In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(28)

Investigative work had been his drug of choice since he’d discovered it by accident back in college. The games he played with money helped. When that failed, there were video games, excessive exercise, alcohol.

Sex was a favorite, too, but not in this case. Oh, no.

But he was barred from work, and he couldn’t pump iron or suck down bourbon with Sveti’s perfect body draped over his. Her head rested in the crook of his shoulder, her hand splayed on his chest. Not asleep, barely dozing. Her body was so slim, but charged with power. Lithe and flexible, every curve and hollow a miracle of nature. He sought out the delicate throb of her pulse.

That strong, stubborn heart. Almost stolen. Rescued in the nick of time. His mysterious maiden, with all her tragic airs.

Hell, no one was as entitled as Sveti to put on tragic airs.

It occurred to him that if someone had tried to steal his heart literally right out of his chest, he might guard it a little harder than a normal person, metaphorically speaking. It made sense that she was armored, alarmed, with infrared and motion detectors and chain-link and razor-wire and control towers. Who could blame her.

A virgin, for the love of God. He should have known. She kept the whole world at arm’s length. And he’d never been able to resist a challenge. He was hardwired to leap for them, like a trout for a bug.

And he was still ready to mount right up and pound away all night long, staring down into her big, startled eyes. She’d seemed so surprised by pleasure. God, what a rush, those hot, clutching pulses around his finger, pressed to his mouth. If only it had been his cock.

He’d get her comfortable with multiple orgasms. He’d make them her nightly norm. Morning, noon, evening, whenever. It was masochistic, to fantasize about it. She’d have none of it.

Sveti sensed emotion roiling inside him, and stirred, lifting her head. “What’s wrong?”

Why even start? There was no finishing that conversation. He’d be haranguing her back as she walked up the Jetway, desperately glad to be rid of him. He shook his head.

She propped herself up onto her elbow and laid her hand over his heart. “You asked before if I wanted to be with you for the two days that I have, until I leave,” she said. “And I do want that. If you still do.”

So he’d passed the audition. The f*ck-buddy-til-Thursday scenario. His cock hardened, and his face went red.

“Don’t go,” he blurted.

Her hair swung down like a curtain. The long seconds of silence gave him her answer even before she spoke. “I have to go,” she said quietly. “It’s what I’ve dreamed of doing. It’s an incredible opportunity.”

“So do it. Just not in London. There’s evil to fight wherever you turn. You don’t have to fly to another continent to find it. Join a task force, join the police bureau, start a foundation. Whatever.”

She shook her head. “Don’t start, Sam.”

He could not shut up. “Give us a chance, before you run away!”

“Give what a chance? You don’t even know me! You’ve hardly ever talked to me, in all these years!”

“You never gave me a f*cking opportunity! Give me one now!”

Her back stayed turned. “My decision is made. I won’t unmake it because of a one-time hookup.”

Hookup? He sucked in air. He couldn’t even speak, for the rock in his throat.

“So,” she said, still not looking at him. “Do you want to spend the next two days with me or not?”

Two days. Mornings, afternoons, evenings. Every quality of light falling on her naked body. Breakfasts, lunches, dinners, showers. His mind was all over that idea, like a pack of starving wolves. Two days of Sveti Ardova, naked and whimpering beneath him. Oh, hell, yeah.

And then? When she walked through the security line? When he drove home from the airport alone? Two days of frantic f*cking would not make that easier. It would seal his doom. He was dangerously far from his right mind already, after just hours of Sveti-style sexual mind-melt. Two days of it, and he could totally lose his shit.

He forced the words out, like jagged rocks. “I can’t do it.”

There was an awful silence, and she slid to the edge of the bed. “I see,” she said quietly. “This was a mistake. I’m so sorry. I’ll just go.”

He pulled her back, flung his leg over hers. Not. Fucking. Yet.

She wiggled. “You’re confusing me, Sam. What are you doing?”

His arms tightened. “Making a huge mistake. I’m just not quite done making it yet. Give me til morning. Don’t rush me.”

The cutoff point was still an hour or so out. He could do all kinds of catastrophic damage to himself before then.

Sveti laid her hands over his arms, which were still clamped over her chest, and stroked them, very gently. “Until dawn, then?”

He nodded against her neck.

She twisted around to face him. “Make it worth my while, then. Make love to me.”

Fresh lust flooded him. “No,” he said. “It’s too soon.”

“I want to feel that, with you,” she said. “If we had more time, I’d say sure, let’s wait a day. But as it is, we can’t.”

“No,” he resisted stubbornly. “You’re sore. It’ll hurt you.”

She shrugged. “Big deal. I’m used to things hurting me.”