Chapter 15 #2
Pratt pointed back the direction from which she had come. “Men’s room. I’m surprised you didn’t pass him.”
“Damn, Pratt. We’re not supposed to let him out of our sight!”
Pratt held up his hands. “I have his cell phone. The man just went to the toilet, Grace. It’s not a big deal.”
But he wasn’t the one who would have to answer to Worth if he was wrong.
She did an about-face and stomped back toward the bathrooms.
“Grace!”
She held a hand up in a stop gesture and kept on going. Jesus. Was everybody around her so incompetent, or was she making a fuss out of nothing? Maybe McBride was right and she didn’t know how to let anyone close . . . even her coworkers. Stop it, Vivian Grace. She wasn’t buying into his theories.
Back ramrod straight, she strode right into the men’s room. Flashed a fake smile for the gentleman she encountered drying his hands. Staring at her, he wandered out, obviously confused or startled.
She scanned the stalls. No feet. Her anxiety level pumped up a few more degrees. A toilet flushed. There. She marched up to the door on the other side of the expansive restroom where his sneakered feet and jean-clad legs were visible. She banged on it hard enough to rattle the hinges.
“McBride!”
He yanked the door inward, glared at her. “Is the building on fire?”
She blinked. “No.”
“Then what the hell are you doing in the men’s room? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
That was it. She went toe-to-toe with him, caused him to stagger back a step. “You have pushed me around for the last time.” She poked him in the chest. “I’ve put up with your lewd comments and your inquisitions, and I’ve had it!”
“Don’t hold back, Grace,” he murmured, hands up and those blue eyes glittering with something like mischief.
And then reality sank in.
She glanced down. That step backward she had forced McBride to take had him straddling the toilet.
The toilet.
Oh hell.
Her horrified gaze met his.
He grinned.
“Now that’s feeling it, Grace.” He reached over her head and pushed the door shut behind her. “You get so lost in the moment, in the passion, that you forget about everything else.”
And then he kissed her.
Not some slow, tender, sweet kiss. His fingers dove into her hair, held her head still while his mouth covered hers. He kissed her hard. Invaded her with his tongue. Fire roared through her. Her fingers clenched in his shirt.
She wanted more.
Her arms went around his neck. She wanted to kiss him back the way he was kissing her. Openmouthed . . . lips bruising lips . . . tongues battling.
His right hand slid along the length of her throat, reached beneath her jacket, and closed over her breast. She groaned.
No tiny, feminine sound . . . a throaty roar.
Her hands roved over his chest, felt the contours she had already admired, crinkling the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. She wanted to touch all of him! Now!
His hands moved downward, over her bottom, pulled her hips against his pelvis.
The needy sounds she made were swallowed up in his kiss.
She tugged at his shirt buttons, wiggled her hands beneath the fabric to touch his skin.
More! She snaked her arms upward, threaded her fingers into his hair.
It felt exactly as she had known it would. Soft, silky.
He worked her skirt up her thighs . . . lifted her.
Her legs instinctively curled around his waist She threw her head back, arched her hips .
. . God, she wanted him inside her. He kissed his way down her neck.
She wanted to tear her blouse off so that he could access her breasts.
He slid his tongue beneath the lace of her bra.
“Oh . . . God!” She bucked, bit back a scream. Her cell phone clattered to the tile floor.
He pressed her back against the side wall, fumbled with her panties, then slid one finger inside her. Her muscles clamped around him and he groaned in satisfaction.
“Hot,” he murmured. “Wet.” He slid that finger in and out a couple of times, smiled as if he had found just what he wanted, and then he pressed .
. . probed and pressed some more . . . until he did this thing at just the right spot that sent her over an edge she hadn’t even come close to . . . in years. Or maybe ever.
He put his mouth over hers to muffle the sounds of her orgasm, his lips smiling.
She rode out the incredible climax . . . but she wanted more. She had to have him. Now!
Her heavy lids opened just enough for her to peer into those sexy blue eyes. “No more playing. Do it!”
He kept one hand under her bottom and fished in his pocket with the other.
He tucked the unopened condom between his teeth and then, one at a time, braced a stiletto-clad foot against the metal wall behind him.
Then he reached for his fly. She used her back and feet to maintain her position as he ripped the condom open with his teeth and fingers and then slid it into place.
That intent gaze never left hers, the promise there driving her crazy.
Then he did that thing again, thrust one finger inside and found that spot that sent her instantly into orgasm. This time she bit her lips together to hold back the cries and watched him watching her. Her entire body undulated with the waves of pleasure.
He nudged her with the head of his penis, and she lost her breath. One slow, solid inch, then two filled her, teasing as he took his sweet time.
“Feel that?”
“Shut up.” She couldn’t talk . . . couldn’t think. She could only feel.
Then he pushed all the way inside, burrowed fully between her thighs and kissed her until she could no longer hold her breath.
She arched her hips, he moved in deeper still.
A hard poke in her ribs had her gasping, “Wait!” She struggled to speak. “Gun!”
He drew back slightly, his breath as ragged as her own. She wrestled the weapon out of its holster. Couldn’t drop it, so she held on to it, wrapped that arm around his neck and kept the door from swaying inward with the other.
The harder he pounded, the harder her stilettos scrambled for purchase on that slick surface. His movements grew frantic, his breathing more jagged. Finally—oh God!—he was losing it the way she had twice already.
He stopped mid-stroke. She wanted to scream. Her body throbbed for more.
He nibbled at her lips. “I do love those lips, Grace.”
“Move,” she ordered, shifting her hips, contracting those inner muscles with all her might.
He shuddered. “In a moment. But first.” He teased her lips with his own. “Just one more for the road.”
Confusion reigned for about two seconds, and then he caressed her where his penis already had her stretched so tight. Massaged and pressed until she felt herself coming all over again. Then he moved once more, in and out, slowly, making her breath catch, making her body convulse all the harder.
He started to come. Closed his eyes and worked it out, one measured stroke at a time.
Leaning into her, he kissed her lips tenderly as if he hadn’t just made her come three times.
He braced her weight against him until her feet were steady on the floor, then he withdrew. The sensation made her gasp, made her ache at the loss.
Stunned, bewildered, tingly, out of breath . . . she felt all those things.
He pushed her skirt down her thighs, took the weapon from her hand and tucked it back into its holster. “You’d better go, Agent Grace.”
She nodded, uncertain of her voice.
Vivian slipped out the door, glanced around the room. The sight of the urinals hanging on the wall drove reality home. She had just had sex in a men’s bathroom. In a stall!
With McBride.
She strode out the door, thank God without encountering another person, and darted into the ladies’ room.
Her eyes rounded at the image in the mirror. Her hair was a mess. Her blouse was twisted.
“So, so stupid.”
She righted her clothes. Washed her hands. And smoothed her hair.
Pull it together. She couldn’t go back out there and face him if she didn’t.
Deep breath. It was just sex. No big deal. In an hour or so he would be gone and it wouldn’t matter anyway.
Except that it did matter.
He was leaving and this case wasn’t right.
There would be another email from Devoted Fan. And without McBride . . .
She touched the holster at her waist. Where was her phone? The sound of metal bouncing on tile echoed in her head.
“Shit.” She had left it in the men’s room. Holding back the urge to run, she walked to the door.
McBride leaned against the wall between the two restrooms.
He held up her cell phone. “Looking for this?”
She snatched it from his hand. “Thanks.”
The phone vibrated against her palm. She jumped.
“I’ll catch up with Pratt.” McBride pushed off the wall and sauntered back to the table.
Vivian watched him walk away, the long fluid strides making her throat dry.
Pratt looked up, came to attention as if he had been dozing as McBride joined him.
Vivian’s phone vibrated again. Worth.
She cleared her throat and answered the call. “Grace.”
“Don’t let McBride get on that plane.”