Fatal Truth: Shadow Force International (29 page)

The USB wasn’t giving up its secrets. Coldplay had discussed trying something else with Rory, but the computer expert insisted that his program would decrypt the USB if given enough time.

The sun was bright, reflecting off the snow, and Savanna shifted the rug to a slice of sunlight. The warmth on her face felt good.

Her workout seemed off today, her body lacking its normal grace. The bulletproof glass protected her, but nothing—not even Coldplay—could keep the harsh reality of what was waiting for her at bay for long.

She was slogging through her sixth sun salutation when the back of her neck prickled in warning. Gazing down into the back yard and garden, she searched for any sign of human life.

It wasn’t in the garden. It was behind her. Coldplay was in the doorway watching her, the laptop in one hand.

“Don’t stop,” he said, his crystal blue eyes boring into her. “I love to watch you move.”

“Is everything okay? Did something happen? The USB?”

A few days of beard growth covered his jaws and neck. His eyes were tired. He wasn’t sleeping, she could see that, but he’d never truly seemed tired until right now. “Nothing happened. You’re safe. I’m tired of staring at security video and this laptop.”

He paced toward her. Glided, really.

Like a panther on the hunt.

Savanna almost took a step back. Nothing
happened, perhaps, but it was about to from the look in his eyes.

She swallowed the sudden nervousness in her throat. “Want to stretch with me?”

He sunk into a nearby chair, his gaze roaming over her yoga pants and sports bra as he set the laptop, open, on the floor. “I want to watch you stretch.”

The look in his eyes did strange things to her. Heat shot straight to the spot between her legs. What was going on here? Had he changed his mind? Was he simply bored?

Whatever. She was intrigued. The heavy weight of his gaze followed her as she continued her sun salutations, each movement taking on new importance. The flow became easier even though she felt unnaturally self-conscious about everything from her stomach and her foot placement to her backside. The light brush of her ponytail across her shoulders tickled her skin. She found her breath seemed stuck inside her ribs.

Coldplay noticed too. “Breathe,” he reminded her and she caught his eye as she inhaled deeply.

What she saw there nearly took that oh-so-mindful breath away.

Hunger. Pure, raw, seductive. He wanted her and he was going to have her.

Libido fully engaged again, she decided to drag it out, make him suffer the way he had made her suffer the last two days. She flowed back and forward, extending her legs and using her body to communicate to him that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

The flow of poses was like a dance, and the old routine once more became easy, graceful. She was so involved in the concentrated movements, she didn’t realize he’d moved behind her. His hands touched her hips, causing her to jump, and then he ran them lightly up her sides to the underside of her breasts.

She leaned back into him, wanting him so much she ached again.

He nuzzled her ear, her neck. “I need to tell you something,” he murmured. “About me.”

A thrill went through her. Was he finally going to answer some of her questions about who he was? “I’m listening.”

He cupped her breasts, gently, running a thumb over each nipple and making her suck in a breath. “In a minute. First, I want to enjoy this.”

One hand slipped down to her pelvis, the heat of his fingers leaving a trail as he cupped her through the stretchy material between her legs. Pressing into his big hand, she arched her butt back and felt his erection, full and demanding.

Oh, yeah. This was definitely happening. After two days of torture, she was finally going to get what she wanted.

His teeth nibbled at her exposed shoulder, teasing the strap of her bra off and baring the top of her right breast. He brushed his fingers over the sensitive skin, his hot breath lingering on her shoulder as he slipped his hand inside the fabric and lifted her breast out of the bra cup.

The other hand, still between her legs, kneaded and built a rhythm. She moaned low and deep as he pinched her exposed nipple and murmured in her ear. “I want you so bad.”

Oh, God, she wanted him too. “Then take me. Screw the contract and whatever you’re hiding from me. I need this. Need you.”

His erection pressed into her harder. “This is wrong. You’re going to hate me.”

Reaching up, she touched his face. Her breath came in fast gasps. “I could never hate you.”

His low growl made goose bumps break out over her skin. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

She placed her hands over his, forcing him to grip her breast and her pelvis harder. “I want you too.”
Now, now, now.

Dust motes danced in the air around them. In her ear, Coldplay’s breathing was as ragged as hers. Outside, the snow sparkled in the bright sunlight and Savanna tilted her head to the side, allowing his lips more access to her sensitive skin.

“I need more,” he said, his voice vibrating against her skin. “I need my mouth on your breasts, between your legs.”

Scorching need tingled from her head to her toes. Brady had never talked during sex. An earlier lover had, but used explicit language that sometimes was more turnoff than turn-on. She liked how Coldplay told her exactly what he wanted—
—without degrading terms that made her feel like a porn star.

She’d never seen Coldplay’s hands shake, but his fingers did as they worked her sports bra off. She didn’t help him, enjoying the concentration on his face as he worked the one-piece bra over her breasts and up and off her arms. Cool air made her already puckered nipples tighten more.

The bra hit the floor and Coldplay stood, not touching her, only looking. His gaze was so intense, she nearly covered herself. Instead, she reached out and removed his T-shirt, going up on her toes to get it over his head, letting her heavy breasts brush against his ribs. He helped, chucking the shirt on the floor next to her bra.

It was her turn to stare. The tattoos. The scars. She’d seen them already, but in the sunlight, they hit her all over again. Whatever this man had been through, whatever he’d done in his life, his history was there on his skin.

Reaching out, she traced the outline of an angel holding a clock. The hands were nearing midnight. She was about to ask what it meant when Coldplay stayed her hand, brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed them.

She dropped her hand to his waistband and unbuttoned his jeans. The ridge inside them was huge and she licked her lips with anticipation. Unzipped, his erection popped free—no underwear to hold it back—and her eyes widened at the length. She took him in her hand, his hips jutting at the contact and another growl parting his lips as he closed his eyes briefly. Using her other hand, she pushed his jeans down to bare his muscled legs.

He grabbed her hand once again and pulled it away. “You look at me that way, touch me like that, and this will be over before I get my hands on you.”

His thighs were thick and powerful looking. He stood there, proud and defiant, letting her look but not touch.

Not fair.

Seeming to read her mind, he stepped out of his jeans. Then he knelt in front of her, his fingers tracing the edge of her yoga pants. His touch lingered on her hipbones before peeling the material inch by slow inch down her legs. His lips followed the progress, kissing each hip, then thigh, making her nearly swoon with desire.

A moment later, she stood in nothing but her panties, his face at their level. He slipped a finger under the satin and she shuddered at the decadent touch as he teased her with expert care.

He kissed her through the material of her panties, holding her in place as he parted his lips and tongued her through the satin.

Her knees gave out and he guided her to the floor. She parted her legs, accepting him as he hovered above her, his mouth now finding her breast, his hands ripping the panties off. She heard material tear but didn’t care.

And then her breast was feeling cool air again. He reached over and pulled a foil packet from his jean pocket, opened it, and rolled it on.

Her mouth watered watching him work the thin sheath up the length and breadth of him.

She shifted again, spreading her legs wider, looking forward to finally being filled, satisfied.


Tearing her gaze away from his erection, she met his eyes. Saw the worry there. The concern.

Reaching out, she grabbed him and wrapped her legs around his hips. Guiding, guiding…

He came down, fast and hard, ramming himself into her as she arched to meet him.

Sweet Jesus
. Cradling him, she felt him holding his breath, his massive shoulders pinning her to the floor as he held her in place, not letting her move. Dragging out the moment, he buried himself deep inside her.

She felt the fat length of him pulse. Just a little flick, creating a friction she’d never felt before.

He did it again. Sensation exploded between her legs. She arched her hips and whimpered, her nails digging into his back. “Please,” she ground out, rocking under him.

He chuckled in her ear and started to move, matching her rhythm.

The chuckle completely unraveled her. Not the fact he was naked and glorious and taking her close to the edge. No, it was the fact that she could make him laugh, even in the midst of sex.

Savanna let herself go. Let herself
like the yoga instructors were always teaching. No thinking, only feeling. Total focused mindfulness enveloped her as Coldplay kissed and caressed and stroked into her over and over again. She was spinning and spinning and it felt so damn good. For a few minutes, her bodyguard could indeed keep the real world at bay.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his lips against her neck.

She came, breaking apart, not from his words, but from the sheer power he exuded. The sheer conviction in
he was doing. Her legs tightened around him and she lifted her hips, digging her heels into his buttocks and pulling him deeper.

His hands locked on to her hips and held them up, giving her what she wanted as he sunk in to the hilt. As she spun out, coming completely undone, she felt him tighten in response.

“Savanna,” he cried out as he crashed into her. She felt him pulse again, this time with his own release.

She drifted, feeling his heart pounding against hers. Heard his breath coming in gasps, just like hers. He wrapped his arms around her, supporting himself on his elbows so he didn’t crush her, and rested a cheek against her temple. He kissed her there, softly, as his breathing came back into balance.

Delicious. There was no other word for it. She could stay this way forever.

Far off, she heard music. A soft pairing of notes that drifted with her, repeating over and over.

A voice vibrated on the edge of her consciousness and suddenly the strong arms wrapped around her released her.

the voice said again. It sounded small and tinny.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

He was up and gone before she could open her eyes. She blinked and followed his quick movement across the floor to the abandoned laptop, condom gone and jeans halfway up his legs.

He zipped and buttoned in one swift movement, then grabbed the laptop and scanned the screen.

His eyes closed for a split second and his shoulders dipped. “Goddamn,” he murmured. “I should have known.”

software could crack the decryption,” Rory said, his video box in the upper right hand section of the screen. He eyed Trace’s naked chest. Ignored it. “Are you seeing this?”

He was seeing it all right.
The bastard better not have been
spying on us
. Of course, the way the computer had been turned, he wouldn’t have seen anything, only heard what was going on.

Trace ran a hand over his face. “I see it.”

Savanna, lids half closed as she popped her head up, snatched her bra off the floor. “What is it?”

“The software decrypted the USB,” Trace told her, wishing he could be happy about it.

She pulled on her sport bra, then her pants, her panties no longer viable, and raked her hands through her hair as she hustled over to look at the screen.

This was
how he’d planned things to work out. He’d wanted to hold her, jump in a shower with her, maybe take her to bed again. When he’d had his fill of her—was that even possible?—he’d planned to tell her the truth. Who he really was.

He’d stewed about it for days. Decided he had to come clean.

God, it had felt so good. Being with her. Touching her. Letting her touch him. Too damn long since he’d been touched in that way. With care, with respect. Just the thought of her spreading her legs for him, guiding him inside her, made him hard all over again.

“It looks like gibberish,” Savanna said, bringing him back to the present.

It was. Gibberish that hid a specific database of intel. He’d seen a similar file before.

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