Page 53 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

Chapter Eleven

Georgia woke up hungry. She shifted on the lumpy bed and rubbed one hand over her growling stomach. Why was it so hot? Frowning, she snuggled into the pillow a bit more, cracked one eyelid open, and came fully awake in an instant.

Her head wasn’t on a pillow; it was on a shoulder. A wide, muscular, dusty shoulder.

A quick glance down confirmed her situation. Peter had his legs slightly spread, feet flat on the hard-packed dirt floor, with one arm around her, holding her to him. The other hand rested possessively on her breast. Georgia stared at it in surprise. It feltsogood. Like his hands belonged on her, touching her in a way that said in no uncertain terms she was his. There were no bad thoughts, and no nightmarish memories came rushing out of her brain to haunt her. Only a slow, simmering heat deliciously warming her belly and making her want to press herself into his palm.

No wonder she was hot.

And thirsty. Her mouth was dryer than the Sahara and just as gritty. She needed a drink, but the flask was on the floor out of reach and she didn’t want to move. She couldn’t ever remember feeling this comfortable, cuddled up with a man she barely knew, on a crate, in a dirt hole of a basement.

Georgia mentally crossed “romantic” off her list of personality traits.

She put her head back on his shoulder, thinking that a bit more sleep would be good, just as Peter moved beneath her. He groaned softly and the hand on her breast flexed and squeezed, causing her to gasp at the resulting zing of pleasure. His thumb blindly sought out the nipple and she couldn’t help pushing it into his hand, her bottom gyrating, her eyes closing as she concentrated on the pleasure he was giving her.

He moaned and suddenly his lips were on hers, teasing her mouth open. Oh, he tasted good, and she returned his kiss with equal intensity. He played with her nipple, rubbing and pinching lightly, making her squirm. Then his hand moved, grasped her hip and pushed her down and into him as he ground himself upward. Oh God, that was a hell of an erection she was sitting on.

Seconds, please.

He did it again, making them both groan.

Georgia didn’t care where they were anymore, that they were dirty, hiding, and in mortal danger. She didn’t care about anything but Peter.

Georgia reached up one hand and threaded it through his hair.

“Peter,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I need—”

“Holyshit.” Peter jerked himself away, shocking her out of the passionate haze faster than if he’d dumped a bucket of water over her head.

He stared at her as if she were the enemy.

With demoralizing speed, he took his hand off her hip where it spanned her thigh, one thumb perilously close to her center, and set her on her feet. He was up and moving as far away from her as he could get before her heels touched the floor.

“Geez, I’m sorry. I never meant to, ah, touch you like that.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I was asleep and, wow, I had my hands full.” He turned to face her. “Are you ok?”

Georgia stared at him, disappointment squeezing her lungs too small. That quickly turned to anger. How dare he feel sorry for her? Did he think she was kissing back because she didn’t like it?

“I’m fine. Just fine,” she told him, her tone frosty. “No flashbacks, no problems whatsoever.”

He didn’t seem to know how to take that. “Ok.”

“Although I do have one complaint.”

Two little lines appeared between his brows. “A complaint?”

“Yes. When you kiss a woman, it’s considered rude to dump her on the floor.” She gave him a fake smile. “You might want to keep that in mind the next time you wake up with someone on your lap.” Then she turned her back to him and unhurriedly shook out her chador.

Peter didn’t move for five whole seconds.

“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly, as if he was still trying to work it out in his mind. “You’re pissed at me because I almost dumped you on the floor, not because I was all over you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said over her shoulder, sweeping a bit more dust off. “Didn’t you notice my full participation?” She resettled her chador over her head and brushed off her shoulders. There was still plenty of light filtering through the boards. “How long before it gets dark, do you think?”

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