Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,9

bitter truth. How embarrassing, to be able to get it up, only to lose it the moment she needed it most.

What was worse, he’d been so caught up in her fierce possession of his body, that he’d neglected to use protection. Not like she was going to need it. Still, he was the gentleman here. He should’ve taken better care of this passionate woman. It was time to leave. Before he couldn’t.

“Hey,” Persia asked huskily, her dark eyes bright and her slender fingers combing over his hard Navy head. “I thought we were in this together, honey. Where’d you go?”

Affection warmed her words and he liked that she called him honey. Walker wished he could say he was right there with her, but he wasn’t, and she was smart. She already knew.

“I’m still here,” he growled, poking her with his one and only pointer before it completely deflated. “Can’t you feel me inside you?”

That earned him the rarest, sweetest smile. Persia, at least, was satisfied. That was what he’d wanted most, to keep that lazy smile on her lush lips and the sparkle in her eyes.

“Before we go any further, I sure as hell hope you’re on the pill or something.” Because for damned sure there were no condoms in his bag.

“Implant,” she breathed. “No worries. It’s good for three years. I’m safe. Are you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied honestly. It had been a long time since he’d thought about sex or intimacy. He was so damned safe, pathetically safe, especially after his ex’s very public exposé about their love life on every damned, sensation-seeking late-night propaganda show in America. A guy didn’t stand a chance once a station turned their character assassination machines on.

She cupped his cheeks, both palms warm and gentle. Almost caring. And he was lost inside those pretty melted chocolate eyes. Everything about this woman drew him like a magnet. Her lovely, elegant brows arched with genuine concern. Her thick butterfly-wing lashes. Those lush, wet lips. Like a sweet, intoxicating vintage wine. A woman shouldn’t taste so rare nor so fine. But she did.

To conceal what was left of his heart and his manhood, Hotrod closed the distance between Persia and himself. Since he’d lost his drive, he took her mouth, savoring every nip and nibble of what he’d soon have to live without. That was the problem with chance encounters in the big wide world of runaway convicts. A guy never knew what he’d find or who he’d have to leave behind.

She eased away from him, sinking her head farther into her pillow, her hands again on his head, her thumbs on his cheekbones. “But you didn’t” —her hips arched into him— “you know. Come.”

He gave her that. “Guess you wore me out, princess.”

“More like swimming from Cuba wore you out. That’s what you just did, right?”

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. She didn’t need to know why.

“That’s what? A good hundred miles? How fast did you swim that, Hotrod?”

And now they were on a pseudo-first-name basis. Hotrod and Princess. Somehow that just made everything—sadder.

He scratched the back of his head. Every inch of his skin itched, and it would for days. That was what happened to idiots who spent too much time in saltwater. “Just under forty-eight hours. Next time, I’ll do better.”

“Next time? You have got to be kidding. Forty-eight hours? With no one on your six? No relief boat following along in case you ran into trouble? How’d you eat or drink or… or sleep? How’d you manage out there all alone?”

He shrugged, loving the glint of worry in her eyes. Persia might sound and act tough, but there was a nurturing side to her as well. “Swim a little. Roll over and rest on my back when necessary. Puppy paddle when I could. Snag a protein bar or bottled water once in a while. No big deal.”

“No big deal, my ass. Weren’t you worried? What if you hadn’t made it? What would you have done then?”

That earned her another shrug, but telling her he would’ve drowned didn’t seem like the smart thing to say after they’d just made love.

“I’m serious. I’m surprised you can keep on going after that swim. Aren’t you exhausted? Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

Grinning, he cocked his head playfully at her.

“No, no, no, not me, you crazy man,” she said pointedly. Lovingly. Was that affection in her voice he wondered as her fingers smoothed back over his head and into his hair. “I meant how about