He thrust a hand to the back of her neck, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss, while his other hand continued stroking her breasts. He slipped a finger under one cup of her lacy bra and caressed her nipple. It hardened under his touch, and he rolled the tiny bud between two fingers, eliciting another moan from Lana.
His control continued to wither away. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything except the feel of Lana’s warm body straddling him, the sweet and eager swirls of her tongue as she nearly devoured his mouth with hot, breathless kisses.
He was on fire. Just like the night in the hotel, he was powerless to stop the heat shooting through him, the rigid set of his muscles, tight with anticipation. He craved this woman, his need for her so fierce and shattering he didn’t know what to make of it.
But it made him uneasy enough to pull away.
“We can’t do this,” he said hoarsely.
Lana blinked. Her lips were moist, parted sexily, and her breasts still filled his palms. “What…” She blinked again, and then, as if snapping out of a trance, she scrambled off his lap.
“Oh, my God,” she blurted as she fumbled around on the bedspread for the sweater she’d discarded. “What am I doing?”
He was asking himself the same question. He was thirty-eight years old, for Pete’s sake, not a horny teenager anymore, yet whenever Lana was around, he couldn’t seem to control his raging hormones.
What was it about this woman that got to him this way? She was too young for him. Too sweet and fragile. Too good.
“Delta!” Le Clair’s sharp voice outside the closed door had him shooting to his feet.
It was the perfect excuse he needed to get out of this room, to get away from Lana Kelley before he did something incredibly insane. Like succumb to temptation.
Waiting for his erection to subside, he cast a repentant glance in Lana’s direction. She was sitting against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands clasped together. Her head lifted to meet his gaze, and the turmoil in her eyes nearly did him in.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” she whispered.
He let out a breath. “I know.” Then he headed out the door, where Le Clair waited for him in the hall.
“How’s the princess?” the boss asked casually.
Deacon bit back his irritation. “She’s fine. Still a little shaken up, but she’ll be all right.”
“Good, because we’re moving out in the morning.”
“What?” he said in surprise.
“It’s too risky to keep her here any longer. We don’t know who that merc may have contacted, though I suspect he was working alone.” Le Clair’s gray eyes narrowed. “Either way, I want you out on the perimeter with the others tonight, just in case the soldier told a few friends.”
“What makes you think he didn’t?”
“Senator Kelley wouldn’t have allowed it,” was the vague response, and then Le Clair was marching off. “Help Tango load up the truck,” he called over his shoulder, already pulling his cell phone from his pocket.
Deacon watched Le Clair go, wariness crawling through him. What the hell was going on here? He wasn’t so concerned with the fact that they were leaving; what worried him was that Le Clair seemed determined to hold on to Lana. This was the time to cut and run. The mercenary’s appearance served as an omen of things to come. Soon the authorities would be beating down the door, and once that happened, they were all screwed. It was evident Lana’s father wasn’t interested in paying the ransom.
So where did that leave Lana?
“Tango,” Deacon called as he stepped onto the porch. He headed for the black pickup truck parked in the clearing, where Tango was hauling a few duffel bags into the cab.
The other man turned at the sound of his name, the scar on his cheek puckering as he frowned. “Yeah?”
Deacon picked up a duffel and approached the truck. “Apparently we’re moving out,” he said.
Tango nodded. “That’s the order.”
Tossing the bag into the truck, Deacon lowered his voice and added, “What the hell is going on here, man?”
“I don’t know.” Tango ran a hand through his dark hair. “But it isn’t good.”
“No kidding.”
There was a long pause, followed by an awkward cough from Tango. “Apparently there’s another team in Montana.”
Deacon raised his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Le Clair let it slip that he’s got men watching the senator. Dude’s hiding out on some ranch.”
“Hiding out? Because he screwed around on his wife?”
Frustration seeped into Tango’s harsh features. “I don’t know what’s going on, bro. But I definitely don’t like it.”
A dour voice sounded from behind. “They want the father to come forward.”
Deacon turned to see Echo approaching. There was a deep crease between the other man’s brows. “I overheard Le Clair talking to someone about it.”
As if his ears had been burning, Le Clair suddenly appeared on the porch, his cell phone glued to his ear. He cast a suspicious look in the direction of the trio, causing Deacon and Tango to bend down and pick up a metal crate filled to the gills with dynamite. Dynamite, for Chrissake. Why did they need all this crap? This had been supposed to be an easy grab-and-wait.