Then again, I also try to justify that it’s just being with someone almost every waking hour that has me concerned with her safety, but I’m not real big on lying, so why lie to myself? That lightness in my head could be because of more than just great sex. It could be because Beaux’s starting to mean something to me despite the mere month or so we’ve known each other.
But the time isn’t right, so I push the thoughts away, shove the little pinpricks warning me to slow the fuck down away, and tell myself to enjoy the moment and the warm skin of the gorgeous woman in front of me. I settle down beside her, head propped on my hand, quiet my thoughts, and enjoy the moment.
Her hair is all over the place in stark contrast to the white sheets, but at the same time the fact that it’s falling out of her ponytail softens the sharp lines of her face. She meets my eyes, and I love that even though she’s so goddamn confident everywhere else in whatever this is between us, she appears shy right now. Her cheeks flush even more, and she averts her eyes before scooting into me so that the curves of our bodies fit perfectly into each other’s.
It’s a reflex that my arm wraps around her and pulls her tighter, our lips meeting in a soft sigh of a kiss that says the moment was so much more than solely physical, and yet neither of us wants to address it yet. Because physical attraction is acceptable, but feeling like this, the intensity with which I feel it, is extraordinary.
At least that’s what I hope she’s saying when her tongue meets mine in a soft dance of tenderness and acceptance. We cement our connection this way for a few moments, all hushed words and soft laughter. Hands smoothing over heated skin and heartbeats slowing down.
We settle into such a relaxed silence in the comfort of each other’s arms – so very different than what happened after the last time we had sex – that it kills me when I have to bring up the inevitable.
“We need to work,” I remind her softly, speaking of turning in the written reports that back up my live broadcast from earlier as well as the feeling I have that once I check my phone, there will be messages from Rafe about another live spot.
“I believe you just worked me perfectly fine.” Her laugh is muffled, and I can feel the heat of it from where her lips are pressed against my sternum. The sensation sends a pulse of desire straight to my lower belly.
“And I have no problem working you again.”
“Oh you better plan on it. Again and again,” she says, and the suggestiveness that laces her tone is such a damn turn-on because it gives me that little ego boost to know she enjoyed what just happened as much as I did.
“I do like the again part… but this squeaky bed poses a problem.”
“Squeaky wheel gets the oil.”
“Squeak all you want, because I have no problem oiling you up.” My mind goes in pure male fashion from oil to dipstick to lube jobs and the correlation to sex.
“Hmm,” she murmurs as she leans her head back to look into my eyes. “Maybe we need to change up the location. Does the bed in your room squeak?”
“I’m not sure. We can try it out… but uh, I don’t need a bed to have my way with you. There’s lots of viable real estate: shower, wall, dresser, stairwell, rooftop.” I love that damn hitch in her breath from the dark promise of my words. “I’m not picky so long as it’s with you.”
A part of me quickly realizes what I just said to her, the admission that I want there to be a with you when it comes to her, but I know she took it for what it’s worth in the moment when she says, “You know what they say… It’s all about location, location, location.”
“As long as the location is between your thighs, I’ll take it.”
Chapter 14
“G
ood night. This is Tanner Thomas, reporting live for Worldwide News.”
As I wait for the connection to break, my body still rides the high from the raid today and the incredible sex with Beaux. I’m antsy and invigorated for the first time in what feels like forever here, and I sigh out in relief when the feed goes black so I can close down the Skype window on my laptop. Immediately my eyes focus on the iPhoto window open to the most recent downloads page, and I’m once again transfixed by the images Beaux took today that I had asked her to download on my laptop too.
And yes she got the action shots – great panoramas of knock and talks happening at the same time on three different residences, soldiers’ backs with the muzzles of the M4 carbines visible over their shoulders – but she also got those kinds of pictures that make me stop and stare and read what’s beneath the surface. A platoon of soldiers looking weary, the lines on their faces and looks in their eyes depicting both the fear and monotony of their tasks. Villagers peeking out from windows, kids fascinated to see soldiers, and adults leery of their presence. Sergeant Jones giving instructions, the line of his posture and angle of the shot reflecting his authority without a single patch on his uniform in the image.
Then there’s me. The few shots she snuck when I wasn’t looking where the rush I feel from being part of the mission practically leaps off the page. She captured the perfect image of what that buzz Rafe and I talk about looks like, and it’s hard to look away.
Beaux’s muffled voice through the hotel room door pulls me from my fixation on the computer, and I shut it down, my thoughts now focused on her. The sex we had earlier was mind-blowing, but I’m nowhere near satisfied. When it comes to Beaux Croslyn, I have a feeling that no matter how many times she rocks my world, it’s not going to be enough.