Beyond Limits (18 page)

Sean. She thought he was thinking about his lost brother.

No, I’m thinking about how badly I want to get you out of those clothes.

“I’m thinking about you,” he said, only partly lying. “You ever considered getting a desk job?”

She looked startled. “No.”

He eyed her scar again. “You know, when I was thinking about you back here at home, I never pictured you getting pistol-whipped. It’s a tough image to get out of my head.”

Tough
was an understatement. It was impossible. And he knew she hadn’t told him the full story. She’d told him she’d been beaten and taken hostage. Had she been sexually assaulted, too? The thought of it made him want to kill someone, the same way he’d felt when he’d sprinted up that stairwell and seen the blood trail.

She tipped her head to the side and looked at him. “You know, the FBI Academy—it’s really hard to get into. And the training itself is very rigorous. Not like BUD/S or anything, but it was challenging for
me
. It was the toughest thing I’ve ever done.” She sipped her drink and rested it on the bar. “So, no, I wouldn’t consider a desk job. What about you?”

“No,” he said without hesitation.

“Don’t want to stop chasing bad guys and jumping out of airplanes?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The bartender reappeared, which seemed to annoy Elizabeth. “Last call,” the woman chirped.

Elizabeth looked at him. “I should get back.”

Derek paid for the drinks and refused the money she tried to give him. Back in the parking lot, the air was like a sauna, but she kept his leather jacket on as she slid into the truck. She stared out the window as he pulled out. Obviously, his attempt at career advice had pissed her off. She’d shifted to defensive mode, and now it was going to be an uphill battle getting her to loosen up again.

She kept her attention directed out the window as he navigated the after-hours traffic.

“So where’s this file you have?”

She looked at him. “Which file?”

“Ameen’s picture.”

“Back at my hotel.” She paused. “You can drop me off there if you need it tonight.”

“I do.”

It was something. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he planned to find out. He got onto the freeway and buzzed the windows down as they drove, thinking maybe some fresh air would relax her.

Because, yes, she’d been right before—he had a one-track mind. And even though it had been a shit day and she was injured and tired and probably emotionally wasted, he was still dying to take her to bed.

While he was overseas, especially after she’d ignored his phone calls, the prospect of sleeping with her had seemed like a fantasy. She lived and worked in San Antonio. He lived and worked wherever Spec War Command sent him. But now she was here, right beside him, and he’d be damned if he was going to let her slip away again, not if there was even a chance in hell she’d say yes. He had no desire to spend another eleven months burning up with frustration.

The Home Suites parking lot was full, and he counted half a dozen dark sedans that had to belong to feds. He found a space not far from her room and noticed her glance around cautiously before she got out.

She slid a keycard from her purse and briskly opened the door. As she stepped inside, she shrugged out of his jacket and held it out to him.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Sure.”

He pulled the door shut behind him. The room smelled like her, probably her lotion or her perfume or something she’d put in her hair that morning. A rolling suitcase was parked beside the closet. A dark suit hung inside, along with several crisp white blouses. His gaze drifted to the white lace bra dangling from the door handle.

“It’s in here somewhere.” She rummaged through her computer bag. “Here.”

She crossed the room and handed him an eight-by-ten photograph. It was black-and-white, but at least it was recent compared with the last photo he’d seen. Derek studied the narrow nose, the strong chin, the prominent cheekbones. He took out his cell phone and snapped a picture of the picture.

“Plastic surgery?” He glanced up.

“We think so.”

He tucked his phone away and put the picture on the dresser. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stood there staring at each other, and the moment stretched out. He slid his hand around hers and pulled her closer. She tensed.

“Why are you gun-shy with me?”

She tipped her chin up. “I’m not.”

He kissed her, pulling her against him, and she resisted. For maybe a second. Then he felt her loosen and let go, and she was finally, finally,
finally
kissing him the way he’d wanted her to for months. Her arms came up around his neck, and he pulled her hips against him. She tasted better than he remembered, hot and sweet, and he hoped to hell she meant what she’d said, because he couldn’t stop right now if he wanted to. He slid his hands over her blouse and felt those soft curves he’d been dying to touch, and her fingers were in his hair now. He filled his palms with her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, and she moaned into his mouth and pressed closer.

She tasted so fucking good and felt so perfect he couldn’t believe he’d waited so long to do this. He should have come during his last leave. He should have just shown up at her door and forced her to look him in the eye and tell him she wasn’t interested. Because the way she was kissing him now told him the opposite. She was hot and willing and felt like maybe, just maybe, she’d been thinking about this as much as he had.

She jumped back like she’d been scalded.

“What?” he asked.

She stared at him wide-eyed as his heart pounded in his chest, and he couldn’t believe she was putting the brakes on.

More pounding, but this was behind him. He turned around as she crossed to the door. If it was Jimmy Torres, he might have to punch the guy.

But it was a woman in jeans and a T-shirt. Her jogging buddy, the FBI agent.

“Hi.” She shot a glance over Elizabeth’s shoulder and lowered her voice. “
Very
sorry to bug you, but we have a meeting.”

“Now?” Elizabeth sounded frustrated but not nearly as frustrated as he was.

“Gordon’s suite, five minutes. It’s important.”

She ran her hand through her hair. “What is it, do you know?”

“We recovered the phone.”

Luke pulled open the lobby door, and they swept inside with a gust of air. Hailey was laughing.
Laughing.
Over some dumb joke he’d made as they’d come in off the beach. And he tried not to think along his normal lines—that a woman laughing at his jokes was a good sign he might be getting laid tonight. Because he wasn’t. No way, no how. Not tonight or any night ever as far as Hailey Gardner was concerned.

She unzipped her jacket as they crossed the lobby. “Wow.” She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “It’s chilly out there. Is it always like this in the summer?”

“Not usually. Lows are typically in the sixties,” he said. Holy shit, were they actually talking about the weather? Maybe she was trying to distract him from the fact that they were once again standing near the elevators. Her hotel room was just a short ride away. And his frog sense was going haywire now, because every instinct told him she was going to invite him upstairs.

She tipped her head to the side. “You want to come up?”

God help him. Only it wasn’t the sexy, come-hither
You want to come up, sailor
?
but more of an innocent
You want to come up and hang out and, I don’t know, watch
Glee
reruns?
It sounded totally innocent, and the look on her face seemed innocent enough, too. But there was nothing innocent about what was going through his head right now. In fact, if she knew, she’d probably be out of here in no time. He had to remind himself that this was a woman who’d been through a severe trauma recently. As in
recently
. As in her arm was still in a freaking cast. She had PTSD and all kinds of psychological problems to recover from. Luke wasn’t superstitious, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that if he went up to that hotel room right now, he’d get struck by lightning within twenty-four hours.

But damn, she was beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed from the chill, and her hair was all windblown, and little strands of it had fallen out of her ponytail. And a minute ago, she’d been laughing. That was the most amazing part.

He’d mustered the
cojones
to take her out to talk, like she’d wanted, only when they’d gotten to the bar, she hadn’t talked about A-bad at all. She hadn’t even talked about the job that sent her over there. Instead, they’d talked about growing up in Boston and Nashville. They’d talked about siblings and parents. They’d talked about hockey and baseball and pretty much everything in the world except what was really on her mind.

It had been surprisingly easy. The hard part was now, looking down at her, wanting to take her upstairs so badly his skin burned, but knowing that was the very last place on earth he should be. When it came to women, he had an extremely crappy track record for resisting temptation. Typically, he not only didn’t resist it, but he went after it full-throttle.

He thought about lying to her. He could make something up about early-morning PT or a visiting relative or some other lame excuse. But something about the way she looked at him made it impossible for him to lie.

“I should get home,” he said. It was the God’s honest truth.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled slightly, but her eyes looked sad. “Well, good night, then.”

She reached up and hugged him, gently squeezing his neck, and by the time he reacted, she’d stepped away.

“Thanks for the beer,” she said.

“Sure.”

She moved toward the elevators, and he forced himself to walk away.

“Luke?”

He turned around, and she smiled.

“Thank you for talking.”

Lauren was waiting near the vending-machine alcove on the way to Gordon’s suite.

“Where’d we recover the phone?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, no, no, no, no.” She caught her arm. “Not so fast. Is
that
the friend from Houston? Breakfast Booty Call?”

“It wasn’t a booty call,” Elizabeth said. “I told you—”

“He’s that SEAL you’ve been talking about in the meetings.”

“How’d you know he’s a SEAL?”

“Are you kidding? Look at the man! He’s completely ripped.” Lauren grinned. “And he’s packing heat, too, in case you didn’t notice. You didn’t tell me you knew him
personally
.”

Elizabeth stepped up to the vending machine. The last thing she wanted to do was show up for the meeting talking about this. “I don’t. It’s not like that.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” She fed in a bill and pounded out a Coke, which she hoped would cancel out the alcohol on her breath.

Lauren’s gaze narrowed. “Then why do you have beard burn?”

“Shit! I do?”

“Oh, my God, you
are
doing him!” Lauren smacked her arm. “Why didn’t you tell me? I want details!”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re sleeping with a SEAL, and there’s nothing to tell. Right. Obviously, you have no concept of the Mojave Desert that is my current love life. Give me something juicy. Pretty, pretty please?”

Elizabeth popped open her drink and took a sip to cool her throat. She pressed the can to her chin. Beard burn? Good Lord.

Lauren was still watching her.

“What do you want me to say? There’s nothing really going on, except . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to describe it.

Lauren beamed. “I’m so happy for you. God, what’s it been, eighteen months? Two
years
since you had a boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. It’s not like that at all.” She guzzled more Coke.

“What’s it like, then?”

“I don’t know. Casual.”

“Casual.”

“As in we barely even know each other.”

“Hey, listen, I’m thrilled for you,” Lauren said, not buying a word of it. “Just be careful.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean he’s a SEAL. From what I hear, those guys are pretty busy these days, right?”

She was right. And a sour ball formed in Elizabeth’s stomach just thinking about it.

“I’d hate to see you get hung up on some spec ops warrior who’s gone all the time,” Lauren continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—
indulge
and everything. Get with the man. I sure as hell would. Just don’t for fall for him.”

“I’m not.”

“Not unless you have an emotional death wish.”

“W
here are you?”

The sound of Derek’s voice sent a jolt through her, and for an instant she was back in her hotel room with his hands all over her and her bed just inches away.