Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(94)

There was no awkwardness, no anger. They clasped each other’s hands for balance, seeking the perfect angles, the perfect rhythm of sliding, surging dance. Pleasure licked up her every nerve, flames leaping and dancing for joy. She touched his face, exploring with her fingers. He reached up and touched her face. Their eyes locked.

Amazed at the startling grace of it. The unexpected gift.

She climaxed several long, lovely, melting times before she realized that he would not come himself. She had not put latex on him.

He would just serve her with his big, hot, beautiful male body, for as long as she pleased, however long it took. She loved his control. She slid off his rigid shaft, wiggling down his stunning body to take him in her mouth, and give back some measure of what he had given her.

He didn’t take long. He was primed. His climax jerked through him, and he spurted into her mouth. She held him there until all the wrenching pleasure had coursed through him and left him trembling and limp.

She crawled back up to sprawl on top of him, chest to chest.

He opened his mouth. “Tamar, I—”

“No.” She stopped him instinctively.

He looked frustrated. “But I did not expect for—”

“Me neither. But we can’t talk about it. There’s nothing to talk about yet, Val. We can’t make any promises or any plans. You can’t make any melodramatic declarations. We have a job to do. So don’t even say it. Don’t even start.”

His mouth tightened. He looked mutinous. “But we—”

“No.” She put her finger on his mouth, and was so pleased by the way his lips felt, she kept it there, caressing the softness and the warmth. She went on. “I will tell you what happens now. We put this thing between us, exactly as it is, into a strongbox with an encrypted lock. We hide the box and keep it safe while we go out there and do our jobs. If we both survive, we come back after and see if something is still alive inside that box. And we deal with it then.”

He frowned. “Things don’t live in locked boxes.”

“Strong things might linger for a while.” She tilted her head to the side and gave him a sly smile. “It also gives you some wiggle room. Think about what you really want. Me, Rachel. We’re a pair, and you know us by now. We’re complicated chicks. A huge pain in the ass, times two. Difficult. Expensive. High maintenance. Lots of big, hairy issues. Think about it long and hard, loverboy. Long and hard.”

His dark eyes narrowed with that look that pierced through all her walls. “You cannot intimidate me,” he said. “Do not try. It bores me.”

God forbid. She made a scoffing noise, but she was smiling inside. Secretly loving it that she could not intimidate him.

She slid off his body, and off the bed. “Anyhow, it’s time to get ready,” she said, turning away. “The box is closed. So’s the subject.”

She pawed through her limited wardrobe choices, seeking just the right look to encounter that spoiled bitch Ana. At least Tam assumed she was still a spoiled bitch after sixteen years. Time did not tend to improve people. Particularly the bad ones.

She concluded that her best bet would be chic, armored, but not particularly sexy. The sleek gray tailored suit with the nipped-in jacket and the flaring trouser legs over a black silk blouse. Bounty from her pirate’s raid. A good, understated foil for the poison horn necklace, the multiblade Liv ring and her sleep-shooting earrings. There was room for a gun, too, beneath the jacket, should she ever get lucky enough to score one. Contacts, to turn her eyes a smoky gray. A dab of powder to accentuate her pallor, a smudged lining of black eyeliner and mascara, for that harsh, dangerous air, good for the jewelry presentation. The cute black half boots, and she’d done the best she could with the materials she had to work with.

She’d pretended to ignore Val as he got ready, not even allowing herself to watch him shave, though he’d left the bathroom door open and done it in the nude. Shameless exhibitionist.

She waited to ogle him until he was safely dressed in his habitual uniform; black over black, a charcoal dress shirt, black jeans, black jacket, gleaming boots. As usual, he smelled amazing. His strong, sculpted jaw looked baby smooth. She had to force herself not to yank his face down to stroke and sniff. She’d probably end up tossing him on the bed again, and they didn’t have time to play.

They stopped in the dining room on Val’s insistence. Tam sipped an espresso while he inhaled cornetti, salami and cheese sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, coffee cake, and God alone knew what all else. She rolled her eyes through the inevitable lecture about her not eating enough, cut mercifully short by a chime from his cell phone. He clicked on the message.

“Henry will meet us at a stazione di servizio on the Autostrada,” he told her. “Thirty kilometers from here.”

They were very quiet on the Autostrada, speaking in short, terse phrases of practical things. Acting like colleagues, not lovers. His tone was polite and distant, his teasing charm gone. She missed it.

She had only herself to blame, though. She was the one who had mandated that they lock all tender emotions in a box. But not to kill them. Oh, God, no. To protect them, rather. To keep them off the gunnery range for as long as possible. To give them a fighting chance.

They might die anyway, she reflected bleakly. Things so often did.

Henry Berne, Val’s friend, was waiting for them in the dining room of the Autogrill restaurant, sipping a cappucino. He rose to his feet when they approached, eyes widening appreciatively as he checked her out. He was a handsome man, huge and muscular, square jawed, barrel chested and blue eyed, the classic American football player type. Inches taller than Val, even. They shook hands. His accent as they murmured introductions marked him as American, from the Midwest, although accents could deceive. Her own often did.