Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Whitney
Daring Deeds
So, here’s the thing. In all the cutthroat adventure movies, danger is afoot, right?
That’s the promise. The guarantee. Globe-trotting quests and action-packed thrills for edge-of-your-seat entertainment.
But go fifty-fifty with a budding romance— à la The Lost City, Shotgun Wedding, and the OG, Romancing the Stone?
Well, now that deranged, power-hungry headcase with his greedy goons, hellbent on unearthing treasure, gives an entirely new meaning to elevated heart rates.
Literally, take every one of my fantasies and package them in a bundle deal, because that’s what happened. Warner and I, side by side, taking down a masked intruder? Are you kidding me?
The way he held my hand and kissed me so fiercely… Talk about sexy foreplay.
That villain might as well have written his own obituary. There was no way I wasn’t making it to the other side to explore the promise Warner has left on my lips. The ache in my belly. The wait and see how I’m about to put it down on you when this is over stare.
I’m only human.
We couldn’t write a more thrilling romantic adventure.
The fight scene with movie-level choreography.
The air crackling with passion. Us, moving in sync through that cold, dark cement-block building, throwing blindsiding blows, tossing apple grenades, hurling knives with expert precision through dust clouds.
All that sexy, raw, desperate heat and adrenaline coursing through us.
Defending our lives while protecting exquisite, never-before-seen art—which just so happens to be my deepest, darkest fantasy?
That’s real connection.
I don’t know a soul who wouldn’t need to climb into Warner’s lap, throbbing in all the right places, and lock lips after that.
“Should we maybe tie him up?” Warner says gruffly into the kiss.
I drag my fingertips over his chest, sucking his lower lip, completely unbothered, when maybe I should be.
An unconscious, armed criminal, who asked about a drive that’s presumably hidden somewhere in the building, is blacked out on the floor ten feet from us.
Warner and I should be tearing this place apart, searching high and low for it.
We’re completely in the dark here. Everyone in the main residence could be tied up and gagged.
At the very least, it would behoove us to unmask this guy, so we’ll have the faintest idea who’d want to threaten our lives, and call the coast guard to cart him away.
And yet my Scooby-Doo instincts must be dormant.
My tunnel vision has blurred everything except for the fact that there are too many clothing layers between Warner’s large thighs and the ache between mine.
“Later,” I moan, closing my eyes when his thick erection hardens beneath me, pressing relentlessly. I feel his smile against my neck as I impatiently tug at the hem of his shirt. “Warner, do you want to—?”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish. “Since the country club,” he mutters, roughly yanking his sweatshirt over his head between kisses, then helps me out of mine.
Immediately, I feel the rush of heat. His hot skin against my stomach.
Those thick thighs rubbing relentlessly, hooking into mine. “And at the gallery…”
My breathing grows shallow. “Yeah?”
Is this really happening?
“Especially in the gallery.” His dark gaze drops to my breasts, lingering before he lifts me to my feet. “And at Cibo Nero. Even more on the plane…”
His unyielding stare sets my skin on fire. My body is throbbing, blazing and begging, Say yes. Say you want whatever it is that’s unfolding between us. Lust, love, anything in between.
“Do you remember what you said to me, Whitney?” He teases his finger along the waistline of my sweatpants.
Standing over him now, I watch how his enormous hands grip my hips.
Then he tugs lightly at the drawstring of my pants, eyes never leaving mine.
Not as he drags them along with my underwear over my thighs.
Not when he tugs them down my legs, attentively removing my feet one at a time, then tosses them away.
Or even while he wriggles out of his own.
Certainly not as the wind howls loudly outside and he, utterly undeterred, turns me around so I’m straddling his legs, one foot on either side.
He glides his large, warm hands up from my ankles to the backs of my thighs, his fingertips teasing me.
“Uh, wh-which time was this?” I stammer, lost in the haze of this moment.
“When I overheard your phone conversation at the plane.” His voice deepens, steady and determined. “When I thought a pitch was what you were after.”
For a second, my head swims. I don’t have a clue to what he’s referring—
Oh my God.
A hollow laugh claws out of me.
“That’s right,” he says smugly. “I believe your words were ‘kiss my ass.’” Warner’s voice drops, rough and gravelly, sending a shiver down my spine, sharp enough to snap my whole body to attention.
His strong fingers flex into me, sliding up around my thighs until he palms both cheeks. Then I feel his hot, open-mouthed kisses on the swell of my ass.
Dear, sweet Lord.
I toss a glance over my shoulder, because I can’t imagine believing this isn’t a dream without seeing it with my own eyes.
“So, as an astute businessman, I’ve considered all my options and made my final decision. I’m going to kiss not only this sweet ass”—he kisses the other cheek—“but every inch of your tight little body before I give you what you want.”
It’s a vow.
No further conversation required.
I gasp in a breath as he follows through on his promise, opening his mouth against my skin, sucking, kissing my ass, dragging his tongue along my seam.
With his enormous hands on my hips, he holds me in place as he laves and laps me from behind, loving how I arch into his sweet wet torture, riding his mouth.
And I try not to cry out.
Oh, I try.
But Warner is relentless in his task, hungrily coaxing every breath and moan from me until my knees give. I can hardly stand upright.
And then, unthinkably, he holds me. So gently, like I’m precious to him, Warner takes me into his arms, onto his lap again, whispering in my ear that he tried to resist, and something about tropical condoms, before I tell him, “Next time.” Then he’s sliding inside me from underneath, filling me so completely, so mind-numbingly.
He holds me so tight as we rock together, and I feel the heat firing through me, the kaleidoscope of flaming hearts exploding in my eyes.
Lord, I don’t even know why this lust comes with so many feelings, but I need more.
All over again, I’m pulsing with everything we’re finally saying without saying a word.
Arching into the mind-numbing friction. The gruff growl in his voice magnifies the tension as he thrusts his hips.
We keep moving, meeting every stroke faster, harder, in sync in this cold, dark building with danger steps away, anticipating each other’s needs the way couples do.
As he trembles beneath me, never loosening his strong arms wrapped around my back, our breathing slowly falls into sync. We’re chasing the high, savoring the last embers of our friction.
Then everything is quiet with Warner pressing petal-soft kisses all over my face—our bodies fully sated and spent.
My mind, though, is anything but.
Maybe this is the edge of adventure.
The part they don’t teach in doomsday classes or warn you about in adventure-romance movies.
Not the danger itself, but what comes after.
The stillness when the adrenaline subsides.
The way surviving something meaningful together strips you bare of labels and preplanned paths, physically and emotionally, until all that’s left is truth. Not love.
But definitely something like it.
After the briefest groan from our mostly unconscious roommate, Warner and I begrudgingly clean ourselves up—as much as possible amongst the dusty, battle-torn building debris—re-dress, and quickly try to triage the situation.
I check the art for damage while Warner ties up the intruder and props him up against what’s left of the wall.
“Do you want to do the honors?” he asks, fanning his hands toward the black ski mask, still very much concealing our unfairly long-lashed culprit’s face.
“Aw, Warner. You’re so sweet.”
He pops his collar, chuckling. “I do what I can, you know?”
“Oh, you definitely did what needed to be done.” I snap my fingers, not even caring that I’m pumping his ego. The man deserves a standing ovation. Which I fully plan to give him over and over, and over again, once we wrap up this pesky caper.
I kneel down on the other side of the guy, facing Warner, and still, I have to force myself to stop short of his soft lips. I let my eyes travel down his body again, already wanting post-battle Warner sex again.
But—of course—the guy groans, ruining my moment.
Already having up to here with this guy, I peel back the mask, and I’m seriously flabbergasted, because ZOINKS! Maybe she would’ve gotten away with it, if it weren’t for us meddling kids.
“Mya!”
Say what? How?
Warner is a complete fool, gasping with theatrical outrage.
It’s almost cartoonish, the way he pulls her to her feet and starts interrogating her.
What she did to Tricia to get on his flight.
Whether she had a hand in the robbery attempt at his home.
Or the gallery, I toss in. And, most of all, what drive she’s talking about and who hired her.
And she has the nerve to stonewall him.
I suppose she thinks that because he’s a man, he won’t hurt her. But I’m a woman. And a newly sexually recharged one with far less patience. I’m a Scorpio—I will waterboard for my man.
Not that Warner is officially my man… but still.
“Oh hell no.” Immediately, I commence with the pat-down, checking her pockets. “I should’ve known. All that nice-nice, chitchatting on the plane, acting like you were so curious. Then offering to cook for him, too?”
She glares at me.
“Who do you work for?” Warner’s tone cuts sharp and jagged.