She kicked off one shoe then the other, and they tumbled along the carpet.

He palmed both tempting mounds at once, and she arched into his touch with a gasp. Slowly, gently, he ma.s.saged her, enjoying the way her head dug back into the pillow. She kept her arms over her head as if pinned by invisible cords, her fingers flexing open and closed.

Trailing his hands until he stopped at the top of her jeans, he slid the b.u.t.ton free, exposing another inch of tantalizing flesh. And, ah, what a time to notice her belly b.u.t.ton ring, a simple gold rod offering a hint of the old rebellious Shay. No way could he resist leaning to press his mouth against her there, clicking the metal against his teeth with his tongue.

She rocked her hips. "You're really good at that, you know."

"I'm giving it my best effort." He glanced up at her as he took her zipper between his teeth and pulled . . .

Down.

Down.

Down until her pants parted and his chin rested right against her sweetest curve of all. Her fingers stretched straight and open and taut. A flush swept her body. He would have liked to see her brown eyes open and locked on him, pupils widening with pleasure. Still, she appeared so intensely in the moment.

A total turn-on.

He tugged her jeans along her hips, nuzzling briefly against her soft curls. The scent of her threatened to send him over the edge, and he shifted his attention to peeling her pants off her legs. A tantalizingly long task as he worked his way down her killer gams.

She kicked her jeans and panties free, bowing up off the bed and kneeling to reach for his belt buckle.

Again he smiled. "Let me."

She hesitated, then leaned back onto her elbows to watch. She eye stroked him with appreciation as firmly as if her hands roved his body. Words seemed scarce, but he was so busy taking in the nuances of seeing her, smelling her, feeling her, his brain lacked the capacity for much else.

Then his pants were gone, and he worked his way back up her body, nibbling her hip, down to her thigh. She'd mentioned enjoying hiking and camping, and the exercise showed in her long, defined muscles. He knew well the power of her legs locked around him.

He skimmed his mouth down to the back of her knee, nudging between her legs with his shoulders. After a second of hesitation, she parted for him. Caressing her calf, he crooked her leg to give him access to her pretty ankles, pink-tipped toes, and yes, spreading her wider for his journey back up. Nip after nip he retraced his path. He worked his way along creamy skin, past her knee to the inside of her thigh.

His mouth met slightly raised lines.

He opened his eyes and saw pale scars, thin striations faded by time until they were barely visible. But he didn't question for a minute what they represented, what she'd done to herself.

She tensed against him. He buried his face harder against her in counterpressure to the pain that had led her to do this to herself. He stroked her carefully until she relaxed again.

G.o.d, it ripped him up inside thinking of how much she'd suffered, too. After the night Tommy died, they'd never spoken again. Shay had dropped out of Civil Air Patrol. They'd gone to different high schools for senior year. He'd never called.

And here they were seventeen years later, even hotter for each other.

He kissed her intimately, as close as he could be to her, letting her know how much he wanted her, past and present. Her sigh spurred him.

Her head flung back and her hips arched. He drew in her scent, wanted more and took it, stroking and laving. Her moans ma.s.saged him higher, harder, coaxing him on because he wouldn't stop until she found her completion, even though holding back was just about killing him.

She gripped his shoulders, her fingernails digging in deeper, insistent. Her groans swelled, her hips writhing against the anchoring pressure of his hold. He teased his tongue and teeth against her until her whole body went taut, bowing upward with her uninhibited release. Moans built to cries, louder and louder until she flung her wrist across her mouth to m.u.f.fle the sweet sounds.

He stayed with her, working every last ounce of pleasure for her, even though his body throbbed with a driving need to be inside her. With a final sigh, she sagged back, and he crawled up her body. Her deft hands slid a condom over him before he could even think to mention it, much less reach for the packet. He covered her, entered her.

And he didn't want to leave.

Shay didn't want to leave the hotel bed and face the uncertain world outside.

She kept her eyes off the clock and on a magnificently naked Vince. The alarm had been set. Egyptian cotton sheets tangled around their bare bodies, and Buster slept at their feet.

Perfection? Maybe.

Scary? Definitely.

Her head resting on Vince's phoenix, she toyed with his dog tags. Tink, tink, tink. "I wish we could stay here for a week."

"That can be arranged." He trailed a rose from the vase up and down her spine.

Her stomach flat-out pitched. "First, I have to get my life back together." She would much rather focus on Vince's hard-muscled body and the pleasure they could bring each other. "I never realized how difficult it could be to replace everything in a wallet. I'm definitely going to have a plan B backup in the future."

He teased the rose over her nose, the sweet perfume mingling with the musky scent of s.e.x. A heady combination. "Are you planning on getting mugged on a regular basis?"

"You know where I work. It's a possibility."

He skimmed the rose between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, back and forth. "I would offer you money, but I suspect you wouldn't take it."

"You're correct." Especially not now that they'd slept together and with the possibility of that week in bed together looming.

"Why not ask your parents for a loan?"

"I'd rather sleep in a tent." She cringed at even the thought. Her brother was the one who asked for money in his constant quest for another degree. Not her. She had her own realm for disappointing them.

He set the rose aside on her pillow. "You really do resent your father that much?"

She rolled to her back, studying the crown molding bordering the ceiling. "We have our problems."

"I'm surprised you didn't end up in the air force, too. We may have only spent six months together in Civil Air Patrol, but you really were a first-rate flyer."

She turned her head on the pillow and faked a smile. "I was only there for the boys."

He grazed his knuckles along her jaw as if to soften his words. "Stupid me, I thought you were there to get your father's attention."

Her smile pinched as tight as her chest. "If that had been true, I would be flying right now, don't you think?"

"You're following in your old man's footsteps, whether you realize it or not."

"I'm a nurse, and he's some spooky agent type." Both helping teenagers. Duh. At least Vince wasn't gloating.

His cobalt blue eyes deepened. "It's dangerous for your father if you talk about those things."

She traced the edges of his goatee. "And for you?"

"I'm just a plain old zipper-suited sky G.o.d." He kissed the inside of her palm.

"Like my dad." She tugged the magenta duvet to ward off a fresh wash of gooseflesh.

"I know your parents had a rough time, but military members have successful relationships. You have to realize that."

Not according to what Smooth had told her.

"If so, they must be hiding from me." And she was certainly smart enough to realize they weren't just speaking in the hypothetical here. They were testing the scary waters for something that went beyond spending a week in bed together. "Maybe some people have a special connection that survives the stress." Crushing stress. "Maybe sometimes even the kids make it through. But G.o.d, Vince, we live in a world where happily ever after is growing scarcer by each statistical poll. Your career heaps on circ.u.mstances that make the odds even slimmer. Why would I want to set myself up for that kind of failure?"

"Do you have so little faith in yourself?"

She flinched outside and in. "Don't try to shrink me. I've already spent years in therapy."

His searing blue eyes immobilized her. "Because of the suicide attempt?"

"You heard that back at the center, huh?" She twisted her watch around without thinking, then noticed his attention drawn to her wrist.

"Tough to miss." He stroked the outside of her thigh, sliding gently inward over her faded scars.

Why hadn't she told him from the start? This conversation hurt so much more with her emotions as tender as her well-loved body. "I don't believe in making excuses for what I did. I spent too many years blaming other people for my unhappiness."

"Why were you unhappy?"

"For the same reasons a lot of teenagers here are unhappy. My parents were splitting. My dad was messed up from too much war time. School sucked." She'd thought she was in love with someone who didn't love her back. "Things that happen to kids every day and thankfully most of them don't cut themselves to ease the pain."

"And some do." His palm rested warm and steady over those faded scars. "What brought you back from the edge?"

"I went to counseling in college. It took a while, though. I wish I had some huge story of a lightning strike or some such, but finding peace snuck up on me in a subtler way."

"Tell me." He squeezed her leg. "I want to hear."

Could she tell him what she hadn't shared with anyone other than a grandmotherly therapist? Her only other option was running scared, hiding from relationships for another decade or so.

Time to talk. "I was having a bad day, a really bad day my senior year of college. The pressure had mounted, planning for real life on my own. I had decided to give up."

Each breath grated on its way in and out, but she pushed past it. "But I wanted to make sure I had everything in order. I was going through my mail to be sure all my bills were paid, and I came across this brochure. It was for a hiking weekend that doubled as a treasure hunt." The intensity of that moment, the soft voice inside urging her to live still overwhelmed her years later. "Suddenly I absolutely had to go on that trip."

"Ah . . ." His intense, strong features softened with understanding. "That's why you had all the hiking stuff in your trunk."

She shrugged, smiling. "I'm a nature junkie. A weekend in the wild levels me out."

"Like a road trip for me."

Wow, she hadn't expected it to be this easy. "You understand."

He gathered her against his chest, her leg sliding between his thick thighs. "Sounds like we have hobbies that could blend, biking until our b.u.t.ts go numb, then pitching a tent where the impulse strikes us."

Her breath hitched halfway down her throat. He painted a beautiful picture full of possibilities. She'd tackled rebuilding her life and conquered those hurdles alone. Totally alone and comfortable in that.

Being with Vince and the feelings he stirred were anything but comfortable.

Lewis stared out the hotel window overlooking Lake Erie. Such a peaceful view.

And n.o.body had a clue what would slide through those waters tomorrow while everyone had their eyes glued to that congressional hearing.

Excitement filled him until his perfectly pressed clothes felt too tight. He was only hours away from his first seven-figure payoff and the status that coup would bring him.

He whipped the curtains closed again, sealing himself in the room for a rare moment where he didn't have to worry about letting his roots show. He peeled back the bandage he wore to hide his own gang tattoo.

A skull stayed inked on his forearm with a snake slithering through the open eye and mouth.

Flexing muscles, he made the serpent come alive with each twitch. He should have the marking removed, and he would. Someday.

His boss actually knew about his past, had in fact hired him because of it and the skills he brought to the table in understanding gang politics. Of course his boss had no clue he wasn't "reformed" after all. He'd merely cleaned up his appearance and educational credentials enough to exist in polite society where he had access to a gold mine of information. His boss called him a real mover and shaker.

The man had no idea.

Lewis pivoted away from the window altogether, restless for this night to pa.s.s, eager to see his twofold plan come together. Threats to the congressional hearing had the authorities in an uproar. The perfect distraction for a special shipment to glide through the Port of Cleveland: an experimental brand of compact explosives, MP-5 9 mm sub-machine guns, and a small cache of handheld surface-to-air missiles perfect for popping a civilian airplane during takeoff or landing.

The guns would go to local gangs. The rest? Sold to terrorists in the U.S. who were having trouble outfitting their a.r.s.enals.

He dropped into a chair and watched the numbers change on the clock. Sure, he dealt with terrorists, but purely on a financial level. Through his gang connections, he provided what they could no longer smuggle into the U.S. Growing gangs from major cities to midsize towns expanded the possibilities for moving illegal goods in and out of the country.

And who said the entrepreneurial spirit was dead?

The best part of all? Webber's suicidal distraction during the hearing provided the added bonus of ridding the world of a major thorn in his side. He stared at the wall as if he could pierce through and get directly to Shay Ba.s.sett now.

As of tomorrow, there would be one less "crusader" in his way.

EIGHTEEN.

"You need a spotlight to do this."

Shay's voice drifted over his shoulder as they stood in the shower with her shaving his head. Something he'd never let a woman do for him before. Something he found surprisingly erotic.

She slid the razor over his head slowly, following her other hand along to make sure of a smooth shave. Hot water sluiced off her and around to him. Steam filled the Swedish shower cubicle.

He sensed an urgency in her that gave him pause. Hopefully it was nothing more than nerves about her upcoming congressional presentation.

His instincts told him otherwise.

Reaching behind, he clasped her wrist and turned to pluck the razor from her hand. "Thank you."

"But I'm not done."

"Next time." And there would be a next time, if he had anything to say about it. He dipped to kiss her quiet.