Free Negotiations (Close Contact Book 2) by Megan Mitcham Page A

calling over his shoulder to Wolfe, “Dios bendice, my man.”
    Still the son of a bitch didn’t move.
    The metal door slammed once more, closing the two of them out together. Against clenched fists, Paige fought the urge to close the distance at a run and check him into the ledge—or better yet pitch him over the side.
    But no, this could be one of the most critical negotiations of her career, and she’d do it right. Hell, she’d talked a furious cabbie into surrendering himself and his two hostages this morning. How hard could this be?

    * * *
    H e’d spotted her in his scope an hour ago . Her cheeks flushed to a lovely pink from effort, and likely fury, as she used sleek arms and agile feet to weave through the festive crowd below. His cock had jumped when he’d watched her pouty mouth purse and thin as she worked her way toward him…as she came for him.
    Primed as she was for a fight, he’d enjoy pushing her to her limits, preparing her body for his. From anger, to frustration, to lust. Unethical to the max, especially given the reason she was here, but fuck if he cared. For too long Donovan had watched through the distance of his scope, tempted by her fierce nature, innate skill, and a body made for indulgence. Even now, as she waited for him to move, acknowledge her presence, say something, he played her.
    As leader of the SRT, he’d read every report of her negotiations since she’d started with the DPD. For the safety of his men he needed to know their negotiator was competent.
    Time after time she’d impressed him with her calm authority in extreme stress situations. When others would have thrown in the towel, she hunkered down with bared teeth or kisses, whichever the situation called for. She peacefully resolved the entanglements of madness, weapons, and innocent lives. Though no negotiator liked to relinquish control and call for force, she executed the call without hesitation when necessary.
    Regardless of all her ability in the field, he’d break her tonight. In the sweetest fashion, he’d make her come under him in every way possible.
    The sound of quiet footsteps signaled triumph. After several minutes of stillness, save for the wind, she walked toward him. On a breeze came the smell of her. Coffee, Dial soap, and sex. He inhaled and held her inside him for as long as he could stand before letting her go. A high, similar to the one he’d felt after a tricky mission, hit hard in his chest and spread throughout his limbs.
    A groan of satisfaction left his throat.
    Paige’s reciprocating gasp echoed in his ears and stroked the length of his dick, increasing its pressure against his fatigues.
    The group he’d been surveying finally dissipated. He eased to his full height, bringing his weapon off the ledge. Turning his back to her, Donovan walked one step to his bag and began disassembling the SR-90. He figured she’d stay planted where he’d left her, but the sight of gray boots made him smile behind his nylon veil. He laid the Robar down and stroked an ungloved hand down the barrel, his customary show of appreciation for the weapon which had allowed him to save many by taking a few. Her foot twitched like she wanted to kick the gun out of her way and snatch him up by the throat.
    His smile grew.
    In a flash, he was up. Not face-to-face, but chest to the air above her head. He towered over her and leaned into her space, crowding the air she consumed in a gasp. Her clear blue eyes narrowed to slits. His gaze followed the striking arch of her neck, and then slid back to the defiant glare—made fiercer, no doubt, by the telling gasp she’d let slip. Sergeant Paige Cline’s strength battled her awareness.
    Not knowing which would win amplified the roar of his up-ticked pulse.
    Donovan wanted her to retreat one step, so he could advance. Her man-crushing boots stuck to the tar. Challenge upon challenge, Paige prolonged his amusement.
    Her lips parted. The sharply arched top one curled in a near