A Covert Affair (Deadly Ops #5)(48)

He blinked in surprise at the question. She hadn’t contacted him, so why was . . . It took all of a second for him to realize she was calling him out for not getting in touch. “Yeah. It’s been a long day. I should have called on my way here, though. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It must be hard not being able to talk about your work.” Her voice was filled with such compassion as she dipped the tortillas into the simmering pan, one by one.

“It sucks.” He’d never thought about it until now. Before, there had never been anyone to share with anyway. He’d always been able to blow off steam about shit with his teammates. But a woman? He’d never even been with anyone long enough to call it a relationship.

“You want to hear about my day, then?” she asked.

“Yes.” God, did he ever. He took a sip of his beer, savored the crisp taste as he listened to her talk and watched her move around the kitchen effortlessly. She was very much at home here.

He realized that she could have had someone she worked for cook something for him. She could have brought it home and he’d have never known. Instead she was making something for him with her own hands. Maybe it shouldn’t touch him so much, but the sweetness of the act did.

In another pan she was browning beef and adding all sorts of spices, including something that looked like a green chili sauce. His mouth watered at the scents. When she started pulling out the tortillas and piling them with meat and cheese before rolling them tightly, he realized she was making enchiladas. One of his favorites. She remembered.

“You need any help?” he asked when there was a lull in their conversation.

She laughed lightly. “No. You evidently haven’t looked in the mirror, because you look as if a harsh wind could knock you over. Sit and let me do this for you.”

Her words warmed him inside. “Is it weird that I think it’s hot when you boss me around?”

Her gaze snapped up to his, her blue eyes darkening with unmistakable hunger. He was hungry too and not for food. This whole domestic scene should throw him off balance, but he liked being here with Amelia, in the quiet of her kitchen.

“I can take bossing you around to a whole other level if you’d like,” she murmured as she rolled the tortillas tightly. She did so with practiced moves, laying them seam down in a greased glass pan.

Heat flared inside him at the unexpected, sexy statement. “Yeah?” He’d never given up control in the bedroom before. The thought of doing so was a little intriguing. But only with her. Maybe not even then.

“Oh yeah.” Her voice was full-on sex kitten now. His cock ached at the sound. “Mow my lawn, Nathan,” she purred in a seductive voice. “Vacuum my floors, dust my house. Make everything shine. Faster, harder, you missed a spot.” Her mouth pulled up into a wide, mischievous grin as she sprinkled cheese and sauce over the top of the tortillas. “Is that the kind of bossiness you were thinking about?” she asked as she slid the pan into the oven.

To his surprise a laugh erupted from his chest. It loosened something inside him, something he hadn’t even realized was trapped. After the day he’d had, coming to see Amelia had been the best decision.

He still wanted to know what the hell had gone wrong between them, but sitting here with her felt so damn right it scared him. She had the power to rip him apart. He should just walk away, but he was already in too deep and like an addict, he couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

“Or I could just order you to strip naked so I can have my wicked way with you.” There was no humor in her voice as she washed her hands. When she was done she took off her apron, dropped it to the counter, and rounded the island. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

His dick was at full alert as he watched her move. Everything about her was sensual and seductive. She’d pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail. He wanted to tug it free, shove his hands through her hair as he claimed her mouth.

He briefly entertained the idea of letting her take control, but . . . When she was in arm’s reach, he grabbed her hips and lifted her up onto the countertop.

She let out a squeak of surprise, her hands splaying over his shoulders even as her legs automatically fell open for him. He stepped between them.

“Take off your top,” he commanded in a low voice, wanting to see more of her. He practically vibrated with the need, had to restrain himself from stripping her and taking her. She deserved foreplay.

“You first.” Her words were a whisper, and if she’d intended them to come out as an order, she’d failed.

Wordlessly he peeled his shirt off. By the time he was tossing it to the side, she’d pulled hers over her head. Her bra was simple black lace with a tiny pink heart in the middle. The perfect swell of her breasts spilling out of the cups was enough to make him forget the ability to speak for a moment.

It didn’t matter that he’d seen her naked countless times years ago or again last night, that he’d tasted every inch of her; he needed her again. Desperately.

Even though he’d ordered himself to give her foreplay, to go down on her until she came against his tongue again, he crushed his mouth to hers, demanding everything from her.

The sweet way she moaned against his lips and the way her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him tighter, undid him. He could feel her hunger was as strong as his own. That was what killed him. The attraction between them was incendiary, yet somehow twelve years ago she’d walked away from him as if he meant nothing.