His hand moves in my periphery, yanking a white button-up from one of his hangers and holding it in front of me.
The shirt is thin, almost see-through, but I accept it and remove a pair of white panties from a drawer.
“The second condition.” I peer at the hovering scowl behind me. “Step out while I dress.”
“This is bullshit, and you know it.” He drifts closer, his chest brushing my back, as he caresses his hands over my shoulders, slipping the straps down my arms. “I’ve kissed every inch of your body. I know each curve, dip, and delicate freckle. You have nothing to hide—”
“I’m not hiding.” With a hand on my hip, I lift my chin over my shoulder. “Respect my wishes, Trace.”
His jaw hardens, and he storms around me, walking in fast, angry strides deeper into the closet. With his back to me, he kicks off his loafers, and they land in the vicinity of his orderly shoe rack. His breaths heave furiously as he yanks off his suit jacket and whips it toward the hamper.
He’s beyond pissed, and I know I’m not going to win this. So I turn around and quickly change into the shirt and panties.
That done, I shift back and find him slipping on a pair of navy boxer briefs over his hips, the long length of his spine taut with frustration.
He pivots to face me, and our eyes lock. Uncertainty trickles over my skin, and I wrap my arms around my waist.
Whatever he sees in my expression causes his posture to go from self-assured to anxious. He rubs the back of his neck and shifts from one foot to the other.
Then he drops his arms, holding them out to his sides. “Come here.”
At some point over the past six months, scowly Trace Savoy, with his knotted necktie and starched personality, negotiated his way into my heart. He’s given me a whole new perspective on asshole—a perspective that makes me appreciate the rare glimpses of his vulnerability. Like when he stands before me with his arms out, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and naked tenderness.
Like now.
I step into his waiting arms and hug his firm waist, breathing in the masculine scent of his bare chest.
He inhales slowly, deeply, as if it’s the first gulp of air he’s taken in months.
“Are you hungry?” He strokes my hair, twining his fingers affectionately through the strands.
“I ate during my break a couple hours ago.”
Without warning, he lifts me, holding me in the cradle of his arms as he carries me out of the closet and tumbles us onto his bed. He lands atop me with his hips wedged between my legs and his heart thundering against mine.
Together, we toss the decorative pillows to the floor and wriggle until the bedding is kicked out of the way. Then it’s just him and me and the kiss that’s been brewing beneath every word we exchanged in the closet.
His lips move sensually against my mouth, his tongue rubbing and teasing and coaxing mine to dance. I cling to his biceps, loving his weight on me, the feel of his tall, muscled frame pressing down and pinning us in the moment.
Our legs entwine instinctively, and his hands return to my hair, rougher now than before, yanking at the roots as he controls the pace of the kiss. Deeper, harder, he eats at my mouth with fervor, angling our heads and fitting us perfectly together.
The thick, heavy length of him grinds against the crotch of my panties, but he doesn’t thrust or try to remove the barriers between us. Thank God, because my willpower is plummeting quick.
He seems to sense that and eases back, positioning us on our sides, chest to chest. His large pupils, hooded eyes, and labored breaths all signal his desire. If I looked down, I’d find his underwear tented.
I’m torturing him, and the thought clenches my chest.
There’s nothing wrong with a little abstinence, but I feel guilty about it. I feel like a damn tease.
“I don’t like this…this distance between us.” I run my fingers over the sculpted lines of his face, relishing the scratch of his five o’clock shadow.
“It’s temporary.” He tucks my hair behind my ear.
“How temporary? It’s already been a week. I need to—”
He touches a finger against my lips. “Don’t force it. You’re not in a race, and I’m not going anywhere.”
I grip his hand and lace our fingers together between us. “You’re okay with this? Starting over and dating and stuff?”
“Stuff?” He casts me a smoldering look. “I’m interested in hearing more about that.”
“I mean it, Trace. Where’s your head at on all of this?”
“The situation is less than ideal, but it’s a hell of a lot better than you starting over without me.” His mouth twitches, and he nudges his thigh between mine, inching us closer. “I can handle the competition.”
I wish his confidence would rub off on me, because I’m feeling pretty sucky about my indecisiveness. “Who were you with before you came home tonight?”
His eyes darken. “Cole.”
All that time? And they didn’t kill each other? My curiosity is wildly piqued as I try to picture them hanging out together. “Where were you guys? For hours?”
“In my office.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking.”
“No more curt answers, dammit. What did you talk about?”
“Things.” His eyes glimmer.
I groan. “You’re infuriating.”
“You’re stunning.” He kisses my bottom lip and slowly draws it into his mouth.
“Stop flirting.” I pull back, fighting my grin. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” He clutches my thigh beneath the oversized shirt and tightens our hips together. “You’re seriously breathtaking.”
“Thank you.” Basking in his compliment, I snuggle closer against his hard body and try to remember what we were discussing. Oh, right. “I know you don’t want to talk about this, but the two most important people in my life worked together, used to be best friends, and I just…I want to understand more about your relationship. It’s important to me.”
He plays with my hair absently, and his eyes lose focus for a few seconds before clearing and latching onto mine. “Before I was his handler, I was an operative, like him.”
I perk up, lifting on an elbow. “An operative? I don’t know what that is.”
“It’ll stay that way. Don’t go searching on the Internet. You won’t find answers, but someone will know you’re digging.”
“Someone?” A chill sweeps across my scalp. “The government? Are they watching me?”
“The government watches everyone. Especially those who are linked to people like Cole and me.” He rests a hand on my cheek and strokes his thumb across my lips, back and forth. “We were in the field together, inseparable for a few years on several missions. When you’re with someone like that, doing what we did, you get to know them on a level I can’t explain. You trust him with your weaknesses, your fears, your…life. You become brothers.”
His throat bounces, and his entire expression hardens. I wrap my hand around his and bring it to my mouth, kissing his knuckles, one by one.
As his ruminating silence lingers, everything inside me goes still, silently urging him to continue. But I force myself to be patient.
He doesn’t make me wait long. “I was offered a promotion to be his handler.”
“Like his boss?”
“Yes, I was his boss, but it’s different than what you think. It’s a relationship built on trust. I guided him through every operation, and he trusted me not to get him killed.”
“Guide him how?” I strain toward him, tense with the need for answers. “I know you can’t give away trade secrets, but I keep imagining him killing people, like an assassin. Surely, you can tell me if I’m on the right track.”
Grooves form across his brow, as if he’s considering his response. “It isn’t a secret that gathering information plays a significant role in national security.”
“Like secret intelligence? Cole was an intel guy?”
His lips quirk in a smile that says, Aren’t you cute? “Sometimes the only goal in a mission is to retrieve a piece of information. Sometimes it takes years.”