Page 27

“We’ve got a good idea.” Ryan does not look happy with my decision. “Sounds like they’ll authorize it, but it’ll be FBI taking the lead.”

“That’s good.”

I slap him on the back. “You’ve got a lotta love for the CIA, huh?”

He grunts. And I chuckle loud enough that Fisher glances our way.

After returning Ryan to his helicopter, I join in a few more meetings, then rush to a business dinner. My goal is to limit myself to two business dinners a week.

Ava isn’t a babysitter, but I have to admit, it’s nice knowing Sophia isn’t having dinner alone.

Before this whole mess, I didn’t worry as much because she’d have friends over or she’d go out with friends.

Hell, Sophia loved the independence of a night at home alone.

It’ll be a long damn time before that happens again.

If ever, because I’ll have security around her for life.

When I pull into the drive, the night shift greets me at the gate.

Yes, I had gates installed. Before the incident, I fell for the misguided notion that security gates at the entrance to the neighborhood were sufficient.

I park in my garage, enter through the side door, and check on Sophia.

A light shines over the threshold. I tap lightly on the door, then twist the knob.

She’s asleep with a book on her chest. Her fat little dog lifts his head, but he lowers it back onto her leg after recognizing me.

I press my lips to her forehead, lift the book, careful to mark her page, and read the cover.

My Life as an FBI Agent . Interesting. After turning her light off, I quietly pull her door closed.

Downstairs, a shower runs. It’s the only sound filtering through the darkened hallways.

A shadow crosses the outside patio, and I recognize the outline of another nighttime Arrow employee.

Three shifts, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, we have a security staff on-site.

A dull pain throbs across my brow, and I consider going upstairs for water and bed.

But as if pulled by an invisible force, I find myself in front of her bedroom door.

I turn the knob and push the door open. I toe off my shoes and pad quietly to the bathroom door.

Steam curls out the opening. Condensation coats the bathroom mirror.

The subdued sound of water pouring onto tile is the only noise.

My heart rate increases, as if I’m at a jog, yet my pace is remarkably slow.

Her eyes are closed, her head tilted up, as if worshipping the rain.

Those thick bangs of hers are off her face, soaking wet, and her forehead gleams under the overhead light.

Without makeup and bands of jewelry, her natural beauty stuns.

Chipped black nail polish partially covers short nails, but her toenails are bare.

A single silver band wraps around one toe.

We all wear armor. Armor can come in many forms. But here, with those magnetic brown orbs closed, I see her with her shields set aside.

She backs away from the waterfall. As if she senses me, she turns, glancing over her shoulder, her dark hair coursing down her back, soaked.

A thick stream of water travels from the ends of her hair, down her spine, to her delectable, full backside.

I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes widen, and my cock, already at full attention, begs for release. My fingers work the buttons on my shirt.

“Should I meet you in the room?” Her question bears an echo effect against the tile, muffled by the shower and draining water.

I throw my jacket into the nearby soaking tub as I give a quick shake of my head. My shirt follows. I undo my belt, unbutton and unzip my pants, and remove them, along with my socks. She remains facing the water, her head turned to watch me.

With two steps, I’m behind her. Her skin is warm and wet.

Pliable. My dick presses against her back, and my hands glide along her watery waist until I capture both her breasts.

She looks up at me, and I’m so close, she’s forced to press her back against my chest. I tweak her nipples, and they peak, begging to be sucked.

My gaze falls to her lips, red and full. Billows of steam suffuse the shower.

“Should I put my palms flat against the shower wall?”

I palm her ass, then slap it. All I hear in her question is insolence.

Her tongue slips out over her lower lip as the globes of her butt press against my groin. Before I can push her forward and tell her to spread her legs, she twists in my arms and falls to her knees. Cool air shocks my front, and then her tongue licks up my shaft.

My palms fall flat against the tile. I groan. Dark pinpoint pricks flash as she takes me in her mouth. Holy fuck, her hot mouth feels good.

She kneads my balls as she takes me, fucking me with her mouth. It’s unexpected and mind-numbing. All too soon, my balls tighten, as does my lower back.

“Wait,” I pant. But the vixen ignores me.

I snatch her up by her armpit and claim her disobedient mouth.

My tongue plunders her. Some part of my brain tells me to back down, to let her breathe, but she counters my kiss as if she’s starved, and I give in, pressing her against the wall.

My erection presses into her stomach, and her hot, wet skin feels incredible.

I find her center, and she whimpers as my finger invades her slick slit.

Her hips buck against me, riding my hand while I lose control, sucking on her neck, pinching her nipple, rocking my hips against her.

She twists once again, breaking away from me, and confusion stalls action until she rises on tiptoes, securing my cock between the velvety smoothness of her butt cheeks, her forearms pressed against the shower wall.

“This is how you like it, right? You don’t want to face me when we have sex?” Her eyelashes flutter, and the water roars in my ears. “You can pretend I’m someone else. I’m okay with that. But I need you. Inside me. Please.”

My mind blanks. She’s so fucking wrong. No other woman enters my mind when I’m inside her. I twist her around and lift her.

“Put your legs around me.” She obediently lifts her thighs, and I move us away from the shower spray. “Arms around my shoulders.”

She does as I command, her dark eyes locked on me.

I rest her back against the tile, using the wall for leverage, and I impale her, thrusting deep inside her warm cunt, the place I’ve wanted to be all fucking day.

I freeze for a moment and get one hand solidly below her ass, and then take everything.

All the bullshit of the day pours out of me as I pound into her.

Her nails scrape my back. We both groan and grunt like wild animals.

And the only thing I know for sure is that deep inside her is where my dick needs to be.

She’s tight, and warm, and she fits me. She quivers around me, milking me, and I falter, on the edge, and then she squeezes and it’s like a vise grip around my cock.

My forehead hits the tile as my release pulses out.

We both slide to the ground. She turns, so she’s beside me, and the water pours over her legs. Our chests rise and plunge, as if we’ve run a marathon. A part of me wants to pull her up against me, to press kisses to her forehead, to hold her with the intimacy of lovers. But that’s not what this is.

With a deep sigh, I push up off the floor and offer her my hand. There’s a soapy washcloth hanging on a peg, and after letting the stream of water warm it, I reapply soap, and clean every inch of her, allowing myself extra time over her perfect, full, gorgeous breasts.

“I like this.” She raises a questioning eyebrow as I gently caress between her legs. “I like it bare.”

She takes the washcloth from me and returns the favor, only when she reaches my junk, she swipes it all over, soaping up my balls and cock, and looks up at me with hooded eyes. “I like this. It doesn’t have to be bare.”

Manscaping is something I believe in, but I’m not bare. I’m not that into grooming. “It’s good that you don’t need it to be bare.”

She laughs. I did not design my comment to be a joke, but her laughter lightens the room, and I grin harder than I’ve grinned in years.

She turns off the water, and I wrap her in a plush towel. There’s only one towel on the nearby hook, so I leave puddles of water across the bathroom floor as I search for a second. When I find one and wrap it around my waist, I catch her watching me.

“You didn’t have to turn me around there, you know. You can do whatever is most comfortable for you.”

“You don’t need to play therapist with me.” That’s what she attempted. She wants to decipher me. We’ve only been in the playroom a couple of times. I don’t like to face the people I fuck because it’s too personal. But in the shower, I chose a different way.

“Trying to figure you out isn’t playing therapist. At first, I assumed you had a fetish, but you have yet to try any of those anal toys in the cabinet. Then someone told me you’re still not over your ex.”

“Who told you that?” I reach for a hand towel and scrub my head furiously.

“Sophia.”

I back up to the counter and rest against it. “Shit. That’s what she thinks?”

“She says it completely tore you up when she died.”

I cross my arms over my chest, thinking about the implications of this. Should I talk to Sophia?

“But she says you know she cheated on you. Or she’s pretty sure you figured it out when it came out Wayne abducted her.”

“She told you all that?” I knew they’d been spending a lot of time together, but I expected her to talk about herself, not me.

Ava’s skin glows almost red, and the white towel wrapped around her sets off her dark hair and those large brown eyes and swollen lips. I close my eyes and attempt to focus on what’s important.

“Should I talk to Sophia about all of this?” I exhale and spin around. I grip the counter, lean forward, and peer down into the sink. “Cassie and I…”

“After she told me that, I suspected you turned me around so you could pretend it was Cassie you were fucking.”

I bark out a laugh but then choke it back. My uncle might have been wrong about Ava’s strength as a therapist if that’s what she deduced.

“I knew Cassie was cheating on me. But, in her defense, she believed I was cheating on her.” I let out a sigh. “And in some ways, I was, but not with a person.” That one throws Ava for a loop, but that’s all she’s gonna get out of me. “Our marriage dissolved years before she cheated.”

I thought I could save our marriage once I had the time.

I thought… I’d have the time. There’s no point in baring my soul to Ava.

She’s leaving in two weeks. “Let me ask your professional opinion.” Her dark orbs flash to mine, and I’m struck once again by how gorgeous she is without all that heavy makeup.

“Is it better for Sophia to believe I’m over her mother, or better for her to believe I still mourn her?

” Ava’s brows come together, and an adorable line creases over her nose.

“Which scenario gives Sophia the best foundation? Which will help her the most?”

“I don’t think…” Ava stutters and stops. “You and her mother gave her a good foundation with your love. My professional opinion is that the truth… that’s what your daughter deserves. Anything else is manipulative.”

Maybe I am manipulative. I bend down to pick up my clothes.

“But I think you’re doing a good job.”

“You do?” I’m not certain I heard her correctly.

“Yeah. I do. She loves you. She’s been through the wringer, but all things considered, she’s doing okay.”

“That’s your professional opinion?”

“Yes.”

My chest feels lighter as I exit her bathroom with my clothes balled up and a towel wrapped around my waist.

Sexual release and a pep talk. I don’t care what Ryan says. She’s worth the money.

What a despicable thing to think.