Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,7

her core. Waiting on her. Melting her with those gentle blue eyes. Asking permission…

“I’d never do anything to hurt or scare you. I’m not one of those guys.”

“Well, yeah, I’m… I’m not one of those women,” she groused, not ready to admit it was highly possible she’d made a huge mistake by throwing herself at him. Not that she’d ever confess to that, because oh, yes, oh yes. She certainly was one of those stupid, needy women.

What on earth did she really know about this guy? Even Hotrod wasn’t his real name. And okaaaaaaay... So what if he was the hottest male she’d ever—ever—laid eyes on? So what if he was kind and gentlemanly, that he seemed to like her? And okay, yes. He smelled really, really good, and she was fairly sure he liked what he could see of her. Which was everything. Was that all this was about? A good fuck and goodbye?

“I mean it, sugar,” he growled, his voice a ragged whisper that caressed her skin like sweet Georgia honey on bee stings. “Just say the word and I’ll leave. But just so you know, I put your weapon on your nightstand. If you want, I’ll secure it in your drawer. But if you’d feel more comfortable holding it—”

“My piece!” she all but screeched. No FBI agent ever lost track of her service weapon. Not like she was with the Bureau anymore. She wasn’t. But what would Alex Stewart say? He’d fire her!

Frantic now, Persia’s head snapped to her left and—oh, good. Thank God. There it was, right where Hotrod said. Still in its holster. On her nightstand.

She had to know. “Did it get wet when we… I mean, in the shower?”

“No, ma’am. It must’ve fallen out of your, umm, suit, when I dropped my bag.” The twinkle in his eye told her he knew there was no way that handgun had been hidden in her bikini bottoms. She’d had a good hold on it before she’d kissed him. But then… she hadn’t.

Persia vaguely remembered two thumps before he’d stepped into that shower. But the smile that cracked his lips now was so damned sweet and tender, she wanted to cry. He’d taken care of her. She swallowed hard. Gulped was more like it. That explained why she hadn’t missed her pistol until now. She’d been so intent on how he’d made her feel. So focused on all the wrong things. On him. On what he was doing to her.

“I… I don’t usually do stupid stuff like this,” she murmured, swallowing again before she apologized. Silly women always did that. They apologized for the weather, come sunshine or rain, as if everything was their fault. Not her. Only now…

She’d just committed the worst mortal sin in spec ops history. She’d lost track of her weapon. This was all her fault. She should’ve told Hotrod to take a shower and a hike. To drop dead. Anything but let him inside her life and handle her like a pro.

“No worries. It happens,” he said quietly.

See? He’d done it again. He’d given her a way out.

“Not to me, it doesn’t. Where’s yours, huh? Have you ever lost track of your weapons? Even for one second?” She knew damned well he hadn’t, because his bag was sitting on the floor in her bedroom, wasn’t it? True, she hadn’t seen a weapon in his hands, but she honestly couldn’t remember him hauling that bag inside along with her horny, naked ass, either.

“What makes you think I have any?” he asked, his lying eyes sincere and sweet and so damned believable.

“Because that bag of yours is not standard issue Walmart,” she snapped. “You’re an operator like me, aren’t you?”

The strangest thing was happening. She was lying flat on her back in her bed, but falling into those handsome eyes. They were more tender than she deserved, and she couldn’t catch herself. Didn’t know why she should even try. He seemed so honest. Which was her undoing. Hotrod was the epitome of a strong, silent male. Ever standing guard. Ever faithful. Ever… everything.

Instead of answering, his mouth descended over hers with slick, wet heat that lit her internal fuse again. The one that led from her lips to her core, both as willing as the other. Just that fast. She growled, needing him deep inside. All the way, honey. Here. Now!

Chapter Three

With his forearms alongside Persia’s head, Hotrod pumped into her. The light from some outside source filtered through the window above her bed.