Page 97 of The Devoted Game

Fury knocked the frustration out of first place. “You’re an asshole, McBride.” He was right. The legendwasdead. But, by God, he was all she had.

“That should come as no surprise to you, Grace. A guy who’d fuck you in a public bathroom can’t be counted on for much.”

As if the resurfacing of that dark attitude had been a cue, the light in the garage door opener timed out, leaving them in total darkness.

She reached for the door handle, opened her mouth to tell him where he could take his smart-ass disposition, and a realization dawned. Watching McBride in action these past five days had taught her something about him. He wasn’t the jerk he pretended to be. That screw-you attitude was about self-preservation. He wanted to keep his distance. Wanted everyone to believe he could never be that legend again. That way nobody could get hurt because of him.

Too late.

She was already hurting.

Agent Worth was dead, and three people, including a child, had been terrorized.

She needed that damned legend, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“You will eat, McBride. You’ll eat, and then you will get some sleep because we’ve got a job to do. If you can’t muster up any semblance of the man you used to be, thenfakeit.”

He grabbed her by the hair, pulled her face to his, and kissed her hard. She clenched her fingers in his shirt and kissed him back just as brutally.

Without breaking the contact of their lips, he tugged her closer ... She scrambled across the console. Her knees settled on either side of him, and her fingers threaded into his silky hair. She loved his hair ... that beard-shadowed face ... the broad shoulders ... the lean waist ... all of him ... every damned inch.

His hands claimed her thighs, worked her skirt up around her hips, and cupped her bottom, then squeezed. She cried out, the sound lost in his open mouth.

He hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded breathlessly. He couldn’t stop now. She wanted this, dammit She needed it.

“This is a real shame, Grace.”

His rumpled bedroom voice reached through the darkness, caressed her in spite of her need to be furious that he’d suddenly stopped doing what she needed him to do. How the hell did he make that surly arrogance so damned sexy?

“You see,” he continued, turning her on all the more by merely speaking, “I used my only condom the last time. No condom, no sex. That’s my one rule. I never break it.”

She practiced safe sex. He practiced safe sex. She didn’t see the problem. She reached for his fly, wrenched it open. “Then I’d suggest you don’t look.”

Her fingers closed around him and he groaned. Hard, hot, smooth, she slid her fingers down and then back up that rigid length. His fingers tangled in her panties, pulled them aside, and she eased downward, taking him ... all of him in one deliberate push.

For ten hot, frantic seconds they both held perfectly still. The filled-up sensation was incredible.

His hands bracketed her waist, and he shifted his hips just enough to send himself deeper. She gasped, reached up to brace herself againstthe roof, and started to rock back and forth, each movement plunging her closer and closer to release. With him this deep, she wasn’t going to last long.

The waves started. She cried out ... didn’t try to stifle the sounds. Her movements grew more frantic ... his pelvis lifted, tilted, grinding against hers and driving him even deeper.

And then she went over the edge ... couldn’t wait another second. His hips lifted off the seat, down, up, down, up, until he came too.

She collapsed against his chest. Didn’t want to move. “Grace,” he murmured against her hair.

“Hmm?”

“At some point we’re going to have to change our strategy and try this with our clothes off.”

She smiled against his chin, liked very much the feel of his whiskers tickling her lips. “The only thing I want to change is positions.”

He powered the seat into a deeper recline, rolled her onto her back, and took her again ... hard and fast There were no guarantees in life. She had allowed tragedy to rob her of her youth ... of her ability to trust ... to feel.

No more pretending.

She was going to start living again and feeling every moment of it.