Chapter 11

Hearing such sweet words on Chelsea’s lips, hearing his name, had warmth unfurling inside Dagan. Having her pressed against him turned that warmth into a blazing heat that melted his reason and burned away all his good sense. Or…at least that’s what he blamed for what happened next, for what he did next.

Wrapping his hands around her shoulders, feeling her lithe muscles flex through the puffy down fabric of her coat, he walked her backward two steps.

With her back pressed against the boxes stacked next to the bulkhead, she blinked up at him in confusion. “Dagan?” And there it was again. His name spoken in that sexy, husky voice with just the tiniest trace of a Southern drawl.

After that scene in Morrison’s penthouse, he should have known better, should have learned his lesson about taking without asking. But for the first time since Afghanistan, he dared to hope that maybe, just maybe he had been wrong.

She had just said she cared for him, hadn’t she? She had willingly stepped into his embrace to hold him tight, hadn’t she? So maybe there was a chance that an amazing, wonderful woman like her could fall for a shitheel like him. Maybe she was able to look past his bad decisions and see that he was doing his damnedest to…what? Not make up for what he’d done—he could never make up for that. But he had been trying to live his life in a way that counted.

Taking her face between his hands, he marveled at the delicate, satiny feel of her skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head, all the while keeping his eyes trained on her, searching for rejection.

He never saw any. Instead, her plump, pink lips trembled and fell open in an unconscious invitation. Her breath was warm and sweet against his mouth. And then… Oh, and then she closed her eyes, exhaling a shuddering sigh. That was all the permission he needed.

“Chelsea.” Her name was a harsh whisper, torn from his throat by the power of his desire. Closing the distance between them, he took what she was offering.

Just as before, the instant his lips touched hers, he was sucker-punched with a sense of overwhelming rightness. As if this was what he had been born to do. As if she was the one he had been born to do it with.

“Mmm,” she moaned when he slowly delved his tongue inside her sweet mouth. The low, sultry sound traveled from his ears down his spine and settled heavily in his stomach. And lower.

After a brief moment, her tongue tentatively sought his, tangling, darting, and daring to spear past his teeth into the hot welcome of his mouth. He wanted to howl his joy, his pleasure. In Morrison’s penthouse, he had kissed her with abandon, but she had been too stunned to kiss him back. But now, oh, now she wasn’t just kissing him back, she was making love to his mouth. With deep, wet tastes and soft, ball-tightening sucks.

That hope that had flared to life inside him, grew into an all-out conflagration that stoked the fire of his lust ever higher. His control shattered. His gentleness disappeared with it.

A possessive growl sounded at the back of his throat. Using his hands, he canted her head to the side to gain better access to her wanton, wicked mouth. Then he feasted. Like a starving man, over and over he went back to taste, to savor, to devour. Every suck of her plump lips made his thundering heart beat harder. Every stroke of her tongue made the blood rushing in his ears roar louder.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling the strands in her effort to get closer. He welcomed the bite of pain and accommodated her by pinning her lush body against the crates.

She hummed her approval into his mouth, the sweetest melody he had ever heard, and rubbed herself against him. Her luscious breasts raked over his chest. Her hips canted forward, seeking the evidence of his desire.

She found it waiting for her, pulsing and painfully erect behind the fly of his jeans.

“You taste amazing,” he told her, releasing her face to wrap both arms around her waist. The temptation of her ass was too much. He had dreamed about her butt for so long. Dreamed of kissing it, of spanking it, of watching it bounce prettily as he hammered into her from behind. But first…he wanted to feel it.

Palming a jean-clad globe in each hand, he was delighted to discover she was more than a handful. Chelsea…sweet, sexy, sassy Chelsea was all woman. And everything that made him a man reveled in the knowledge. Her lush curves turned him rock hard. The mewling sounds at the back of her throat had him answering with a low grumble.

“You feel amazing,” he added between deep, plunging kisses while kneading her ass and relishing the firm, plump give of her flesh.

It occurred to him then, as he kissed her until they were both senseless, that the air had been sucked out of the room. He lived solely on her sweet breath. The world around him, the boat, the boxes, the stairwell, it all vanished. He saw nothing but her lovely face, felt nothing but her soft body moving shamelessly against him.

“Dagan.” Her voice was huskier than usual when she ripped her mouth away and let her head fall back against the stack of crates. “Please.”

“Please what?” He took advantage of her exposed neck. The skin there looked as smooth as latte and tasted as sweet when he pressed his lips against her pulse. He sucked and felt the beat of her heart pick up its pace.

Breath hitching, she tilted her head further to the side, inviting more. He didn’t disappoint. He nibbled and sucked and kissed his way back to her ear.

“Please what, Chelsea?” he whispered again.

She speared her hands into the open halves of his jacket, fisting handfuls of his sweater. “I don’t know.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice.

A small smile curved his lips as he nipped at the delicate lobe of her ear. Man, she smelled as good as she tasted. Like strawberries warmed by the summer sun and dipped in vanilla.

“I know,” he assured her.

And then he showed her that he spoke the truth by bending his knees to more fully align their bodies. He released one of her beautiful ass cheeks to slowly slide his hand down her thigh, stopping at her knee. Pulling her leg high around his waist, he opened her to him, stepping forward to put himself right where he wanted to be.

Bull’s-eye!

All the hairs on his body lifted, his balls pulled up tight, and his dick throbbed when her sultry heat seeped through both their jeans to brand him. Knowing that he had done that to her, that he had made her hot and wet, was an erotic victory.

“You’re so hot,” he whispered against her ear. “So fuckin’ hot, Chels.”

Then she did the most amazing thing. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the deck at their feet before she wrapped her arms around his neck and hopped up, both her legs circling his hips. He supported her full weight, and despite her short stature, she wasn’t a dainty thing. She felt solid and warm and alive and…like a deliciously sexy, grown-assed woman in his arms. Which was enough to have him threatening to shoot off like a damned geyser in his pants.

She made everything so much worse—or better?—by proceeding to ride him.

“Yes, Chels,” he breathed between deep, tongue-twisting kisses. “Keep doing that.”

He helped her by palming her ass and thrusting his pelvis in counter rhythm to her pumping hips. The boxes behind them rattled and banged against the bulkhead. He hadn’t dry-humped a woman in…how long? Since freshman year in college, maybe?

Holy shit. He had been missing out.

“Oh my,” she whispered against his lips.

Oh my, indeed, he thought. As in…oh my God! Oh my, yes! Oh, my sweet girl, don’t stop what you’re doing.

The friction was amazing. The heat of her. The sultry wetness of her was almost enough to—

The big engines came to life, cutting off the sound of Chelsea’s moans of pleasure. Above deck, Rusty wasted no time piloting the catamaran away from the dock. The minute the boat hit the open water, the choppy currents of the Channel caused the deck beneath Dagan’s biker boots to roll. With Chelsea’s added weight, he was thrown off balance.

Cursing, he stumbled backward, tripping over his jacket and hitting another stack of boxes. When the crates threatened to tumble over, he was forced to take a knee.

The deck heaved again as Rusty tacked strongly to the port side, and Dagan found himself flat on his back with Chelsea rising above him like a dark angel. Her golden eyes glinted down at him. Her hands flattened on either side of his head. And a smirk tugged at her kiss-swollen lips.

“Well, I’d say it’s about damn time.” There was laughter in her voice.

He wanted nothing more than to drag her down for another kiss, to thrust his hips against her and restart that delicious friction. Instead, he squeezed her thighs and asked, “About damn time for what?” For him to take off all her clothes and make hot, sweet love to her? If so, he most definitely agreed.

“About damn time I ended up on top after one of our duels.” She winked saucily, and the freckles on her nose once again reminded him of flecks of cinnamon. He wanted to kiss every one of them.

The metal decking was cold against his back, but she was so incredibly warm against his front. Her ripe breasts hung down so that just the tips brushed his chest. “Is that what we’re doing?” He quirked a brow. “Dueling?”

“I’d say that what we had going back there”—she hooked a finger over her shoulder toward the stack of boxes he’d pinned her against—“definitely qualifies as a good bit of thrust and parry.”

He couldn’t help it. He chuckled. Only Chelsea could make him hot as hell one minute and laugh out loud the next.

“Well, for the record, you’re welcome to climb on top of me any time your heart desires. As for the thrust and parry…” He made sure the grin he shot her was wholly devilish. “Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

He expected her to come back with a witty quip. She rarely let him get in the last word. But instead, her smile dimmed as if she’d reached inside herself and flipped a switch. “What are we doing, Dagan?”

He gave her thighs another squeeze. “I would think that’s obvious.” But just in case she needed more clarification, he thrust his pelvis at her while using his hands to drag her hot, sweet cleft backward along his steely length.

Oh yes, he thought a little deliriously. There’s that glorious friction.

“Holy Moses.” Her eyes rolled back, and her throat worked over a hard swallow. “I can’t think when you do that,” she said.

“Isn’t that part of the fun? Letting your body take over for your brain?”

“Lord, yes.” Her voice was thick with desire. Desire that he had put there. He was tempted to beat his chest King Kong–style. “But I…” She stopped and opened her eyes. He was once more waylaid by the golden glow of her irises. Those eyes had always done a number on him, reminding him of a sleek, sexy jaguar. And now he knew how appropriate that comparison was. From what little they had already done together, he could tell she would be a wildcat between the sheets. “But I don’t understand,” she finally finished. “I always thought you didn’t…well…you didn’t like me.”

What was she? Crazy?

“All evidence to the contrary,” he told her, again rubbing his hard length against the sultry juncture of her thighs.

“S-stop that,” she whispered. But he could tell her words didn’t match her wants when she wiggled her hips the tiniest bit to get the angle just right. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“Why?” He watched her through half-lidded eyes, loving how passion had brought a rosy blush to the apples of her cheeks.

“Because I don’t understand,” she said exasperatedly.

To his great dismay, she sat up, taking the weight of her glorious breasts with her. She went to fist her hands on her hips, but her knuckles bumped into his hands. And he wasn’t letting go. Hell no, he was holding on for all he was worth. Which left her only one option. She crossed her arms.

Praise Jesus, he thought when the most delicious line of cleavage appeared above the V-neck of her purple sweater.

“Hey!” She snapped a finger in front of his face. “Pay attention.”

“Sorry. It’s hard to focus with all”—he waved in the general direction of her chest—“that going on.”

She glanced down, saw what was holding him enthralled, and quickly uncrossed her arms.

“Damnit.” He frowned.

“I swear, all you men are the same. Put a pair of boobs in your face, and your IQ drops fifty points.”

“It’s biology, babe. Propagation of the species.”

“Whatever.” She adjusted her glasses. She looked absolutely adorable when she was being sincere. “I’m serious, Dagan. I need to know.”

“I’m sorry. My IQ is currently in the toilet… You need to know what?”

“Why you haven’t given me the time of day for years, but now, suddenly, you’ve turned into a kissy, handsy, bearded Don Juan. What gives?”

He could have told her everything. How he had wanted her from day one, but that Afghanistan had happened and his brother had happened and Senator Aldus had happened—and afterward he had never dreamed she would want anything to do with him. How he had continued to want her, to fantasize about her until his control had finally snapped back in Spider’s penthouse. How he had been, and still was, shocked as shit that she could know all his secrets and still want him, too. Yes, he could have told her all that.

Something held him back.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was shame. Or hell, maybe it was just self-preservation. Because if he laid himself open—ripped his ribs apart and exposed his heart—and she brushed him off, he wasn’t sure he would recover from the rejection.

“Professionalism,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose, causing her delightful cinnamon freckles to meld together. “Huh?”

“I didn’t make a move while we both worked for the Company because fraternization between employees was frowned upon. Same goes for after you became the liaison to BKI. We were coworkers. I had to respect that distinction.”

She narrowed her eyes, head canted to the side. He liked to call it her “thinking pose.” After a second she said, “But…aren’t we still coworkers?”

He’d dug himself into a hole, and the only way out was to keep digging with the hope he could break through to the other side. “That’s a negative. The minute you uploaded that virus onto Morrison’s PC—and the minute the boys back at BKI began hacking his systems and finding the evidence to bring the asslick down—was the beginning of the end for BKI. I’d say I am now officially a civilian. And you, babycakes, are now officially back to being a CIA counterintelligence officer. So, no more conflicts.”

He winked even though he was sure to burn in hell for the lies he had just told.