Ava would rather go head-to-head with the Russian Bratva than dress up and mingle with the Washington elite.
They drove to the CNU office in Quantico so Dominic could finish the reports and paperwork arising from the prison siege.
She’d checked the documents to reassure herself there was no mention of her name, nor any reference to the Resident Agency where she usually worked. In deference to the Witness Protection Program the FBI had simply labeled her a “trainee negotiator.” Aside from the personnel at CNU and the few Hostage Rescue Team agents she’d talked to at the prison no one knew her identity. She’d spoken to her family and they’d supported her decision to save the warden from being raped by Gino Gerbachi. They’d also promised to take extra precautions, but the community was tight-knit, and they didn’t exactly list their addresses in the phone book. Anonymity was their friend. It had been from the moment the mob had murdered her father in cold blood.
Once she and Dominic left Quantico, they headed to DC for the party, getting caught in nightmare traffic, and arriving with not a lot of time to spare. Ava scrambled into the shower, washed and conditioned her hair, scrubbed herself clean and shaved with Dominic’s razor.
Then she blow-dried her hair and pulled on her panties, but there was no way she could wear a bra with the almost-backless, low-cut, lace and chiffon, lavender gown Mallory Rooney had dropped off.
Rooney also thought to bring shoes, jewelry, a purse that Ava could fit her Glock in and a few items of makeup.
Ava would have to remember to buy the woman flowers because she’d been dreading the idea of this party for many reasons but mostly this one. She didn’t know what was appropriate to wear in these situations and certainly couldn’t afford clothes like this. It demonstrated exactly how different she and Dominic were in regards to everything outside work—and if they ever had a real relationship, they wouldn’t be allowed to work together either.
Which left them with what? Sex?
She could not complain about the sex.
Maybe tonight would be a test for them both. Or simply a reminder that no matter how compatible they were in bed they had nothing else in common.
She shimmied into the dress and managed to pull up the zipper. It had a bit of a Grecian flavor to it, which she liked. She was a little unnerved by the fact her breasts were almost naked, the upper slope concealed only by a scrap of lace. She adjusted it slightly, but it didn’t make it any less revealing. At least her nipples were unavailable to the viewing public.
She twisted to look at the back in the mirror. The cut of the cloth draped to only a couple of inches above a ribbon tied at her waist. There was a damn train, which looked amazing but would be a bitch to walk in and not trip over.
Dominic knocked on the door. “Five minutes.”
She shot a glare at the door but knew he was no keener to go to the shindig than she was. Maybe less so. Family could be brutal.
She brushed her hair and piled it into the usual bun, making it tidier and tighter than usual, hoping the errant strands behaved for once. It was the best she could do under the circumstances.
She pulled out the makeup and applied eye shadow and some blush and dark eyeliner and mascara. The basics.
Thankfully the lipstick Rooney had supplied was a soft pink rather than a bright scarlet. It felt more like something Ava would actually wear herself.
Ava put on some sparkly earrings and hoped to god they were cubic zirconia rather than diamonds. She ignored the necklace even though it was pretty enough to distract from her boobs. The idea of losing it was too unsettling for Ava’s piece of mind. She couldn’t afford to replace it. If she flashed someone, she’d just have to live with it. If she lost Rooney’s necklace, she’d have to throw herself off the nearest parapet.
Dominic rapped on the door, and she swung it open just as he started to say something.
He blinked twice, and she watched him as he seemed to physically drag his eyes off that titillating edge of the lace.
“Now I really don’t want to go to this party.” His voice was low and gruff and sent a shiver of lust right through her.
All the oxygen in the room vanished, and she found herself taking fast, shallow breaths that never quite satisfied. She flashed back to being naked and writhing on that bed back in Pennsylvania. She squeezed her legs together and felt a tingle of pleasurable awareness.
Then his eyes met hers. “You look incredible.”
Slowly she smiled. “So do you.” God, she wanted to advance on him, rip that crisp, white shirt out of that sinfully sexy, black cummerbund and put her hand down his pants and around the erection growing in those expensive-looking trousers.
His eyes darkened, and his nostrils flared. He took her hand and tugged her after him. “Later. Let’s get this over with first.”
She shivered at the promise in his voice. At the door of the apartment she picked up her silver purse which was large enough to fit her Glock, spare ammo, creds. She carefully slipped into Rooney’s heels.
She and Sheridan were now eye-to-eye, and she could see the hunger battling with duty as he watched her.
“Got your gun?” she asked with a suggestive grin.
He took her hand. “Yes, I’ve got my damn gun.” And then he shocked her by pressing her palm against his hardness and pinning her against the door. He wedged his solid thigh between her legs, and she discovered the value of a train as he drew her right knee up to his hip. His other hand rested on her lower back, pulling her toward him. His lips causing chaos in the pulse of her neck.
“I want to kiss every inch of you.”
And she totally wanted to be kissed.
The buzzer to his swank apartment rang and broke the spell, reminding them they had somewhere to be.