Blue Forever (Men in Uniform) (15 page)

23

Kip took a step into the stateroom, dropping his rucksack and duffel on the floor. What the
hell
did she think she was playing at? Fury simmered in his blood.

DeAnne took a step backward. Her tongue peeked out to wet her lower lip. “Kip. It’s not what—”

“So that’s not a box of condoms?” he interrupted silkily.

Her throat worked. “Um . . . I . . .”

“Planning a party? With Walker?” He’d seen how they smiled at each other.

She gave a little gasp. “No! I’m not— We’re not—”

Her denial gave him a second of relief, then shifted his heat in another direction.

“Who then? Me?”

She glanced down at the box and nibbled her lip. The silence stretched.

Enough
. He made up her mind for her. He shut the door behind him and shot the latch. The loud click of the lock made her jump.

“Nervous?”

She licked her lips again. The unconscious gesture was driving him nuts.
He
wanted to lick her lips. To taste that pink tongue.

“Should I be?” She swallowed. “Nervous?”

“Never.” The word was just short of a growl.

This was such a bad idea. The woman did not want him. Not for more than a quick fuck, anyway. A little forbidden spice in her boring life.

He didn’t care. He could work with that. His cock was already hard for her.

“Okay.” But he could see her hands tremble.

“So what are you waiting for?” he growled.

She blinked a couple of times. “Um . . .”

“Take off your clothes, DeAnne.” He curled the corner of his lip. “Or do you want me to do it for you?”

Her eyes widened. Her fingers convulsed, crushing the box.

In a swift move, he closed the narrow distance between them and slipped the box from her grasp. One-handed, he flipped it open, fanned the contents onto the narrow bunk, and tossed the empty box to the floor. For several seconds they regarded each other, breath quickening, blood heating. Then he reached out and with the tips of his fingers drew the sleeves of her outfit down over her shoulders.

She shivered under his touch.

“I want you naked,” he murmured. “Now.”

After a short hesitation, her hand went to the front buttons of her colorful blouse. Her finger toyed with the top one. “I want you, too, Kip. But you know this isn’t going to solve anything, right?”

He raised a brow. “There’s nothing to solve, princess.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head and discarded it. “We both know what this is.” He eyed her breasts under the thin cotton fabric. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples had spiraled to tight points, and he could imagine the rest of her body tightening and slickening, readying itself for him. “And we both want it.”

“Yes, but . . .” Her voice was soft, almost pleading. With herself?

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her face close to his, held his lips a tremble away from hers. “But what, DeAnne?”

He could taste her breath on his tongue.
Wine, piquant spices, Coca-Cola
. And hot, hot desire.

“Nothing.” It was barely a whisper.

She slowly undid the buttons of her top, one by one.

He was salivating. He wanted his mouth on her breasts. But he made himself wait. He wanted her shivering with need. He wanted her begging. He wanted her out of her mind for want of him.

As he was for her
.

Her top drifted to the floor. A blush of color tinged the pale skin above her lush breasts. A low rumble of approval surfaced from deep within him.

Perfection
.

“Now the skirt,” he ordered, his voice boots on gravel. His cock was a ramrod, and waiting was pure, sweet torture. He ached to thrust inside her and pound into her until she screamed his name.

But he was determined to take it slow. If this was to be their last time, it was going to be a time they’d both remember for the rest of their lives.

His free hand sought the tie of her sarong skirt and pulled it so the bow dissolved and the knot loosened, sending the gossamer fabric down her legs to pool at her feet. He could feel the filmy silk of her panties slide sensually against the denim of his jeans.

He held her head in his grasp so she couldn’t move her face away, and he didn’t want to relinquish that power. So instead of removing her panties, he slid his free hand down the front of them, seeking her slick heat.

His fingers found her and she moaned softly, her body undulating against his hand. He watched her eyes as he touched her, sliding his fingers around the center of her need. Circling, zeroing in. She was hot and wet,
damn, so wet
, and he could feel her pulse going out of control as he coaxed her body to yield to the pleasures he was giving her. He dipped his finger into her, then another, pushing them deep, deep inside.

She moaned breathily, and moved her face infinitesimally, so their lips brushed.

“No.” He turned slightly aside. He didn’t want to give her that particular pleasure yet. But when she mewled in disappointment, he let her kiss his jaw and his cheek and his neck, drawing her tongue over his stubbled skin to taste him.

It was killing him not to taste her back.

He swung their bodies around, and backed her up against the stateroom door, pinning her against it with his chest and thighs. He pressed his thumb to her and worked her flesh to a frenzy of desire, watching the conflicting emotions and the raw sexual need play across her face like a kaleidoscope.

And he realized with profound, blinding insight that he wanted to see that look of desire on her face over and over and again, for years to come. To experience for the rest of his life the searing, overwhelming passion he felt for this woman.

“Kip,” she cried, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her breasts rubbing skin to skin against his bare chest with an unbearably sensual friction. “Kip. Kip. Oh, Kip.”

He shoved his knee between her legs and spread them wide, opening her to him fully.

“Come for me, princess,” he commanded, low and gritty.

She cried his name once more, then her eyes closed and he felt her body go rigid, convulsing into the onrushing tempest of her climax.

He kept at it until the sounds of her pleasure quieted, and the quivering ceased. Then he lifted her limp body in his arms and laid her on the bunk, scattering the small foil packets he’d strewn there earlier.

In seconds he had his boots and jeans off, and a packet ripped in two.

He lowered his body onto hers, and whispered in her ear, “You can fight it all you want, princess, but you’re mine. You’re mine now, DeAnne, and you’ll always be mine.”

She gazed up at him, her blue eyes tide pools overflowing with emotion. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s what I’m so afraid of.”

24

“You did
what
?”

Darcy cringed at Quinn’s outburst. She’d waited for a while to tell him about the room switch, just in case she’d been wrong about DeAnne and the major. She hadn’t been.

“It just made more sense this way. Llowell and DeAnne clearly have something going on.”

“That is beyond unprofessional.” Quinn slashed a hand through his golden hair. “Did you even bother to
ask
if they wanted to bunk together?”

“Considering he went in there over two hours ago and neither of them has come out yet, I assume the arrangement is acceptable.”

She turned back to the laptop she’d been keeping her eye on, waiting for a ping to tell her Captain Romanov had planted the thumb drive on the Chinese server. His diplomatic guest tour of the Yulin Naval Base had been scheduled to begin over an hour ago, and run until four o’clock, giving him a good three-hour window. The submarine was transiting just under the surface to allow the radar and satellite communications array to poke up out of the water.

“Besides,” she added, “after two days and nights of living off the land, they’re probably thrilled to have a real bed. Even if it is only wide enough for a skinny swab.”

Quinn made an exasperated noise. “You are beyond the pale, Zimmerman.”

It was never a good sign when Bobby Lee called her by her last name. Darcy called nearly everyone by their last name. Old habit. But Quinn, being a good ol’ Bama boy, wasn’t usually that formal. Unless he was pissed off.

Thankfully, she was saved from further verbal flogging when Walker and Jaeger trooped into the wardroom, where the team had once again spread out their equipment.

Quinn shot her a look, eyes flashing, that plainly said,
we’re not done here, woman
.

God
, he turned her on.

He could yell at her all he wanted, but she knew he’d be the first one to get naked later, when they were alone. Sharing a bunk thanks to her.

Strolling in, Walker was smiling and for once Jaeger didn’t look too somber, so she figured it had gone well down in the torpedo room.

“Find everything you need down there?” she asked them.

“Oh, yeah,” Walker said. “The equipment the navy didn’t already have, Bridger had sent over. This is going to be fun.”

“Yep,” Jaeger said, shocking her with his cheerful verbosity. Though his expression didn’t change.

She smiled back. “Great. I just hope the plan actually works.” She eyed the laptop. Still no ping.

“It’ll work,” Walker said confidently. “As long as Nikolai gets you into that server so we can retrieve the AUV data and test schedule.”

“I assume Commander Bridger wouldn’t have sent him in if he didn’t think he could do it,” she said.

“Bridger doesn’t know him. I’d trust Nikolai with my life—and have—but he’s a sub driver, not a spy,” Walker said with a worried frown. “I just hope nothing goes wrong.”

“He’ll get it done,” Quinn said. “If he doesn’t, we’re back to square one and he knows it.”

“Let’s hope,” Darcy said. “Once the thumb drive is in place, we’re good to go.”

She had been one of STORM’s top computer specs since joining the company, and thanks to her generous budget for equipment and training—and her God-given talent, thankyouverymuch—she knew tricks that would make most Silicon Valley and Beltway geeks lie down and weep. She had no doubt she could penetrate the Chinese system once Romanov had gotten her past the firewall.

The only really tricky part would be remaining undetected as she navigated through the files to get the intel they needed. Not knowing the Chinese language might prove a handicap. She could inadvertently trip alarms.

Hmm. Maybe DeAnne could help with that. Walker’d said she was fluent in Chinese. It was worth asking her, anyway.

“Say.” She glanced at Quinn as something else occurred to her. “Weren’t we supposed to turn Ms. Lovejoy over to Captain Asshole? How come she’s still with us?”

Quinn shrugged. “No way to get her back to
Impeccable
once the sub intercepted us. Besides, there’s no need for anyone to interrogate her, now that we got the major off the island.”

She supposed that was true. Still, having a civilian along on a sensitive, potentially dangerous operation was not STORM’s usual modus operandi. She had a feeling there was more to it.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked him, looking up with a scowl.

But Quinn had already left.

* * *

Kip came awake with a start and had to blink a few times to remember where he was. And with whom.

DeAnne
. They were spooned together, back to front, and she was sound asleep. He didn’t blame her. He’d driven her hard these past couple of days. And their lovemaking had been . . . intense. He wished to God he could stay right where he was and sleep for about a hundred years, but there were things he needed to do.

Such as demand to know what the hell was going on.

A submarine? Seriously? What was this STORM team planning to do, blast the damn AUV out of the water with a torpedo? He couldn’t see what that would do, other than delay the inevitable. And why the hell would they need to kidnap
him
to accomplish that? He knew squat about submarines, AUVs, or anything else underwater. He was a solid ground kind of soldier.

He slid quietly out of bed, grabbed the clothes from the duffel bag that Quinn had given him after telling him they’d be bunking together, and slipped out of the stateroom. In the matchbox shower he broke the rules and, after soaping up, let the hot water run over his body for a full three minutes.
Pure heaven
. Not the same kind of heaven as making love with DeAnne, of course, but close.

He thought of her slumbering peacefully in his bunk after giving herself to him so fully, and he almost broke down and went back for more. He’d never get enough of that.

What had happened to his famous discipline?

Over the fucking cliff, that’s what. Smashed to bits with the SUV on the morning he’d met her. He hadn’t been the same since, that was for damn sure.

He thought about the unsettling insight he’d had while making love to her. That he wanted to throw away the whole friends-with-benefits relationship idea. That he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. Just her.

Did he truly want that?

The rest of his life meant a commitment.

A commitment meant marriage.

And marriage meant . . .

Having to confront his family.

And deal with the trust fund.

The whole scenario sent him into a blind panic.
No way
. He’d lived this long without his snooty family and their precious money, and he had no intention of changing that now.

He shut off the tap with a vicious twist and gulped down a steadying breath, shaking the water from his hair and eyes like an angry dog. Even after all this time, recalling the condescension on his father’s face after confessing his dream of becoming a photographer still had the power to flay his soul.

It wasn’t the photographer thing that made him so mad. It was the condescension. The derision of his dream. As though his father hadn’t believed his only son capable of doing anything meaningful on his own, without the influence of his powerful family name behind him. Let alone succeeding at it. His father hadn’t deemed such a lowly artistic endeavor as taking photos worthy of the Llowell family scion’s efforts, and refused even to consider the possibility.

It was his way or the highway. As it always had been with his father, and his grandfather, and all the fathers before them.

Thus the Llowell trust fund that he would be forced to inherit upon marriage, and the pressure to spend a lifetime managing and increasing it.

Kip had chosen the highway, and hadn’t looked back. Little had they known that ironclad clause would be Kip’s escape hatch, rather than the ideal way to keep him tied to their purse strings, and ensure the family name continued.

The idea of caving in now went against every cell in his body.

He’d just have to figure out something else to do about DeAnne. Marriage was simply not an option. He did not want to fall under his family’s influence again. Because it would happen. That would be inevitable. All that money would need to be channeled, and he knew himself too well to think he could just ignore his responsibilities, however unwanted and unwelcome. Which would be fine if his family—his father—weren’t so damn controlling. He would no doubt want to tell Kip exactly how to run the trust, what to spend the money on. And if he didn’t go along with the family’s plan, there’d be hell to pay. It wasn’t worth it. Kip hated being dictated to. Being marginalized and condescended to. It infuriated him.

Which reminded him all too vividly of his present situation—being manipulated, lied to, and given no choice in his own fate.

He dried himself off, got dressed, and stalked toward the ladder to the upper deck, ready to confront the STORM commander about his role in their operation.

And he was in no mood to take any shit from anybody.

He shot up the metal rungs and stormed into the wardroom, which had been taken over as mission central.

“All right, Quinn,” he gritted out. “I want to know what this operation is all about. And I want to know now.”