You’re imaginin’ things.” Forcing his legs to move, he escaped.

“Liar.”

The accusation followed him through the door and down the stairs. He expected the thud of footsteps on the wood steps to sound behind him, but the courtyard remained eerily silent.

He gave in to the urge to look back, once he reached the safety of the tree line. But the courtyard was empty. The main lodge sat squat and stoic, the windows shuttered.

There was no sign of Pachico anywhere.




Eric Manheim studied Dynamic Solutions’ sprawling company retreat as the helicopter banked over Wilkes Island, skimmed the tops of the towering evergreens, and began its descent to the stone helipad below. Bright sunlight gave way to shadowy feathers of green as the trees closed around them. From the air, the retreat looked perfect for their agenda. Remote. Secluded. Empty.

According to Link, the small island, one of the smallest in the San Juan chain in Puget Sound, was completely self-sufficient and sequestered, accessible only by boat or air. As a company cresting the wave of technological breakthroughs, privacy was of paramount importance to Dynamic Solutions. A technological leak could cost the company millions of dollars. To keep their research safe, Leonard Embray, Dynamic Solutions’ chief stockholder and CEO, had outfitted the island with multiple privacy shields. Unwelcome eyes and ears found it impossible to access the compound. Listening devices picked up nothing but static, while digital images were fragmented and warped.

This confidentiality was essential to the success of their current project.