Code Name: Genesis (Jameson Force Security #1)(50)

“Song writing,” I reply with no hesitation. “That’s where I get the most joy—writing the songs and in the music.”

“I can see that,” he says with a slow nod. “I remember when you used to come off stage in Vegas and you’d just sag into Michel’s waiting arms as the adrenaline deserted you. While I know you were great at performing and you had some fun at it, I never felt the reward was enough to overcome the stress of it all.”

“And yet I’ve managed to make a career of it,” I point out.

“So make a new career,” he says. “Like you said, it’s not like you need the money. You should write songs and be happy.”

“But what if I miss performing? Or acting?” Because it’s never simple for me. I’d always wonder if I was making a mistake by walking away at the height of my career.

“I’m pretty sure there will be a spot waiting for you if you want to go back to it,” he replies dryly, making his point. I’m letting silly things hold me back. “If you changed your career path, what are some other things you’d want to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I hedge, staring out the passenger window.

“Don’t play coy, Joslyn Meyers,” Kynan reprimands. “You are a woman who always thinks ahead.”

I snort and then turn back. “The usual. Develop a hobby or two. Take time to smell the roses. A dog. Kids.”

Kynan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Kids? How many?”

I shrug. “One. Two. Definitely no more than two.”

Releasing my hand, Kynan scrubs his own over his short beard and gives me another quick glance before giving his attention back to the road. “You and I have been having unprotected sex. That’s not been very smart of us.”

“Tell me about it,” I say with a snort as I lean back into my seat, giving him a haughty sneer down my nose. “And you go to a sex club. What was I thinking?”

“Bollocks,” Kynan says a little sharply. “I would never put you at risk. I always used a condom. Always. You’re the only woman I’ve ever not used protection with.”

Laughing, I pat him on the arm. “I was just teasing you, Kynan. I know you wouldn’t put me at risk. And I’m assuming you know the same about me.”

“Yeah,” he says with a long sigh. “I know that. But you mentioned kids and that got me thinking that—”

“I’m on birth control,” I cut in. “I get the shot so it’s not something you have to worry about.”

“I’m not worried, Jos,” he says solemnly as we approach the private air terminal where Cruce is flying in. Kynan paid a private charter jet so he could bring weapons, which both scares and relieves me.

Up ahead, standing outside the terminal is the man I recognize as Cruce Britton. I had seen him when he came to interview with Kynan at the new Jameson headquarters, but we had not been introduced. He’s dressed in jeans and a pullover. He’s got a small suitcase on the ground along with an olive-green military-sized duffel I’m betting is chock-full of goodies.

As Kynan slows the vehicle, another thought occurs that has nothing to do with Cruce. “Why didn’t you use a condom with me?”

Not seeming fazed by my question, he brings the car to a smooth stop beside Cruce, who is on the passenger side. Kynan leans over the console, dipping down so he can see Cruce outside my window. Kynan holds up just one finger, indicating he needs just a moment.

Then he tilts until he’s face-to-face with me. “I didn’t wear a condom because I didn’t want a bloody thing between us.”

“Oh,” I say quietly, a little in awe that was the case since he was terribly angry with me then.

“And since then,” he goes on to say in a low, deep voice that does funny things to the area between my legs, “I’ve kept doing it because it feels too fucking good. It’s primal, Jos. I love coming inside of you. Call me a caveman or what have you, but I love marking the inside of you with me.”

My jaw drops, and I am at a complete loss for words. All I want in this moment is to pull him in the backseat with me and have him mark me right now.

This very moment.

Instead, he grins before plastering a hard, quick kiss to my mouth. What Cruce is thinking of this, I have no clue, but then Kynan is pressing the button to release the trunk and Cruce is there loading his duffel and suitcase.

Kynan leans back fully into his seat, merely glancing over his shoulder at Cruce as he slides into the backseat. “Thanks for coming, man.”

“My pleasure,” Cruce replies as he closes the door.

Kynan makes a quick introduction. “Cruce. Joslyn.”

I twist in my seat, Cruce leans forward, and we manage a quick handshake. I smile and say, “Welcome to Santa Barbara.”

“Know the area well,” he replies as he settles back and puts on his seatbelt. Kynan pulls away from the curb as Cruce continues. “I worked the L.A. investigative office when I first joined the Secret Service, but I spent a lot of downtime up this way.”

We chitchat some more, and I find Cruce to be affable and outgoing. He doesn’t have that overriding serious nature Kynan bears much of the time, but I can also tell if Cruce were to get serious about something, he’d be a force. Kynan had told me about who he really was… the man credited with saving then vice president’s—now president—life. Of course I knew that story, but I never would have connected his name to the incident.