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He replaced the receiver, numb. No, not numb—hurting. He missed Sarah, too.
“Hey, there.” Parker’s voice made him freeze. She was one of the only people who could sneak up on him. “You okay?”
He schooled his face and dashed away the dampness on his cheeks. “Right as rain.” He plastered on a smile before turning to her and throwing an arm around her shoulders, guiding her back to the dinner so she couldn’t scrutinize his face. Her blond hair hung loose, caressing the top of her shoulders and the shirt that matched the emerald shade of her eyes. “What do you fancy to eat tonight?”
She peeked at him, cautious. “You only use a pay phone when you don’t want to be traced.”
“My mobile is dead, luv. Had to call my sister is all.”
“How is she? Everything okay there?”
He steered her toward the table where Rory and Amelia were locked in a googly-eyed stare-down. “Never better. I’m going to hit the loo.” He patted her back and switched direction, tossing a thumb over his shoulder in Rory’s direction. “Need to fortify myself before I have to sit and make small talk with that wanker.”
She pivoted, matching his steps. “You and Rory are friends now, remember?” When he made a face, she leaned in, shoving him against the wall to avoid a rushing waiter with a plate of searing meat for fajitas. The smell clouded the air and his stomach rumbled. When was the last time he’d eaten? Time had become an elusive thing since the arrests of the Concordia Group’s members. Since he’d looked into the eyes of the man who’d shot Jordy. She lowered her voice, eyes twinkling. “I could help you with thefortifying.”
How was it she could make any word sound dirty? Must have been that phone-sex voice that he could never get enough of.
For a trippy moment, while he sunk into her beautiful eyes and wondered how the hell he’d managed to snag such an intelligent, amazing woman, he considered it. In her beguiling gaze, he imagined leading her to the restroom, locking the door behind them, and taking her against the wall.
And then, the unbidden memory of Dr. Montgomery, the resident SFI therapist, shattered that lovely thought.
“Is your cork floating?” she’d asked him that morning. She’d been on her daily walk around the lake; he’d been running.
He’d pulled up, backtracked. “Sorry, what?”
She’d pointed at the lake. “If you were a cork and I tossed you into the water, would you float or sink?”
Sink. By god, he’d sink so fast that he’d barely leave a ripple. “Is this some of your new-age shrink shit?”
“It’s a metaphor for your feelings. If you’re happy, your cork floats. Life is easy and effortless. If you’re not, it sinks. Get it?”
Oh, he did, even without her explanation, and he admired her determination to suck him in. He wasn’t about to be psychoanalyzed, thank you very much. “Trust me, doc.” He’d winked, jogging in place and using innuendo to subvert her query. “My cork is healthy and happy. Just ask Parker.”
Montgomery had refused to take the bait. “If you start sinking, come see me.”
Sinking was a good way to describe what he now struggled with, and her words had been ringing in his head ever since.
Which was why he needed Parker to blot it all out. It turned her on, having sex in public places, probably due to her straight-laced years of research and undercover operations where she never got to be herself. She’d buried that sex-starved femme fatale in a dark hole, keeping herself and others safe by putting her scientific brain on center stage rather than her come-hither eyes and gorgeous body.
He was damn lucky. Incredibly so to be part of Shadow Force International and her team of covert operatives. Without her and the work, without the next mission just around the corner, he would have gone mad. Being entirely focused on hunting down his brother’s killers would have taken him into a hell he would never have escaped from.
But he had, and the only woman who’d ever made him want to live, really live, was staring at him with lust in her eyes. His cork had sunk, but he was clinging to hers. She continued to keep his head above water and on this side of sanity. She was convinced he was human, rather than the mechanical, unfeeling machine underneath his sarcasm and deflection.
She slid closer as a waitress squeezed past, lifting a tray of drinks and a basket of tortilla chips and salsa over their heads. Her body pressed against him, her light vanilla perfume teasing him. “What do you say?”
He grasped her behind the neck and kissed her hard, willing himself to feel anything but the gut-rotting sensation of letting down Sarah and the hollowness eating at him now that the Concordia bastards were never seeing freedom again. Parker sighed into his mouth, slipping her hand down to cup his growing cock through his jeans.
He felt the minute he let go. It was always the same. When she touched him, kissed him, gave herself to him, he stopped being Moe Bouchard, with all his failures and screwups, and was simply a man. There was no expectation beyond giving her pleasure. Making her beg, hearing her moan, bringing her the deepest and rarest kind of satisfaction humans experienced.
He spun them so he pinned her against the wooden slabs of the wall that reeked of fried food and stale beer, gripping her hips. She licked into his mouth, that expert hand of hers squeezing him hard. He thrust against her, deepening the kiss, and she moaned.
He would never tire of that sound, her body softening under him even as his own grew harder, more demanding. Lifting her so her long legs wrapped around his waist, he shifted them down the wall until he could kick open the restroom door and haul her inside.
It cost him her grip around his cock as she clung to him, laughing deep in her throat as he positioned her on the sink ledge, his fingers unzipping her pants so he could slide one then another inside her sweet, slick folds. She was wet and ready. He needed this—needed her—to blot out everything else.
Her laughter caught in her throat as he thrust deeper, rubbing her clit with his thumb. She rocked her hips, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tossed her head back, exposing her neck. He lowered his mouth and kissed the soft skin near her carotid, nipping her with his teeth before sucking on the spot.
Someone in the kitchen shouted and a waiter outside the door shouted back. The danger of getting caught, combined with the rhythm of his thumb and fingers, worked its magic. She whimpered and repeated his name over and over like a prayer before she clenched her muscles around him, tightening the grip of her legs and arching into his erection. He caught her cry with his mouth as her orgasm hit fast and hard, her body slamming into his.
