CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mylene wasn’t proud of her work. Her assignments were punishment, similar to how Tran Pham had forced her to live with the constant reminder of the loved ones she’d lost.
For the first few years, Mylene hadn’t understood the far-reaching effects of her seemingly insane projects. Pham’s associates would give her names and current events. They’d ask her to pit people against one another or conjure up conspiracy-riddled stories. At first, she thought that was part of the punishment, some sort of creative writing torture that would force Mylene to live in the headlines and denigrate the country that she loved so much.
She was wrong. They’d needed a native English speaker who understood the idiosyncrasies of current events and who had nothing to lose. That was her, trapped in her house of hell with time on her hands.
Mylene proliferated misinformation. Pham’s colleagues fed her storylines to bot farms. Sometimes, she assumed his people sold her stories and code to the highest bidder. After all, information warfare couldn’t come from one source. That would be too easy to spot and clean up.
Once she understood how they were using her, she waited to feel guilty. Regret never came for anything except Mark and Tabby, so she worked like their robotic cash cow.
Her production value had to be a reason Pham’s goon squad hadn’t decided to kill her now that he was locked in a federal penitentiary. It wasn’t as if Pham was in a position to enjoy her suffering.
Angela and Sawyer had days of interviews under their belts. She was more convinced than ever that Mylene Hathaway was one of Tran Pham’s victims. They’d found no indication that Mylene’s husband and sister were having an affair. More than that, Angela sensed that except for two dead bodies and a missing Mylene, no one who knew Mylene, Mark, or Tabby could fathom the tragedy that had unfolded years ago. It pained Angela not to tell them what she thought had happened and that, perhaps, Mylene could be found and exonerated.
Back on the beach, the receding tide rolled out quietly despite the darkening storm forming miles offshore. Angela let the quiet waves lap over her feet. Her mind drifted. She and Mylene were the same age. Pham had connected them. Their connection was different, however. Mylene was one of the many persons Pham blamed for Quy Long’s death. Angela was a victim. Her mother was the focus of Pham’s anger, one of the people he most blamed for what had happened to his daughter. Angela could have been dead like Mark and Tabby. Instead, she was a fill-in for Pham’s daughter.
“Hey, Ange.”
She jumped. The sand had muffled Sawyer’s approach. Her heartbeat didn’t slow down, though. Tension had crackled between the two of them since their rendezvous on the deck and slumber party on the couch. They had worked nonstop since, hunting down the leads that Parker gave them and rehashing every conversation. They hadn’t had a break until now, when she wandered to the beach, waiting for Sawyer to wrap up a phone call with Parker and Jared. “All done with calls for the night?”
“All done.” His hands clasped to her waist and pulled her close. “And nothing to do except pay attention to you.”
God, Sawyer made it easy to melt. Her arms wrapped around his neck. The pair came together with effortless ease. She had never known the magnetic pull of a kiss, and as his mouth took hers, she melted all over again.
The wind lifted her hair off her neck, and his kiss deepened. They weren’t alone on the beach, but she didn’t care. They could kiss until sundown and then take advantage of the dark.
“Damn,” he whispered against her lips. “You are fun to kiss.”
She grinned. He was the most fun she’d ever had, period.
“Come on.” He led her to dry sand and sat down, reading her expression. “A little sand on your clothes won’t hurt.”
Sand could get everywhere; she would rather go inside and keep kissing. But Sawyer petted the spot next to his side and smoothed the area flat. She couldn’t resist.
“Not so bad, huh?” he teased.
“What are we doing?”
“Relaxing.” He lifted his chin to the ocean. “Give it a chance.”
“I was before you arrived.”
“Nah, I could tell from your body language something heavy was on your mind.”
Angela sighed. “You’re not wrong.”
He extended his legs and leaned back on his elbows. “Mylene?”
As she watched a bird swoop into the water and fly away with dinner, she wanted to ask if she could tell him the truth, to say her thoughts aloud, even if they were dark and crazy. Angela knew he’d answer with his favorite question: did she trust him? She did, but that didn’t make sharing any less scary.
“I think…” Rain fell miles offshore. “I thought Mylene and I were similar.” Angela crossed her legs and ran the palm of her hand on the cool sand. “But we’re not. I was collateral damage. She was a target.”
He nodded as though he’d understood that from the start.
“Mylene probably hates him without reservation, and I…” Her fingers pressed deep into the sand. She smoothed the spot and dug the small hole again. “I sort of get him.”
“Him?”
“Pham,” she whispered.
Distant thunder rumbled from the ocean. A hidden crack of lightning lit up the storm clouds. “In what way?”
Angela pushed sand into the hole she’d made, smoothed the surface, and dug it once more. “He lost his daughter.” She packed the sand. “Even if he’s a horrible person, responsible for horrible things… I can see both sides. Horrible person and grieving father.”
The dark clouds were illuminated with lightning. “Yeah.” His voice sounded as far away as the storm clouds. Maybe even more distant.
Her heart sank. He didn’t understand, and she couldn’t explain. “Have you ever known a parent to lose a child?”
After an eternity, he answered, “Yeah.”
Angela waited for more, but Sawyer had locked his unfocused gaze on the water. The tide was out, but the calm, retreating waves now frothed with white surf. The storm wasn’t close, but its effects had reached the shore.
Finally, he tore his gaze from the ocean and studied her. “You’re empathetic.”
She snorted. “I wouldn’t call it that. I’ve been trying to tell Ibrahim I have Stockholm syndrome.”
Sawyer’s deep frown broke, and he chuckled. “What’s Ibrahim say to that?”
She laughed with him. “That I’m wrong.”
His laughter faded with a resigned head shake. “You’re something, that’s the truth.” He hooked his arm over her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “There are many ways that your time with Pham could have left you. Empathetic is one hell of a way to be, all things considered.” He pulled her toward his chest. “You’re better than most.” His chin rested against her hair. “Better than me. That’s for damn sure.”
Sawyer lay on his back and pulled her on top of him. She squeaked. His unguarded smile returned.
“Am I squishing you?”
His hands drummed on her bottom. “You couldn’t if you tried.”
Angela kissed him. Her dark hair fell, hiding their faces from the world. Lazily, his hands roamed her back. She liked being on top of him, how he made her feel petite when she was anything but. Angela teased his lips with hers. She nibbled and played with the sexiest man to walk the earth—and he liked it. His erection thickened beneath her. Sawyer’s searching hands slipped under her shirt to smooth his palms over her skin.
She slipped her tongue into his mouth and explored what made him groan and tighten his fingers on her sides.
Sawyer moved a hand to the back of her neck. His fingers threaded into her loose hair, holding her against him and driving her mad.
“It’s time for you to take me inside,” she murmured against his lips.
“Anything you want.” He lifted her to her feet and rolled to his. Not bothering to brush the sand off his back, he took her hand in his and retraced the path to their deck.
At the door, he pulled his shirt off over his head and shook the garment out.
Angela leaned against the siding. “Your shorts are pretty sandy too.”
His eyebrows arched, and with a devilish grin, Sawyer dropped his shorts down and kicked them to the side, standing in front of her in boxer briefs to display his lean, hard-muscled body. Heat flared in every part of her.
“What about you?” he asked.
She bit her bottom lip and moved closer.
He pulled her shirt over her head and tugged her shorts down. They piled at her feet. He inched back and drank her in. Her nipples beaded behind the lace bra. Moisture pooled between her legs.
“Goddamn, you’re gorgeous.” Sawyer shook his head as though he had to shake himself out of a trance. He opened the door and pulled her inside.
He headed straight for the bathroom, her hand in his. She wouldn’t have guessed him for a hand holder, but it seemed that this man never wanted her to walk anywhere without his hands on her. Once inside, he shut the bathroom door and turned on the water in the shower. Hunger flared in his expression when he focused his complete attention onto her.
Angela shivered. He was an intense, gorgeous man, tan and blond and muscled. His hair was just long enough to thread her fingers into. His body was hard, lean, cut, and could fulfill her every daydream. She didn’t know what to do with herself when he came toward her like he couldn’t live without her.
Steam swirled around them. Sawyer backed her to the wall. His nuzzling became a nipping kiss.
Electricity rushed in her blood. Her insides pulsed. His erection thickened between them. Angela scratched her fingernails down his back. She teased along the waist of his boxer briefs and then slid them over Sawyer’s muscular ass.
Every part of him was hard and hot. She didn’t want clothes between them.
Sawyer’s mouth met hers. He unfastened her bra and let it drop. His hands ran to her hips and toyed with her underwear. “These have to go.”
She agreed.
He slid them down until they dropped at her feet. His palms teased over her butt and squeezed while his mouth nuzzled her neck.
Angela’s breath raced. Her hands ran over the short, coarse smattering of hair on his chest. She explored the muscular cut of his pecs. His breaths were as erratic as hers. As her fingertips teased down his stomach and across the ridges of muscle, their breathing seesawed.
She ran her knuckles along his waist and cupped him through his boxer briefs, and he sucked in a deep, chest-expanding breath. She pulled the rigid heat of his shaft free and slid the last shred of their clothes away.
Everything about him was hard muscled and more than she could have imagined.
Sawyer grasped her hips. Their bodies came together, stomach to stomach, lips on lips. He wrapped her to him and backed her into the shower, never taking his mouth from hers.
The water was almost too hot. Somehow, shivers ran down her back. Sand washed off her body. His kisses were all-consuming, holding her up, keeping her alive. Sawyer threaded his hands into her hair and pressed his chiseled body to her softness. They were a contradiction of experiences, but their need was a universal leveler. She wasn’t shy. She didn’t feel uncertain or nervous. Desire guided her hands. Caution didn’t hold him back.
He kissed and nipped down her neck, massaging her breast until his mouth covered her nipple. She cried. The demanding sensation made her legs shake.
His tongue lashed. His teeth played a dangerous game of teasing. Sawyer slid a hand between her legs and stroked her sex. Too many feelings were present. Her brain couldn’t map all the pleasure at once.
With a deft touch, he found her clit. Angela swayed. His kisses trailed to her other breast, offering the same onslaught of tongue lashes and mind-numbing attention.
“Sawyer…” Her head lolled to the side. He was too good to her. This was too much for her to experience. Her climax ripped through her before she could cry his name again. And he didn’t stop, matching the thundering pulse of her orgasm until she couldn’t move.
She was limp, sated, and still so desperate for more of him that she could not focus on anything beyond bringing him to orgasm.
She wrapped her hands around his cock, and Sawyer nipped her bottom lip. She smiled lazily into his kiss, still floating on a cloud. Her hands stroked him. Approval rumbled in his chest.
Hot water and his need pulled her from her hazy aftershocks. She liked his breaths and the way he groaned. Her thumb brushed the head of his erection. She gripped his muscular thickness, making his hips flex.
Sawyer’s eyes were closed, his head tipped back. Pure bliss showed on his face. She’d put it there. Confidence multiplied her need.
She dropped to her knees and rubbed her cheek against his muscular thigh.
“Ange,” he managed. “Not yet.”
The shower water hit his back, which protected her from the raining spray. Still, droplets ricocheted around them. Angela looked up. Their eyes met. She never wanted this more.
Gently, she caressed his shaft. “I don’t think that’s the right answer.”
Her tongue teased his smooth skin.
His chest expanded, his eyes slipping shut as he breathed her name.
“Yes?” she asked, lips teasing a sensitive spot.
He wasn’t hard to convince. After another exploratory kiss, his no transformed into an emphatic yes.
Angela’s hand slid to his crown and back. Her lips wrapped over him.
Sawyer gasped. His hands tangled in her hair.
Taking and releasing him, she slid her mouth over Sawyer. Power curled through Angela like an aphrodisiac. Sawyer fought for restraint, and she wanted to make him lose control.
“Ange…” His fingers knotted in her hair. “God…” His hips flexed. “Sweetheart—” Sawyer pulled from her mouth. His hand wrapped over hers, working his cock until his head dropped back. His release came, falling onto her breasts. He shuddered and stilled. Shower water fell around his shoulders. Pleasure carved a deep, satisfied expression onto his face.
Angela watched, amazed by their connection.
Finally, he opened his eyes, lifted her onto her feet, and wrapped her in a soul-touching embrace.