Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(10)

Truly, he’d never met a woman so abandoned, so willing to take pleasure and give it with equal fervor, equal relish. And when he woke up beside her the morning after—before she hustled him out the door to catch his transport plane and before she started dancing around his repeated calls—he’d begun to believe that perhaps like was far too tepid a word for the feelings she fired in him. Which had both terrified and intrigued him in equal parts.

And speaking of terrified…

Even though command had assured him she’d made it into the safe room before the TTP could catch her—something about heat sensors and an indication that the door had been locked from within; unfortunately, there were no cameras in the room to make absolutely sure—he hadn’t been able to draw a full breath until right this second. When he could feel her against him and know she was safe and whole. That she was…his?

Fuckin’ A. Is that what I want?

He looked inside himself, searched through his feelings one-by-one like a dealer counting suits, and decided, yeah. That’s exactly what he wanted. She was exactly what he wanted and—

“Michael?” She tilted her head, her auburn brows pinching together over her deep blue eyes. Gorgeous eyes…that matched the rest of her. And if he’d stop with the introspection, he’d probably get a chance to appreciate the rest of her just like the python in his pants—Bran…that guy sure had a way with words—was oh-so-blatantly insisting he do.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “My mind drifted there for a bit. But it’s back on track now.”

And to prove his point, he dipped his chin, pressing his lips to hers and drinking in her sweet exhalation. He loved how she did that. How every time he kissed her it was like she’d been holding her breath since the last time.

With his heart thudding in his chest, sending all his blood south, he opened his mouth, flicking out his tongue to taste her.

Wild cherry Tic Tacs and Harper…

“Mmm,” she hummed, sliding her tongue out to meet his, eager to explore the inside of his mouth, burying her hands in his hair to angle his head and more fully align their lips.

And he loved how she did that, too. How she seemed to go from zero to sixty in five seconds flat. Just…bam! Hungry and horny and trying to gobble him up. It made him feel ten feet tall and bulletproof…or maybe that was just his dick.

“Harper.” He pulled his mouth from hers. This was on the edge of getting out of control. And considering how flighty she’d been after their last encounter, he didn’t want to give her any reason not to come back to him for a third time. And a fourth time. And a fifth time, and a sixth… You get the point. “Slow, angel. We have… Oh, hell yeah. That feels good.”

She’d used the desertion of his mouth as an opportunity to kiss the side of his neck, running her tongue along the super-sensitive raised ridge of flesh that was an old scar. His testicles pulled up so high and tight against his body, she might as well have been sucking on the head of him.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered, her breath hot and wet against his skin, reminding him of another part of her that he knew from experience was even hotter, even wetter.

“In an altercation with a hunting knife in a cave near the Khyber Pass,” he told her. “The hunting knife nearly won.”

She pulled back, searching his eyes, her brow puckered. “How can you joke about something like that?”

Sweet woman. Sweet, clueless woman. “Because in this business, it’s either laugh or cry. And I’ve always preferred the former.”

“But—”

He sealed their lips to shut her up. Now she was the one threatening to ruin the mood. Some guys liked to work out their demons in the bedroom, use sex as a weapon to fight the terrible memories that plagued them. But not him. He preferred to keep those two things separate.

War was war, terrible and soul-sucking and brutal. And sex was sex, delicious and mind-blowing and wonderful.

“And never the twain shall meet.” At least as far as he was concerned.

And then she did it. She sighed into his mouth like it’d been years since he last kissed her instead of mere seconds, and he was totally done. Wrecked. Lost in all things Harper Searcy…

? ? ?

The low growl at the back of Michael’s throat seemed to reverberate in the achy spot between Harper’s legs, making her keenly aware of its hollow emptiness. And when his beard rasped her cheeks, she was reminded of how deliciously scratchy his face had been against the inside of her thighs…when he’d licked and sucked her to completion.

Had she really thought once would be enough with this man? Had she seriously contemplated letting her head rule her hormones and saying no to another go-around? What was she? Crazy?

Yup. She was crazy. Crazy horny. Crazy w—

“Jesus, woman,” he whispered into her mouth when she pulled his shirttail from the waistband of his cargo pants. “I love the way you taste.”

“Mmm,” she hummed between kisses. “You taste pretty good yourself, sailor.” And he did. The inside of his mouth was a combination of Kill Cliff—the sweet energy drink the SEALs swigged by the gallon—hot desert air, and heroism.

In case you were wondering, heroism had a flavor. And it went by the name of Michael “Mad Dog” Wainwright.

Warrior…