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She turned in his arms to tell him she’d changed her mind...and he kissed her. His kiss sent streamers of desire rippling through her body, making her toes curl. And just like last night, all rational thought fled.
* * *
Shane reluctantly and surreptitiously slid from beneath the covers, hoping not to wake Carly. But the minute he was gone her eyelids fluttered open. “Where are you going?” she whispered.
The room was dark save for the light Shane had deliberately left on in the bathroom last night, because he’d wanted to see Carly when he made love to her. Because he’d wanted her to see him. To know who was there in bed with her. To understand that “just sex” wasn’t possible for him, no matter what he agreed to.
Carly’s sleepy eyes focused on him, and he wanted nothing more than to fall back into bed with her. But he had commitments he needed to keep. “Home first, if the FBI and the ATF will let me inside,” he explained in a low voice. “I showered last night, but I need a change of clothes this morning, if possible. Then I have a breakfast meeting scheduled for seven-thirty before hitting the Senate floor at nine o’clock.”
She stretched sinuously beneath the covers, and somehow Shane knew it wasn’t for his benefit. Unfortunately. Everything about Carly was unconsciously arousing—even when she’d been impersonating his fiancée in the hospital to get a story, she’d exuded what the French called je ne sais quoi, the indefinable certain something that set some women apart. Carly had it in spades, although she seemed to be largely unaware of it. Sexy? Hell yes. Quietly beautiful in a classy way? Assuredly. But neither of those things held a candle to her charm. She might be a tiger shark when she got her teeth into a story, but getting that story in the first place was due in large part to the charm that came as naturally to her as breathing. She’d be charming the socks off someone in pursuit of a story when she was old and gray—looks had nothing to do with it.
Shane’s thoughts in no way impeded his dressing, so by the time he’d reached this point in his silent assessment he was knotting his tie as he stepped into his loafers. He leaned over and pinned Carly to the bed for a quick kiss. A quick kiss that soon threatened his good intentions to keep to his itinerary no matter what. A bomb scare wouldn’t derail his schedule, but Carly might.
Despite already having taken the edge off his hunger for her earlier this morning, desire came surging back when Carly returned his kiss. He was three heartbeats away from chucking his commitments and sliding back into bed beside her when she turned her head and broke their lips’ connection.
“You have things to do, Marine,” she breathed. “And so do I. Sleeping,” she added. She sighed suddenly, a sound that said he was a temptation she was determined to resist, and her hands gently pushed at his shoulders to remove him from her proximity.
Or to remove her from mine, Shane thought with a stab of humor. He stole one last kiss before heading out of the hotel room.
* * *
As he drove toward the Francis Scott Key Bridge that would take him back to Virginia—tailed by a vigilant FBI agent—Shane’s thoughts returned to the woman he’d just barely managed to leave. He hadn’t wanted to. Temptation and Carly went hand in hand, and he craved her like a chocoholic craved chocolate. Problem was, he didn’t want to be cured.
And he loved the way she called him Marine. It seemed more intimate than calling him Senator, which she’d started out doing. It even seemed more intimate than calling him by his name. He’d been a US Marine for half his life when he’d been forced to accept a medical discharge at age thirty-six, and he still thought of himself as one, even though he’d been retired for five years now. Major Jones—he’d been on the promotion list at the time of the incident, so by law they’d retired him as a lieutenant colonel even though he’d never served as such—had laughingly joked to his baby sister he bled marine blue...right before the explosion that had proved he bled bright red just like every other human being.
Traffic going into DC was starting to build up, even this early in the morning, but Shane was driving against traffic, so he made good time. As he turned off North Fort Myer Drive, out of habit he rubbed the fingers of his left hand against the long white scar on the side of his head. It didn’t hurt anymore. And it was barely visible—if he wore his hair longer, it wouldn’t be visible at all. In fact, if not for the medical discharge, there would have been times he completely forgot about it. But he could not forget he’d never serve as a major again. Or a lieutenant colonel. Colonel. General. Commandant of the Marine Corps. He’d never make his onetime ultimate goal—which he’d only shared with his brother Niall—of serving as one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
