Free Seduced by the Storm by Sydney Croft Page B

clenched
teeth, his hot jets of semen filling her, his hips pounding into her without
mercy.
    The
way he held her, the intensity of his thrusts…something told her this was more
than a quickie shag. This was a claiming, of sorts—a wonderful yet terrifying
message to her and other men.
    Which
was ridiculous. But she couldn’t shake the thought that she’d just made a
terrible, perhaps fatal, mistake.
    When
it was over, she dropped her legs to the floor and he collapsed against her.
They were both trembling, struggling to breathe and stay upright. Eyes closed,
Wyatt fumbled with the locker to his left, grabbed something, and then she felt
the soft rasp of a cloth between her legs.
    "Sorry,"
he muttered, pulling back. "I meant to grab a condom. I just…shit. What
you do to me…"
    Shocked
that he cared enough to tidy her up, she stared at him, wishing they’d met under
any other circumstances. Maybe someday, if she survived the next couple of
days, she could ring him—
    Fool. Nothing could ever work between them. She lived in
England, he lived in America. He was a simple roughneck, she ran an agency full
of superhuman spies. Their worlds couldn’t be farther apart.
    Then
again, maybe that was part of the appeal. Most of the men she met were part of
her world, the good side or the bad, and to them, she was a soldier in a global
war for power. She didn’t have many opportunities to get to know men outside of
her business, and when she did, she didn’t allow herself to get close. She
wasn’t exactly a prize—she brought to the table a side dish of danger,
something a man living in the "normal" world had no defense against.
The last thing she wanted to do was risk the life of an innocent simply because
she wanted a relationship with someone who saw her as a woman, not a warrior.
    Wyatt
tossed the cloth to the bottom of a locker and reached for another, and she
used the opportunity to slip from beneath him. Tugging her skirt down, she
moved toward the door, intent upon breaking it down if she had to.
    "You’re
not leaving," he said, as he wiped his cock clean.
    "I
have to." She couldn’t look at him, so she looked at the floor—and groaned
at the sight of the panties Sean had sent to her upon finding out she would be
arriving on the platform, shredded and in a pile. "Oh, shit."
    "Ah,
hey, I’m sorry about that." Wyatt swept them up and tossed them into the
locker that seemed to be the repository for everything. "I’ll buy you new
ones."
    "That
won’t be necessary." She reached for the door handle. "This can’t
happen again, Wyatt. We’re done. It’s over."
    A
palm slapped against the door, right next to her head, so hard she jumped.
"I don’t think so." He leaned in close, once more trapping her with
his body, using his size and height in a primitive me-man-you-woman message
that would have chafed if it hadn’t made some small, shameful part of her feel
so desired. "If you think I can spend the next thirteen days seeing you,
hearing you, smelling you"—he inhaled deeply and growled a
little—"without touching you, you’re very, very mistaken."
    Shivers
skittered over her skin at his words, at the possessive tone, at the heat his
body was sending out again. When she felt the hot head of his cock slip beneath
the hem of her dress to brand her ass cheek, she nearly sobbed. The erotic
menace, the danger he threw like a scent, scared the piss out of her.
    Oh,
she could take him out if she wanted to, could kill him where he stood. But
this wasn’t about a physical fear of him. It was about what he could do to her
soul, and ultimately her mission to save her sister.
    "Please,
Wyatt. Let me go." She didn’t mean from the room. He knew it. But he
opened the door as though it had never been stuck.
    "It’s
not over, Faith. It’s just begun."
    "You’re
crazy," she breathed, staring out into the deserted hall because she dared
not turn to him.
    "You
don’t know the half of it."
    She
fled. Faith Black never fled.