Page 65 of Covert Vengeance

“Because I’m going to make sure of it.”

“No.” His eyes filled with sudden fire, his features tightening. “Because that fucker’s not going to get close enough to touch either one of you. He’ll have to get through me first.”

No one had ever stood between her and a threat to protect her before. That he would willingly endanger—even sacrifice himself to keep her safe turned her inside out.

“Don’t,” she whispered, drawn so tight inside she feared she might break. “I’m not worth it.”

He went dead still, his expression darkening. “Don’t you ever say that. Notever.”

It was true but she didn’t have time to reply, because his lips smothered anything she might have said. The raw, forceful kiss knocked her off balance, left her clutching at his shoulders for balance while he took her mouth. She met his blazing passion with everything she had, straining against him, arousal punching through her.

Jesse gripped her hip and spun her around. She had the sense of moving backward, then they were inside a small room. A linen closet, with only a single bare bulb illuminating the space.

They reached for each other’s shirts at the same time, the whisper of shifting fabric mixing with their panting breaths as they tore each other’s clothes off. She dove a hand between them, grasping the hot, thick length of him in her hand. He hissed out a breath, his mouth still fused with hers, and pushed into her grip.

His hands closed around her hips, and she thrilled at the way he lifted her, pinning her back to the wall while he plastered his body to hers, the heated ridge of his erection sliding between her slick folds. She was drunk on his scent, the feel of him as he rolled on a condom and pushed into her.

He cut off her strangled cry of triumph and pleasure with another searing kiss, his hips rocking as he began to thrust gently, her hand sliding between her thighs to stroke herself while they frantically raced to the peak together. It was hot, risky, anyone walking by able to hear them.

She didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the magic of them together, of the beautiful rise in pleasure as he pushed her higher, higher, until she was trembling on the verge of a shattering release.

She choked out his name when the orgasm hit, bucking into his hold as the waves took her. Every stroke over her inner sweet spot drew it out, made it better. Jesse sank his teeth into the curve of her shoulder and groaned low and long, all male power and hunger as he shuddered.

Amber clung to him in the dimness, wrecked in the aftermath. With their gasping breaths and the thundering of her heart filled her ears, she knew she’d staked her claim on him as much as he had her.

And worse, now he had her dreaming of a life together if she survived what was coming.

Chapter Eighteen

Tyler was more than halfway down the driveway when Megan exited the house. He knew she was behind him—the man hadn’t lost his sharpness since his SF days and had excellent hearing—yet he didn’t look back or slow down.

She huffed out an annoyed breath and maintained her normal, quick pace, refusing to call out or jog to catch up with him. He was pissed about this whole op but he was just going to have to get over himself and fucking deal with it already. They had work to do.

He turned right near the end of the driveway and cut across the expanse of lawn leading to the gatehouse rather than taking the brick pathway. Then he went inside and shut the door even though he knew damn well she was thirty seconds behind him.

The action was like a match strike to her temper.

Oh,hellno.

Setting her jaw, Megan picked up her pace, flung open the door, marched inside and then slammed it behind her for good measure, the sound carrying in a satisfying echo through the house. She kicked off her shoes in the mudroom and entered the kitchen, scanning for her target. Footsteps overhead indicated he was already upstairs, probably in their room.

He could run, but he couldn’t hide.

Her temper pushed from a simmer to a rolling boil by the time she made it up the staircase to their room. Their first fight—well, their first fight since they’d officially gotten together—and it happened right before an op. She was already keyed up about what was coming. Her fingers were all sore and bloody where she’d picked her cuticles raw.

The door was shut.

Fuming, she shoved it open and stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips to confront him.

Only he wasn’t there.

Even more frustrated, she stomped through their room to their walk-in closet at the back and mirrored that same pose. Tyler ignored her, his back to her as he methodically packed things he presumably needed for the trip to London and subsequent op. “You planning on sulking the rest of the day, or can we move on and skip that part?”

Without a word he reached for the lock box on the top shelf where he kept his personal weapons and ammo, the only sign that he’d heard her the slight flexing of his jaw.

“Hello?” she demanded.

Nothing.

---