Chapter 30
She knew she should be feeling relief. She was safe. The FBI had foiled Amed’s terrible plan to slaughter them all before he hijacked the truck carrying the nuclear fuel rods, along with a shit-ton of explosives, and rammed it into the White House.
She wasn’t sure how far he’d have gotten or how much damage he would have inflicted, but obviously none of this was good. The Russian Ambassador had been recalled to Moscow, and if she were him, she’d stick to the ground floor for the next decade or so.
So why did she feel as if she’d failed?
Because she’d been tricked? Fooled? Because two people were dead and another person she liked had turned out to be a lying and violent asshole who she’d never suspected.
Both her parents had called to reassure themselves she was fine, and she’d possibly glossed over the part when she’d been trapped on the roof with only seconds to live. They didn’t need to know that.
She was surprised and grateful no one had captured the incident on video and weren’t stitching Tik-Toks together of the rescue. Otherwise, her mom would be demanding she come home, as if she alone could beat Bocharov with facial expressions and angry-mom energy.
They’d visited Regan, who’d looked shockingly pale and fragile against white hospital sheets.
He’d lost a lot of blood and had a minor skull fracture, but he was going to be okay thanks in no small part to his hard head.
Florence planned to stay with him overnight.
Renfield had been claimed by the Pagets’ bereft daughter, who’d wept all over Daisy.
Wait until she discovered it was Daisy’s fault her parents were dead. Saving the cat was the least she could have done.
She glanced around the hotel room dispassionately. She frowned as she eyed the single king-size bed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about sharing that with Jordan now.
Everything had changed in the past twenty-four hours.
She’d gone from ruthlessly trying to prove a point while maintaining her emotional distance to Jordan admitting he cared for her to teetering on the edge of falling head over heels for the guy because she was an idiot who never learned a simple lesson.
Sex? Not a problem. Sex she could easily handle, and it would even help take her mind off the events of the day. But holding, comforting, sleeping?
She wasn’t sure she could handle that.
The air was chill, and shivers ran over her skin, making the scratches throb and the burns sting. Every injury was minor, but cumulatively they made her feel hurt and diminished, unsure how to deal with everything that had been thrown at her.
One day at a time was what Jordan suggested, but what happened the day he stopped caring? When he stopped calling? The day “one day at a time” became the occasional booty call and she was left with excuses and scraps and then dumped for someone prettier, more easy-going, with bigger boobs?
She didn’t think she could bear the emotional fallout this time.
She hung her bag on a hook. It stank of smoke, but it was all that was left of her belongings except for the few items she had at work and in her car.
She’d grabbed a shower and borrowed a set of clothes from an agent about her size at the Richmond Field Office earlier that day, but traces of soot, ash, tar, had embedded themselves into the grain of her skin, alongside memories of the Pagets lying dead in their bed and their beautiful house destroyed on the whim of a monster.
A monster she’d shot in the arm.
It was a pity her aim had been off. This nightmare would have been over by now if she’d shot the guy in the head.
“Let me run you a bath while I order something to eat.”
Her throat ached at the care and attention Jordan had shown her all day. It couldn’t last, and while she wanted to enjoy it, all she could think was that he’d be gone soon and she’d miss him.
Work.
Life.
She understood.
She really did.
She just didn’t want to rely on him. Didn’t want the lack of him to leave her destroyed. She was stronger than that. She had to be stronger than that.
“I can do it.”
He was already in the bathroom turning the taps.
Federal agents had set up in various rooms around the hotel. They even had snipers strategically placed on the roof of this hotel and the one across the street. The Feds were taking no chances.
Knowing Bocharov was out there somewhere, probably raging that his plans had been thwarted by a female filled her with both satisfaction and unease.
She wasn’t stupid, she knew she couldn’t go about her life and simply pretend everything was okay. She also knew the FBI, Jordan in particular, wouldn’t rest until the Russian was captured.
That could take years.
They couldn’t protect her like this forever. It simply wasn’t feasible. Nor did she want them to. She would need her life back sooner or later. Her solitary and busy life.
With no time for relationships.
She closed both blinds and drapes, immediately felt a sense of peace. She didn’t want people watching her through windows, even if they were there to protect her.
Jordan came back into the room, taps running in the background.
“What do you want to eat?”
She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
He squeezed her shoulders. “You have to eat. How about a glass of wine in the tub first?”
She turned, faking a smile. “You don’t need to bother with the seduction routine, Krychek. You are definitely getting laid tonight.”
Anger sparked in those blue-green eyes, the way she’d meant it to. “I’m going to ignore that as you’ve had a difficult day. I’ll order you a steak sandwich and fries. I’ll eat anything you don’t want.”
She watched him place the dinner order, and her stomach grumbled when he told her the kitchen was backed up and the food would be at least an hour.
He headed into the bathroom and turned off the taps. Came back into the bedroom and untucked her long-sleeved black tee from her waistband like she was a child who couldn’t undress herself.
She didn’t need to be taken care of. She didn’t want to be taken care of. Not like that. Not as if she were special. She wanted the control back. She needed it.
“As we have an hour, we may as well make use of it.” She peeled up the shirt and tossed it away, then shimmied out of her pants, standing there naked.
He tilted his head to one side considering her in a way that made her nervous. She didn’t like nervous, so she stepped toward him and reached for his belt buckle.
He stopped her. “Not so fast there, Montana.”
She blinked at the use of her last name as he captured her wrists in one of his hands and backed her up against the bed. Her knees buckled.
He lifted her bodily and tossed her into the center of the duvet and then followed her down, fully dressed. He tugged her arms up over her head.
“What are you doing?” She sounded breathless, and that was even more humiliating after the way he’d manhandled her.
“I’m making good use of the next hour. I’m going to need you to hold on tight to the edge of the mattress. Don’t let go.”
She wasn’t sure how to deal with this new dynamic. She was used to calling the shots, to shocking and seducing him, not the other way around. She frowned at him, feeling exposed and unsure. “I don’t understand.”
The blue-green of his eyes was vivid as he smiled, obviously amused. “I’m awake this time, sweetheart. We’re going to do things my way for a change.”
Her eyes widened, and she held her breath as a strange excitement filled her. But desire was tempered by fear. She was the one used to calling the shots in this arena. She didn’t want to feel all the things he made her feel.
He didn’t wait for permission. Not this time. Though she knew he’d stop if she asked him to, it was strangely intoxicating to be on the receiving end of this kind of male dominance.
He took her mouth, kissed her, softly at first, gently, making her relax, slowly, bit by bit, until her bones melted and she sank into the mattress and moaned.
She sank her fingers into his hair, and he stopped kissing her and removed her hand and gently placed it back above her head.
“My rules, remember?”
She blinked, but he was kissing her again, angling her chin to take the kiss deeper this time. Stoking the flames of her desire.
He nibbled her jaw, the vulnerable line of her neck.
It took her a moment to figure out what he was doing as he toured various parts of her body.
He was careful not to tickle her as his lips made their way across each scratch and burn, each bite and blister.
Kissing each one better. Kissing her better.
A knot tangled in her throat. Emotion caught her off guard. “I can’t…”
“You can.” His tongue moved to her nipples, made the hard peaks beg for attention like ripe raspberries to be plucked into his mouth.
She gripped the edge of the mattress and closed her eyes, bowing up against that clever tongue.
He moved down her body, slowly. So very slowly.
“Please…”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me.”
“I don’t think so.”
She opened her eyes to complain at the exact moment he put his hands on her thighs and sank his tongue inside her.
“Oh.” It was all she was capable of saying as he feasted upon her until she was a quivering mess.
“Please, Jordan.”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me.” The words were spoken between gritted teeth. He was keeping her on the edge but never letting her go over, until every nerve sang with want.
“No.” Instead he flipped her onto her front. She was more comfortable with this and understood what he wanted from her so she tried to get up onto her knees, but he wouldn’t let her.
Instead, he started with a tender kiss on the cut on her cheek and the slight burn behind her right ear.
Then her neck and the bites and scratches Renfield had etched into her flesh.
Sweet tender kisses that she didn’t know what to do with.
Kisses that wanted to comfort her even as she fought against being comforted.