“Driving me bat-shit crazy?” he asked as he twisted the cap off a beer and tipped it to his lips.
Watching him drink from the longneck bottle was sexier than it should have been.
“Probably.” She finally admitted there was a chance that that was exactly why Timothy had sent her rather than another agent. “He wasn’t pleased with you or Dawg last year. And he does enjoy his petty little revenge games.”
Actually, he normally had a solid reason for those games, they were just irritating as hell.
But the real conversation she and Natches were having was beneath the actual words, thrumming with tension.
Chaya couldn’t forget. Anytime she was near Natches, every time she was within touching distance, the memories and the pain returned. And the need. The same need that had his erection buried between her lips earlier. The need to touch and be touched was stronger than the pain.
It had been five years. Losing Beth had nearly driven her crazy, but the years had helped her to sew closed the ragged wound that loss had left. She still cried sometimes; she still ached most of the time. But she had learned to go on. Beth was gone; there was no way to bring her back.
But Chaya had always known that Natches was still alive. And the guilt she felt at the thought of going to him had always held her back.
While Natches had been teasing her in that hospital, seducing her, making her laugh, her daughter had been in danger. While she had made plans for a future that didn’t include her traitorous husband, her daughter had perhaps been crying for her mother. And while she had been laughing with Natches, someone had been planning to bomb the building Craig had taken their child to.
Hunger, guilt, anger, and need vied inside her now just as they had for the past five years. They twisted inside her, making it impossible to see past what she had lost long enough to decide what she was running away from. And now she had no choice but to face it.
Whoever that faceless organization was that had managed to authenticate a strike code on that hotel in Iraq, it had to be stopped. It was too dangerous, its influence becoming too corrupt. There were moles in Army Intelligence, and Cranston had traced them to the op here.
“I’m going to kill Cranston when this is over.” Natches set the beer bottle down on the bar, his heavy-lidded gaze moving over her again.
That look made her sizzle. Chaya could feel all the nerve endings in her body coming alive. That look could make women across the world weak in the knees. He could bottle it and make billions.
“Good luck.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans to keep them from shaking. To keep herself from shaking.
“Take your clothes off.”
Chaya blinked back at him, certain she hadn’t heard what she knew she had heard.
“Do you think it’s just that easy?” She shook her head and wished it was. “Sorry, Natches, I’m not here to be your toy. I’m here to do a job.”
“So you can do both now.” He grabbed his beer and finished it before tossing it in the trash can in the corner. “You can be Agent Greta Dane during the day and my toy at night. I promise you won’t be in the least neglected, Chaya.”
Oh, she just bet she wouldn’t be. And when the time came that Timothy decided to let them all in on the little game he was playing, what then? Would she be cast aside as all his other playthings had been?
“You have plenty of other toys, Natches; you don’t need me.” She wanted to sound flippant, uncaring, but she could feel the ache building inside her.
Five years. It had been five years since he had taken her. She had been so filled with pain then that she hadn’t been able to appreciate the pleasure that had torn through her.
But she remembered it. She remembered his tears mixing with hers as he kissed her, just as she remembered how easily he had coaxed more than one explosive orgasm from her.
She watched him uneasily. He wasn’t just going to take no for an answer, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to hold back if he touched her again.
And he was going to touch her. She pulled her hands slowly from her jeans pockets as he advanced on her, his expression predatory.
“Natches.” She whispered his name in warning.
“There’s the door; run, little rabbit,” he suggested, his voice wicked as he nodded to the door that led to escape. “Go ahead. Or do you have the courage to actually take me on without excuses?”
Her fingers curled against her palm as he challenged her. The chance to touch him again, to feel whatever it was she had felt that night that she hadn’t been able to forget. She hadn’t been able to touch another man after that.
“That so isn’t going to work,” she retorted and wished her voice sounded stronger, wished it had more conviction.
She could feel herself preparing for him despite the protest. Her br**sts were sensitive and swollen, the ni**les throbbing. And between her thighs, she could feel herself dampening, her cl*t engorging.
She wanted. She ached. She had been aching this past week with a strength that had forced her to masturbate several times. And it hadn’t been enough. It was never enough when she thought of Natches.
“You want me.” He was too close now, standing in front of her, forcing her to look up at him.
He was so wicked. A rogue. She had called him that once, and he had laughed and winked as he agreed with her.
“Does just wanting make it all right?” she whispered, catching his wrists as his hands settled on her hips. “Wanting isn’t always enough, Natches.”
“It’ll be enough for tonight.” There was no plea in his words, just pure demand. “I’m not asking for forever, Chaya. I wouldn’t dare.”
And before she could question the angry tone of those last words, he was kissing her. His lips covered hers, his tongue pushed between them, and he was taking what he wanted. There was no question of giving it to him, because he didn’t ask for a damned thing.
This wasn’t the teasing seducer she had known five years before. This was a conqueror. This was a man who refused to ask. He knew what he wanted, and God help her, he seemed to know exactly what she needed, too.
Chaya felt the world tilt around her; she could have sworn the ground shook. Whatever it was, it was Natches holding her, his lips on hers, his muttered, hungry moan vibrating against her lips as his mouth slanted across them and his tongue tempted and teased hers into an excited, erotic duel.