Spy to Die For ag-2 Page 3

  Her voice trailed off. Then she sighed.

  “I’m embarrassing myself, aren’t I?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “No, you’re not. I just—um—you know, normally, I’m a really articulate guy.”

  She smiled.

  “But I don’t have words.” He took her hand. “So screw words. Let’s go to your room and see if I fit.”

  Chapter 3

  Jack had never seen a room like this before, not on Krell. The first time he’d come here, nearly a decade ago, he’d rented a room and it had been as filthy as the Starcatcher. The bed smelled like the previous occupant (maybe the dozen previous occupants) and he had slept in a chair that night.

  From that moment on, he slept in his ship.

  This room, though, this room… wasn’t a room. It was a suite. Two rooms and a bathroom. Two clean rooms and a bathroom. So clean the place actually glistened. The air still smelled of lemon—not because of Skye’s drink, but because of some kind of mix in the room’s environmental controls (a mix she had probably chosen)—and there wasn’t grime or dust or dirt anywhere to be seen.

  She walked in ahead of him, and her presence made the room seem big. She stood like a princess among the matching couch and chairs, her back silhouetted against a wall screen that she had shut off.

  The room had no windows, which was not a surprise, since there weren’t many windows anywhere on Krell. No one wanted to see out, and no one wanted any incoming ship to see in. Most people came to Krell on business they didn’t want anyone else to know about, so seeing and being seen were not high on Krell’s priority list.

  Still, he had no idea that a rented suite like this existed here. Although he should have known it. A lot of rich criminals spent a lot of time here, and those people liked being comfortable.

  Jack hovered at the door. Skye smiled at him. The smile lit up her black eyes. It made him want to smile back.

  He didn’t. His heart pounded.

  He knew nothing about her. And she was in one of the expensive suites. She said she traveled a lot. What if she did so for her work—her illegal work?

  She tilted her head slightly. “Are you changing your mind? Because I think you will fit.”

  Her hand brushed her thigh ever so slightly. She wasn’t talking about the room; they had both known that from the beginning.

  He could back out now and fantasize about this forever. Or regret it forever. She had promised him no strings, promised just a moment in time, and he hadn’t had a moment—a good moment—in more than a year.

  He smiled, hoping it didn’t look too hesitant, then ducked under the door frame and stepped into the living room part of the suite. He could stand upright, but the top of his head brushed against the ceiling.

  “Wow,” she said. “I would have thought you’d have to bend just a bit.”

  He was bending. He was bending all of his personal rules. His heart pounded—not just from nerves, but from her nearness. He wanted to touch her, but for the first time since he met her, he felt shy.

  “Are you changing your mind?” This time, her tone was different. The teasing quality had left. She looked serious for the first time since he met her. That seriousness aged her just enough to make him realize she was closer to his age than he thought. She had a lot of experience, just like he did.

  “I… um… don’t do this usually,” he said.

  Her eyes sparkled. “Most women would think that a good thing.”

  “You don’t?” he asked.

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her. “I think we’re stepping out of our lives here, so what we usually do and don’t do doesn’t matter.”

  His breath caught. She didn’t normally do this either? Was that what she had implied?

  He took her other hand and bent his head. She tilted hers toward him, and his lips touched hers.

  This time, the kiss was gentle. He explored, tasting her, softly touching the inside of her mouth. She opened to him and didn’t move—not her hands, not her body—just her tongue answering his.

  He took her arms and wrapped them around him. Then he tugged her as close as possible, feeling her athletic form against his. Her hands rose up his back, pulling him down just a bit more.

  But if he bent farther, he couldn’t feel her against him, and he didn’t want to lose that. So he lifted her, settling her on his hips, letting her feel how aroused he was.

  And he was aroused. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. He wanted to slam her into the wall, pull off her clothes, and take her right here, but he didn’t. He needed to move slowly, to remember this, to take it one step at a time.

  She shifted against him, her thighs pulling her even closer. He could feel her through her very thin pants.

  “Hurry,” she said against him.

  “No,” he breathed. Then kissed her again.

  “Please,” she said into his mouth.

  He shook his head, deliberately taking his time, shaking with the effort to maintain control.

  She yanked her head back, slid her hands around his front, and opened his shirt. Her palms pressed inside, her skin warm on his, and he nearly lost all control right there.

  “Now,” she said.

  “Bed?” he asked, not sure if he could handle more words than that.

  “Couch,” she said decisively, then unwrapped her legs from him and put her feet on the floor.

  He felt her loss as if he had lost part of himself. She tossed off her shirt, revealing small upturned breasts. As he reached for them, she slapped his hands away with a smile.

  “You said slow, remember?” she said. Then she wriggled out of her pants. She was trim except for her wide hips. A small wedge of black hair pointed the way.

  He reached for her again, but she danced out of his grasp. It took his sluggish brain a moment to understand: she wanted his clothes off as well.

  He yanked off his shirt, opened his pants, and nearly tripped as he stepped out of them. His penis bobbed forward, announcing itself, and he wondered, with a flush, if he was too big for her. She looked so much smaller without clothes.

  She grabbed him, and pulled him into her warm and willing mouth, and it took every measure of control he had to hold on. He was going to take his time, he reminded himself. He was. He. Was.

  Then her mouth left him. “Pick me up,” she said, and he did.

  She settled on him like she had before, only this time no fabric barred his way. He wanted to make sure she was ready, but she didn’t seem to care. She slid onto him, as warm and willing and wet as her mouth had been.

  Then he lost all rational thought, moving with her, moving against her. She controlled the rhythm, or maybe he did, and she came against him, adding to it. She made a soft cry—not anything like he would have expected—her head flung back in sheer pleasure, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

  He came too, losing himself inside her.

  It felt like he was falling. Then he realized he was. His knees were wobbling, his legs giving out from the unusual effort. He staggered to the couch and sat naked on the rough fabric, her legs still wrapped around him.

  She brought her head forward and nestled her face in the crook of his neck.

  “My God,” she said against him. “You fit perfectly.”

  And he did.

  Chapter 4

  She had spoken out loud. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud.

  But she was so shocked at how good she felt, and part of that was how good she felt with him still inside her.

  When she had first seen him without his pants, she had a momentary thought: My God, he’s as long as he is tall. But she found that intriguing—she’d never ever really thought about tall men before or how they were built.

  He was built beautifully. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, which surprised her, since he had worn such loose clothing that she had thought him out of shape. He wasn’t. He even had well-defined abs, which no one could get with enhancements. His broad shoulders ac
centuated his narrow hips and muscular legs.

  He had to work hard to maintain that shape, and yet he had hidden it under bulky clothing. The clothing had also aged him. He looked younger naked.

  Not that she’d been able to reflect on that much in the heat of the moment. In that moment, she had taken him in her mouth just to see if his length was an illusion as well.

  It hadn’t been. In fact, when his penis had touched her lips, it had jumped just a little, as if it were trying to grow harder.

  And—sweetly—he had wanted to take his time, probably to please her. She was already pleased, so she made sure she controlled things.

  He hadn’t minded. In fact, he seemed to enjoy himself.

  He held her against him, their hearts beating together. Odd that she noted the heartbeats first, before she realized that they were also taking breaths at the same time.

  That had never happened to her before. Nor had she ever relaxed like this before, not after having sex, not after being so vulnerable.

  Not that she had ever been this vulnerable before either.

  That thought made her sit up and push some damp hair out of her face. His cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes even bluer. He looked open to her, and she had thought him open before.

  Such a sweet man, such a gentle man.

  The sex had confirmed her impression, not changed it.

  She had an ability to see people clearly. Not necessarily all their flaws and faults, but their essences, their cores. She never lost sight of their humanity either, which made it impossible for her to become an assassin.

  Her parents, with the help of the man they had hired to pretend to be her uncle, had dumped her on the grounds of the Assassins Guild on Kordita when she was ten, and the Guild had both saved her life and trained her to be an assassin.

  The cost of the training, and the room and board, had left her indebted to the Guild. They had done this because they thought she was angry enough and smart enough and asocial enough to be an assassin. But she wasn’t. Angry, yes. Smart, yes. Asocial, no.

  Something about her prevented her from seeing any human being as someone to be destroyed—no matter how evil. And she knew people could be evil. All of the targets of the Assassins Guild were supposed to be evil.

  Everyone connected with the Guild, from the lowliest instructor to the Guild’s director, Kerani Ammons, had told her that as if they believed it. In fact, Director Ammons’s eyes had glowed with fervor, as if she had thought destroying evil was part of the Guild’s mission.

  It was now Skye’s job to make sure the targets actually were evil. She vetted them. She had only two years left on her contract with the Guild, and then she was on her own.

  She couldn’t wait for that.

  She ran a hand along Jack’s face, the stubble on his cheek scratching her palm. She had never in her entire life been so attracted to someone. She certainly hadn’t admitted anything, made careless statements like she had done with him, or even blurted out her thoughts.

  He shifted beneath her, putting his hands on her hips, and she realized he was adjusting her. He was growing hard again.

  He smiled, then dipped his head down and sucked on her breast. Pleasure spiked through her all the way down from her nipple to her womb. She moaned again, and tried to move his face. She wanted to taste him. He lifted his head for just a moment, eyes twinkling, then captured the other breast.

  She was going to have an orgasm right there—and then, with that thought, she did. Long and slow and thrumming through her. Her breath sounded ragged. She grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place, yet somehow he moved from breast to breast as if he couldn’t figure out which tasted better.

  Then he wrapped his arms around her, and turned her over without losing their connection. He slowly moved inside her, his gaze on hers, those blue eyes holding her in place as his face reddened with pleasure.

  She wanted to watch him have this orgasm, but she couldn’t, because she had another. The slowness triggered something deep inside her, something she’d never felt, some kind of slow-motion quake that she hadn’t known her body capable of.

  She tried to regain control, tried to move faster, but he slid his hands to her hips and held her there while he was on his knees, rocking in and out, out and in, until she wanted to scream.

  It took longer than she thought possible—either she had several orgasms one after the other, or she had the longest one of her entire life. Just when she thought she might die from it all, he gasped, smiled half-apologetically, and poured into her, making her feel even warmer, wetter, and fuller inside.

  He leaned forward, landing on his elbows, as if he was afraid he’d crush her.

  “My God,” she said. “What the hell was that?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his voice shaking. “But you may have corrupted me forever.”

  “Me?” she asked. “You—”

  He kissed her. Really kissed her, not one of those pecks men so often gave her after sex.

  “I have to move,” he said, and she thought he meant he was going to slip out of her. Instead, he pushed himself up on his hands, and that was when she realized he had twisted himself into the strangest position just to stay on the couch. It was too small for him, like everything in this room.

  Except her.

  “The bed’s bigger,” she said.

  “Good for it,” he said as he tried to stand. Instead, he fell against the couch, then slid onto the floor.

  She tilted his head back and kissed him upside down. It was such a novel sensation for both of them that rest became impossible.

  They gave up all thoughts of bed and concentrated only on each other.

  For the first time in her life, she trusted someone completely.

  If only for a few hours. A few blissful hours she would never trade for anything in the entire universe.

  Chapter 5

  Jack woke up before Skye did. He had no idea how they had gotten into the bed. He only knew that they had, and that their bodies had finally given out.

  He was pressed against her back, his hands cupping her breasts, his penis against her buttocks. The thought of those buttocks made him stir, but he wasn’t sure he should try anything again. She had to be sore. He might even be sore. He didn’t know if men could get sore.

  He never had before.

  He pulled her close. He wasn’t sure what would happen next. She had made it clear that she only wanted to spend one night with him, but he wanted to spend more time with her than that. He wondered if every man she had been with wanted more time with her. He had never experienced anything like the last few hours before, and he doubted he ever would again.

  He had felt a connection, something more than physical. If he had to guess, he would say that she had too. The problem was that he had to guess. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know anything about her.

  For all he knew, she slept with a different guy at every single space station she stopped at.

  She had money, that much was certain. Krell had to charge a lot of money for a suite like this. Hell, it charged a lot of money for that crap-ass room he’d stayed in the first time he was here. This place had to cost a fortune.

  He didn’t know anyone who came to Krell who could afford that fortune without breaking a lot of laws.

  That very thought bothered him, particularly with all the things he had been dealing with lately. He had left the Rovers because he couldn’t work for them anymore. They had gone too far, and now, he was here, with a woman he didn’t know, in a suite usually frequented by people who made their money illegally.

  He should have rolled away. Instead, he didn’t move. He just held her, conscious of the time ticking away.

  The Rovers were a group of loosely associated assassins who, for whatever reason, refused to join the Assassins Guild. Back when they had hired Jack to vet their clients, he believed the Rovers were more ethical than the Guild. They wouldn’t take jobs sanctioned by governments, they wouldn’t assassin
ate anyone without discovering who that person was first, and they often turned down work that seemed shady.

  But Jack had joined the Rovers as their main investigator more than a decade before. He had left Tranquility House with only a few skills, one of them the ability to search for things.

  He had searched his entire life. That was why he had chosen the last name Hunter. He had arrived at Tranquility House with no last name at all.

  He used to say that his name wasn’t Jack Hunter. It was Jack, hunter, the hunter being a descriptor, not a designation.

  He hadn’t lost that feeling; he was still hunting, for his identity, for his work, for everything.

  Only at this very moment, he felt like he had found something.

  Someone.

  She was right. He fit perfectly. More to the point, she fit perfectly.

  And it frightened him.

  He had never let his guard down this far, particularly not on Krell.

  And he had never felt so confused. He honestly didn’t know what to do next. Should he get up and leave? Should he wake her? Should he make love to her again?

  He wanted to make love to her again. And again. And again.

  He gave in. He kissed the spot where her lovely neck met her well-sculpted shoulder.

  She sighed and squirmed against him.

  He slid a hand away from her breast, across her flat belly, and through that small shock of black hair that he had explored in depth the night before. She was wet.

  So he slipped inside her and cupped her against him, gently rocking them both. She moaned as she came awake—literally coming and waking up at the same time. Which made him come too—faster than he ever had in his life.

  He hadn’t thought he had anything left in him, but apparently he did.

  She shifted, then pulled away from him, startling him. She hadn’t done that before.

  Was she angry? Did she dislike being awakened like this? Did she feel taken advantage of?