Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Sterling was good with words when they were tools. Right now, with what she'd just told him, words were useless. So, he put his mouth to better use and kissed her.
Her tongue glided across his lips, split them apart, and then twisted around his. His pulse lodged in his throat as if he were a teenage boy. Fisting his shirt with one hand, she inched the other one under the fabric, splaying her fingers across his back.
He'd wanted this since the first time he'd walked into this pub on a Friday afternoon and met Juniper. He knew it was a Friday because the special had been "the Friday mahi sandwich caught fresh by Tate Charters."
Sterling had eaten it, but he had no idea if it was any good or not because all he'd done was stare at Juniper. He also remembered every single dumb thing he’d said to her that day.
He’d gone back the next afternoon with a million conversations in his head, all of which were meant to dazzle her. He'd ordered the grouper and continued to fumble his words. This went on for at least two months before he managed to speak coherently around the woman of his affection.
Now, he hoped he wouldn't make an ass out of himself in other ways.
"You sure know how to kiss," she whispered.
"I think it's the person I'm kissing that matters." Christ, that had to be the cheesiest thing he'd ever said. But since she was suddenly in his lap, she didn't seem to mind.
It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. Long enough that the number would've embarrassed a man who dared to keep track of those kinds of things.
But that wasn't what had him off his game—not that he'd ever actually had game.
With every woman before her, he'd left a piece of himself out in the hall. He'd kept part of his mind focused on the exits, ready to be out the door the second it was over. He'd never actually been all the way in the room.
But he was all the way in this one, and it had nothing to do with owing the four walls surrounding them. It wouldn't matter where they were, he loved her. And that was the part that scared him, because he wasn't sure what he'd do if she were to walk out and never come back.
She broke the kiss and tugged at the hem of his shirt. "This needs to come off."
"You're bossy."
She shoved it up. "You have no idea." He ducked and let her drag the fabric over his head, and she dropped it on the deck. "Wow." Flattening both hands on his chest, she sighed. "Okay. That's just rude."
"Excuse me?"
She traced her fingers across his abs. "I know you had your shirt off earlier, but I guess the gator distracted me more than I realized. But damn… work out much?"
"I jog."
"You do more than that."
"Maybe I lift a little."
"You can lift me anytime you want." He’d appreciated her humor, but right now, her chattiness turned out to be a welcome surprise. He’d never liked intimate moments to be filled with silence. Not only was it boring, it made him nervous.
"I'll add bench press Juniper to my regimen." Holding her gaze, he tugged at the bottom of her shirt. "It's only fair."
She raised her arms and he flung the fabric across the deck, leaving her in a black lace bra.
"You're staring," she said.
"Appreciating. There's a difference," he said. "And looking to see if the clasp is in the front, which would make this easier."
A mosquito the size of a paperclip landed on his shoulder and bit down like it wanted more than his blood. He smacked it, and she burst out laughing.
"We’d better take this inside," he said. "Otherwise, we'll be slapping each other and not in a good way."
"That might be fun."
"For you, maybe." He lifted her off the lounge chair. "You'd be smacking me left and right. And even though I'd want to save you from those monsters, my gentlemanly upbringing wouldn't allow me to strike you."
"Not even if it was on my ass, and I was begging?" She rested her hands on his shoulders and smiled like she was daring him.
"I can't believe you just said that." He walked her backward through the slider, pressing his mouth to hers in a hot, wild, kiss.
She caught her elbow on the frame and yelped.
"Shit, sorry." He twisted and clipped his hip on the corner of the counter. "Fuck."
She moved around him, patting his shoulder as he grabbed his side. "You good, Aegis Network Operator Fox?"
"Flesh wound," he mumbled.
"You lost a fight with a countertop."
"Strategic sacrifice." He caught her hand. "Come here, bedroom's this way."
Unable to remember the last time he’d had this much fun, he pulled her down the hall. Hell, sex, while always “fun”, hadn't been ever full of banter. At least, not this kind, and he liked it.
He liked Juniper.
"Impressive." She paused two steps inside his room. "You decorate this place yourself?"
She strolled across the room and ran her fingers over the foot of the king size bed.
"I wouldn't call it decorated."
"Really?" She waved her hand. "A leather chair strategically placed in the corner so you can actually see the TV, which is massive by the way. You've got a nice plush comforter… that's white. I expected something darker. Brooding. Tactical."
"It's a comforter, not a personality."
She laughed. "It's awfully clean for a man who shoots people."
"Shot. Past tense. Mostly."
She pointed to the picture above the headboard. "Explain."
"It's a sea turtle."
"I can see that. Why is it over your bed?"
"Good lighting. He earned the spot." He inched closer, examining the front of her bra more closely. Ah. Clasp. He reached for it, and managed to undo it without too much trouble, letting it hang open. "You can interrogate the décor later."
Her lips parted, and she let out a little gasp as he traced a path with his fingertip from her neck down to her cleavage. Her skin was warm and silky. He eased her back until her knees hit the mattress. He pushed her back, then followed her down, his forearms bracketing her head.
He kissed her slow and controlled.
And for the first time in a life spent memorizing every detail of every moment, Sterling quit thinking entirely and allowed himself to just… feel.
Juniper ran her hands down Sterling's back. His lean muscles were tight and supple. She remembered the first time she’d seen him jog past her house.
He'd kept pace under the morning sun as he waved. His feet hit the pavement and his arms moved effortlessly back and forth. All she’d been able to do was stare.
She'd found his awkwardness at the pub the first few weeks she'd known him adorable. It made it easier for her to stifle her growing attraction. But the more she’d gotten to know Sterling, the more she wanted him.
And now she was laying underneath him with her fingers dancing at the edge of the waistband.
He moved his kisses down her neck and collarbone. Pushing her bra aside, he lifted her breast, teasing her nipple with his tongue.
Arching into him, she tried to wiggle her hands into his jeans. "These are too constricting."
"I have to agree with that assessment."
He pressed his hand on the bed, rolling slightly to the side, keeping his mouth attentive to her puckered nipple.
"You're not going to help a girl out?"
"I'm a little busy." He moved his lips to her other breast, lifted his hand off the mattress and brushed his thumb over the nipple his tongue had been just torturing.
"That's mean," she managed between ragged breaths.
"You take off mine. I'll take off yours. It's fair."
"In that case…" She shoved him to his back and slid to her knees on the floor.
"Hey. What the hell?" He propped himself up on his elbows and stared down at her with wide eyes.
"Are you really going to complain?"
She worked the button from its hole then carefully lowered the zipper before helping shimmy the denim fabric, along with his boxers, over his hips, and down his thighs. Before she got to his knees, he’d kicked out of his loafers.
"You're killing me," he whispered as he reached up and took out her ponytail. Her hair fell to her shoulders, and he gathered it up in his fist.
"Decadent torture."
"One way of describing it."
She cupped him with one hand and stroked him firmly with the other.
Her pulse kicked, and there was a slight hitch in her heart—a remembrance of Mark—but it wasn't guilt.
It wasn't a letting go, either. It was more like an unfolding.
The realization that there was room for both the memory of her late husband and this new budding romance with Sterling.
Even if it didn't last, she could still have it, and know Mark would want her to experience all this wonderful life had to offer in whatever way she wanted.
She brought her lips to Sterling, keeping herself in the present. With him. With what could be. She teased him, enjoying him, and only him.
He hissed, tightening his grip on her hair.
"You're a dangerous woman," he whispered in a gravelly voice.
He tasted like salt and sea mist. It was intoxicating.
She took more of him into her mouth, enjoying the way his thighs flexed and his toes curled.
She could be this version of herself—a mixture of her old self and this new and improved edition.
It felt like this was who she was always meant to be.
It scared her in the sense that she had no idea what would happen when this assignment was over. When Bea found out Sterling knew.
But it also invigorated her because she was no longer pretending anything. She was exactly who she was meant to be. Nothing more. Nothing less. That meant something. It meant everything.
"Come here." He tugged gently at her hair, coaxing her toward him as he sat taller. He cupped her face, kissing her tenderly, yet eagerly. "You're so beautiful," he murmured. "Not to mention, a surprise a minute.” Pausing, he studied her for a moment.
“But now it's my turn." He winked, and before she could open her mouth to respond, he'd flipped her onto her back and managed to unbutton her jeans, undo the zipper, and was tossing the piece of clothing over his shoulder before she’d even gotten her bearings.