Oh, but she needn’t beg. He intended to see every one of his dreams made into reality. At least that was the plan…
His plan got blown to shit when the muted jangle of a ringing phone interrupted the sound of Penni’s catching breaths and little cries of ecstasy on the brink. He tried to ignore the disturbance, pistoning his hips faster, harder, determined to—
Ring, ring! Ring, ring!
“Privyet,” a deep voice said in Russian, followed by, “Da. Da, okay.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Dan groaned as he vaulted off the bed and raced over to the far wall. “Today should be named a holiday for fuck-all bad timing,” he whispered right before he switched the devices to record and thumbed down the volume so that Kozlov’s voice was barely audible.
When he turned back to Penni… Aw, hell. The look on her pretty face rated about a nine…no, ten, that was definitely a ten…on the I’m Ready to Explode scale. Join the club—if his dick was any harder, he’d likely pass out. And when she bit her lip, grimacing, he shook his head and chuckled silently. It was either that or break down crying.
“Sorry,” she mouthed, pushing to sit crisscross-applesauce style in the middle of the mattress. With hungry eyes, Dan watched her pull her sweater down over her stomach. Then she tried to smooth the hair his fingers had done a number on during their all-too-brief bout of…whatever it was. Heavy petting and dry humping, he supposed, although he couldn’t remember the last time he’d indulged in either. Suzie Sheffield in the back of his Camaro after the state championships his senior year in high school came to mind.
Trying to shake off the lust that was riding him hard—Ha! As if!—he bent to grab his discarded sweater. Ow! Sonofa—If Penni was going to be around for a while, he should definitely invest in some jeans that were a bit looser in the crotchal region. Refusing to think about the look on her face after she’d taken the sweater off him, he tugged the garment over his head. Of course, not thinking about that look was hard to do while he threaded his arms into the sleeves and glanced at her only to discover it was plastered all over her face. Again.
He swallowed the groan perched at the back of his throat and cursed Fate or Destiny or Father Time or whoever the hell else was responsible for fuck-all bad timing as he pulled the sweater’s hem down over his chest and stomach.
* * *
Well now, that’s a crying shame…
The thought drifted like fall leaves on a cool breeze through Penni’s overheated brain as she watched Dan pull down his sweater. When he’d tugged it over his head, it’d caused his sandy hair to riot boyishly. And then it had slid over his shoulders, covering the traditional heart-and-arrow tattoo that was inked over his bulging right deltoid muscle. But neither of those things were as heartbreaking as watching the wool cover six-pack abs and the intricately scrolled letters of the tattoo just below his belly button. No Guts, No Glory the bold, black design read.
And that’s the flat-out truth.
If there was one thing Dan “The Man” Currington had in spades, it was guts. Though, as far as she could tell, he didn’t do the things he did—putting himself in danger, taking on the treacherous jobs—because he was chasing glory. Quite the contrary. During The Assignment, she’d overheard a phone conversation he’d had with someone. “When Uncle Sam comes calling, it’s our job to answer. And when the work is done, we don’t take a bow.”
Those words, his words, had struck her, reminding her of the time she asked her father why anyone would decide to become a police officer, decide to walk that thin blue line day after day for crappy hours and even crappier pay. Her dad had explained it simply—as had been his way. “Some men crave the adrenaline. Others get off on the power.” And then he’d said, “But sometimes, Penni-pie, once in a blue moon, a man is simply born a gladiator. A defender. It’s in his blood. Stamped on his DNA. And when you find yourself in the presence of a man like that, you know it. You can feel it.”
Her father had been one of those men. And for a long time, she wasn’t sure she’d ever meet another. But then she’d met Dan. When she’d heard him say those words, she’d known that besides being big and beautiful, he was also a battle-hardened gladiator, a defender, a hero in every sense of the word. And she’d been trying to have her way with that big, beautiful, battle-hardened hero ever since.
“Winterfield…”