Saving Zola (Sleeper SEALs Book 4) Read online

  “I was wrong.” He closed the distance, smashing his firm body into hers, flattening her to the window. The glass was cold. She welcomed the coolness against her heated body.

  Another tear slid down to match the first.

  Mike cupped her face with one hand and rubbed the wetness with the pad of his thumb. “I was wrong,” he whispered again. “So very wrong.”

  More tears. Damn him.

  And then his mouth was on hers.

  She couldn’t stop the rush of adrenaline that forced her to angle her head to the side and let him in.

  His kiss was firm. Demanding. Like a starving man who hadn’t eaten in days and then came upon a buffet. He threaded his other hand in her hair, still holding her face with the first hand. His tongue danced with hers, demanding everything.

  Unable to stop herself, she gave him everything back. Every emotion she’d ever felt for him leaked into that kiss. She eased her fists open and smoothed her hands around to his back as he pressed into her farther.

  Totally aware of his erection against her belly, wetness leaked from her to soak her panties. She wanted him. Worse than she’d ever wanted anyone. Worse than she’d wanted him the first time he claimed her.

  It infuriated her to so easily succumb to his touch, his lips, his wandering hands, his thick erection pressing against her… But she recognized it for what it was. Lust. Pure and simple. Nothing more.

  Forever he kissed her, until her brain was scrambled and she knew nothing but being one with this man. When he finally eased back, he did so to nibble a path to her ear.

  His lips against her sensitive skin sent a shudder down her body. Every time he’d done that in high school, she’d melted for him. Nothing had changed. “I loved you too, baby. So much it hurt. I’m sorry.”

  She still didn’t understand why he’d left her. He’d carefully avoided that detail, but she didn’t want to argue with him anymore today. Instead, she held on tighter, hugging him against her in response. Hoping she conveyed at least a truce.

  When he set his teeth gently on her earlobe, she moaned. “God, I missed this,” he whispered, his breath making her shiver in response.

  It was like no time had passed. How was that possible?

  “Now what do we do?” she finally asked his chest as she set her forehead against the rock-hard pec.

  He lifted away from her ear, cupped her face, and forced her to meet his gaze, his body still pressed against hers. “Now, you take these threats seriously and help me figure out who this fucker is so we can stay one step ahead of him and keep you safe until he’s behind bars.”

  She nodded. He was right. “Okay.” She bit her lower lip, worrying it to match her fear. A very real fear she should have had yesterday and last week or even last month. Instead, she’d been kept out of the loop and lived in ignorance. She’d been cocky and unconcerned. “I don’t understand why my father would do this. It wasn’t safe keeping this information from me.”

  “Babe, he had people following you. Everywhere. But two days ago, the CIA decided that wasn’t good enough.”

  “And they called you.”

  “Sort of. Like I said before, this arrangement is under the table. No one can pin anything back to the government. It’s like I never existed. My job is to keep you alive while they figure out what to do.”

  She narrowed her gaze and smiled wanly. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t really a sit-back-and-wait sort of guy?”

  He chuckled. “There’s my girl. I knew you were in there somewhere.” He kissed her soundly on the lips one more time and then released her to step back. His hands slid down to grasp hers. “Let’s go sit on the couch. We can pour over the information and see if anything stands out to you.”

  She nodded. What stood out to her more than anything was the bulge in the front of his jeans, but she thought it might be better if she kept that thought to herself for the time being.

  Two hours later, Zola was seriously stressed from all the information she’d absorbed. She pointed to a symbol that kept popping up on several pages. “What’s this?”

  “It’s the calling card of a particular terrorist organization. One that likes to use biological warfare as their weapon of choice.”

  She gasped. “For real?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s why they called you. It’s your specialty.” As she realized this, it all made more sense.

  She needed to call her dad, which had been niggling her in the back of her mind ever since that morning. She leaned back against the couch, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples.

  “Come here.” He squeezed her thigh to get her attention. When she glanced at him, he had spread his knees and was pointing at the floor in front of him. “I’ll rub your shoulders.”

  “Really?” she asked, lifting a brow. “That would be wonderful.” She slid down to the floor and settled between his legs, leaning against the couch.

  The second his hands began to knead her shoulders, she sighed. With expert fingers, he worked out each knot in her neck one by one. He was truly gifted with his hands.

  She let her eyes close as the tension eased.

  “You okay?” Mike asked from closer to her than she’d expected. He’d leaned his face down toward her ear.

  “No. A terrorist organization is trying to hunt me down and kill me to get to my father. And,” she added, opening her eyes and turning to face him, “I just found out that I still have the hots for my childhood sweetheart, which I’ve apparently carried around with me for twelve years.”

  She was being incredibly blunt with him, but after twelve wasted years, why not throw everything in. Who cared? It wasn’t like she intended to pick up where they left off. But the physical attraction was undeniable. That much had not changed in a dozen years.

  Mike froze for a second, his hands still gripping her shoulders but his fingers not moving. And then he started again, working his way across her shoulders and down her biceps.

  It occurred to her that he hadn’t responded to her blatant statement, but then he took a deep breath and spoke, his hands never ceasing their work. “That fire never went out for me either, Zola.”

  Damn. Those words reached into her and started a slow burn. Parts of her body that had been dormant for over a decade came alive to tingle and torment her.

  It would seem he was available. She was also available. They were trapped together for the foreseeable future. Her father could hardly do anything to sabotage it since he wasn’t in the same state.

  She was a grown woman who spent way too much time working, hardly dated, and never had sex. Mike was even sexier than he had been twelve years ago, and he made her panties damp. Oh, who was she kidding? She knew damn good and well he could make her body hum like she’d never permitted any other man to even attempt. Why not sleep with him? Maybe it would alleviate some of the stress or at least chase it to the corners of her mind for a while.

  Mike reached for a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “I always loved to thread my fingers in your hair.” He leaned forward and set his nose against her ear, again.

  She shivered. Again.

  He whispered. Again. “You willing to explore this thing between us?”

  “Mmm. I don’t think I have a choice.” She lifted a hand to cup the back of his neck, hoping she could lure his lips toward hers again. She should take this gift and sleep with him. If he was half as good a lover as he’d been twelve years ago, she’d be in heaven. It was just sex. Sex was good. Sex with Mike would be amazing. She deserved to let herself go and submerge herself in all that was Mike for a while.

  That’s all it could be. Nothing more. He’d hurt her. Badly. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t human. And damn she was attracted to him still.

  It wasn’t like she would ever do something like this with another man. Only Mike. He made her feel things no other man ever had or probably ever would.

  She needed the release. All she had to do was compartmentaliz
e and remind herself she was scratching an itch with a man she knew could rock her world. Don’t get emotional about this, Zola. Just do it.

  If they were going to be trapped in this beach house for the foreseeable future, she could let herself take advantage of whatever he was willing to offer.

  But he pulled back, shocking her with his next words. “How about if I clean up this pizza mess from lunch earlier, and we get dressed and go out?”

  “Out?” She twisted to stare up at him and lifted a brow.

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “We could be on lockdown here for a while. Let’s slip out for a bit. Eat. Enjoy a normal meal.”

  That wasn’t at all what she had in mind for the next hour. Once she set her mind on having another taste of Mike Dorsen, she really didn’t want to leave the house and make nice in public.

  Mike extricated himself from her and stood. He was chuckling as he picked up the empty box and soda cans.

  “What’s funny?” Maybe she shouldn’t have asked, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “You truly have not changed,” he said as he padded from the room to dispose of their trash.

  “How so?” She hoisted herself off the floor and sat on the couch.

  He returned and leaned over her, straddling her knees while setting his hands on the back of the couch. He lowered his face toward hers and kissed her nose. “You spent over a year trying to get me into bed with you when we were kids. And here you are doing it again.”

  Her face flushed for the tenth time that day. “Seriously? You act like I’m some kind of nymphomaniac who can’t go without. I never said anything about having sex anyway. I’m just surprised you want to go out in public.”

  “Babe. Like I said, I don’t know how long we might need to be diligent here, but this house is safe, the best place we can be while others work to gather information. It’s not going to take too many days for whoever is after you to find us. So, yeah. Let’s go to dinner before we lock ourselves in. You’re going to be stuck with me.” He waggled his eyebrows teasingly.

  “Fine. You want to go out? We’ll go out.” She set her hands on his rock-hard chest and shoved him away. Game on.

  * * *

  Mike was leery about her change in attitude. She had something up her sleeve, and he knew it wasn’t going to work in his favor. She’d relented to go out a little too quickly. And the twinkle in her eyes said everything.

  She floated through the room with her head held high and her shoulders back like the true debutante she was, and then she disappeared into her bedroom, shutting the door with a resounding snick.

  Mike headed for his own bedroom and returned ten minutes later with his best jeans on, loafers, and a dark navy, button-down shirt. He hadn’t said as much, but it was sort of a date, after all. He could at least dress to impress.

  He needed to get her out of the tight quarters where the entire place had filled with her scent and her sweet, sexy body had driven him crazy for twenty-four hours. The last thing he wanted to do was presumptuously claim her body again so soon after clearing the air between them. Even though it seemed that was what she wanted from him.

  Never mind that they’d known each other years ago. They were different people now. Grown. Adults. They had changed. Hadn’t they?

  He wasn’t sure what her aim was. She melted a bit when he kissed her, and she also seemed a bit too willing to have sex. He hated to ponder the implications. When they’d been teenagers, she’d been the one pleading with him to take her virginity, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. But they weren’t teenagers anymore, and he was uncertain of her current motives. Something felt off.

  A noise from the hall made him spin around. He stopped dead, grabbing the back of the couch to steady himself when she came into view.

  Shit. He had played this card. It was entirely his fault. But who knew she would have brought along any clothing remotely resembling that dress to hide from a killer? “Jesus… Zola…” His voice was gravelly, his throat tight.

  She glanced down. “What? Did I get something on me?” Her voice was coy. Teasing. Sultry. Sexy.

  Fuck.

  “Babe.” He groaned. “I’m not going to sleep with you just because you wear a short skirt.” It was so much more than a short skirt, and he knew it. That dress was the definition of sex. And she needed to take it off and pick something else before he came in his pants or had to fend off other patrons of the restaurant.

  She smiled, or smirked again, sending him a wink. “You said we were going out. I presume you mean dinner. This is all I brought to go out in. I didn’t imagine dinners and wine when we left the house yesterday.”

  “And yet, you packed that.” His gaze roamed down her body slowly again. The cream-colored, tight-fitting material hugged every one of her assets perfectly. It hit only a few inches below her pussy, and he couldn’t imagine how it might look from behind. If he saw it, he would probably choke. Her tits alone were enough to make any man salivate. And those fucking heels.

  He took a deep breath. Fine. If she wanted to play this game, he would go along. But she was in for a world of hurt if she thought he would fuck her later simply because of a dress. It was just a dress after all.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  She turned around and headed for the kitchen table where her coat was draped over a chair.

  Fuck me. He couldn’t stop the groan that escaped his lips.

  “Did you say something?”

  He lifted a brow. He wanted to demand she change. But he knew she would find that amusing and dig her spiked heels in. Besides, would it really help if she squeezed her ass back into those fucking jeans and dragged a tight shirt over her breasts? No.

  But the back of that dress… It mostly wasn’t there. She had pulled her hair off her neck in a loose twist, and the back dipped so low that he could easily reach into the dip and touch her ass. Which also meant she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  As she crossed the room in his direction, she grabbed her purse off the couch and lifted it. “I did forget one thing though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Matching clutch. My regular purse will have to do.” She tossed him a grin. Of course she knew he couldn’t possibly give a fuck what purse she carried, nor would he notice.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Yep.” His voice was too high. And his cock was too tight behind the denim. It was going to be a long night.

  He lifted his coat from a hook next to the front door and slid it on. After helping her into her own, he reset the alarm and opened the front door. The backpack he never left for any reason sat next to the door. He grabbed it and followed her out.

  He led her outside to the SUV and opened the door, taking her hand to help her onto the seat. He had to grit his teeth as he got a glimpse way too high between her thighs. Luckily he didn’t see what she wore under the dress. Or perhaps the reality was, the answer was nothing. In which case, he didn’t want to know.

  He drove them to the local strip mall where he’d seen a family-owned Italian restaurant. It was small and intimate, and he didn’t think there was a chance in hell anyone knew where Zola was yet.

  He had no doubt whoever wanted her would find her. Eventually. But not yet. He had covered their tracks as well as he could, paying for the plane with cash and then taking a circuitous route to the house when they arrived last night.

  He wasn’t stupid. Terrorists didn’t play nice. They would find her. But hopefully Mike had enough intelligence working on things to have a heads-up that would buy them time to get the hell out of town.

  For tonight, he thought they were safe.

  When they arrived, he jumped down from the front seat and rounded the Tahoe fast enough to take Zola’s hand and help her down also. And then he made the mistake of setting his hand on the small of her back under the edge of her jacket to guide her toward the entrance.

  Her skin… So smooth and warm. And the heat from her sweet body raced through his arm and down to h
is cock. It was permanently stiff, but this wasn’t helping.

  He wasn’t disappointed when they entered the restaurant. It was dimly lit, romantic, and not overly crowded.

  “Two of you, sir?” the hostess asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  She led them between the tables toward the back and seated them at a booth.

  Mike held Zola’s hand as she slid into the seat and then he nodded for her to keep scooting and slid in next to her instead of taking the bench across from her.

  She ignored his seating choice or intentionally didn’t say anything as she removed her coat and settled it against the wall. The front of her dress was cut low enough to give him an amazing view of her cleavage. Yep. It was going to be a long night.

  In less than a minute, a waiter showed up. “Hi, I’m Vincent. Can I get you two anything to drink while you look at the menu?”

  Zola was quick to answer. “I’ll have your house red, please.”

  Hmm. She was a wine drinker. When they’d been in high school, she hadn’t ever had a sip of alcohol, which meant he hadn’t consumed much either. Sometimes he had a beer with friends at a party, but he rarely went out without her. It never interested him. Even after her father caught on to their games and barely let her leave the house, Mike still had little interest in partying while she sat at home.

  “Sir?”

  “I’ll have whatever’s on tap. Thank you.”

  “Never developed a taste for beer,” she stated when the waiter wandered away.

  He chuckled. “Not surprising.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He was still teasing her when he turned to face her and continued with a shrug. “You aren’t the sort of woman I can picture with a beer in hand is all. Don’t try to make it something else.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Everything with you was always something else.”

  “Now it’s my turn to ask, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  She tapped the table with her perfectly groomed nails and said nothing.