Under Surveillance. Gayle Wilson
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certainly recognized that was a form of denial, but it was one she didn’t try to resist. Given everything that had happened during the past two months, this man’s arms seemed a haven of security in a world that had contained far too little of either. Tonight she had watched him take on four thugs on her behalf, and his body bore the marks of that encounter.
Despite the fact that he had given her every chance to back away from this, she hadn’t wanted to. She would have if he’d tried to rush or coerce her. Because he hadn’t, she had almost become the aggressor, a role she had never assumed before.
She didn’t want him to leave. She could not bear to be alone again. She didn’t want to lie in that big, lonely bed another night thinking about the crushing responsibilities that had resulted from Chad’s death.
And she also didn’t want to think about what had nearly happened tonight. Actually, she didn’t want to think about anything. All she wanted to do was to feel.
Someone’s arms around her. Someone strong enough to depend on. Someone she could trust.
She had trusted John Edmonds immediately. Instinctively. And so far he hadn’t betrayed her faith in him. At every juncture, he had left the important decisions up to her. Just as he had this one.
Allowing a man she didn’t know to spend the night was not a choice she would normally have made, but as John carried her toward the bedroom, she knew it was right. He had been willing to risk his life to protect hers. And he had done it at no small cost to himself. There was something infinitely appealing about that. Something noble and heroic.
Heroism. It was a concept most of the people she’d met in Washington would probably believe to be hopelessly out of date. Maybe it was, but she had responded to his offer of protection as women had responded throughout the centuries. If that made her weak, then so be it.
Tomorrow she would again shoulder the burden that had been thrust upon her by her brother’s death because she had no choice. For tonight—for these few brief hours—she wanted only to be held. To be rendered mindless. To be loved.
JOHN HAD BEEN SURPRISED at how little she was wearing under the red silk gown. Of course, the way the dress was cut as well as its fit precluded the possibility of many undergarments.
There was only a thong, nude-colored and very sheer. When he unzipped the dress, letting it slide down over her hips, for an instant he thought she literally had on nothing at all.
She had stepped out of the spill of fabric at her feet wearing only that nearly invisible wisp of cloth and the fragile sandals she’d tried to use against the attackers. The memory of her coming to his defense armed only with that ineffective weapon gave renewed life to the guilt he’d managed to bury.
Kelly Lockett might have more money than the budgets of most third-world countries, but she also had guts. And she hadn’t fallen apart when it was over, despite the condition of the Jag.
He had known a lot of men who would have ranted about the inconvenience of those flat tires. Instead, she had accepted that the car was damaged and had taken steps to deal with it. Just as she’d adjusted to everything that had been thrown at her tonight.
He was too accustomed to making on-the-spot assessments not to have already formed an opinion of this woman. And so far his feelings had all been positive. Since he had long ago learned to listen to his intuition about people, he was beginning to believe that whatever kind of scumbag her brother might have been, Kelly had known nothing about it.
“What’s wrong?”
Her question brought him out of his reverie. The few seconds he’d spent not holding her in his arms had, however, reminded him of why he was here. This had definitely not been part of the assignment he’d been given. All he had been told to do was surveillance.
Of course, Griff couldn’t have imagined that this opportunity would arise. And that was the operative word, he reminded himself. Opportunity.
That inconvenient sense of guilt brushed through his mind once more. If Ethan Snow were correct in what he suspected, however, the end would more than justify the means. Even Griff would have to agree with that assessment.
“Wrong?” he echoed softly before he stepped forward to gather her into his arms. “Not a single thing.”
HE LOWERED HIS HEAD, pressing his lips against the dew of perspiration at her temple. The long, dark hair had long ago released from the upswept style the fashion show required. Silken strands tangled around their entwined bodies like a net, binding him to her as they had made love.
Once with a heated frenzy driven by her demands, her need. And then this second time, a slow, lingering seduction during which he had explored every scented millimeter of her body. Satin-skinned, it was also incredibly well toned. And so damned responsive. She had refused him nothing, but there had been no doubt in his mind that he was making love to her.
Her eyes were closed as he touched her. At least there were no tears gathered beneath her lashes as there had been the first time. Looking down on them, for one terrifying heartbeat, he had believed that he had inadvertently hurt her.
Of course, the fury with which he’d taken her then had been at her instigation. She had urged him on with her words and her body, leaving him in no doubt of what she wanted. And her eventual climax had been as wild and unrestrained as his own.
When it was over, however, when he had finally found the strength to open his eyes again, she’d been crying. It was not until he had brushed his thumbs over the moisture that she’d opened her eyes and looked up at him.
She shook her head in answer to his unspoken concern, but she hadn’t protested when he’d rolled onto his back, carrying her with him. He had held her against his side a long time, neither of them speaking. Her head had rested on his shoulder, her hand relaxed on his chest.
He had thought she was asleep until he’d moved, trying to find a more comfortable position for his battered body. She had risen on one elbow and leaned over him. She had stared down into his face for a long time before she bent her head, her mouth again seeking his.
That kiss was what had led to this unhurried exploration of her body. Using his hands, his mouth, and his tongue, he had marked it with his touch—from the sweet, silken curve of her breasts to all the shadowed places nature had so carefully guarded.
“Yes,” she breathed.
In response, he lowered his head again, his tongue caressing the last intimacy. Her fingers clenched and then loosened their hold on his hair as he touched her, his movements unhurried.
All the time in the world.
Her breathing gradually changed, becoming faster and more ragged. Small, nearly soundless inhalations gave way to deeper ones, until finally the air rushed in and out of her open mouth as if she were running a race.
As soon as he felt the first delicate shudder rack her frame, he moved into position over her body. His first downward thrust corresponded to her long, involuntary intake of breath, almost a moan.
He needed no other encouragement. As her hips lifted to meet his, his own release began. They clung to one another as wave after wave of sensation washed through their straining bodies.
Mindless now, he never even thought about who she was or why he was here. This wasn’t about the Phoenix or an assignment or surveillance.
This was only about a woman whose hands clung to him as she trembled beneath him. A woman who whispered his name, even in the throes of her own fulfillment. A woman who matched him movement for movement until they had climaxed together.
Finally the sexual storm passed, leaving him again too drained to move. Only then did he realize that the dynamics of what he was supposed to do had been inevitably changed by what had just happened between them. Like it or not, Kelly Lockett was no longer just the sister of the man he had been sent to investigate.
Innocent bystander or in it up to her neck, she was also a woman to whom he had just made love. And