Teri forced herself to wait in the basement lobby.
She could see Mike Muldoon inside the restaurant, carrying a hot cup of coffee, getting himself a pastry—or four—from the self-serve line.
She couldn’t see Stan at all, but if he’d come in with Muldoon, it was likely that he’d leave with him, too.
After what seemed an eternity, Muldoon headed for the door. Directly toward her.
She knew he wasn’t really attracted to her. He’d said that he didn’t think she was a very good kisser.
It was all she could do not to run and hide.
But Teri steeled herself. She wanted this confrontation. She needed this. She could do this. She was mad at this loser who was willing to ask her out and even sleep with her merely because his senior chief had asked him to.
“Hey, Teri.” Muldoon greeted her cautiously, no doubt leery of the steam coming out of her ears. “Everything all right?”
“Great.” God, what was she saying? And through clenched teeth, no less? “No,” she said instead. “No, Mike, actually, everything’s not great. I need to see Stan right away. Didn’t he come down here with you?”
“Oh,” he said. “No. He went upstairs. He wanted to shower before he got something to eat.”
Muldoon was the lousy kisser. If he’d kissed even half as good as Stan did, maybe she would have bothered to kiss him back. As it was, she hadn’t wanted to waste her energy. She started for the stairs.
“Hey, I was wondering ...” Muldoon followed her.
“You want to have lunch?” she said shortly, taking the stairs two at a time, forcing him to rush to keep up. “Sure. Why the hell not? How’s noon?”
“Uh, fine,” he said.
“Great,” she said. “Lunch at noon, and then what do you say we have sex afterward, say, at 1300?”
Muldoon dropped two of his pastries. They went bouncing down the stairs, and he hesitated, having to choose between going after them or following the woman who’d just suggested having post lunch sex with him.
His hesitation didn’t last too long. He followed Teri.
“Glad to know I’m more appealing than a prune-filled Danish,” she told him.
“Teri, what’s going on?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
She was angry as hell. At Stan. At Mike. Mostly at Stan.
You didn’t get angry enough, his voice echoed in her head. Instead you internalized it, where it would fester and make you feel even worse. Who the hell needs that? You don’t! So say it to me. Confront me. Get angry.
“I’m great,” she told Muldoon, and this time it wasn’t a lie. She did feel great. She was angry. No. She was furious. But that was okay. Because she was heading upstairs to go pound on Stan’s door and tell him a thing or two about playing God, about messing with her life, thank you very much.
She wasn’t going to jam it all inside, the way she’d done so many times before. She was going to blast Stan.
Come on, hit me.
Yeah, maybe she would. Maybe she’d give him a solid knee to the balls. Son of a bitch.
And as for Muldoon ...
Teri stopped on the landing right before the doors to the main hotel lobby and grabbed him by the shirt. He was juggling his paper cup of coffee, the remaining pastries, and her outrageously bold suggestion that they follow lunch by taking off their clothes and getting busy, but she didn’t give a damn. She just pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him.
It was a no-holds-barred kind of kiss. A soul sucking, total tongue, teeth clicking, going for the tonsils kind of kiss. The kind that promised hot, deep, total penetration, a bed rocking, sweat slickened, gasping for air, and screaming for more kind of sex.
It was a Hall of Famer as far as kisses went, and Muldoon, brave SEAL that he was, was completely up for the challenge. He tossed his remaining pastries and coffee onto the floor, where they hit with a splash. He was solid and warm and he tasted like sweetened coffee.
But he wasn’t Stan.
Teri pulled away before he got his arms around her.
“Gotta go.”
He followed her into the lobby. “Hey, whoa, why wait till noon—Teri, I’m not busy now.”
“Yeah, but I am.”
“Noon, then,” he said, still following her. He nodded as they went past Lieutenant Paoletti and Jazz Jacquette, waiting until they were out of earshot, but then still lowering his voice, “I’ll come to your room.”
“You know,” she said, stopping short, “on second thought, I can’t have lunch with you. And as for having sex ... ?” She pretended to think about it. “Nope, can’t do that either. Not in this lifetime.”
She started for the stairs up to the west tower where both she and Stan had rooms. But Muldoon grabbed her arm.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You just ...” He was completely confused and she almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“You’re just going to kiss me like that and then ...” He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s it?”
“You know, Muldoon,” she said, making a very sympathetic face, “you’re just not a particularly good kisser.”
And with that, he instantly understood. “Oh, shit,” he said. It was the first four-letter word she’d ever heard him use. “You heard that?”
Teri nodded. “Let go of me.”
He dropped her arm. “I’m sorry. I’m ... really sorry.”
“Great. That makes it all better.” She started for the stairs again, and again he followed her.
“Teri, I don’t know what I can say—”
She stopped. “Don’t say anything. Just leave me alone.”
He stood in front of her, blocking her path. “If you won’t let me try to explain now, then why don’t you meet me for lunch.”
Teri laughed in his face. “Oh, there’s an original idea.”
But he persisted. “You’ve got to eat, right? I’ve got to eat. Let’s sit at the same table, and please, let me try to—”
“Mike. Don’t you get it? You’re off the hook. You don’t have to have lunch with me. I know Stan set you up to—”
“But I want to have lunch with you. I need to have lunch with you. Please? Come on. Give me a break. I really like you, Teri. I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
She looked at him. And she knew. The man was a Navy SEAL. He had pitbull-like tenacity. He was going to dog her every step until she agreed to meet him for lunch.
“Noon,” she said through gritted teeth. “Lunch and only lunch. As friends.”
“Absolutely.” He nodded. “If that’s the way you want to play it, that’s the way we’ll play it.”
For now. He didn’t say the words aloud, but they hung there as he walked away.
Teri knew that kissing him that way had been a stupid mistake.
And it was all Stanley Wolchonok’s fault.
“We got video!”
The negotiators’ HQ room—mission control, so to speak—erupted in quiet cheers.
Quiet, because after three days of hemming and hawing and buying the SEALs in the Troubleshooters Squad time to rehearse the takedown of the plane, everyone in Max Bhagat’s team was exhausted.
Desmond Nyland stood in the doorway, watching Max watch the screen. Max himself looked fresh as a daisy. He was too much of a son of a bitch to let anyone know he was running on caffeine and nerves strung way too tight.
The man shaved two or three times a day so that his team never saw him looking anything but completely in control.
Although rumor had it he’d nearly broken Senator Crawford’s nose. And rumor had it that last night he’d actually gone out onto the runway in an attempt to trade himself for this Gina girl who’d been brave enough to step forward and say she was Karen Crawford when the tangos were about to start killing the other passengers.
That sure as hell didn’t sound like the Max Bhagat he knew.
The miniature cameras had finally been put into place, and the equipment was finally up and running. Two days those SEALs had spent there in the scorching heat and the chill of the nights, refusing to give up.
And now they had video.
Out of the three cameras Ensign MacInnough and his men had managed to get placed and working, two gave a snake’s eye view of the cabin—from the floor, of course. It was limited, but they were lucky they had that much. The third was in the cockpit.
Max stared at that screen, both hands on the table in front of him, leaning closer.
“Oh, God,” he breathed, more to himself than anyone standing around him. “She’s just a girl.”
Des moved into the room to look over Max’s shoulder at the screen.
The picture was amazingly clear despite the fact that, again, the camera was angled up from the floor to the ceiling. But there was a young woman sitting on the floor, knees in close to her chest. She had long dark hair and big dark eyes and a face that was more than merely pretty. She was striking looking—with cheekbones and a nose that announced her Mediterranean heritage.
And Max was right. She was little more than a girl. In a few years she was going to be a gorgeous woman. A real Sophia Lorentype beauty.
Of course, right now her life expectancy wasn’t more than a few days. Hours even.
Especially if what Des suspected was true—that this was a suicide mission for the hijackers, and had been right from the start.
“How old is she?” Des asked.
“Twenty-one—going on thirty-five. She’s been cooler under pressure than some of my agents who’ve been on the job for five years.”
“You might want to send over a skirt or pants or something so that girl can cover those legs.” Des tapped the screen. Not that he had any problem with it. She had legs like a movie star. Five miles long and gorgeously shaped.
“Yeah, and how do we do that without letting them know that we can hear and see what’s going on in there?” Max asked.
“Details, details,” Des said. “I’m surprised she hasn’t been hassled by the tangos for indecent exposure.”
“One of ’em, calls himself Bob—we’ve ID’ed him as Babur Haiyan—” Max told him, “was talking to her about it last night. But it didn’t seem exceedingly threatening.”
Des tapped on the screen again. “Lookee here. Whoever this is, he’s just waiting for the order to play rough so he can have at this girl. Look at him watching her. He’s going to be first in line for the gang bang.”
Max raised his voice. “I need a visual ID. Tango on screen three. Anyone match a name to that face, call it out!”
As he waited, a muscle jumped in his jaw. Now, wasn’t that interesting? Our man Max had let little Gina Vitagliano under his incredibly thick skin. Under what Des had always believed was impenetrably thick skin.
“Helga all right?” Max asked, still watching the tango watching Gina on the video screen.
Oh, damn. “She’s not here?” Des countered.
“I haven’t seen her.”
Max never missed anything, but right now it was possible he wasn’t up to his usual speed, glued the way he was to the video screen. Des quickly scanned the room, looking for that familiar head of gray hair, that beautiful round face that was always smiling.
Double damn. Helga was supposed to be here. She was scheduled to be.
But she wasn’t.
“She didn’t call in?” Des tried to sound casual. As if he weren’t picturing Helga wandering the streets of K-stan, confused and disoriented and in terrible danger.
“She didn’t call me,” Max replied.
“Alojzije Nabulsi”—the name he’d been waiting for—rang out.
“You stay the hell away from her,” Max said to the video screen. “She’s just a kid.”
When the power and air conditioning kicked back on, Stan closed the curtains in his room, shutting out the hot sun. It would take a minute or two for the air coming through the vent to turn cool, but at least it was moving again.
He was tempted to take another shower—to stand there under the water until the room cooled down, until the terrorists surrendered, until the team was on its way back to California, where he could return to his regularly scheduled life and not have to think or worry about Teri Howe ever again.
He was giving in to the urge and had just stepped out of his pants when someone started pounding on his door.
Holy Christ, whoever it was wanted him to open up in a hurry. He grabbed for a towel and lunged for the door. With that kind of lead fist, it had to be WildCard or Cosmo or ...
“Is there a problem?” he asked as he yanked the door open.
Or Teri Howe. Oh, shit.
“You bet your ass there’s a problem.” She pushed past him, into his room, as he scrambled to pull the towel more completely around himself.
She was willing to bet his ass—she didn’t necessarily want to see it flapping in the breeze.
He knew exactly what this was about. Mike Muldoon had called on the hotel phone just minutes ago with the bad news of the hour. It seemed that Teri had overheard their entire conversation in the stairwell.
She turned to face him. “Close the goddamn door.”
Muldoon had told him that she was angry, but Stan had imagined that meant that she’d avoid him, maybe give him the cold shoulder until the end of time. Be passive aggressive at best.
But, damn, here she was. Ms. Nonconfrontation, getting right in his face about something he’d done to upset her. As bad as this was, it was also good. It was beyond good. It was amazing.
He was so fucking proud of her, he wanted to cry.
Christ, she was livid. And gorgeous. Her eyes were hot and bright, her delicate mouth a tight line in her flushed face. She was breathing hard, as if she’d sprinted five miles. Or gone up eight flights of stairs at a dead run.
She didn’t seem to notice—or care—that he was wearing only a towel.
Stan didn’t shut the door. “How about we just leave this open until I get some clothes on? I’m not comfortable being alone like this without—”
Teri interrupted him. Loudly. Loudly enough so that anyone standing in the hall would have no problem hearing her. “I’m not comfortable with you asking your friend to do me as a favor to you!”
O-kay. Stan closed the door. “Teri, look—”
“What is wrong with you?” Her voice shook. “Really, Stan, I want to know. Why would you spend all that time trying to set me up with Mike Muldoon when he’s not even remotely interested in me?”
“Well, that’s just it,” Stan told her. “He is interested.”
“Bullshit!”
“Teri, he is—”
“I heard you trying to talk him into—”
“He’s interested now, all right?” He took a step toward her. “Look, I thought he’d be good for you. He’s a sweet kid. I thought he could use some help, too, you know, getting—”
“Laid? From what I heard, I think he’s probably got that handled.”
Stan fought to keep his own temper from rising. “That’s not what I was going to say. That’s not what this is about.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, with a laugh that sounded an awful lot like a sob. “I heard you, Stan. I heard everything you said. You wanted him to go up to my room with me after lunch, and I don’t think you imagined we’d play cards when he got there. Why don’t you just admit it? You were trying to talk Muldoon into throwing me a—God—a pity fuck!”
Oh, dear Christ, did she really think that? Stan couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be insulted.
He took another step toward her. “That’s not true. Come on, Teri, you look me in the eye and just goddamn try to accuse me of ever treating you with anything remotely resembling pity—”
She wasn’t listening, she was talking right over him. “Poor Teri Howe. She hasn’t gotten laid in years because she’s too much of a loser to be able to hook up with any nice guys. She only attracts the scum of the earth like Joel Hogan and Rob Pierce. So come on, Mike, you’re a nice guy. Do the senior chief a big favor and throw her a bang. You don’t really mind, do you?”
Wildly she threw off her jacket and grabbed her shirt, pulling it out of her pants and over her head.
Stan couldn’t move. He was taken totally by surprise, completely stunned by the sight of her standing there in her bra. It was a sports bra—the kind she could have worn out for a jog in almost any Western nation without a shirt over it. But still, the sight of all that smooth, bare skin was unnerving after days of long-sleeved shirts and collars buttoned to her throat. Just the sight of her bare arms seemed erotic and impossibly daring.
What the hell was she doing?
As he stood there and gaped like an idiot, she unfastened her belt. Defiantly she kicked off her boots and shucked her pants down her legs.
And then, Christ, she was standing there, six feet away from him, in only her underwear.
“If you think I need a pity fuck so bad, then I want it to come from you.” Her voice shook with anger and emotion. “Come on, Senior Chief. Don’t you have some kind of rule about never asking your men to do something that you wouldn’t do yourself?”
For one wild second, Stan considered calling her bluff. He considered throwing down his towel and striding toward her and picking her up and carrying her to his bed.
What would she do then?
Beg him not to stop, never to stop.
Jesus, he tried not to look at her long, gorgeous legs, her stomach with its perfect belly button and ... He cleared his throat, made himself look into her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d really want me,” he admitted.
“Yeah, well, you were wrong.”
Oh, God. “It’s a bad idea. You know it.” When did his voice get so hoarse, his mouth so damn dry?
“You’re wrong about that, too.” She took a step toward him.
He took a step back.
And she took off her bra.
Teri caught sight of herself in the mirror that hung on the wall of Stan’s hotel room.
For an instant, she flashed hot and then cold. She was standing in only her underpants in the senior chief’s room, having just told him that she wanted to have sex with him.
Oh, God, maybe coming here like this wasn’t such a good idea.
What on earth was she doing?
Pretend you’re in your helo—that you’ve got that kind of control of this situation, that kind of confidence.
She’d come up here angry as hell at this man. Intensely, passionately, furiously angry. She’d wanted to yell at him. She’d wanted to lash out at him, to kick him where he’d feel it, to bring him to his knees.
She also wanted to make love to him.
And maybe that was what she was the angriest about.
She wanted him. She’d done everything but tell him so in plain English. And he’d done everything in return to keep his distance.
But the truth was, he wanted her, too.
She knew that now for a fact.
How could you not be head over heels in love with this woman? She’s incredible, Muldoon. She’s got a body to die for, a face like an angel. Her eyes are ... Have you even looked into her eyes? She has eyes that make you just want to, I don’t know, Christ, die for her if she asked you to... .
Those weren’t just words of hype, meant to spark Mike Muldoon’s interest. Those words were straight from Stan’s heart. She would bet her life on it.
Her life, and her pride.
Yeah, Teri was betting her pride that he wanted her, but for some reason she didn’t understand, he’d worked overtime to keep from getting too close.
Even now he was standing there, trying not to look at her. Trying—and failing. His gaze skimmed her bare breasts, nearly as palpable as a touch before he forced himself to look up and into her eyes.
He was breathing hard, as if he’d just run a mile at top speed. He was also hanging on to the towel he had wrapped around his waist with both hands.
And Teri let herself look at him, really look at him.
He was all hard, lean, artfully sculpted muscles—the kind that came from real hard work rather than machines in a gym. He had powerful-looking legs—one with a mean-looking scar on the knee—and big feet. Wide feet. Solid-looking, dependable feet. The kind that would keep him upright and standing tall forever, if need be. His shoulders looked broad enough to hold the weight of the entire world, his arms strong enough to carry the moon. He had a faded tattoo high on his left arm—a simple anchor, a sailor’s classic. Thick blond hair covered his chest, swirling down to nothing before it reached the perfect six-pack of tight muscles at his waist. He didn’t have an extra ounce of fat anywhere on his body—probably because he never had time to eat.
There was a line of slightly darker hair that started at his belly button and disappeared beneath his towel. Teri followed it with her eyes, lingering a long time—way long enough for him to know without a doubt that she was thinking about what that towel was hiding.
She was following Stan’s own advice—letting him know that she wanted him—that she pictured him naked, too.
She knew he’d thought about her that way.
The woman is fucking hot. He’d said that. About her. There’s not a single heterosexual man in the Troubleshooters Squad who hasn’t pictured her naked.
Including—she was betting—Senior Chief Stan Wolchonok.
With nothing left to lose, going for all or nothing—the way she would’ve if she were flying her helo—Teri pushed her panties down her legs. And then she knew he didn’t have to rely on his imagination anymore, because there she was. Naked.
He gave up trying not to look, gave up trying to hide the heat in his eyes. But he still didn’t move toward her.
“Come on, Stan,” she whispered, fighting the self-doubt that threatened to make her throw her clothes back on and run from the room. “How much of a green light do you need?”
“I’m toast,” he admitted, which helped a great deal. But he still didn’t reach for her. “Damn, I was toast the minute you walked in here. If you’re going to leave, you’re going to have to do it yourself now because I am no longer capable of asking you to go. I mean, come on, Teri, put your clothes back on—see, I can say it, but not with any kind of real conviction.”
She took a step toward him, and this time he didn’t back away. But she wanted more than that from him. She wanted him to reach for her. Only then would she really know that she’d won.
“I’m dying to kiss you,” she told him.
“Bad idea.” Stan moistened his lips. “But, you know, don’t let that stop you.”
She did stop, though. Inches away from Stan. Close enough for him to feel her body heat. Tantalizingly close, yet still far enough away not to touch him.
And he couldn’t resist. He was powerless. He watched himself reach out and touch her. Her hair. God, he loved her hair. Her cheek.
Lightly, with just one or two fingers.
The delicate bones at the base of her throat. Her breast.
After days of resisting, Mike Muldoon had finally come to the realization that Teri was all he could possibly want in a woman. He’d called Stan, elated and terrified. You were right, Senior, she’s incredible... .
And you, my friend, came to that conclusion too late.
But Jesus, did Teri really know what she was getting into here? Did she have any clue at all? Stan was lousy relationship material. Couldn’t she see that?
Apparently not.
Apparently she wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Bad idea,” he whispered again, but he didn’t pull his hand away. He couldn’t. To hell with Muldoon. To hell with everything.
Because Teri was gazing up at him with such an expression on her face—as if he was everything she’d ever needed. How could that be? And yet ...
“Please,” she whispered.
Stan didn’t know what she wanted, not precisely, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to try to give it to her.
He moved to kiss her, but she was already there, her arms already around his neck, her mouth against his, her body soft against his chest.
Skin on skin. It was a mind-blowing sensation, even more mind-blowing when his towel fell to the ground and the softness of her stomach was against him.
He froze, suddenly uncertain. He was completely aroused—there was no way she could avoid knowing that. He was a big man, and that was a fact.
For the first time in his life, Stan wished he were a little less well-endowed. He didn’t have a clue what was okay with her and what wasn’t. He pulled free from her kiss, tried to pull slightly back from her. “Teri—”
But she pressed herself even more closely to him, shifting her hips to rub herself against him, moaning her approval as she kissed him again, as she ran her hands up his neck, raking her fingers through his hair.
God damn, it felt too good. He skimmed his hands across her impossibly smooth skin, too, filling his palms with the soft weight of her breasts as he kissed her.
Still, he had to ask. “Will you tell me if I do something you don’t like?”
“I don’t like it when you stop kissing me.”
He had to laugh at that. “Teri, I’m serious.”
“I am, too.” She pulled his head down and kissed him, sliding her hands down his back, across his buttocks, pulling him even more tightly against her.
She was hot and deliciously spicy, and Stan kissed her deeper, longer, sweeping his tongue into her mouth as his hands explored her body, as her hands explored his. God, the way she touched him was amazing—like she couldn’t get enough of him either.
Teri was exhilarated.
It was working.
She’d never dared to be so aggressive about sex before. She’d always hung back and waited for her lover to take charge.
It had never occurred to her that a man might like to get pushed around a little bit. To be controlled. To be told, Do me, now. To be the one to be made love to for a change.
It was something she’d overheard Mike Muldoon say to Stan. When I’m with a woman, I let her set the pace, the mood—it’s all up to her.
And Stan had replied by saying he thought that was exactly what Teri needed right now.
He’d been more right than he knew.
Pretend you’re in your helo—that you’ve got that kind of control of this situation, that kind of confidence. He’d said that to her, too.
Although she was pretty sure when he said it he didn’t dream she’d apply it to this particular situation.
She could feel him against her, hard and male. She could feel his restraint, too, his worry that she was fragile, that she needed to be treated with extra care.
Teri wanted that gone.
She was strong, she was in control, and she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone—no holds barred.
She tried to tell him all that with her kiss and by looping her leg around his, by boldly reaching between them to touch him. He was hot and heavy, so hard and smooth and utterly male and ...
Teri pulled back and found herself looking directly at Stan.
He was still worried about her, damn it. She could see it in his eyes.
So she smiled as she caressed him. “Oh, boy.”
He smiled, intense pleasure on his face. But he couldn’t let his worries rest. “Look, Teri—”
“What happened to me when I was eight wasn’t about sex,” she told him, trying to make him stop thinking about it once and for all. “It was about intimidation. It was about some sick pervert getting pleasure from a little girl’s pain and fear. It wasn’t about sex—the same way rape isn’t about sex—it’s about violence, you know? That was emotional violence. It has nothing at all to do with what we’re doing here. It’s not as if the sight of a penis makes me faint.” She looked pointedly down at him. “At least not usually.”
He laughed at that. But try as she might, he wasn’t done being serious. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re about to have the most incredible sex either one of us has ever had in our lives,” she told him. “That is, if you would stop talking and kiss me.”
And still, he hesitated.
“This whole thing is a bad idea,” she said. “Yes, I know. Screw it! I want you now. So kiss me.”
Stan kissed her.
With her fingers wrapped tightly around him and her tongue in his mouth, with her breast in one hand while his other held her close, he was having trouble remembering his own name, let alone the myriad of reasons he had for trying to slow her down.
Teri was okay with this. She’d made that more than clear. She was smiling, she was laughing.
She wanted him. Now.
As if she could read his mind, as if to prove the point, she took his hand from her breast and brought it between her legs. It was the kind of invitation he didn’t need repeated. He touched her, lightly at first, then more deeply, more intimately. She was smooth and soft and utterly female. She was also wet and hot.
For him. Because she wanted him.
Now.
She pulled him toward the bed and he hit the mattress with the backs of his legs. She pushed him down and he dragged her along. As his shoulders hit the bed, she landed on top of him.
She laughed as he rolled her over, as he kissed and licked her throat, her collarbone, her neck. She was so unbelievably delicious, so outrageously perfect. He licked her nipple into his mouth and her laughter turned to a moan as she arched her back and opened her legs to him.
He could feel her, hot and slick against him, and his entire world exploded out of control. In the blink of an eye—less—she reached down to guide him as she lifted her hips and then, with a burst of pleasure that was blindingly intense, he was buried inside of her, surrounded by her heat.
Her legs were around him, and she kissed him as deliriously as he kissed her as he began to move, as she met him, matched him, set a pace that was wild.
There was a reason he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew it—it was back there, lurking at the edges of the haze of pleasure. But he couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but Teri and the incredibly sexy little sounds of desire she was making way back in her throat.
He could feel the sharp bite of her fingernails on his shoulders as she gripped him as tightly as she possibly could. He could’ve written a book about the sweet sensation of her tongue against his, about the familiar scent of her hair, about the grip of her thighs or the softness of her breasts as he crushed her to him.
She pulled her mouth away from him. “Stan, oh, God, don’t stop! I’m gonna ...”
“Come on, Teri,” he said. “Come on, I’m right behind you.”
“Oh, my God,” she gasped. “Don’t we need a condom?”
Condom. Shit! Stan pulled himself out of her, off of her so quickly, he fell off the bed.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Holy, holy, holy shit. What the hell am I doing?”
“Quick,” she said, scrambling off the bed and searching through the pockets of her pants. She slapped a foil wrapped little package into his hand.
“You carry condoms?” he asked inanely, still stunned that he’d even been inside her without protection. Christ, he didn’t have to come inside of her to get her pregnant. They only had to do what they’d just done.
“Yes,” she said. “I do. Are you going to put it on, or am I going to do it for you?”
He ripped open the package, but he wasn’t fast enough for her. She snatched it out of his hand, pushing him back on the bed and straddling his legs.
“God, is this even going to fit?”
“Yeah.” He sat up to help. “Teri, Jesus, I might’ve already gotten you pregnant.”
“Are you sure you want to talk about this now?” she asked. “I’m going to come in about five seconds whether you’re inside of me or not.”
And with that stunning announcement, she finished covering him, shifted her weight, and slid down, directly on top of him.
Yes, that was his voice crying out. Mr. Much Too Easily Distractible. He, who prided himself on never making mistakes, had just broken the biggest rule in the book. Sex without protection.
But it suddenly didn’t matter because her breasts were in his face. He kissed her, suckled her—hard—and she moaned his name, moving on top of him as if she couldn’t get enough of him, as if she wanted more.
The woman knew exactly what she wanted. She pushed his shoulders down, back toward the bed, so that he was lying flat. So that he was pressed fully inside of her, as deeply as he possibly could be.
Time stopped for Stan as she held herself there, just looking down at him. The sight of her like that—dark curls tousled, full breasts tightly peaked, her skin slick with perspiration, pleasure shining in her beautiful brown eyes—was something he would carry with him to his grave.
“I don’t want this to end,” she whispered. “But if I move, even just a little, I’m going to come.”
He laughed in amazement. “If you keep saying things like that to me, I’m going to come. You won’t even have to move.”
She smiled. “Really?”
It was her smile that did it. That beautiful, beautiful smile of pure delight lighting her incredible face ...
He had to move. He had to ...
“Teri,” he gasped.
He bucked beneath her, and she moved, too. And she was right there, with him, true to her word. She fell forward to cling to him as she shattered, as his release rocketed through him in an explosion of color and light, sensation and sound.
Teri’s sweet face. The taste of her mouth, the softness of her lips. Her voice, thick with pleasure, calling his name. Her storm of tears as he’d held her. His vision of her at eight years old. Her eyes filled with anger. With fear. With desire. With trust.
With trust.
Stan opened his eyes as Teri lay on top of him, breathing hard. He could feel her heart still pounding. His was still going at quadruple time, too.
He was still inside of her and he didn’t want to move, even though he knew he had to. He wanted to stay like this, right here, forever. But used condoms could leak. He’d learned that back in Birth Control 101, in junior high school. And this one had already leaked in a very major way. Condoms were susceptible to that—particularly when you failed to put them on prior to penetration.
Ah, Christ. Welcome back to reality.
It was an ugly place to be right now—particularly after the sheer perfection of the place he’d just been.
He gently lifted her off of him, tucking her alongside him, her head on his shoulder, under his chin, as he held her close.
She sighed, running her fingers through the hair on his chest, intertwining their legs despite the heat.
And making him want her again, already, despite the harshness of a reality in which she could be pregnant, a reality in which Muldoon, a kid who looked up to him, who trusted him, was definitely going to wind up hurt.