Page 24 of Dangerous Secrets

The speakers had changed to a medley of Celtic music. Nick recognized the song that was playing, though he didn’t know the title. Something about green fields and coming home, which was more or less like every Irish song he’d ever heard. The Irish weren’t big on love songs. The music celebrated survival and comradeship, the basic elements of Nick’s life so far.

Charity knew the words and was singing softly under her breath. She had on a pink track suit that hugged her slender curves, her dark blonde hair shifting on her shoulders as she waggled her head to the music. That pretty ass swayed too, as she fussed in her kitchen.

The kitchen was as pretty as she was. Cream and peach tiles, a line of thriving herbs in cream-colored pots along the window sill, light-colored curtains at the window. Big ceramic canisters along the counter against the backsplash.

And the smells—almost better than the smells in the bedroom. The surprisingly rich smell of tea threaded in among the smells of something with cinnamon baking in the oven. A small pinewood table was set for two, with slices of bread, butter, an array of jams and jellies and slices of apple. Nick could see a fantastic breakfast in his immediate future.

He watched her swaying gently to the beat of the music, listened to her singing. Though her voice was soft, it was surprisingly true.

Everything about the scene was delightful.

Beautiful woman. Beautiful music. Beautiful room. Sheer delight.

Nick felt something odd move inside him, something he didn’t recognize. It rolled right through him, and whatever it was, it left peace and contentment in its wake.

He stood there, mulling that over. Peace and contentment. They weren’t things he’d felt often in his life. He’d never sought them, never even wanted them. He life was one long mission and he did what it took to get the mission accomplished. Peace and contentment simply didn’t factor in.

His mission in the orphanage and then in sometimes brutal foster homes had been survival, for him and Jake. Then as a Delta operator, accomplishing the op, whatever it was. Usually the op meant danger in hellholes. And now, since he’d joined the Unit, the mission was putting away bad guys.

So what was this? Leaning against a doorframe, watching a woman fiddle at the stove? What was it? The mission? An op?

It felt like more. No, it felt like something else entirely. Nick wasn’t completely comfortable with all these . . . things going on inside himself. He was comfortable in his skin. He knew what he wanted in life and he usually went after it like a bullet to the bull’s eye. This felt . . . different.

And good. Definitely good. In fact, he felt better than he could ever remember feeling.

Unexpectedly, Charity turned around, as if she’d suddenly sensed his presence, and smiled at him.

In an instant, that supernatural feeling of well-being disappeared, as if it had never been. Whoosh, gone. In its place came a burning itching feeling, a drive to touch her, touch that smooth, creamy skin he knew was underneath the soft pink cotton of the track suit. Put his hands on her and never let go.

“Hi, so you’re up . . .” her voice trailed off as her gaze dropped and her face went from the slight flush of someone cooking to stop-light red. Charity’s soft pink mouth made an O.

Oh yeah, he was up. Massively. It was as if his dick were trying to stretch its way across the room to her.

It couldn’t, of course, but he could. It took him a second or two to firm up his knees and then he was crossing over to her, eyes never leaving hers. She looked down at him again and heat washed over him, as if he’d walked in front of an open oven door. The heat even pulsed in his veins.

He was clenching his jaws so hard his teeth hurt.

This was sex but it was more than sex. He wasn’t hurting for sex and they’d been at it practically all night. By rights, he should be all fucked out.

Right now, instead, it was as if he’d never fucked before, never even touched a woman in his entire life. This felt urgent, with all the adrenaline of combat in the field, the moves as necessary as ducking under fire or scrambling out of the way of flames or bullets.

This was a place he’d never been in before, a foreign country. Nick didn’t do urgent, pressing desire. He was the Iceman.

Whenever he fucked, a part of him—a big part—remained detached, observing. Sex made men drop their defenses. A lot of guys got offed while boffing. Not Nick. There was no way anyone could get the drop on him during sex because he was always aware of what was going on, always cool. Iceman.

Oh Jesus, he wasn’t Iceman now. He was burning up, breathing hard, focused like a laser beam on Charity.

He wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing. His body had taken over completely.

Moving fast, Nick hooked a chair with his foot and plonked down while reaching out to Charity. Hands a blur, he had her sweats and panties down in a second, positioned her over him,opened her with his fingers and thrust. Straight up into her soft little sex.

Ahhh! Christ!

Sweat beaded on his face, a drop trickling down the side of his face and dropping onto her shoulder. He was holding her so tightly she was probably having trouble breathing but he couldn’t seem to let her go, or even relax his death grip. He was holding on to her like you held on to a lifeline, not to a beautiful woman.

He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed tight. “Sorry,” he whispered roughly.

Fuck. She was dry, not ready for penetration, wriggling a little to find a comfortable position, to adjust herself to him. Her toes barely reached the ground, so almost the full weight of her body anchored her to him. Shit, he hoped he wasn’t hurting her, but he wouldn’t take bets on it.

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