A Breath Away

“Of course,” he said, smiling with the easy charm that seemed as natural to him as breathing. “But before we do, I think it’s important that we explore our unexpected connection.”

“What unexpected connection?”

“The fact that I’d much rather get you in bed than investigate my own shooting.” As she ground to a halt, he raised his eyebrows, looking inviting as sin. “I assume the sentiment is returned?”

3

JADE FOUGHT TO ignore her rapid heartbeat. She forced herself to drag clean air into her lungs, to expel it and to calm her erotic thoughts.

She failed miserably.

Instead, she imagined her client’s body beneath her, his erection pressed against the pulsing need between her legs.

They’d been that close a short time ago, but now she envisioned their clothes disappearing. His body would be hard and sleek. Ripples of need and heat would surge through her. His hands would pleasure her beyond her wildest dreams. She’d satisfy an itch she didn’t even know she had until she’d met him.

“It hardly matters if we want each other,” she said, humiliated to find herself breathless. “We’re both professionals, so we’re not going to do anything about it.”

He smiled, his gaze locking with hers. “Aren’t we?”

As he rose and started toward her, she froze. She ordered her feet to move, but they didn’t. The look in his eyes needed no explanation as to his intent, and though the professional remained lurking inside her—the one usually front and center—the desire rolling through her body was overwhelming her instincts.

When he stopped in front of her, he cupped her cheek in his hand and angled her face toward him. “If you’re going to shoot, shoot to kill, because I’m not backing away.”

Then his lips were on hers, persuasive and demanding, but still soft. Her heartbeat accelerated as he slid his tongue inside her mouth, drawing her more deeply beneath his spell, causing the final vestiges of restraint to fall away.

She pressed her body against his, molding herself to the hard planes of his chest, his hardened penis against her stomach. Desire pooled between her legs.

Inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne, she let him lead her to hunger and need, to fan the flames of their attraction and send the temperature from simmering to red-hot.

He was a virtual stranger, not to mention a client, and she watched herself from a distance, not really believing she was touching him and letting him touch her in return. She felt energized in his arms. And exhilarated. And safe.

It was the thought of safety that brought reality crashing back.

She was supposed to be protecting him. She was supposed to solve his case, help him get his life back under control, then send him on his way.

She wrenched herself out of his arms. Breathing hard, she held out her hand. “We can’t do this.”

He grabbed her hand and jerked her against him. “I sure as hell don’t see any reasons not to.”

“Sure you do. You’re just ignoring them.”

“Sex releases tension.”

“Sex complicates.”

“You don’t like complications?”

“No, and I don’t have sex with clients.”

“Is that a hard and fast rule, or just a guideline?”

She braced her feet apart and glared at him. “Don’t make me prove I can take you down anytime I want to, Tremaine.”

“Back to last names, are we? Maybe I should prove how quickly I can have you moaning—even screaming—my name.”

“Dream on.”

“How about I demonstrate instead?”

Bang, bang, bang.

They jumped apart and darted toward the door.

“Room service!” came the cry from the hall.

Jade had her Beretta in her hand as she positioned herself against the wall next to the door. “You order anything?”

“No.”

Her client had drawn a small pistol—from his ankle holster, no doubt—and took his place behind her. “Surely I’m not being stalked by someone with bad aim and a complete absence of originality. Room service,” he added in disgust.

Jade silently agreed, though she was pretty sure she recognized their waiter’s voice. She peered through the peephole and did, indeed, see David Washington and Mo Leger. They waved.

Stifling an eye roll, she said, “They’re mine,” then holstered her weapon and opened the door.

“Hey, boss,” David said, saluting. Tan, handsome and lean, his six-foot-six body was way too long for the waiter’s uniform he wore.

Mo—every bit as tall, plus considerably heavier and darker—pushed a white-tablecloth-covered cart into the suite. He’d opted for a maintenance man’s gray jumpsuit. “You might wanna hold back lookin’ through the peephole, Chief. We coulda blasted you.”

“I recognized your voice,” Jade said with a trace of annoyance. Because of their sense of timing? She didn’t want to go there.

She supposed it was too much to expect these two to stop treating their cases like elaborate games. But of course, to men like David and Mo—and probably Remington Tremaine, as well—chasing the bad guys was a game. One they played with deadly seriousness at times, but one they still found humor and enjoyment in.

She wished she could say she still had fun. Somewhere she’d lost the fire and passion, though she never considered doing anything else. It was all she knew and all she had.

After she made introductions among the men, David asked Tremaine, “So, you’re NSA?”

When Tremaine hesitated to confirm, Jade said, “If you want our help, my people have to have information. I told them what was in your dossier.”

“What little you have?”

“Keep it up, Mr. Fancy-art-dealer, and I’ll find your would be assassin just so I can swear my allegiance to him.”

Mo and David gave her strange looks—she couldn’t recall a time they’d seen her banter with a client—so before their curiosity got the best of them, she said, “His trouble isn’t about a case. It’s about his former profession.”

Hell, she’d kissed the man and guilt—or attraction or weakness—already had her glossing over the fact that he used to take other people’s stuff for a living.

“Sit down, and I’ll fill you in,” she added.