CHAPTER 9
Imogen
Imogen bolted awake with a gasp, the nightmare she’d had addling her nerves. It clung to her, playing on her fears. In it, she’d followed Mat to the lieutenant’s safehouse only to be discovered. One of the narcos who’d dragged the hooded man into the courtyard had taken her to El Jaguar . Mat had to reveal his true identity, trying to save her, and the lieutenant shot him right in front of her.
Now, a shiver raced down her back. What if Mat died tomorrow at El Jaguar’s hand? She’d regret not spending their last night together. Not telling him how she felt. Because she wanted him. Needed him. The only reason she’d held back was out of fear.
Mat might be a man of the law, but he’d committed a crime. He’d stolen her heart five years before, and she’d never gotten it back. Not completely.
Even if he left her again, did she really want to pass up the chance that he might not?
No. For once, her heart and brain were in agreement. She didn’t know how long he’d stay this time, but she’d risk it because her heart belonged to him.
Ready to reach for Mat, she froze. As the last vestiges of the dream cleared, Imogen became all too aware of how dark the bedroom was.
She’d fallen asleep with Mat’s arms wrapped around her, the light from the bathroom shining in. He must’ve turned it off before going to bed himself. Because this? It was blacker than black. She couldn’t see her hand as she waved it in front of her. The pitch darkness triggered her claustrophobia, and anxiety took hold of her body. Her breaths started to hitch, backing up in her lungs as the room spun.
Light, she just needed to turn on a light.
But she couldn’t even see the way to the bathroom. She swung her legs and fell out of bed with a screech, not realizing how close she’d been to the edge.
“Imogen?” Mat’s sleepy question sounded farther away than the two feet she knew he was.
She pushed herself to her hands and knees on the chilly hardwood floor, then gasped, “Light.”
The bathroom.
She had to get to the bathroom. Sweeping her hand in front of her, she crawled in the direction she thought it was. A part of her brain registered Mat moving, but she couldn’t focus on that. Her heart beat so fast inside her chest she feared it might explode before she made it. Not to mention, it kept getting harder to breathe. She’d just started saying a Spanish prayer in her head when the bathroom light flooded her eyes.
Gracias a Dios!
“Gen! What happened?” Mat lifted her from the floor, but she didn’t have enough air to tell him yet.
Cradling her in his arms, he sat them on the bed, scooting to lean against the headboard. “I can feel your heart racing.”
“Nightmare,” she panted as she buried her head in his chest. “Can’t”—she gasped—“dark.”
“Shh,” Mat soothed. “You’re safe. Focus on your breathin’. Big deep inhales, querida .”
She didn’t know if it was his embrace or his soft words, but she already felt better. Her heart settled down as she made herself take a deep breath and let it out slowly. When her throat no longer felt so constricted, her neck warmed with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not wanting to meet Mat’s gaze. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” At least, not like that. More warmth flooded her, but it wasn’t like he could read her salacious thoughts.
His arms tightened around her. “I’m glad I woke up.” He paused, his voice dropping before he asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”
With a sigh, Imogen shifted to face him. His eyes searched her face, worry clear in their depths. Reaching for his hands, she held on as she whispered the horrifying words, “I dreamt that El Jaguar killed you.”
Though she watched him closely, his face showed no reaction. “That’s not going to happen.”
Despite the assurance, he couldn’t know that. Working undercover meant he was in danger—every single second.
“Is that why you panicked?”
“No”—she shook her head—“um, it was . . .” Imogen swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat and tried again. She’d freaked out on him twice now. He had a right to know. “It was the dark.” She chewed her lip, then forced the words out. “Complete blackness triggers my claustrophobia because when I was little . . .”
“You can tell me, Gen.” He squeezed her hands. “Maybe if I knew, I could help.”
She took a deep breath, steadying herself before reliving her worst childhood memory. “One of the teachers at the boarding school liked to punish students by locking them in a dark confessional. Sometimes, for hours. I was eight the first time she put me in there.”
“That ain’t right,” Mat growled, and she found herself soothing him.
“No, but it happened.” She brushed her thumbs across the backs of his hands as she continued, “I thought I’d gotten over it. I haven’t had an attack in years, but I guess I just got good at avoiding dark, enclosed spaces.” She managed a self-deprecating smile, but he didn’t return it.
“How come you never . . .” he paused as if he wasn’t sure how to ask without offending her, “when we were together before?”
Thinking about it made her sigh. “I usually leave some form of light on, even just a slit in the curtains to let in the streetlight works.”
Mat winced. “They’re blackouts. I worked a lot of nights before this assignment. I got ’em to help me sleep durin’ the day.”
“Can we crack one, please?” She hated how tinny her voice sounded.
Mat leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. “We’ll crack both.”
His easy acceptance smoothed the last of her anxiety. “Thank you.”
He nodded and climbed out of bed to open the curtains. When moonlight filtered through the windows, she exhaled a relieved breath, gaze tracking over the room. The space was familiar, and it wasn’t a dark confessional. It did seem . . . emptier than she remembered.
If Mat had a style, she’d call it minimalist, but the bedroom had a spartan feel. Nothing personal, no family photos, just the necessary items like a bed and a dresser. She didn’t remember it feeling that way before, but if he wasn’t spending much time here, maybe that was why. It could use some throw pillows, a lamp, and photos of them together on the dresser. Imogen shook herself and stopped decorating a home she didn’t live in. Even if she wanted to.
“You can turn off the bathroom light now. I don’t need both.” A blush flushed her face, but she fought it. She might feel foolish, but Mat didn’t seem to think she was.
“All right.”
After he switched it off, she patted the spot beside her. When he climbed back into bed, she trailed a hand down his chest, whispering, “I was planning to do this before.”
His eyebrow lifted in question as she leaned in and placed her lips on his.
◆◆◆
Mateo
One kiss and he was hard as a rod. He’d wanted Imogen here the moment he’d laid eyes on her again. Cuddling with her in his bed, feeling those luscious curves molded against him, had been the ultimate test of his restraint. But he’d managed to keep his hands respectable, even if his thoughts had run rampant. He’d fallen asleep to memories of the things they’d done together in this bed.
But waking to find Imogen in a heap on the floor had cooled his libido. He felt like an ass for not realizing how the dark would affect her. He thought he’d known everything about this woman, but somehow, she’d hidden her fear from him. He’d noticed how she always kept a slit in the curtains, but he’d just taken it for granted as one of her quirks. The same way he always checked the locks before going to bed.
A part of him was glad she finally told him about her phobia, but he ached for the little girl she’d been. No child should have to endure what she did. He’d had his own tough situations bouncing from foster home to foster home, but nothing so scarring as what she’d dealt with. If there was a way he could take away her fear, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Climbing on his lap, she hummed in pleasure and deepened their kiss. Too many years apart and too many regrets left him feeling as parched as a cactus in the desert. She was his last drop of water. Or the cocktail he needed—sweet as sugar with a kick like tequila.
“Imogen,” he murmured her name against their joined lips. Though she kissed him with enthusiasm, she hadn’t given him the green light. A kiss could just be a kiss.
She leaned back, locking her arms around his neck. He couldn’t see her dark eyes clearly enough, even with the light filtering through the crack in the curtains. But humor filled her voice when she asked, “What?”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
The pause was so pregnant he expected triplets. It put him through hell, not being able to see her expression.
“You love me?” Though soft, her tone didn’t waver on the question.
Mat slid his hands down her arms until they rested around her neck. “Yes.” He stroked the delicate skin at her collarbone with his thumb. “I think I always will.”
He caught her head nod, and then she said, “I love you, too. I always have.” She paused as if she didn’t want to admit what she was about to say, “Even when I hated you for leaving, I still loved you.”
The truth tore his heart open. He bled for the life they could’ve had together. The one he’d thrown away. Regret filled his voice as he begged, “I made a mistake, Gen. Can you forgive me for it?”
The way she only watched him opened a chasm in his gut.
“I was wrong to make the choice for you. We shoulda talked about it.” Tilting her face, he tried to see her eyes more clearly. “Whenever we hit bumps in the road, I promise to talk ’em through with you.” He thought the chocolate in her gaze warmed, so he tried again. “Can you give me another chance?”
Instead of answering, she kissed him. Her admission had triggered his need, and with her mouth on his, desire took over.
Too long.
It had been way too long since he’d had Imogen in his bed. If they were going to do this, it would be fast.
At least this first time.
She was petite but generously curvy. When she raised up on her knees, her hair fell like black rain to tease his bare chest. Drowning in her taste and her touch, he couldn’t get enough. Their kiss was a fever; it overheated his brain until all he could do was get lost in her. He tangled his hands in her lush mane, then raced them over her skin.
God, he’d missed her curves. She was soft here at the swell of her hip. Toned there as he trailed a hand across her stomach. A combination that portrayed her perfectly. Her heart might be too big for her own good, but he knew the strength she hid underneath.
Desperate to see what he had his hands on, Mat pulled his shirt off her body. Imogen’s nipples peaked with the chill, so he warmed them with his mouth. She was firm and full and everything he’d ever dreamed of.
And he’d dreamt plenty, especially in the first year after they parted ways. There’d been many restless nights where he’d woken hard and aching.
But no longer.
Imogen moaned, and he laid her back on the bed, trailing kisses down her body. He stopped at the apex of her thighs, where she wore only the orange bikini bottoms from her costume. He relished her quick catch of breath when he trailed a finger under the material. He tested her heat with his finger, and she was more than ready for him.
Catching her gaze, he lifted his hand to his mouth and watched her as he tasted her. She made a sexy little sound that had his stomach muscles contracting.
“So sweet.” Mat smiled, and though he couldn’t be sure in the dark, he thought he might’ve made her blush. It graveled out his voice as he commanded, “Lift your hips, beautiful.”
When she complied, he lowered the bottoms down her legs.
Hovering over her, he promised, “First, I’m gonna make you come with my mouth. Then we’re gonna fuck ‘til you scream.” He licked the valley between her breasts, and she shivered underneath him. “That sound good to you, Gen?”
He fondled her nipple, making her squirm. “Yes, please, Mat.”
Smiling at the need straining her voice, he licked his way down her stomach. Using his tongue, he teased and tasted. When her hips bucked against his mouth, he added a finger. Soon, her golden skin glowed with the heat of her arousal, warming his tongue.
And his heart.
This wasn’t going to be a one-time thing. He wanted Imogen back in his life. No matter what he had to do to convince her. Giving her an orgasm seemed like a good start.
When she arched off the bed with a cry, he released her. As she vibrated with afterglow, he chucked off his shorts and tossed their clothes aside.
Settling between her legs, he searched her eyes. Despite the dark, the energy that burned between them was hot enough to light the earth. She pounced, wrapping her legs around his waist, as desperate for this as he was. Together, they became a mass of writhing limbs and eager hands as they rolled across the bed.
Panting hard after she’d found his length, he pinned her fingers to the mattress, “I love you, Gen.”
She smiled, and he held onto that as he entered her. Her eyes closed with a sexy groan of pleasure while his felt ready to roll back in his head.
God in heaven.
She felt too good. So tight and so warm he had to take a minute to keep things from ending too soon.
Imogen moved first, rocking her hips into him as she locked her legs around his waist. Mat grunted, struggling to hold the rope tight on his control.
“I love you, Mat.”
Hearing those words, he lost the battle. With a growl, he crushed his mouth to hers and pumped into her hard and fast. Her breaths shallowed as she matched his rhythm.
He drove into her like an animal until she broke the kiss with a gasp. “Mat, I need—”
He knew exactly what she needed and gave it to her. As he thrust in and out, he used his thumb on her sensitive bud to bring her to the peak.
Her hands fisted the sheets they’d already tangled, and he knew she was close. Watching pleasure overtake her nearly sent him hurtling off the edge.She whimpered right before her head fell back with a scream of ecstasy. When her core tightened around him, his orgasm hit like a freight train.
Pleasure stole his breath and his strength. He collapsed on top of a limp Imogen as his muscles gave out. She might’ve made a sound, but his ears still rang from the force of the collision. Tugging her to his chest, he rolled them over and stared up at the dark ceiling.
Was it always that good?
It had been too long, if he couldn’t remember. All her soft, warm skin pressed to his side made him want to test it again. Even so, he wanted more than the physical with her. He needed to make things right between them no matter how long it took.
As he had the thought, his head clamored for caution. She loved him, but she hadn’t forgiven him . . . yet .
On the other hand, his heart liked to remind him it wasn’t often a man got a second chance, and he wasn’t about to squander his.
Was he?