John couldn’t help but go down the hallway toward Emily’s room…to see her face, to talk to her. When she wasn’t there, and neither was Marie, his brain short-circuited a little. He hurried down the corridor to the lobby, scanning the people who’d come out to take part in the city’s nightlife.

And then he saw her, halfway to the main entrance, making her way toward him. The relief wasn’t enough to douse the anger, which boiled through his veins at her carelessness.

Her smile faded.

“Never go out alone at this time of night, not even if the hotel is on fire.” His tone was too sharp, but he couldn’t stop the fear. “Shit, not for anything.”

“But there was—”

John gripped her arm and pulled her over to the frond-enclosed alcove at the south corner of the lobby.

“Hey.”

He gentled his touch. “There is a curfew for a crappy-ass reason, but it’s there and if you disobey it—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and touched his arm, immediately curbing the agitation that rushed through him.

The thought of her in danger was giving him serious trouble. “No, I’m sorry. I worry. This is a bad country to be in, a bad one to break the rules in. You will disappear—”

She put a hand over his lips, stopping him, even as he jerked back to put space between them. She was such temptation…on a good day. He looked into her eyes and saw the determination, already so familiar to him but also something else. Heat. “Well, hell, Emily. What timing we have.” He squeezed her left shoulder with his free hand and pulled her close. “I can’t even kiss you like I want to.”

Her gaze burned into his and she reached up to grasp his wrist so they were connected, even if it was a far cry from what he wanted to do right now. They’d been scouting and going over procedure since six a.m. He should be too exhausted to move.

“Come to my room,” she whispered, like a temptress. “Marie is with Malcolm in the conference room…”

“I can’t.”

Her look of disappointment was like a knife. But she didn’t seem disappointed when she slipped her hand beneath his black t-shirt and tucked her fingers into the edge of his slacks to rest against his skin. Nor did she seem disappointed when she smiled.

“I can’t be on your floor after curfew,” he said, knowing there was no crime in her coming to his room…but it was so sexist, wrong on so many levels to ask her to be with him. “I’ll walk you as far as I can,” he said, the ache like a slow churn in his gut.

He took her hand from his waistband and kissed it in the secret of that little alcove before they walked the narrow stairs to the third floor.

“I really hate that you’re up here alone.”

“Well, they have to keep all of us heathen, unmarried women in one place, you know.” Her eyes twinkled a little.

“Don’t joke.”

She leaned in and kissed him there in the stairwell between right and wrong. And then she hesitated, biting that lip of hers.

He frowned. “What?”

“This is my last operation,” she whispered, even as she looked down the flights of stairs. The quiet had her braving this world and kissing him even more deeply. “I’m done for good. I’ve had enough, and at the same time, I want…more. But not this kind of more. I want the more that is on your family’s ranch. The more that Eddie has in his little home on the beach. I want my café back.”

His heart about stopped to hear her say these words to him.

What did it mean for them?

She touched his face, kissed his cheek, and then disappeared through the door. It was a goodbye of sorts. But it also pissed him off. Why would she tell him that?

Did she think she wasn’t going to make it through this hostage rescue?

Would Hassan have his way, taking her out?

He opened the door and peeked down the hall to her room, where the door clicked shut.

With her in it.

For the rest of the night.

Without him.

He groaned. “Fucking timing,” he said, swearing for the first time in a long time. “I wanted to finish the damn conversation.”

His room on the first floor seemed horribly empty when he got to it.

He took a shower, standing under the spray until it ran cold. Thank God for western culture. There had been hostage rescues that set them smack in the middle of the Afghanistan mountains—no running water, and usually a buttload of MREs to eat.

Dressed and ready for anything, John tucked his hand under his pillow, feeling for his sidearm, and his feet under the sheet. He pulled it up over his lower half, felt a breath of air move over his skin, and heard the barest creak against the floor.

Releasing the safety, John rolled over and aimed his gun at center mass.

“It’s me,” Emily whispered.

“Shoot.” He dropped the barrel just as quickly, his heart pounding. “You scared the crap out of me. How the hell did you get down here?”

She stood up out of the straight ladder-back chair in the corner and came over to sit on the bed. She was covered, head to toe, in her black gear—like a cat burglar. Instead of the robe cover she wore during the day, she had her sleek superhero version of clothing on. Lord in heaven.

His stomach tightened with need and want and…so much unfinished business. “You look ready to rob the sultan.”

“Marie lent me a few things so I could—” She waved a hand. “I needed to get out.”

He lifted a brow. “Little Marie? Our thief?” He tilted his head. “Did she know you were leaving?”

“I let her know so she wouldn’t worry.” Emily bit at her lip, uncertainty rampant in her eyes. He’d used his past, his beliefs and morals, as a wall. A good wall, one that kept him from taking on more than he wanted to handle. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted—no, needed to see you. We can talk,” she rambled. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want— I mean, I didn’t come here to ruin your reput—”

He reached for her and pulled her over to him, all legs and soft curves against body, because he didn’t like that she sat there and had to wonder if he wanted her, wonder if she was good enough.

Emily didn’t hesitate or second-guess when she covered him, surrounded him, and lifted a leg to secure him where he was. And John loved the feel of her as he sent his hands soothing her back in small circles.

“So, we barely meet, and you’re leaving me.” It was an asshole thing to say, but it cut to the heart of how her statement affected him.

Thankfully, she laughed, then levered herself up by her toes, plastered herself to his front—leaving absolutely no question about his desire for her—and pressed her lips to his as she breathed words against his mouth. “We’ve danced around this long enough, John.”

Every cell in his body came to life as evidence of desire and desperation flashed in the depths of her eyes.

“I want you. Make love to me.”

He groaned, pulled her close, and lifted her the last few inches so they were face to face, the perfect match. Rolling over, he settled on top of her. Her arms came up around his neck.

Regret. He would disappoint her.

Trust. He had to trust that doing the right thing would be good enough.

But she felt so good. He gripped her waist then moved around to cup her rear.

He kissed her again, because the words were too hard—they weren’t the only thing too hard. Don’t think! His silence had that light in her eyes dying.

Emily squirmed beneath him, trying to get free. “Let me up.”

He rolled so she didn’t feel trapped, but then stopped her scrambling retreat by taking her hand. “Don’t leave.”

She wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Tell me something about your mom.”

Her scoff said it all.

“Please.”

She sat up, her back to him. “I’m throwing myself at you and you want to talk?”

“I want to do the right thing,” he said, his voice rising when he wanted to remain calm. He got off the bed and paced the short length of the room before he turned back to her.

She was staring up at him, wide-eyed and hurt. God, he didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to lose her, either.

John dropped to his knees in front of her.

Her hands slowly went for the edge of her shirt, and she pulled it over her head. “Do the right thing,” she dared him.

He sucked in a breath at the sight of her naked breasts, the pretty pink centers and the smooth curve below. A groan escaped, and his already hard length reminded him of exactly how long it had been since he’d had a woman in his bed.

Long, long time.

* * *

John’s gaze fragmented the nerves under her skin, turning her to liquid desire.

She scooted forward, anticipation racing through every muscle, and laid her hands on his chest. He trailed his finger down her breast to the tight center and then kissed her shoulder. But he didn’t stop there. The kiss moved up to her neck, where he tipped her head back.

He cupped her and rolled her nipple, until he braved her body and took her into his mouth, sucking her deeply and sending her arousal into the strike zone. She moaned and moved closer.

Releasing her first, John blew a cooling stream of air over her damp skin, and then his kisses rained over her. He was loving her, touching her…adoring her.

But when she was desperate for him to go faster and cross that line…

“More,” she begged. “Please.”

His kiss came back to her mouth then, and he devoured her—nibbling and raking her teeth over her lips. Their tongues toyed with each other, and her breathing shortened.

John slowed their pace. His hands brushed at her hair, but with every soothing tug, an unfamiliar agony filled her.

“You’re stopping,” she said, desperation making her sound like a crazy person. She knew it in her head, but couldn’t stop the ache of apprehension. She wrapped her legs at his waist. “John?”

He breathed harshly and rested his forehead against hers. “We can’t. Don’t ask me right now.”

“You don’t want me.” Her voice sounded small.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his fly, shocking her. Not because he was hard but because—holy moly—it wasn’t his nature to be so aggressive, and despite his words to take them off this train, it made her want him even more.

“I want you, Emily Rogers. I want you and I will have you, when this is over, and you don’t look at me and think ‘he brought this on my head’ or ‘it’s only the situation pushing us together’ or ‘I’m so messed up, I need this one connection, this once.’ I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.”

Her chin trembled, and she blinked away a tear.

“Don’t cry,” he said, wiping her tears away. “Just be here when this is over so I can have you for the rest of your life.”

She threw her arms around his neck, and he held her, his hands on her bare back, warming her. He knelt there and held her like no one had since she was too young to remember.

“My biological father wasn’t a nice guy,” she said. John reached around her for her shirt and helped her put it back on. He didn’t do it without stealing one last regretful gaze at her breasts.

But he had a way about him that was empathetic and understanding. When she hugged herself, he climbed back into bed and pulled her into the circle of his embrace. “Tell me about your family.”

“My mom would take us to Harbor View each summer. It was our only escape, her escape, I think. He…was demanding and controlling of her.” She tucked her head under John’s chin and scratched at the bulge of his pectoral as he held her. “When I was nine, she finally left him. But it was a year of wondering if he would come back. And oddly, of wondering if I wanted him to come back. He was my dad.”

John squeezed her tighter. “You don’t have to explain.”

“He didn’t. Come back, I mean.” Her eyes drifted closed as she spoke. “Derek came into our lives when I was twelve.”

When John kissed the top of her head, she smiled. This was nice. Sex was going to be amazing, but she wouldn’t change this, being right here, right now. Telling this man her story.

“I fell in love with Derek—”

John grunted, and she grinned into his questioning eyes.

“My mom. She did have a type. This one was controlling and demanding…and a military guy, as well. But he was good. He was a really good man, and he protected us and loved us.” Holy crap, the emotion crept up on her. She cleared her throat. “He taught me everything I know, and not only about shooting, but about family and…what love from a good man looks like.”

Her heart pounded hard in her chest, knocking against her sternum as realization hit.

She crawled up onto him so they were chest to chest, hip to hip, and toe to toe. She put her hands on his face and kissed his lips.

He brushed her stray hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she whispered. “Without even knowing it. And if you’re not ready to jump into bed—”

“Ready is relative.” He gripped her hips and gently thrust against the apex of her legs.

She snorted a laugh. “True.” And then she took a kiss meant only to tempt and drive him crazy. “But we can do this together, and if waiting a day, two days, or two years is what’s necessary, then I’m okay with that, too.”

“What happened to your mom?” he asked.

Emily laid her head back down on his chest. “After my step-dad died, she struggled with depression until finally she decided she couldn’t live without him anymore.”

“Oh, Emily. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It was a really rough time.”

“That’s putting it mildly, I’m sure.”

“Maybe. I was twenty-two. Less impressionable than I’d been as a teenager.”

He squeezed her.

“In a way, I understood. I didn’t like her leaving me that way. But years of therapy helped…and focused me.” She took a deep breath. “Made me who I am today.”

“I love who you are today.” He didn’t mince words or beat around bushes.

And that freaked her out. Her whole adult life, she’d held back from saying those words too soon. But she’d already admitted she was in for the long haul.

Now the question was…how long would the haul be?

And would she survive?