Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Garrett had been leaning against the wall outside Claire’s door, trying to convince himself he could spend the night on guard without thinking about kissing her again.
I should tell her everything. Admit the truth.
Then the door flew open, and as if she’d read his mind, Claire yanked him inside. In the next heartbeat, her mouth was on his.
He froze. Shock and desire warred in his chest. This was wrong. Her emotions were heightened because she was feeling vulnerable, and he was hiding an awful secret.
But as her mouth moved against his and her fingers wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, desire won out.
His hands found her waist, her shirt riding up, exposing her skin. She tasted like mint toothpaste. Her fingers clenched his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping her from floating away.
The door was still open behind him. Garrett kicked it shut without breaking the kiss. Every reason he shouldn’t do this evaporated the moment her tongue swept against his.
He managed to pull back an inch. “Claire.”
Her pupils were blown wide. “Don’t you dare suggest I don’t know what I’m doing. Tell me this isn’t what you want, too.”
She was so damn beautiful. “Of course I do. But you’re exhausted. You’ve been through hell.”
“And I might die at the hands of a serial killer.” Her hands slid under his shirt, fingers splaying against his abs. “I want you. Unless you don’t—”
He kissed her. Hard. Claiming. Because not wanting her was impossible.
She’d been in his head since the moment Vivi had shown him her photo. Every wall he’d built had started crumbling the second he’d met her in person. Now, with her hands on his skin and her body pressed against his, those walls didn’t just crumble.
They shattered.
He walked her back toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. The back of her knees hit the mattress and she sat, looking at him with an expression that was equal parts vulnerable and determined.
“Last chance to stop,” he said. His voice was rough, barely controlled. “Because if we do this, everything changes.”
“Will you get fired?”
“Probably.” He grinned. “It’ll be worth it.”
“Then we do this.” Claire’s hands went to the hem of her sweatshirt. She pulled it off in one smooth motion, revealing the tank top underneath. “Stop trying to protect me from my own choices, Wolf.”
Wolf. Not Garrett. Not Bobby.
The reminder should have stopped him. Should have made him confess everything before this went any further. But she was reaching for him again, pulling him down to her, and he was too weak to resist.
He’d tell her tomorrow. After Derek was caught. After she was safe. After he could look her in the eye and explain why he’d kept the secret.
Tonight, he’d be selfish. Tonight, he’d take what she was offering and try not to think about how badly this would hurt when the truth came out.
His mouth found hers again, softer this time. Less desperate. More deliberate. He wanted to memorize this. The way she tasted. The small sound she made when his teeth grazed her lower lip. The way her hands gripped his shoulders as if she was afraid he’d disappear.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmured against her mouth.
“You.” Her fingers slid into his hair. “Just you.”
He kissed her jaw, down her throat. Found the spot where her pulse hammered and lingered there. Her head fell back, giving him access, trusting him completely.
The trust nearly broke him. “Claire.” Her name was half prayer, half apology.
“Stop overthinking.” Her hands found the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. “I can feel you thinking. Just...be here. With me.”
He helped her remove his shirt, let her explore. Her fingers traced the scars on his ribs, his shoulder. Evidence of missions gone wrong, of being too slow or too reckless or too focused on saving someone else to protect himself.
“You’ve been hurt,” she said quietly.
“Occupational hazard.”
“Does it hurt now?”
“No.” Nothing hurt now except the knowledge that she didn’t know who he really was.
Her hands moved lower, traced his abs, the V of muscle that disappeared beneath his jeans. Her touch was confident but not aggressive. Exploring. Learning him.
“Your turn,” Garrett said.
Her tank top joined his shirt on the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Of course, she wasn’t. She’d been trying to sleep when she’d decided to find him.
His breath caught. She was all soft curves and smooth skin and trust in her eyes.
“You’re staring,” Claire said, but she didn’t cover herself. Didn’t hide.
“Yeah.” His voice was rough. “I am.”
He lowered her back onto the bed and followed her down. Kissed her again while his hands mapped territory he’d been dreaming about for days. The curve of her waist. The dip of her spine. The soft swell of her breasts.
She arched into his touch, made a sound that shot straight through him. Tonight wasn’t about guilt. Tonight was about her. About giving her comfort and pleasure, and the connection she needed.
He could hate himself tomorrow.
His mouth moved lower to kiss the underside of one breast. Her sternum. Her ribs. She trembled beneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair.
“You’re killing me,” she breathed.
“Good.” He looked up, saw her eyes dark with desire. “That’s the idea.”
She rocked her hips under him. He removed her pants, then his. As he knelt between her legs, he said, “Tell me what you need, sweetheart. Use your words.”
Her cheeks flushed. “More. I need more.”
He gave her more. Kissed lower, made her gasp. Her hips lifted off the bed, and he held her steady, took his time, drove her higher. When she shattered, his name on her lips, Garrett felt something in his chest crack open. Something he’d kept locked away for all these years.
This. This was what he’d been missing. Not just physical pleasure, but connection. Real connection with someone who saw him—even if she didn’t know all of him.
Claire pulled him back up, kissed him like she was drowning and he was air. Her hands fumbled with his underwear, tugging them down. He helped, kicking them off.
“Condom?” she asked breathlessly.
“Wallet.”
“Of course you’re prepared.”
“Navy SEAL. Always prepared for any outcome.”
She laughed. Actually laughed. And the sound was so unexpected, so perfect, that Garrett had to kiss her again just to taste her joy.
He retrieved the condom and dealt with it quickly. When he settled between her thighs, Claire’s hands framed his face.
“Hey,” she said softly. “You still with me?”
“Yeah.” He kissed her palm. “I’m with you.”
“Then stop holding back. I won’t break.”
“I know you won’t.” Because she was the strongest person he knew. “But I might.”
Her expression softened. “Then break. I’ve got you.”
And somehow, impossibly, he believed her.
When he finally pushed inside, Claire’s breath hitched. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on. He stilled, gave her time to adjust, watched her face. “Okay?” he asked.
“Better than okay.” She rolled her hips experimentally, and Garrett groaned. “Move. Please.”
He did. Slow at first, letting her set the pace. But she urged him faster, deeper, her legs wrapping around his waist. Her short nails dug into his back, and her teeth grazed his neck.
They found a rhythm that was both familiar and entirely new, like they’d done this before.
Like they were meant to fit together exactly like this.
Claire’s breath came in gasps. Garrett buried his face in her neck, breathed her in—vanilla shampoo and sweat and something indefinably her.
His hands gripped her hips, angled her just right, and she cried out.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her skin. “Let go.”
“Not without you.”
“Claire—”
“Together,” she insisted. Her hand slid between them, and the added pressure made his vision go white.
They fell together. Shattered together. Held on to each other like the world was ending and this was all that mattered.
Maybe it was.
Afterward, they lay tangled in sheets that smelled like sex and Claire’s soap. Garrett’s heart was still racing, his breathing unsteady. Claire curled against his side, her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his.
“That was...” she started.
“Yeah.”
“Are you always this articulate post-sex?”
He laughed. “Only with you.”
Claire propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were swollen. She’d never looked more beautiful. “Can I ask you something?” she said.
Garrett tensed. “Depends on the question.”
“Why did you really take this mission? And don’t say it’s just your job.”
His chest tightened because he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. But he couldn’t lie to her either. Not after this.
“Because when I saw your file,” he said carefully, “when I read about what you’d survived, what you’d overcome…I knew I had to help. You reminded me of someone I lost. Someone I couldn’t save.”
“Your sister.”
“She deserved an older brother who could protect her.” The truth and the lie were all mixed together.
Claire’s expression softened. “Is that why you’re so good at this? At pushing me when I need it? Because you understand the guilt?”
“Maybe.” Probably. “Or maybe I just recognize strength when I see it.”
She smiled. Leaned down and kissed him. Soft. Sweet. Nothing like the desperate passion from earlier.
“I can’t stop saying it…thank you,” she whispered against his mouth.
“For what?”
“For seeing me. Not just the FBI agent, the victim, or the survivor. But me.”
Garrett’s throat was tight. She was thanking him for something he didn’t deserve. He wasn’t seeing all of her. He was seeing CJ, Lily’s best friend. The other girl he’d failed to protect fifteen years ago.
But he couldn’t say that. So instead, he pulled her closer, kissed her again, and tried to memorize every detail of this moment before it all fell apart.