What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(76)

But alone in Griff ’s house, which he’d obviously spent time and effort to transform into a home that reflected his preference for quiet serenity, she was acutely aware of the danger.

“If something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself,” she breathed.

He stilled, as if caught off guard by the sincerity throbbing in her voice. Then he tangled his fingers in her curls, pressing a swift kiss to her lips.

“Then we need to make sure nothing happens to me,” he said, his lips tracing a path of destruction down the side of her throat.

Coherent thought began to slip away from Carmen. She’d never realized how sensitive her skin could be. The merest whisper of his breath, the warm brush of his lips, the raw sensation of his body pressing her deep into the mattress.

It all combined to stir her desire to a fever pitch.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his soft curls.

“How do you propose to do that?” she asked.

His lips lingered over the pulse that pounded at the base of her throat.

“The simplest answer is that we stay here,” he pointed out.

“In your house?”

“In my bed.” He paused, and then he corrected himself. “Our bed.”

The unexpected vision of waking every morning in this bed, with Griff ’s strong arms wrapped around her, seared through her mind. Her heart missed a beat.

The image was fully formed, in vivid detail. No doubt because it’d been the starring feature in her dreams for months.

“For how long?” she asked.

“I’m thinking . . .” He deliberately hesitated, his lips tracing the neckline of her T-shirt. “Forever.”

Her heart missed another beat. This one wasn’t solely caused by his shocking words. She never took a man seriously when he was lying on top of her.

But because his hands were slowly moving down her body and slipping beneath the shirt, her toes curled as darts of pleasure ricocheted through her.

“A nice thought, but hardly practical,” she husked.

He chuckled, pressing kisses along the prominent line of her collarbone.

“You know me better than that, Carmen,” he said, his fingers hooking around the elastic top of her undies. “I could program our world so we would have everything we need delivered directly to the door.”

Her breath was released on a low hiss as he tugged the panties down her legs and tossed them onto the floor.

“I would laugh, but I think you’re serious.”

He gazed down at her, his eyes dark with an intoxicating glow of desire.

“Never more serious,” he assured her, ridding himself of his boxers with swift efficiency.

Then he was once again settled between her legs, the thick hardness of his erection pressing at precisely the perfect spot.

She struggled to think. She had something important to say. Didn’t she?

It finally came back to her.

“We can’t just ignore the fact that there’s a serial killer out there.”

He bent his head to kiss her with a fierce passion, as if willing her to push away all thoughts of the lunatics who were tormenting her.

“That’s a job for the authorities,” he rasped against her lips.

“But—”

Another demanding kiss. “Let them do their jobs.”

He was probably right. What could she possibly do? She didn’t know where the killers were, or how they intended to hunt for their next victims. She didn’t even know how they connected to her.

But logically understanding she wasn’t responsible for the deaths of unknown women didn’t ease her desperate sense of guilt.

She had to do something. Anything. Even if it was only to make herself feel better.

“You know I can’t,” she breathed in rueful tones.

She expected anger. Or at least impatience for her stubborn refusal to concede defeat. Griff, however, allowed a slow, wicked smile to curve his lips.

“Ah.” Without warning, he grasped the hem of her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. “A challenge,” he growled.

Her lips twitched. It still enchanted her when she caught a glimpse of Griff ’s playfulness. She’d spent so long fantasizing about his male beauty and his clever mind that she’d forgotten his quirky charm.

“Challenge?” she questioned, her hands smoothing over his chest, her bracelet tinkling.

“You assume I can’t distract you.” He lowered his head. “I intend to prove I can.”

His tongue stroked over her tightly furled nipple. She moaned. The pleasure that streaked through her was so intense it bordered on pain.

Clearly inspired by her reaction, he did it again. This time his stroke was rougher, more insistent.

Her back arched, her nails digging into his flesh.

“Are you distracted?” he demanded, blowing a warm breath over the wet tip of her breast.

She shuddered, her legs parting to allow the tip of his arousal to slip toward the entrance of her body.

“I might be a little distracted,” she breathed.

He reached toward the small table next to the headboard, grabbing a condom and quickly slipping it on.

“I want you a lot distracted,” he warned her.

Matching his action to his words, Griff used his hands and mouth to create havoc with her ability to think clearly.