Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,6

sure what she was doing, what she was seeing. Still holding his head, she looked straight into the brooding face of loneliness. Need. Hunger.

How perfect. She wasn’t the only desperate one here. Man, he was good. So were his fingers. But that glimmer in his eyes was pure det cord, and she was Semtex. Her breath caught. Her heart stopped. Lightning struck down deep and low and hot in her belly. Like a freight train, it exploded, an uncorked bottle of champagne. She closed her eyes, savoring the release of a lifetime. What a rush!

“This! Yessss, thisssss,” she hissed, like he didn’t already know what he was doing to her. Biting her tongue to keep from screaming like a wanton alley cat, she pulled him to her face and ground into his forehead, “M-more, Hotrod. Dammit, more.”

Kisses. All she had to give him were kisses, so she peppered his handsome, rugged face with her lips and mouth and breath. But she also needed something to hold onto. Her legs had turned to jelly. Her palms skated down his neck, over his collar bones, to his solid shoulders.

“Wrap your legs around me, sugar.” The man never even grunted when he palmed her ass and lifted off his knees with her in his arms. “Is your door locked?”

“N-no,” she murmured, weak as a lamb, and as foolish as she’d ever been. She’d never come so quickly nor flown so high. Which was either a testament to his skill as a lover, or her total departure from reality. That had to be it. Her last missions into Brazil had both been brutally difficult. She was suffering a psychotic break. That was all. No doubt post-traumatic stress, too. Nothing serious. Nothing a few months of therapy and enough whiskey couldn’t cure.

Slanting his body sideways, Hotrod leaned against her door. Somehow, he held onto her while he turned the knob, then shouldered her door open, and maneuvered her through so as not to bump her head. He kicked the door shut, then locked it. Good man. Really good, good man.

Persia laid her head on his shoulder. Except for the dim light from her bedroom nightlight, her entire house was dark. Hotrod seemed able to see in the dark.

Still thrumming from her fantastic, once in a lifetime orgasm, she focused on the odd sensation of being held like a child in this strong, hard male hands. Hotrod was one sexy, muscular beast, and that eight-pack wasn’t spray paint. Her fingers told her so, but what’s more… He wasn’t as slim as she’d thought at first glance. Neither was he nothing special. Grand, sprang to mind. Grand and slippery, hard as steel, and ready for action.

She opened her mouth to tell him—something—but found herself tossed onto the middle of her bed, surrounded by her pillows. Persia flattened her palms to her chest to keep her breasts from bouncing. They were big enough and had plenty of bounce in them, but she found it embarrassing, breasts being mostly fat and all. If anything, her full figure had held her back in college and during her career. Too many men equated full figures with opportunity—for them. Not her. She’d worked damned hard to be who she was today.

But if Hotrod liked them…

Her palms hit the mattress as she let him look.

He came to a full, abrupt stop at her bedside. He was still in his swim trunks while she lay exposed and mussed and completely on display. At his disposal. Those beautiful blues skated over every inch of her bare skin. From head to toes and in between, his sharp gaze lingered. His tongue ran a quick, sensual lap over his lips when his eyes landed on her breasts.

What have I done? I don’t know this guy. At all. He could be Jack the Ripper!

He must have seen the worry in her eyes. She’d no more than doubted her sanity, when his knees hit the mattress. Not breaking eye contact, he climbed up her legs, pushing her gently over as he dominated the whole damned room. She didn’t know whether to purr or scream. This was her place, not his. She was the dominant, not him. There wasn’t enough air in this room!

“You’re safe with me, princess,” he reassured quietly, his forearms now alongside her head, and that rugged, ripped, to-die-for body poised directly over hers. Perfectly aligned. Like an addled-brained idiot, her knees had automatically opened wide for him, and there he was. Pressed hard and ready against