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And she hated herself, really hated herself, that she was also pissed that David was leaving her again. He hadn't even flirted with her. Not so much as a look that might have had a double meaning. She was so stupid to have wasted a year on the mere hope of him. Someone she'd known had died, and here she was thinking about a man, for God's sake.

She sniffed back tears. She wished David wasn't outside the bathroom door. She'd give anything for a legitimate sobfest. But she had to man up and deal with what was going on. She stood up straight, and tried to look as dignified as she could in a hotel towel.

She opened the door and forced her chin up. “Okay, I'm sorry…”

He held his finger up. He was on the phone. “Yes sir. Yes. Of course, sir.” He raised his eyebrows at her, and she shook her head.

It didn't matter. She just needed to get dressed and leave. Go home. Forget all this. She couldn't rely on anyone. Not Brandon, and not David. She had to take control of the situation. Regardless of how woefully inept she'd already proved herself to be. At that sliver of a negative thought, a wave of insecurity washed over her.

He was still on the phone with his back to her, nodding occasionally at whatever the person on the other end had said. She took a breath and just watched him in a way she'd never been able to before. His shirt was tight across his back, his waist was slim, and his jeans rode low. They were the type of jeans you wore when you weren't concerned with designer names, and they suited him perfectly. A little frayed around the edges, a little beaten up, but still functioning…and sexy. She gave a little smile when she realized she could have been describing David. Something twinged in her. God, she still wanted him so much. Wanted to love him. Wanted to see what he looked like when he was having sex. Climaxing.

Jesus…What she wanted to do is get a grip. She wrapped her towel firmly around her body and caught sight of herself in the floor length mirror outside the bathroom. She wanted to cry. Despite everything, how could this moment be any more convenient? She was almost naked, David was in the hotel room with her? And still he wasn't interested? Well that did it. She just had to admit how completely stupid she'd been this past year and move on.

“Roger that, sir. Nope, I'll pass Mal the message for you.” He nodded another couple of times and then hung up.

“Are you almost ready to go?” he asked, barely offering her a look.

“Nope,” she said, trying to tamp down her annoyance. “I'm staying. I don't care what happens to me, but I am giving this speech. I'm sorry that you got involved, and of course, thank you for helping me last night, but you should go now. Get on with your life, and let me get on with mine, at last.” She twisted her finger in the air, telling him to turn around so that she could get dressed. Why she bothered doing that though, she had no idea. It was obvious he had no residual feelings for her.

Must not touch. Must not touch
, he repeated to himself as he obediently looked out at the Greek government complex opposite. He heard her towel hit the floor, and his dick sprang uncomfortably to life in his jeans. He shifted from leg to leg, trying not to give in to it.

He wanted her more than he'd wanted anything in his life. But to keep her out of the hands of the Russian SVR he had to be thinking about their next move, not how lush her body looked, dewy from the shower. How sexy she looked with her chin shoved up, telling him to get on with his life. Her tan skin peeking out from the crisp white towel. The dreams he'd had about her all year. The vivid, tactile dreams that left him awake in the morning with a hard-on that propped up the sheets
and
the blankets on his bed. Every bad thought he'd had in the last year had been about her.

Even though they had never kissed. Even though he'd been mostly drunk the whole time he'd known her. Understandably so, but still. It was as though merely hugging her that last time they saw one another at the airport in Iraq—just that one embrace—had embedded her DNA so deeply in him all he could think about was her.

It took the will of a saint not to turn around and look. Touch. Taste. But something was off with Molly. Something she wasn't telling him. And he intended to get to the bottom of it, come hell or high water, before he succumbed to her. He could feel her pull, like attracting magnets. Dammit. He had to get his head back in the game.

He'd already made himself a target by coming into the hotel room. He could have let the Russian intelligence officer continue his interrogation, and kept his identity out of it, but, yeah. That hadn't really been an option.

When he saw the hotel manager standing by Molly's open hotel room, he suspected the worst. His whole world had almost collapsed in on him. She was dead. Whoever had killed the minister had come back for her. In the two seconds it had taken him to reach her doorway, he'd already imagined his life without the possibility of her in it. Trying to live knowing that she'd died on his watch. Wondering if he'd survive the crushing defeat his soul had felt. It wasn't anything he wanted to experience again. It wasn't anything he was going to let happen. Whatever happened now, he was staying with her. And his boss was going to kill him. Maybe even fire him. And given David's instinct to protect Molly rather than the man he was actually being paid to look after, he couldn't really blame him.

Distracted, he turned to tell her that he would stay with her. For as long as she was in danger. Big. Mistake. She was naked, sure. Phenomenally naked. But what struck him, made it impossible to turn away, was the worry on her face. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, the crease on her forehead spoke of worrying thoughts floating through her head.

“You don't have to worry. I'm not leaving you again.” He hoped she couldn't hear how unsteady his words were.

She looked up, startled. Her instinct was to look for something to cover herself with, but there wasn't anything within reach. He wanted to do the honorable thing. To turn around and give her the privacy she asked for. But he couldn't. He took a step toward her, never taking his eyes from hers.

Her lips trembled beneath his gaze, and she held up her hand to stop him. He stopped in his tracks.

“You promised to come find me, but it felt like you were promising more.” Her voice wavered as she attempted to cross her arms over her breasts. He tried to keep his eyes on her face.

There was no way he could lie to her, not with her standing there, naked and vulnerable.

“I did promise”—he paused—“but I probably was in no shape to promise anything.” And now he wanted to promise her everything, but still wasn't sure if he should. “I'm sorry. I should have called. Written. But it never felt like the right time…”
I didn't want to hurt you. I've never deserved you.

“Did you think about me?” she asked softly.

His dick was heavy and hot in his pants. He didn't answer her immediately, wondering if he should admit to his weakness. He was trying to control this dynamite, trying to get some control over the room again, when every part of his brain wanted to lose itself in her.

“Every day. I…”—He stopped himself going too far. Past the point of no return—“Every day.”

Her crossed arms dropped, as well as her gaze. His body started working without permission.

He couldn't even put up a token resistance. An honorable one. Honor was already in his rearview mirror.

He tugged his T-shirt over his head and slowly went to her. Slowly so he could marvel at her, the sudden light in her eyes.

He was far from certain. About what he wanted from her, about the wisdom of getting entangled—because he had no doubt that is exactly what he was doing. With every step he was getting irrevocably entangled in Molly.

He stopped a few inches short of her glorious nakedness. The briefest flicker of a frown danced across her forehead. He took a breath and with both hands, pulled her against him, fast and hard. As she gasped, he claimed her mouth with a ferocity that startled him. For a second. And then he was drowning. He'd fantasized about the taste of Molly. Now it was all his. All fucking his. And so was she.

Her hands ran through his short hair, and one settled on his neck as she let him bend her backward with his need to consume her. Her other hand splayed against his chest. Blood pumped through him like he was in combat. Throbbing heat flooded over him, and instinct took over.

Yes!

There was a second of triumph and relief when he'd admitted to thinking about her every day. When she realized for absolute sure that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. At
freaking
last. The tension of being so close to him, but not actually being close to him, evaporated, and all her birthdays and Christmases arrived at once. David. Holding her. Kissing her with the fierceness with which a warrior stalks his prey. He felt out of control to her. She loved it, and was scared by it.

She felt brazen and vulnerable at the same time—her nakedness pressed against his half-clothed body—and more like a woman than she ever had before.

“Are you sure?” his voice rasped against her throat, sending shivers of excitement through her. She couldn't find the words to reassure him, so she traced her fingers down his arm, and drew his hand between her legs.

A groan rumbled through his body when he felt how wet she was for him, as she had been ever since she'd woken up in the same hotel room as him, desperate for his touch. She wanted to do a victory lap. This was really happening.

He stroked along her wetness, virtually trembling against her as he felt his way around her. Her breath mirrored his, unsteady as he circled her clitoris slowly, deliberately. Her head dropped back, limp with the waves of pleasure both physical and mental. Electricity fritzed in her lower back as he stroked her steadily and firmly.

He pulled his hand away, and she moaned, opening her eyes. He gazed at her for a second, and pulled her upright and put his hands on her shoulders. “You deserve all the promises in the world. I'm just not there yet. I'm—”

She laid her fingers against his lips. “Shhh. I'm not asking for any promises. I'm not asking for tomorrow. I'm not making that mistake again. I'm not asking for your soul, either.” She frowned. “I just want now. This second. I just want
you
.”

He held her gaze for a couple of seconds, as if measuring her sincerity. And then he dropped his head. “I don't des—”

“Don't say that. You might get to choose what you deserve. But I do too. I deserve this.” She wanted to stamp her foot. “I deserve you. I waited so long. Thought about you for so long. Said ‘no' to so many dates. You
ruined
this past year for me. So the way I see it, you owe me now.”

He raised his head with the beginnings of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “I owe you, huh?” He narrowed his eyes and walked her backward until her calves hit the bed.

“Yes you do,” she replied in a whisper. “And I intend on collecting.” She put her hands on the front of his pants, as if she was going to undo them. But instead she stroked down and fluttered her fingers over his dick, which felt hard and strong under the denim. Her whole body reacted to the anticipation of having him fill her. Own her. Complete her.

He let her stroke him through his pants for a few seconds, but when she could tell he needed more, she undid his button and slowly drew down the zip. As tight against the bed as she was, she had to sit on the end to drag them off his hips. His dick sprang free and she closed her eyes briefly in reverence. She couldn't believe that she was here, after all this time.

She blew lightly on his dick, causing him to sway backward a little. He probably expected her to tease him a little, so instead she opened her mouth and placed it around him in one swift motion so that he would feel her tongue, the heat of her mouth, and the tightness all in one sensation.

“Jesus,” he hissed between his teeth, as she sucked the length of him between her lips. She stroked his balls as she released him, sucking briefly again on the tip.

In a single movement, he lifted her up until she was standing and kicked off his pants. The tip of his dick fit perfectly between her legs as they stood. Purposefully she shuffled forward so that she could clasp her thighs around him.

He withdrew from her and bent to claim a nipple. He bit until she gasped, making the hard nub ache for more. Threads of desire rushed from her breasts to between her legs, a heavy wetness settling there, waiting for him.

She moaned and couldn't help but squeeze her other nipple in tandem. He pulled away and watched her hand for a second before gently kicking her feet apart until she was standing with her legs wide open. He stood back, his dick dancing upright, begging to be touched, but he wouldn't let her.

Instead he very deliberately looked at her pussy, watching as he slid his hand over her mound. His intent gaze turned her on so much, she felt light-headed. He pushed her so she was sitting again on the end of the bed. Her legs were still wide open, and he knelt between them.

“You're beautiful down here. Pink, luscious…” his words trailed off as he used two fingers to open her folds. He licked her clitoris firmly, then pulled away to look at her face.

“Do you like touching yourself?” he asked hoarsely.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, as he placed a finger at her entrance.

“When do you touch yourself?” He slowly started to slide one finger inside her up to his knuckle.

She whimpered.

He pulled his finger out, and paused. “When do you touch yourself?” he repeated.

“When I'm alone,” she said. “When I'm in the shower. When I'm thinking about you.” It was true, and she felt brave and sexy telling him. Saying the words out loud.

He slid two fingers into her, and her head fell back in submission to the waves of need pulsing through her. “When you're touching yourself, what do you imagine I'm doing to you?” He reached down again and started tonguing her clit again. Heat spiked through her spine.