Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(91)

She forced a smile along with the small talk. “At least they’re letting us stay. I got the distinct impression Wolf wasn’t supposed to bring us here.”

“Yeah,” Rawls agreed.

And that closed that particular topic. An awkward silence fell.

Oh, for Pete’s sake.

Faith cleared her throat and took the bull by the horns. “So are you still mad at me?”

“Hell.” He raked a tight hand through his hair. “I was never mad at you, Faith. I was concerned, not angry.”

She tilted her head and considered that. She didn’t doubt for a second he’d been—was still—concerned for her. But there had been definite rage there as well.

“You were angry too,” Faith contradicted him quietly.

He studied her, and his face softened. Lifting his hand, he brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “Yeah, but not at you.”

She quivered beneath the caress. “Then who?”

“At Wolf. At Mac. At all of them. They’re usin’ you.” He stroked her cheek again and then his fingers trailed down to her chin and tilted her head up. “I won’t have you in danger.”

She quivered harder, her skin so sensitive it burned beneath his touch, her insides all warm and tingly. There was a hot look in his eyes. A hungry look. She hadn’t been with many men, and the last had been a lifetime ago, but she recognized the look he was giving her—and responded to it on the most primitive level. Without giving herself a chance to analyze or quantify, she gave in to instinct and went up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

Instantly his arms locked around her, dragging her against his body, sealing them together from shoulder to thigh. His mouth came down, found hers, and hot, hard lips forced hers apart. The kiss started off rough, marauding, but then he seemed to catch himself, and his mouth gentled. He backed off, brushed her lips with his, and started to pull back.

Except she didn’t want him to stop. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, at a subconscious level, she’d been waiting for this moment since that kiss in the kitchen . . . anticipating it . . . wanting more . . .

Instinctively she stretched up, pressing her mouth to his. Driven by some deep, primitive urge, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth and gently bore down.

He jolted against her and then grabbed her butt, lifting her and grinding her against his crotch in the most graphic display of sexuality she’d ever been subject to. Her legs went weak. Her brain foggy. Her skin tightened.

Good lord, that felt so . . . good.

And then he turned the tables on her and caught her bottom lip in his teeth. Only he sucked on it, hard. With each pull of his mouth, she felt a corresponding tug deep in her belly and a flood of moisture between her legs.

In an effort to alleviate the sudden violent ache throbbing between her legs, she rubbed herself against the bulge pressing into her belly. He groaned, and the bulge gained length and width.

Breathing hard, he dragged his mouth away and pressed it against the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Baby,” he said in a breathless voice before pausing to suckle at the base of her neck until she squirmed against him. “We need to either stop this, like right now—or get naked and in your bed.”

She voted for the naked and in bed.

Eager to show her enthusiasm for his suggestion, she grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and fought to shove it over his head. But the feel of his warm, smooth skin stretched so tight over hard muscles distracted her. Her hands slowed to a long, gliding caress.

He groaned again, arching into her touch, his skin rippling beneath her fingers. And then he grabbed his T-shirt and yanked it over his head. She stared in fascination at his muscled chest, with its thin arrow of golden hair trailing down the tight muscles of his abdomen, only to disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans. Without thinking, she leaned in to press her mouth against his heart. His skin tasted slightly salty, with the oddest tinge of smoke, and so damn good she was quickly becoming addicted to it.

He’d twitched with each stroke of her hands, but the brush of her lips earned a jolt. She smiled at that delightful discovery and slowly slid down his body, teasing the length of his abdomen with her lips, teeth, and tongue.

When she knelt before him, her arms wrapped around his thick thighs, with only the buttoned and zippered waistband of his jeans preventing further exploration—he suddenly came alive.

As she unlocked her arms from around his legs and her hands went to work on the button securing his jeans, a curse exploded from him. Urgent hands slid under her arms, lifting her.

His face was hard as he stared down at her, his eyes dilated, his bottom lip swollen, a flush riding his cheekbones.

“Last chance to call it quits, sweetheart,” he said between hard and fast breaths.

Call it quits? Why in the world would she want to do that? She wanted him, wanted him more than she’d ever wanted any man before. Wanted him to be the man she spent her last night on earth with, if tomorrow meant the death of her.

“I say we reconvene in the bed.” Her voice was so thick and sultry, she barely recognized it.

He didn’t wait for a second invitation. Bending, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the queen-size bed taking up most of the room. He set her down on the foot of the mattress and slowly loosened the tie to her robe.

Deliberately, almost reverently, he spread the garment wide and pushed it off her shoulders, leaving her completely bare. She sat there beneath his glittering blue gaze, her nipples puckering, her breasts tightening, her skin aching for his touch.