Page 60 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
Xander clears his throat. "Should I... call back later? Seems like you two have some things to discuss."
"No." I keep my gaze fixed on Vanessa, noting the flush creeping up her neck, the way her breathing has changed. "We're done here."
"Actually, I wanted to coordinate directly with Vanessa on the technical side," Xander interjects, and every muscle in my body goes tense. "Cole thinks her pattern recognition could—"
I end the call.
The kitchen falls into charged silence. Vanessa stares at me, her expression unreadable but intense.
"What was that about?" she asks.
"Security protocols."
"Bullshit." She slides off the barstool, moving closer. "That was you being territorial."
The word hits like a physical blow because she's right. But I can't examine why the thought of her working directly with Xander makes my hands clench into fists.
"You're assigned to me."
"Assigned." She steps into my personal space, tilting her chin up defiantly. "Like equipment."
"Like someone under protection."
"Is that what I am to you?" Her voice drops, taking on a quality that reminds me of how she sounded when she whispered 'Yes, sir.' "Just another assignment?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications I'm not ready to examine. Because the honest answer is no. She's not an assignment or an asset or any other term I use to maintain distance.
She's something else. Something that makes my carefully ordered existence tilt off its axis.
"You're..." I start, then stop, because I don't have words for what she is.
She takes another step closer, close enough that I can smell coconut and vanilla mixed with my soap on her skin. Close enough to see the golden flecks in her dark eyes, the way her pupils dilate as she looks up at me.
"I'm what, Asher?"
My restraint fractures.
One moment we're standing apart, the next my hands are fisting in her hair, angling her head back as my mouth crashes down on hers with desperate hunger. She responds instantly, rising on her toes as her hands grip my shoulders, meeting my kiss with equal intensity.
She tastes like coffee and something uniquely her, and when she makes a soft sound against my lips, it nearly destroys what's left of my control.
I back her against the kitchen island, my body caging her smaller frame as I deepen the kiss with a hunger that wasn't there before, claiming her mouth with a desperation I couldn't show that first night.
She makes me forget who I'm supposed to be.
Not Frost, the sniper who keeps his distance. Not the operative who never compromises mission parameters. Just a man who wants to protect her, possess her, make sure no one else ever gets close enough to hurt her.
Every rational thought disappears under the onslaught of sensation. Her warmth, her taste, the way she melts against me like she was made for this. Made for me.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her eyes are wide and dark with want, lips swollen from my kiss, and she looks so beautiful it physically hurts.
"Asher..." she whispers.
Reality crashes back like cold water.
I jerk away, the full force of what just happened slamming into me. My control. My discipline. Years of military training, and she destroys it with a single look.
"That can't happen again."
