Which she knew sounded crazy. Sure, they’d known each other for months, but it had been distant. Peripheral. Like a star waiting to be wished on.
And yet, McGuire knew her in a way few had. Understood the side her of she’d tried to hide. The one that had brought Cinder to life. That would have been lost if she hadn’t stumbled upon that feed several months ago.
Her darker half.
A plate clattered to the floor in the other room, the loud noise snapping her out of her thoughts. She could worry if she’d lost her mind after they’d brought down Langley and the Herrera cartel. Until then, she’d bleed every drop of love out of what they shared.
Let a glimmer of hope shine through.
Riven grabbed one of McGuire’s shirts, slipped it on, then padded to the door. The hinges creaked as she slivered it open, checking if Patch had made his way over yet before slipping out.
McGuire stood at the stove, dressed in nothing but his boxers. Lean muscles flexed over sun-kissed skin, the low-slung waistband accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist. She leaned against the doorway, admiring the sheer beauty of him when he tensed, tipped his head toward her.
The way he watched her… As if he planned on devouring her, right there in the middle of the room, stole her breath. And she wondered if any man had ever looked at her that way.
If maybe she quieted his demons, too.
McGuire, tsked. “You were supposed to stay asleep until I finished.”
She smiled, making her way over. “I’ll admit, you wore me out, but it’ll take a few more rounds before I sleep through you dropping a plate.”
He chuckled. “Cooking’s never been my strong suit.”
“I lived in a cartel outpost for months. Just having food’s a treat.”
His gaze narrowed as he slid the pans off the heat, closed the scant distance. “Why is it that the more I learn about your undercover assignment, the more I want to throttle whoever sent you in there?”
She relaxed against the counter, staring up at those dark eyes. “It’s not like you don’t have a dozen worse stories for every one of mine.”
He placed his massive arms on either side of her. “But I always had backup. Had my team. Who did you have?”
She blew out an exhausted breath, the truth bubbling free before she had a chance to consider the outcome. “No one.” She tiptoed up, wrapped her arms around his neck. “But I’ve got a team, now. More importantly, I’ve got you. All the rest is ancient history.”
She leaned in, pressed her lips to his. Soft. Coaxing. Allowing him to decide if he wanted to deepen it or just stay like that. He lasted all of five seconds before his hand landed in her hair, fisting it as he tilted back her head, practically crawled inside her.
Riven gave herself over to the moment — to the oil still hissing in the background. The scent of overly strong coffee mixing with the bacon. How his breathing roughened with every passing second, his heart beating wildly against hers.
A quick breath once he’d given her an inch of space, then he lifted her into his arms, turned. A sweep of his arm and everything on the table clattered onto the floor, bouncing along the old wooden planks as he leaned over — placed her in the middle.
He followed her down, kissing her as if it was a mission, taking her back to the edge in under a minute. She reached forhis boxers, managed to shove them over his hips as he kissed her neck, worked his way lower.
A familiar heat burned beneath her skin, every swirl of his hands, his tongue, threatening to pull her under. She slid her fingers through his hair, tugged. McGuire paused, looking up at her across her body, chest heaving, gaze nothing short of lethal.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “McGuire.”
His name.
That was all she managed. All she could say without confessing how far she’d fallen. That somewhere between talking him out of the fray and them walking through the cabin door, she’d given him more than just her heart.
She’d entrusted him with her soul.
His eyes narrowed a moment before he prowled toward her, claimed her mouth, one hand cupping her head, the other tilting her hips — holding her still as he teased her with a hint of penetration before slamming home.
His name tore free on a cry, a ragged, “Yes,” quickly following as he set up a punishing rhythm. Taking her to the brink in a matter of seconds.
The table legs creaked, dishes rattling in the background as he pounded into her, his fingers still entwined in her hair, his breath hot and heavy against her neck. She palmed his back, pulled him closer, her fingernails digging into this skin, probably leaving little dents from the force.
If he minded, he didn’t show it, moving back to her mouth, kissing her as if he’d already forgotten what she tasted like. As if he needed her air to breathe.
