Malcolm found an old door in the basement, leaning on its side against the cement wall.
As the discussion on how to integrate the two efforts against Dimitru dwindled, he’d needed an escape. The basement offered the quiet, damp cool after the hot scenarios had been flying through the air all evening.
Looked like Marie would be able to redeem herself by helping out. He’d profusely stated his concerns and gone unheard. Yesterday, she’d been in a hospital. She was weak, even if she didn’t want to admit it. And he had no doubt Vladimir wasn’t only looking for that stupid-ass armband. He’d had his leering eyes on Marie since day one.
“It’s not helping,” he muttered to no one. “And why the hell does anyone need her to redeem herself?” He turned the door over and leaned it against his knee. There was a split down the side, but it was better and more secure than the bullet-holed one upstairs. He hoisted it up to his shoulder and took the stairs back up. Kicking the door at the top of the stairs open into the kitchen, he lowered the door through the doorway.
A thump from the other side preceded the offended “Hey!”
“Sorry,” he called out as he hefted the replacement door down the hall to the front of the house and set it up against the wall. He turned and found the big, blond-haired Craig standing there, looking a mite put out. “What?”
“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
Malcolm looked from the door to Craig and pulled a screwdriver from his pocket. “How hard can it be?”
Craig rolled his eyes and then stepped up and took the screwdriver from his hand. “Let the pro handle this.”
“You’re a carpenter?”
“Eh,” his teammate said. “I was raised with a dad who had me learning whatever I could in construction and building, remodeling, you name it. Was worried I’d be a fuck-up, pretty sure.”
Malcolm supported the front door while Craig unscrewed the hinges, starting at the top.
“So, you and Marie, huh?”
“Mmm,” he said, not really answering. Talk about whatever was between him and Marie wasn’t going to happen, not here, not now, not ever.
“I guess we saw it coming.”
Malcolm held his silence and the weight of the door as Craig pulled the last screw.
After setting aside the one with bullet holes, Malcolm turned for the other door and set it in place. Craig stepped closer and shifted it a few times to line it up, then worked, one screw into the bottom and one into the top hinge, repeating his system until the door was held by the bolts.
Malcolm had kept his distance from Marie and from the team after the agent arrived. He would do whatever was asked of him; he’d learn to follow orders in the Army. He had his strengths, and they were clearly marked for support. He never minded taking orders.
There was a time and place for utter control—in his personal life. There, he was in charge. He didn’t take orders from anyone.
“Only one reason a guy ignores a good-looking woman as long as—”
“Shut it,” Malcolm said, holding his hand out for the screwdriver.
“You can’t handle a woman like Marie, and everyone knows it. You haven’t trusted a woman in years, much less dated one for more than a week or two at a time. And this one is an actual thief.”
Malcolm refused to respond. He took the tool in his fist and then slugged Craig’s arm.
Didn’t matter what people thought of him, what his teammates thought of him.
Fuck Craig. He was a kid who had his eye on the boss’s daughter.
As Malcolm passed the staircase, a movement caught his eye, and he saw Marie standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at him. He held her gaze for a moment, wondering what she’d heard. Not caring what she’d heard.
Or caring too much.
She knew who he was. As it was on any team, they’d lived closely for the past several months. He dated. Not a ton, but enough. He wasn’t a fucking priest, like John. Yet even as he thought regret was wasted energy, he regretted. Maybe regretting all others was what it meant to find the one.
He wanted her fiercely, felt the ache of arousal already beginning low in his gut at the sight of her. With a nod to her, he continued to the workbench downstairs in the basement and put away the screwdriver. He stood for a moment and gripped the edge of the workbench.
He could handle her.
But he didn’t want to handle her.
The fight was completely inside of him. He shouldn’t want her, but he did.
He didn’t want a better version of her.
He wanted her.
Shaking off the internal war, he went back upstairs, where someone had finally made dinner—probably Stacy. Or Jamie. Those were the only two in this house who could truly do it well. And he was hungry. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he ate until he smelled the food.
He grabbed a plate and took it to the far corner of the dining room, where a cooler full of water bottles sat in ice. He grabbed two and sat in a chair at the table. The others sat around him. The talk had turned light and there was the typical teasing and joking that happened during off hours.
“Did you grow up here, Marie?” Emily, the former FBI sharpshooter and John’s woman, asked from the other end of the table. The couple had only been together a little while, hooking up after a man out for revenge had tracked her down and almost killed her. Malcolm was pretty sure they didn’t even live together. They were waiting. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought. How that was even possible, he had no idea.
For him, sex was the one release crucial to survival. He might not have had quite as many partners as their own Bobby, but he wasn’t an uptight prick, either. He knew how to relax, blow off steam.
God, he was thinking like a douche.
He shouldn’t have lost his cool with Craig and let words bug him.
“For the most part, yes.” Marie cleared her throat and looked to him. The way his thoughts had wandered had him wondering if she knew he was thinking about her naked body over his. Malcolm shifted and dropped his plate to the table. “We lived on the road some after my parents died, but this has always been home,” she continued.
Tomorrow, Marie would go back to Dimitru’s. They were using the armband as incentive, hoping Vladimir would see her as someone who wanted to work with him—not just to get to her uncle, but to acquire more of the Romanian gold. They were going to use her reputation as a thief and a gold digger.
They wanted her to go in and finish the job they started in order to take down his human-trafficking ring.
Malcolm hated it already.
Her voice sounded husky, worn out…and sexy as hell. Of course it was. He was drawn to her, a thief, damn it. He’d gotten to know her, and there was the crux of his problem. The last three days—the last year after plucking her off the street in Germany—had shown she was no typical thief.
She was courageous, grounded, loyal, and nothing like his ex-wife had been.
***
When he got up and left, Marie knew the gap between them, despite the last week, was significantly larger now. He wouldn’t talk to her, had barely looked at her since they’d come back here. Craig had forced Malcolm’s hand in the front hallway, and what a hand he’d shown.
His silent gaze from below her had spoken louder than any angry or hateful words might.
She would prefer if he lost his temper or came at her and confronted her.
The silence made her nervous and uncertain, and the uncertainty pissed her off.
So, why was she still sitting here?
Dinner was over. The kitchen had been cleaned. Hawk and Stacy had walked out toward the coastline. John and Emily were sitting on the couch in the living room, holding hands or some such shit. Craig had gone for a run. Agent Graham was back in town, arranging to get the armband back from the police.
She had one night, because when this operation was over, she would go back to face the consequences. Whatever those happened to be.
Agent James had offered her leniency in exchange for her cooperation.
Not fool enough to think one agent’s word against formerly pressed charges with the police department were truly going to help her, she still appreciated he was willing to testify for her. It was more than she’d gotten from Malcolm.
And she didn’t want to admit that her feelings hurt. She deserved the cold shoulder. He’d warned her to be good. And she’d let fickle emotions rule her head. Her uncle dying. Her parents’ deaths. Her stupid, stupid family heirloom, which she would give anything to have. Why?
As if she hadn’t learned a damn thing in all this time.
Marie swallowed the last of the whiskey in her cup and set it down on the counter. She was going upstairs, and she wasn’t going to let him avoid her any more.
In her room, her ambition deflated. He wasn’t there. She opened the closet even though she knew there was no way he was in there, either. Like most older houses in the area, the closet was small, barely able to contain half the clothes from her wardrobe. Across the hall, she knocked on the door to the bathroom.
No response. With a frown, she opened the narrower door that led to the attic. “Malcolm?” she called up into the dark cavern.
The dust on the steps hadn’t been touched in years. He definitely wasn’t up there.
She opened the closet door and smelled the scent of his cologne. He’d gone down the tunnel. For some reason, hope filled her. This was her place, her spot. Would he be down here if he didn’t want to see her?
Down the ladder she went, and then trailed the edge of the tunnel. She reached out and flipped the switch on the wall, which set off the string of lights Uncle Bert had installed the year after her parents died.
The light blinded her for a moment, making her squint, but then she saw him. He sat on the ledge of flat stone on the opposite side of the pool. He had his shorts on, but no shirt, and in the light, she made out the tattoos covering his side and arm.
“Needed a swim in freezing cold water?” As soon as she said it, she heard the implication of why he would need to cool off. “I mean— That’s not what—”
“Just needed some space,” he interrupted.
Since there was no way in hell she was swimming across water straight out of the Pacific in November, Marie sighed and sat on her side of the pool. “Is that it?” she asked, wondering if she needed to spell things out for him. Are we over? Are we friends? Was making love to you the biggest mistake of my life?
He didn’t answer and lifted himself off the ledge and shoved off into the water.
“Great. Way to get him to open up and talk to you, Marie. Make him feel like you’re interrogating him or that you think everything’s a joke.”
His fingers broke through the water in front of her and gripped the edge of rock below her, and she found herself face to face with all sorts of regret in the form of a broad chest, tattooed arms, and washboard abs.
“You are such an idiot, Marie Feur,” she muttered to herself as he climbed out, stood in front of her, and shook off, splashing water all over her.
“Hey!” she screeched. The cold of each splatter raised goosebumps on her skin, but it was the predatory look in his eyes that stopped her, had her staring and licking her lips. “Hey,” she said, this time in greeting, as if to start over. “What’s going on, Malcolm?”
He confused her. He’d been at the police station, saving her. He’d said he maybe forgave her.
He wrung his hair out and tried to do the same with his shorts, his arousal obvious. He was close enough she could touch him, so she reached out and ran a hand down his calf. The hair on his legs tickled her fingers, the damp of his skin reminding her of their night together—two sweaty bodies.
She bit her lip, letting the feelings of her own pleasure swell within her.
“Why did you come looking for me, Marie?”
“I wanted to talk.”
“Liar.” He’d had her labeled as a liar and a thief for as long as they’d known each other. He’d been right, even when she had her reasons. She heard rumors about the ex-wife and could understand why his opinion of her had been so strong. But this was now.
And apparently, what they had was a truce-like friendship that had turned physical. Did he still see only the thief?
“What do you see?” she whispered, as she absently traced a circle on his thigh.
“I see a woman who was never mine be completely mine. I see her want more and settle for less. I see her grieve, looking for a connection and knowing tomorrow she will put her life on the line—again. I see a woman who pisses me off so badly, I don’t know what to do about it.”
Her mouth fell open. His woman?
The glare in his eyes flared into something much more volatile.
And it made her breath come short, her heart pound in anticipation.
He came in close, gripped her shirt, and pulled her up, making her stand in front of him. “Why?” he asked, desperation in his voice. His unsettled spirit filled the one word.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and circled his waist with her legs. “Because I owe it to you to do the right thing.”
His eyes narrowed. In one motion, he pried her legs loose from his waist and slid her skirt down her legs. The cold air washed over her and then his warm hand was on her butt cheek. No panties. She shrugged. “I was about to get ready for bed. The day’s over, Malcolm. Will you finish it with me, please?”
Her words spiked the need inside of her. She wrapped her legs back around him and squeezed her thighs, giving her leverage against his rock-hard abdomen. He took her mouth, standing there, and it was a gentle press, a lick against the soft flesh of her lower lip, and pure seduction as he convinced her to open to him.
With agile fingers, he toyed with her and then entered her wet folds and found her clit. She shivered at the contrast of cool against warm as she let herself ride the sensation. “Is sex this way even poss—”
He rolled his fingers back over her, shutting her up. “Orgasm, yes.”
And he worked her, rubbed her, adored her small bit of flesh until the start of her climax streaked over her nerves. She rocked against his hand, her breath coming shorter and shorter. “Malcolm.” A moan escaped as muscles clenched on his fingers.
His fingers plied into her, further, deeper, harder, and then he turned his hand and found that spot up and inside her, his fingers stroking the back of her arch. Pleasure flared through her, and the low glow of the lights in the cavern became an explosion behind her eyelids. Her body tightened on the pleasure of an orgasm so intense that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to walk.
He eased out of her flesh, taking his time, letting her feel the residual effects. And with it, he kissed her lips, gently, tenderly. It was enough to make her cry a little, but she shook off the sentiment, found the ground with her feet, and moved him back, back, back to the bench against the wall.
She did away with his damp shorts, watching him spring forth before pushing him down to sit.
“I’m not going to get splinters in my ass, am I?” he asked, looking up at her with a rare show of humor. It made her want to eat him alive. She needed this right now, needed him to distract her from tomorrow, from the worry of finding the worst.
She took a knee on the bench next to his hip. His hands followed her movement and gripped her hips as she knelt over him and rested against his aroused flesh.
“Please tell me you brought a condom down here with you.”
She shook her head, sympathetic, but not disappointed. She ran a hand through his hair, which was beginning to dry along the edges. “I love your hair, Malcolm. Why do you leave it long?”
She reached between them and took him in her hands. He jerked and moaned. “Marie,” he growled.
“Tell me.” She caressed him, up and down, as his skin tightened on swelling vessels, and he became velvet in her hands.
He shrugged, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. “Long enough in the military. I started to hate the crew cut. When I got out, I stopped getting it cut, found I liked it long.”
He was such a bundle of contradictions. And he reminded her of being in the old country. She remembered being a girl and visiting extended family. Her dad had had short hair, turned by western culture, her great-grandfather had accused. Funny she was falling for a man who ignored the modern trends.
Falling for him. Lusting for him?
The familiar pulse beat between her legs. She drew her shirt over her head, freeing her breasts and arms. He leaned forward and suckled her into his mouth. The pull of basic instinct raged through her, and she ground her soft parts against his lap, massaging her already aching clit and setting her heart flying.
He cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples—no pain, only pleasure. Then he sat up and stole her mouth, sucking her tongue into his mouth. She lost all thought as the need for him overwhelmed her, stole her breath. Marie pumped, wanting him inside her, completely mindless now.
She gripped his shoulders, lifted her hips, and almost came as she covered him, felt him so far inside her—
“Jesus.” He lifted her off him so fast that she fell backward. “What the fuck, Marie?”
“Crap,” she said, laughing, then broke off at the look on his face. “It’s not funny. I’m sorry.” She scrambled to her knees, on the ground between his legs. “I lost my head.” Then she lifted a brow. “You haven’t, though.”
“Fucking close, Marie. I don’t have to come to get you pregnant.”
On her knees, she put her hands on his legs and let them trail up his thighs. “I’m sorry.” She bit her lip. When he still looked ready to blow a gasket, she took his face in her hands. “Look at me.”
He finally did, a hard glint in his eyes.
“I’ve had an IUD in since I started with Hawk Elite. Since we had orders to go overseas. It—uh, it regulates my cycle, even making it nonexistent most months.” She looked him in the eye, because she wasn’t a liar and she would never steal his peace of mind. “It seemed the simplest answer to worrying about when I was going to get my period while we were overseas and how to handle…well, the logistics.”
Malcolm was looking at her through those sharp, hooded eyes. He leaned his head back against the rock wall behind him. Marie leaned forward and bent her head over his length, taking him into her mouth. She tasted herself on him. “I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.”
He sat up and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Is it safe?”
Confused, she frowned. “What?”
“The IUD? Is it safe for you?” He was playing with her nipples again, not really helping her thought process.
She shrugged. “Nothing is as safe as nothing.”
He slid his hand down her abdomen and cupped her.
“But, for now, it’s better…” Her words fell off. “Let me go down on you. And next time, I’ll be sure to have a condom. You don’t have to trust me,” she added as her voice faded and her heart broke a little. She’d done that, had only herself to blame, knowing it would always be an issue between them. He might never trust her. And if she wondered if they could make things work, this was her answer. No.
They would never have more. Not if there wasn’t trust.
He brushed his hands into her hair and turned her face up to him. He studied her, looking at her as if wanting to know more. He kissed her, so gently. The tip of her nose, her jaw line, down her neck to her collarbone, where he sucked a little longer—leaving his mark.