“Not now, Myla,” he warns, his grip on my arm holding steady all the way back to my office. “Get your things,” he instructs as we enter, “and don’t ask me anything else yet.”
I do as he says, while he grabs his computer, then directs me out of the office, and the instant we’re outside, he shackles my arm again and leads me to the passenger door of the Mustang, where he helps me inside.
The instant he joins me, I twist around to face him. “What is going on?” I demand.
“Give me a minute, sweetheart,” he says, revving the engine and putting us into drive, multi-tasking to dial his phone. “Are we sure he wasn’t there?” he asks whoever answers, almost immediately. He listens a minute. “No,” he replies. “He wanted Myla to do something for him I didn’t let her do.” Another pause. “Yes. Right. That’s the plan.” Another pause. “Are we sure he isn’t at the hotel? Just be fucking sure.” He ends the call.
“Is he in the city?” I ask.
“We don’t think so,” he says, “but we can’t be certain.” He stops at a light. “We’re going to have a conversation before this night is over about what happened back there.”
I brush away his anger, focusing on the real threat. “He’s going to be furious.”
“Good,” he says. “Then maybe he’ll get his ass here where we need him.”
“The FBI is involved now” I argue. “They aren’t ready for the full outreach yet.”
“They have an emergency plan,” he says. “They can be ready if it means ending this.”
“What if he just decides to kill you for defying him?”
“He won’t.”
I twist around to look at him. “You don’t know that.”
“Calculated risks are necessary. I just took one.”
I shut my eyes and face forward, inside a Mustang that might not be spinning out of control, but I sure feel like we are.
***
Kyle
To say that I am pissed at Myla trying to sacrifice herself again is an understatement. We walk into the hotel room, and I head into the bedroom while she takes off for the living area. I dump her briefcase and my computer, and tell myself to calm the fuck down before I go after her, but fail in my effort. I pursue, catching her arm before she reaches the living area and push her against the wall, my legs framing hers.
“You will never do that again,” I growl. “You are not disposable. You are not porn.”
“And yet, you just put yourself on the assassination block? How is that different?” She grabs my jacket. “How is that different? You tell me to trust you. You tell me you aren’t letting me go, but then you invite a bullet to the head.”
My fingers slide under her hair, my hand wrapping the back of her neck to pull her mouth to mine. “I’m not letting you go,” I say, my mouth slanting over hers, my tongue stroking against hers in a hot, possessive claiming I don’t even try to tame. “He doesn’t get to kiss you.” My hand slides to her backside, melding her to me. “He doesn’t get to touch you. And he damn sure doesn’t get to see you in fucking lingerie. The only reason I get those things is because you let me, because you choose me.”
“I do choose you, Kyle.”
“Then no more him, ever. Say it.”
“No more,” she whispers.
“No more ever,” I say.
“No more ever,” she repeats, and we linger there, breath mingling, heat flaring between us until we are suddenly kissing, both of us wild with need. I barely remember how my zipper is lowered, how the thick pulse of my erection is between her legs and her panties are in my hand, torn away in a hard yank. But I damn sure remember lifting her and pressing inside her. Holding her against the wall and thrusting deep, hard, fast, the soft, sexy sounds she’s making, the way she clings to me, driving every move and pump of my body. She drives me wild, and it’s her who takes us over the edge, her body spasming around me, pulling me into release, taking me there the way she takes everything I am, and I can’t seem to find a reason that’s a problem.
When it’s over, we melt into each other, our breathing slowing, and I carry her into the bathroom of my bedroom, sitting her on the sink, and handing her a towel. Neither of us speak as we clean up, but once she’s tossed the towel, I press her knees together and settle my hands on top of them. “Myla,” I say softly. “I don’t want this for you anymore.”
“This is bigger than the two of us,” she says. “We both know that. That’s why you put yourself on the line. That’s why I might have to as well.”
“You’ve done your share. It’s time for someone else to do theirs.”
“And that’s you? You die instead of me? That’s unacceptable and if I have to take some damn pictures to protect you, me, and other people, it’s nothing compared to what I’ve endured.”
“Sweetheart-” My phone starts to ring and I reach for it. “Fuck. I have to-”
“I know. Get it.”
I glance down at the caller ID to find a masked number, turning away from Myla to answer. “This is Kyle.”