Conceal, Protect - By Carol Ericson Page 0,44

as if on autopilot. She couldn’t stop now even if she wanted to.

And she wanted to.

J.D.’s arms engulfed her from behind, wrapping her in a warm cocoon of safety. But she wasn’t safe. She’d never be safe again.

“It’s okay, Noelle. I’ll make it okay for you.”

She spun around, burying her face in his chest. “It’s out of control. It’s all out of control.”

“Shh.” He cupped her face, tilting it toward his.

His kisses rained down across her nose, her cheeks, her chin.

She grabbed his flannel shirt, dizzy from his kisses, not her concussion, the books forgotten.

He sifted his fingers through the back of her hair, pulling it loose from the ponytail. After meandering around her face, his lips found their target and his mouth moved over hers, caressing, inviting.

She wanted this. She wanted wild, messy sex. She wanted to shove all the fear and hopelessness of the past few years into a dark corner. She wanted to let go.

She skimmed her hands across J.D.’s unshaven face, the bristles of his beard scratching her palms. When he deepened the kiss, she nipped at his bottom lip.

He murmured against her mouth, “Are you ready? Do you want to do this?”

For an answer, she slid her hands beneath his T-shirt and raked her nails across his back.

The breath hissed between his teeth as he planted his hands on her hips. “Slow down.”

But she couldn’t slow down. She didn’t want to slow down. If she did, she’d have to return to the books. She’d have to move the love seat back to its original location. She’d have to pick up her towel from the bathroom floor and hang it over the rack so the ends lined up evenly.

She pressed the lines of her body along his, her soft curves molding to the sharp planes and hard muscles of his frame. Plowing her fingers through his tangled hair, she pulled his head down for another kiss. This time, she took control, plunging her tongue into his depths, setting the pace of their passion—fast and furious.

He rubbed her arms beneath the sleeves of her robe. “You feel cold. Let’s go back to the fire.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, sweeping her off her feet, cradling her against his chest. He carried her back to the love seat, aptly named, and settled her on a cushion.

When he sat beside her, she crawled into his lap, straddling him. Her robe opened beneath her, and the rough denim of J.D.’s jeans chafed her inner thighs.

Tilting his head against the back of the love seat, he measured her with hooded eyes and expelled a ragged breath. “You’re killing me here.”

The top of her bathrobe gaped open, and she shrugged the terry cloth off her shoulders, slipping her arms from the sleeves. She cupped her breasts and offered them to J.D.

Groaning, he took her right nipple between his lips and sucked it into his mouth.

The pleasure of his touch spiraled right down to her core, and she gasped while undulating against his lap. He thrust his pelvis upward, and she felt the hard outline of his erection.

He switched his attention from her right breast to her left, tracing her aching nipple with the tip of his tongue. He drew back and blew on it, and she arched her back for more.

Sensation. She craved sensation. The senses had to rule over the mind. Had to blot out reasonable thought.

“You’re overdressed.” She pulled at the buttons on his shirt, her movements so clumsy, he had to finish the job. He tossed the flannel shirt behind him, and then yanked off his T-shirt in one motion.

She drank in the sight of his chiseled chest sprinkled with tawny hair. She brushed her cheek against one perfectly formed pec, his hair tickling her ear. She inhaled his scent—clean and natural. He must’ve showered at the hotel this morning, and not one for using colognes, he smelled all male.

Alex had always worn that cologne. She’d grown to hate it, and now she hated it even more since one of her attackers seemed to favor it, too.

Stop thinking.

Her fingers crept down his belly and tugged at the button on his fly. Then she moved to the zipper on his jeans, and he cinched her wrist.

“Are you sure about this?”

Spies must have incredible self-control because judging by the bulge in J.D.’s jeans and his erratic breathing he’d have a hard time stopping this train now.

“Why are you asking me that?” She shook off his hands and peeled back his fly.