Cover Me (Elite Force #1)(44)
Author: Catherine Mann

He ushered her through the lobby, which doubled as a dining area, tables packed with fisherman tugging off black stocking hats. Walls were crammed with mounted local catches. A stuffed brown bear loomed on its hind legs in a corner.

Five minutes later, he signed the check-in book. Wade collected the key. Neither of them had questioned staying together. The place only had a half dozen rooms, but after this morning’s close call he wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

Waiting beside him, she hooked her thumbs on her backpack straps. “A lot can change in a couple of hours.” She chewed her bottom lip with uncharacteristic nervousness. “After you make your call, there are things I should tell you.”

Yeah, he knew that too well.

This was it. When he had the conversation he knew needed to happen, things between them would change. Call him selfish, but he wanted this chance to be with her.

Once they crossed that line, saying certain things out loud, things would change irrevocably between them. “Sure, but first, I have something to say to you.”

She stepped into the room, easing her backpack onto a split-log bench. “What?”

He carefully placed his own pack beside hers before pivoting back to face her.

“This.” He closed the thick oak door and pressed her to the panel in one smooth move.

Hands bracketing her face, he kissed her. Hard and fast and with all the frustrated energy pent up from a day full of insane twists. They should have been lounging in bed for a lazy week off. He would have used the time wisely to learn every inch of her creamy flesh, to discover the precise location of every erogenous zone.

Instead she’d spent half her day identifying grisly crime scene photos and he was stuck finding out her secrets from OSI investigators. Whatever happened to exchanging phone numbers and astrological signs over drinks?

The day rolled over him. The insanity outside his apartment that morning. How close a crazed killer had been lurking, targeting Sunny. How close Sunny had come to walking away from him.

Tomorrow loomed with a big dark shadow of the unknown. But right here, right now, he had Sunny in his arms.

Her tongue searched his mouth every bit as boldly and thoroughly as he delved into hers. She tunneled her hand between them and unzipped his parka and shoved it from his shoulders and to the floor. A damn good idea. He set to work on her jacket until finally they could press chest to chest. The fullness of her br**sts flattened against him, her curves familiar, enticing, and still entirely too covered up.

Wind howled beyond the curtains, bedside lamps flickering in response, bringing a momentary blink of reason.

He resisted the urge to tear every inch of clothes from her body. “We should slow down.”

“Why?” she gasped, fumbling down the buttons on his uniform.

He covered her hands with his. “Because I don’t want to be an insensitive jackass by taking you against this door.”

“What if I like this door?” She nipped his bottom lip.

Fair enough. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Finesse fell away faster than the rest of their clothes until they stood skin to skin, his hard-on pressing against the warmth of her stomach. He throbbed with restraint, aching to feel her all around him.

He dipped to snag his wallet from his pants and filched a condom. Sunny snatched it from his palm and sheathed him quickly, efficiently, her haste speaking loud and clear of her own impatience.

He thrust into her, the clamp of her body threatening to send him over the edge before he even really got started. His teeth clenched, hard. She kissed along his jaw, rocking her hips in encouragement as she whispered her need against his ear.

The pounding urge to come damn near deafened him, his pulse hammered so loudly in his ears. No doubt, this was going to be over quick, so he needed to work on making it happen fast for her too.

She writhed against him, scoring his shoulders with her close-cut fingernails, her motions jerky and a little frantic. “Quit thinking and start moving. I need… I want… Now…”

Didn’t have to tell him twice.

Tucking an arm under the perfect curve of her bottom, he angled her closer, thrust deeper, faster, driving them both closer and closer until… her shout of completion mingled with his, echoing around the small room along with the crackle of the wood-burning stove, the slap of the tide against icy chunks just beyond their window.

His forehead thunked to rest against the door as he panted and prayed he wouldn’t drop her. His legs weren’t any steadier than his heart rate. When he could trust his arms to work properly again, he scooped her up and carried her to the split-log bed, caribou antlers over the headboard. She reached a limp hand down to sweep aside the patchwork quilt before he placed her in the middle of the mattress and slid in after her.

Now he just needed to wait for her to go to sleep so he could make his call.

***

Flynn swung open the door to the tiny attic room at the so-called bed-and-breakfast. More like a barn-and-breakfast. The small space had sloped ceilings, tucked away on the top floor of the A-frame house. The place was probably set up by the old hunter and his wife who lived here so they could close it off when it wasn’t in use.

But it was warm and safe for Misty. Nothing else mattered.

He tossed his duffel bag and Misty’s suitcase in a corner by the only chair and walked to the wood-burning stove to get some heat moving around. And to take his eyes off the iron bed. Not that he would be using that mattress. He would spend the night on the dinky futon that had been billed as a sofa bed on the website.

Kneeling in front of the stove, he opened the grate to find a preset kindling pile. Quietly, he eyed the room while Misty unpacked things from her bag. It was a house, but it wasn’t. The cabinets weren’t made of wood. They looked like wood but it was a veneer with particle board. The rug under his boots crunched. He reached down to test the texture. Nothing like the natural fibers he was accustomed to. The only things that appeared authentic were the hand-painted nesting dolls beside the bed. They looked like some of the crafts his brother’s wife had her students make in school.

If things in this backwoods room seemed strange, how much more out of place would he be if he left the islands altogether? He didn’t even remember another way of living. His parents had been one of the founding families, coming here from Washington State. His father headed up the village community council and talked about the day Flynn or Ryker would run for election. Not that Ryker had much interest in anything other than smoking weed and sleeping with his wife.