PROLOGUE
Brisbane,
Australia
LIGHT CRASHED AND THUNDER boomed. Rain poured down in sheets as Brisbane experienced one of its hardest thunderstorms in years. Inches of water fell, saturated the ground, and ran in streams along sidewalks and roads. The wind howled and raged, and inside the tiny bungalow just outside town, the woman who had always hated the thunder, detested the lightning, and scowled at the rain paid little heed to the storm.
Through slitted lids she watched as Trent Daylen, the tough, sun-darkened, laughing Australian Secret Intelligence agent she had been paired with on the mission they’d just finished, kissed the arch of her foot with greedy arousal.
Bailey wanted to moan at the sight. She’d never, at any time, had her foot kissed by anyone. It was almost like being a virgin all over again, because the sensations this man inspired inside her assured her that she had much more to learn.
“Like silk,” he whispered, the low, slow drawl of his accent sending shivers up her spine as his lips slid to her ankle.
Bailey fought to simply breathe. She hadn’t expected this. She’d wanted it, ached for him, dreamed of him, but she had never expected to actually find herself in his arms when the mission was over.
“Come on, love, let’s get those jeans off. Let me see those gorgeous legs.”
Legs he’d watched through the months, making her so wet she’d nearly had to change her panties several times. She’d worn short skirts and skimpy tops to play a waitress in a low-end dive in Brisbane as they searched for an Australian naval officer selling secrets of a top-secret military base both their countries were conducting operations out of.
They’d caught the officer. They’d celebrated with drinks. And now they were celebrating with each other.
Bailey watched as his fingers, long and strong, moved to the clasp and zipper of her jeans. They came loose easily, the rasp of the closure audible even over the storm that raged outside.
Her stomach clenched, her sex heated as the material parted and he gripped the hem, drawing the pants over her thighs and down her legs.
He was still dressed. She wanted him naked. But his lips at her hip bone stilled her hands as they moved for the buttons of his bush shirt. Her nails raked against the hard muscles of his shoulders, and the involuntary arching of her h*ps surprised her.
She could feel the dampness building between her thighs, soaking the sensitive folds there, sheening moisture along her thighs. She had never been so wet in her life, so ready for a man’s touch, his kiss.
“Trent.” She moaned his name. She couldn’t help it. She needed more, so much more that she wondered if her need would ever be sated.
“Patience, love,” he soothed her gently as he moved back up her body, one hand easing the fabric of her shirt up her stomach, to her br**sts. “Let’s get these clothes off that gorgeous body of yours. I swear I’ve dreamed of kissing every inch of that perfect, silky flesh.”
There was nothing perfect about her body and she knew it. But he sounded as though he believed it. As though he saw perfection somewhere in her.
Heat sizzled under her skin when his palm raked over a tight, hard nipple as he drew her shirt farther up. Then he was gripping the hem, pulling it over her head. Before it cleared her head, his lips were back on hers and she was sinking into a morass of rich, sensual sensations, into a pleasure that rocked her, drew her tight against him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as his lips took hers. His tongue pushed past, brushed against her own, then retreated. He sipped at her lips, caressed them, then came back with a hungry demand that had her crying out into the kiss.
Desperate fingers fisted into the material of his shirt as she tried to drag it up his body, fighting to touch his flesh. Hard, hot flesh that invited her hands, muscles that flexed above her.
Bailey writhed beneath him, her hands reaching beneath the shirt to clench on his back, her nails scraping against his flesh as she gripped her thighs tightly closed and fought for enough sensation against her cl*t to ease the ache building in it.
“Don’t stop,” she cried out as he drew back.
“Stop? Not on your life, sweetheart.” He tore his shirt over his head, his normally serene gray eyes stormy now as he revealed the dark blond scattering of hair that covered his hard chest and arrowed down the darkly tanned stomach and tight abs.
His own jeans hung low on his hips, teasing her with the bulge beneath them. It looked huge.
Shaking, Bailey reached out her palm, flattening it against the center of his chest and smoothing down the silky hairs that covered it. She felt him flexing beneath her touch, the hard muscle and tough skin reacting to the caress as his expression tightened with hunger. His gaze was murky, swirling with shades of gray and sexual power as her fingers caressed to the snap of his jeans.
Bailey couldn’t resist. She ached. She needed. She’d been working with him for months and all she’d been able to think about was the lean, muscular body and sensual swagger. How he would kiss, taste, touch. What it would be like to kiss, taste, and touch in turn. So far, it was like fireworks erupting through her system.
She fought to breathe. She fought to hold back, to enjoy every sensation, every heated touch.
She pulled at the snap as he rose on his knees above her, his gaze narrowed as he stared down at her. The zipper loosened easily, and Bailey felt her mouth go dry a second before it began to water in hunger.
Long, thick, the heavily aroused shaft throbbed, the darkened crest flared out and sheened with moisture.
“You make a man lose his mind.” His voice was rough, thick with arousal.
The sound of it sent a clench of desperate sensation straight to her womb. He sounded hungry, desperate for her. The thought that this man, so incredibly bold, so hard and rugged, ached for her sent the blood crashing through her veins and arcs of heated desire striking through the erogenous zones of her body.
“I’ve already lost mine,” she panted as his fingers curled around the mound of one breast.
Her nipple peaked hard, desperately tight and hot. When his thumb raked over it, Bailey felt her heart trying to come out of her chest.
Lifting herself until she was sitting in front of him, she gripped the edges of his jeans and dragged them down his thighs as her lips pressed to those tight abs. Parting them, she licked the tough flesh, nipped at it, and was rewarded by the harsh, male groan that tore from his chest.
That was what she wanted to hear. Those rough sexy male sounds that assured her it was good, that she was giving him pleasure. That he wanted her. That maybe he ached for her as desperately as she ached for him.