Jonathan hadn’t ridden the edge of orgasm like that since his first time. He’d had to mentally strip and clean every weapon he owned to keep from shooting off. Gwen had him up and ready from the moment she answered the door. He wasn’t sure what it was about the feisty woman that triggered something inside him, but watching her crawl on the bed in front of him flipped on buttons he didn’t know existed.

At first, he thought it might be testosterone back up. He hadn’t had sex in so long he couldn’t count the days. Sleeping with Carrie had become…routine, almost boring. Jonathan had gone from regularly having sex with his friend, a no strings attached deal they’d both preferred, to none, in one night. And what a disastrous night that had been.

“If you’re going to stand there and watch me, should I get started without you?” Gwen cupped both breasts and brought her nipples back to stiff peaks.

Ho-ly fuck. Jonathan couldn’t believe it was a live woman in front of him, not a porn flick on a huge screen. He practically dove into the bed. Spreading her legs as he scuttled between them, he looked at her wet folds. He ran his thumb over her hard little clit, and she jerked.

Gwen sat up and threw herself against his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. “No more torture, please, Jonathan.”

He leaned her back onto the pillow and kissed her, making love to her mouth the way he would her body. Reaching between them, she wrapped her hand around his cock. She wiggled her hips then guided his tip inside.

Heaven was hot and wet, and just a little wild. His groan harmonized with her moan. He was well aware of his size, and carefully slid in only an inch. Withdrawing a little, he went deeper with his next thrust. At Gwen’s sudden intake of breath, although short, he gave her a moment to adjust. When she thrust her hips up, taking him deeper, he obliged and pushed in to the hilt.

Gwen whimpered.

Jonathan froze. Had he hurt her? He chanced a look at her face.

When she opened her eyes, he had to ask. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

Oh, shit. She was hurt. He’d never hurt a woman during sex before. “What’s wrong?”

Then she grinned up at him, and lifted her hips, forcing him deeper. “You’re not moving.”

He slid out and slammed back in. “Better?”

“Oh, hell, yes.” She wrapped her long legs around his waist.

The position change made her inner walls tighten around him. “I’m sorry, Gwen.” He pounded into her once again. “But I’m not going to last—”

Her body quaked under him as the slick muscles that surrounded his cock quivered in a way he’d never felt before. She cried out in pleasure, digging her fingertips into the muscles covering his shoulder blades. Pure joy ripped through him that he could give this to her. All the pent up testosterone released as the longest orgasm he’d ever had surged through each nerve, shaking him to his core just before the world went black.

Jonathan rose from the depths of pleasure and rolled off Gwen and tucked her sleeping form beside him. He needed to take care of the spent condom, but wanted to stay there for a minute, or two, or twenty, just holding her. What they had just shared was unique. Sure, it was just sex, but it was the best sex of his life. Although, the thought of waiting several months before having sex again had no appeal at all. He felt so good he might be ready by the time he got back from the bathroom.

With that idea in mind, Jonathan pulled the covers up and around Gwen, and got out of bed. By the time he’d gotten rid of the condom, though, he’d convinced himself he should leave. It was late. Very late. She probably had to work the next day. He wasn’t on till ten that night.

All thoughts of why he’d started seducing Gwen flooded his brain and he lost the semi he’d sported. He had to search her apartment for clues. If she was involved in a terrorist attack in any way—and he hoped to God she wasn’t—he’d just slept with the enemy.

On his way out of the bathroom, he looked at the woman who had brought him more pleasure, in and out of bed, than he’d had in years, maybe ever. She was so beautiful as she slept. And looked so damned innocent.

With a deep sigh, Jonathan slid on his pants, grabbed the rest of his clothes and silently left the room.

He’d gotten lucky, twice. Her computer sat on the small island that separated the kitchen from the living room. Jonathan pressed the button to turn it on and prepared to call in help from Guardian’s geek at the D.C. office. To his surprise, it immediately opened the document he wanted to read. She must have been working on it before he picked her up.

Every line seemed more like notes than an outlined plan. They were disjointed, looping back around sometimes, others left words hanging. All of it made sense, yet none of it did. And no specific target was mentioned.

Jonathan grabbed the flash drive from his pocket and lifted the laptop to find an open USB port.

“There’s an empty slot in the back.” At Gwen’s icy voice, he looked up to where she leaned against the corner to the dark hall, arms folded over her gorgeous breasts.

Naked.

Except for the Glock in her right hand.

Gwen had rolled over in a satisfied stupor, wondering if Jonathan could be coaxed into a second round. She certainly was interested. Instead of the large muscled body she’d expected, her bed had been empty. But the sheets were still warm. A glance at the open door to the bathroom, and floor devoid of men’s clothing, she concluded that he’d left.

Well, hell. So much for more sex. Too bad. He’d been good. Really good.

Thirsty, she padded to her bedroom door. She’d only opened it a crack when she heard rustling in the living room and saw the glow of a light. A flashlight? Had the man she’d just slept with left the door unlocked so a burglar could just waltz right in? Or was it the jerk who’d just been inside her body searching her apartment?

Quietly, she stepped back into her bedroom and removed her gun from the nightstand. Avoiding the board that groaned, she’d crept down the hallway and watched Jonathan search her living room. She had no idea what he was looking for until he made himself comfortable at her breakfast bar and turned on her computer. Lit by the screen, the grin on his face told her what she needed to know.

While waiting for him that evening, she’d reviewed her notes taken from the teenagers’ conversations, trying to determine their target. What she had was only bits, like pieces of a puzzle that had fallen off the table. She needed to see the picture to determine if what she had was important.

Jonathan must have been a speed reader because he’d only seen her notes for a split second that night in the diner. She now had pages of information on the young men, a few names, but no target.

Why should he even care? He certainly didn’t care about her. He’d used her to get to her computer and the information he now perused as he leisurely sat in her favorite spot. That’s where she ate every meal, checked her email, and shopped online. He looked right at home wearing…what was he wearing? His chest was bare, the almost-invisible, light hair casting shadows onto his powerful pecs. Surely he had slipped into his boxer briefs, maybe even his slacks. Only his torso was visible above the granite island top.

Part of Gwen wanted to go over there and crawl into his lap to convince him to come back to bed. The sane part wanted to throw him out of her apartment, and her life. She released her grip on the gun in her hand, thus engaging the safety mechanisms. He wasn’t a burglar there to steal what little of value she had and then rape her. He’d already explored her body, and she’d been a very willing participant. At the moment, he seemed content to discover what she had on her computer.

She leaned against the wall as she carried on an internal war. Should she trust Jonathan to help her get the miniscule amount of information she had collected to the right authorities? Or throw his very fine ass out of her apartment and tell him to stay away from the diner because she never wanted to see him again?

But she did want to see Jonathan again. Their date had been wonderful, up until she’d caught him searching her place. She wanted him to return to her bed and repeat everything they’d done to each other…and more.

Could she trust the man sitting at her counter? He’d told her Guardian wasn’t in the special operations business for Uncle Sam. But, maybe, since he’d once been in Marine SpecOps, he knew who to tell about the terrorist cell she was now convinced existed within a few blocks of her apartment.

Jonathan half stood and dug into his pocket.

So, he’d put on pants. But had he planned on leaving or returning to her bed? And her?

Well, hell. She’d trusted him with her body, she could trust him with the information.

“There’s an empty slot in the back.” Gwen pushed off the wall and walked toward Jonathan.

He froze. “I was—”

“I know what you were doing.” She laid the gun down on the kitchen counter as she passed and strode to the island. “Go ahead. Copy my notes. Maybe you can make sense of them. I sure can’t.”

“Are you involved in—”

Jonathan thought she was tangled in this mess?

“Hell, no!” Furious now, she tried to explain. “There’s a group of refugee teenagers that come into the diner after school. Since they speak Arabic, and have no idea I know the language. They talk. A lot. Their families are involved in something big…like a local terrorist cell, which is planning something really big for next week.”

“Next week?” Jonathan probed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I just don’t know what they plan to do.”

“Who have you told about this?” His tone was accusatory.

“No one, yet.” She shrugged. “There’s not enough there to tell anyone of authority, and who’s going to believe me?”

“I believe you.” His words shocked her, but it’s what she’d hoped. “And there’s more here than you think. I’m sure Homeland Security has people in Dallas on the Watch List, but with all the new refugees, not to mention the local crazies, they can’t keep up.” He smiled at her, and she wanted to melt into him. “This is the kind of information they need.”

“Should I call them?” Then she thought about it a moment. “How do you get ahold of the terrorism division of Homeland Security? Is there such a thing? Isn’t that the whole purpose of that department?”

“Yes, but I can cut through the bureaucratic bullshit.” He held up the flash drive. “May I?”

She nodded. “You can? How? You told me Guardian wasn’t into black ops.”

He clicked a few keys then looked up at her. “No. What I said was that I didn’t know of any governmental contracts.” He grinned. “That takes place so far above my pay grade that I wouldn’t know about it. On the other hand, I work for a great guy, who knows the right people.”

“Quin?” She couldn’t imagine him being that well connected.

“No, our owner, Alex Wolf.” Jonathan ejected the flash drive and stared at her for what seemed like forever.

She raised her eyebrow, knowing there was more, and silently asked for the truth.

Sheepishly he admitted, “I already talked to Alex about this, right after I saw the notes on this computer that evening in the diner.”

Gwen was no fool. She read between the lines. Heat ignited behind her eyes. She would not cry, no matter how much it hurt. Determined to speak around the tightening fist that choked her throat, she asked anyway, fearing she already knew the answer.

“Is that why you asked me out tonight?” Damn it, her voice had broken. Now he knew how much their date had meant to her. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“Yes, but—” He came around the edge of the island and she stepped back.

Grabbing her gun, she pointed it at him. “Get out.”