High Octane Heroes Read online

  “What’s your problem?” He reached for her wrist.

  She gasped, and a warning alarm went off in his head—don’t push her. But she let him pull her close, her eyes huge and her breathing quick. He bent his head to her ear and spoke with a lungful of hot air against her neck. “Tell me your name.”

  “Rosalia.” She leaned in, bringing their bodies into the barest contact. Some part of her liked him, behind all that resistance, and he was damn glad.

  “I’m Justin.” His chest burned where her breasts, small and firm, brushed against him. He wanted to reach under her blouse. “And if you won’t let me buy you a drink, I’ll have to kiss you instead—to show my thanks.”

  Not a word. No yes, or no. She simply tilted her face up and parted her lips. He intended to be gentle and slow, but her open mouth proved too tempting. His tongue delved inside, seeking out hers. He stroked the inside of her mouth, where the taste of something sweet lingered. She whimpered, and all he could think of was taking her to his bed. Except Meegan had been there last night, and the sheets needed changing.

  He must have hesitated, because Rosalia pulled away.

  “You’re welcome.” She slipped under his arm and down the step before he could stop her.

  He followed, but the street was empty. At the corner, he looked in both directions. She’d vanished. Some primal instinct told him to chase. But no, she needed him to prove something to her. He would figure out what it was, prove it, and she would stop resisting. He went back upstairs to change his sheets.

  Rosalia was not a burrito, or, for that matter, any other kind of local flavor for Mr. Muscles to sample at his convenience, which was why she walked away from that nearly all-consuming kiss. But at three A.M. she lay awake, tangled in her sheets, imagining him unwrapping and devouring her. That hot mouth, that big, forceful tongue—the memory kept her wanting and aching.

  When she got out of bed, she drank a full cup of abuelita’s toxic coffee. Then she steeled herself to climb right up the ladder and finish the cherubs. On the topmost platform, she lined up her jars of paint. The scaffolding swayed in the wind, and her hands shook even though she never looked down.

  She dipped her brush into the chocolate-brown tint.

  He wasn’t a trust-fund jerk. He was a paramedic. He took her side against his girlfriend—ex—even though Rosalia had been in the wrong. And he was big and strong and on the other side of the window, in a room with a solid floor. Surely, with him pressed on top of her, the world would stop spinning.

  Damn it. Her stomach churned around caffeinated acid, and her sleep-deprived brain took for granted that he wanted her. Last night it had sure seemed like—

  The scaffolding creaked, its joints straining against the gales of another foggy morning. She couldn’t breathe. The panic came from nowhere—or from fatigue and caffeine and being more than thirty feet over the sidewalk, and maybe from the realization she kind of liked Mr. Muscles. She trembled; the scaffolding quaked. Dios mio, it was going to fall. She scrambled to the ladder, knocking a jar of paint against the wall of the building. She froze with her feet dangling over the edge and her fingernails digging into the old planks. Her heart attempted to explode. She hiccuped, sobbed. She was going to die. Splat. Right on the sidewalk outside his window.

  The very one now rattling and sliding open.

  For one long moment her heart stopped pounding and she stared at him. Tousled hair and sleep-pink cheeks made him boyish. The muscles under his T-shirt did not. His eyebrows pulled together, then his eyes widened.

  Oh right, she was in the middle of a panic attack, dangling from the scaffolding. Gasping, her legs flailed for purchase.

  “Shit. Are you okay?” He rolled out of the window gracefully and gripped her wrists, hauling her back onto the platform.

  She sucked in a breath. “Afraid of heights.”

  “What are you doing up here, then?”

  She shrugged, hoping it hid her shakes.

  His blue eyes almost matched La Virgen’s dress, and when he smiled, they crinkled at the edges. “You’re a stubborn little thing.”

  “Thanks for saving me.” She couldn’t look at his face, so she stared at his very broad chest.

  “You weren’t gonna fall.” He reached for her wrists again, as if he didn’t believe his own words. His big hands were warm and they steadied her pulse.

  “I couldn’t move. I freaked out.”

  He tugged her toward the window. “Come inside.”

  Anything was better than going back down the ladder. She followed. His room was sparse, like a bachelor had moved in three weeks ago, which he had. Her eyes strayed to the bed, and she remembered blondie’s keening. A blush burned her cheeks, and of course he was watching.

  He jumped onto the bed, boyish all over again, pumping his arms to bounce up and down on his knees. “She’s gone. I changed the sheets and everything.”

  She almost smiled at his silliness. “Hey, I just came in to get off the scaffolding.”

  “If you say so.”

  Smug son of a bitch. She scanned for an exit and made a dash.

  “Wait. Don’t go—” Fast on his feet, he blocked her way, his big frame filling the doorway. “Why are you running?”

  “Maybe I don’t like you.”

  He cocked his head, making it clear he knew she was lying. “Why?”

  “You’re not my type.”

  He kept on staring like he could read her mind if he looked hard enough. “You have a thing against blonds?”

  Shaking her head, she giggled in spite of herself. In a way, maybe she did. And he made her giddy.

  “Don’t want Mrs. Lopez to know?”

  Rosalia’s giddiness deflated and tears stung her eyes. He’d found her sore spot—time to leave. She pushed past him. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

  “Let me go.”

  “Stay.”

  She tried to twist free, raising her voice. “You’re hurting me.”

  As if her skin were on fire, he dropped her elbow and took a step back. His eyes traveled over her, assessing whether she was truly injured. Satisfied she was intact, he asked, “Is she very sick?”

  “Si.” Rosalia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  He opened his arms, offering an embrace. “I’m sorry.”

  She waved him off.

  Hands on hips, he studied her. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing.” But, god, she wanted to tell him. Bad. She backed up onto his bed, scooted to the headboard, and circled her arms around her drawn-up knees.

  “If she dies, will you lose the apartment?”

  She nodded.

  “Have you asked my uncle to add you to the lease?”

  She let her head fall back, thudding the wall. “Why would he? He can get four times the rent.”

  “He’s a good guy. Promise you’ll ask.”

  “I don’t want charity.”

  He blew out a long breath. “You’re as stubborn as Meegan.”

  Real smooth talker. Tension spiraled up her spine and launched her from the bed. She dashed outside, cascading down the steps two at a time and slipping into her apartment.

  Abuelita lay in her bed, tucked under a colorful blanket. Footsteps creaked on the floorboard of the hallway. He’d followed her.

  Like a sentry at the door, he kept watch while she smoothed abuelita’s gun-metal gray hair and straightened the blanket. When she finished, he vacated the doorway and padded after her into the hall.

  She pointed at the front door and hissed. “Get out.” Spinning on the balls of her feet, she made for the cool white light illuminating her room at the end of the hall. She hurried inside, closing the door behind her. Or trying to. A very large foot prevented her from shutting it.

  “Go away.”

  “No.”

  She gave up, sat on her bed and curled into the same knee-up defense she’d assumed upstairs. His eyes darted around, pausing on the window, shaded by the top tier of scaf
folding outside. Then he scanned the well-used furniture. Her portraits—faces of her family and the neighborhood—hung on every wall.

  “These are good.” The appreciation on his face thrilled her, made her breaths come fast. Then it changed to something hard-edged, his jaw setting. “So, I’m not one of you? I don’t belong…?”

  She pointed her chin away from his laser stare.

  He vaulted onto the bed and yanked her ankles out until she was horizontal. Pressing her into the mattress, he covered her mouth with his, silencing her protests. She wanted to shove him off, but underneath him she felt safer than she had in months, like her life wasn’t disappearing around her.

  He rocked her, thrusting his erection against her belly.

  “What do you want?” he rasped in her ear.

  To her horror, the answer poured out of her throat. “To not be afraid.”

  He pushed up, smiling. “Perfect.”

  His confident grin promised he could tame all her fears, and she wanted to believe it. Deftly, he unhitched her overalls. She lifted her hips and let him glide them off her legs. She fingered the hem of her sweater, which barely grazed the top of her panties.

  “Keep it on. You’ll need it.” He lifted her like a bride.

  She puzzled over his words until he sat her on the deep windowsill, smooth with a hundred layers of white semigloss. He shimmied open the half-stuck window. The second tier of scaffolding was almost flush with the sill. Before she could protest, he nudged her backward so that she lay on the rough planks, curtained by a flapping blue drop cloth. The street bustled underneath her. The iron frame creaked and groaned in the wind, and her panic gurgled in her belly.

  Could anyone see her? Probably only glimpses.

  Cotton caressed her legs as her panties came off in one swift move. His blond head lowered between her legs. A car horn sounded, jarring her. At the sweep of his tongue, she arched up, his mouth so hot compared to her already chilled skin. Blissful heat shot through her core and bloomed in her belly. But fear fluttered in her mind, attending to the sounds of the neighborhood.

  “Rosalia, relax.”

  “If you want me to relax, put me back on the bed.”

  He chuckled. “Fair enough. Then focus, instead.”

  The rich tones of his voice anchored her. If only he would keep talking. But his lips and tongue went back to working miracles. He stroked her and licked her, teasing her with his fingers. Rough planks abraded her back through her sweater. The scaffolding swayed; life went on below. Tension built in her pelvis, her hips rocking in time with the scaffolding and his tongue, a rhythm innate to her body and the universe.

  He pulled back, breaking the sizzling contact. “I knew you’d be like this. Real.” Then he sucked her clit into his mouth.

  She bucked, her orgasm exploding through her with a single blast of pleasure. Her ears rang and her fingers went numb. In free fall, the wisp of her consciousness slid though the planks, down onto the street and into the earth—sinking, yet weightless.

  Grasping her wrists, he pulled her to sitting and back into her body. He’d freed his penis from his pants—as big and hard as the rest of him.

  “Condom?”

  She shook her head. “Pill.”

  “Good enough. I’m safe.” He pushed into her still-quivering core. Filled almost to the point of pain, she gasped then eased around him.

  He grunted. Pinning her hips to the windowsill, he retreated, thrust again. Salty and smelling of her, his lips found hers.

  His tender kiss trailed over her cheekbone to her ear. “No more fear. You’ll stay. I’ll take care of it.”

  The most mulish part of her protested. She didn’t need his help, didn’t want his protection. Pushing against his chest, she leaned back, and studied those azure eyes. On their glimmering surface, she saw what he really offered—affection, friendship, the possibility of something more.

  With impressive patience, he waited, his erection pulsing inside her.

  And suddenly it was true. She was no longer afraid. “Yes.”

  “Thank god,” he rasped, then lunged into her with a frenzied rhythm born of too much restraint.

  The sheer force of him inside her promised everything she needed. She lay back onto the platform, dug her heels into the windowsill and lifted her hips to receive him. With their gazes locked and their bodies moving in time, the neighborhood swirled around her and La Virgen looked down in approval.

  When he came with a shout, Rosalia laughed—weightless and free.

  BESIEGED

  Elle James

  Maxwell O’Brien pushed through the secret panel hidden in the closet of his bedroom in the embassy apartment he’d been assigned. Still wearing his dress mess from the dinner party he’d left moments before, he was careful not to brush against the dusty walls of the passage or the cobwebs dangling from the ceilings and corners of the doorways.

  His heart raced as if he’d run through the streets of Kabul. Only he wasn’t afraid of being shot at so much as being shot down by the ultimate disappointment.

  Tonight he planned to ask Kate Seward, daughter of the U.S. Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the small nation of Trejikistan, to marry him and follow him to his next duty station in Italy.

  He’d discovered the passageway during his initial week exploring the embassy quarters located in an older, historic district of the capital of Trejikistan. A breakaway country from the Soviet Union, Trejikistan had seen a few years of peace, interspersed with the occasional secular strife and violence. At some time in the past, a former ambassador had been foresighted enough to design and construct several hidden passages known only to the ambassador and his most trusted staff members for use when a silent retreat was called for.

  One such passage just happened to be located behind the ambassador’s wing of apartments, including the one assigned to him. Max had been given a suite designated for family of the ambassador. Since Ambassador Seward’s wife was deceased and he had only one child, he’d offered the suite to Max upon his arrival, claiming he wanted his bodyguard close by to protect his daughter.

  Had Max known that Seward’s daughter was a grown woman and one of the kindest, most caring and beautiful Max had ever known, he might have asked to be placed farther away to keep his distance physically as well as mentally.

  From the first day, Kate Seward had been a force Max had to reckon with. Their mutual attraction had launched a game of cat and mouse Max ultimately lost when he realized he’d fallen in love with the confounded woman.

  Now, he slipped through the passage connecting his room to hers, like he had on numerous occasions, praying the reflection of love in her eyes wasn’t just a dream. She’d asked him to stop by and check the security of her room after the dinner party.

  It was code for a lot more than checking security.

  As he neared the panel that would open into her huge walk-in closet, his groin tightened, and he imaged Kate in that simple black dress she’d worn for the dinner party, her long dark hair pulled up in a sexy twist, wearing the pendant he’d given her for her birthday.

  Max had sat near the end of the table, resisting the urge to tug at the tight collar of his dress mess uniform. If not for Kate, he’d have begged to redeploy to the strife-ridden country of Chad—more comfortable in ACUs and face camo, training Chadian soldiers on antiterrorism techniques, than sitting at formal dinner tables.

  He pushed aside the panel leading into Kate’s room and stepped through, the ring in his breast pocket burning a hole through to his heart. He loved Kate, and he wanted her to be a part of the rest of his life. He’d planned on laying out clues for her to find over the next few weeks until finally he’d take her out to dinner and propose to her.

  But today, he’d received his transfer orders. Max knew he couldn’t wait, and he couldn’t walk away from Kate. He didn’t want this fantasy to end. Tonight, he’d ask her to marry him, and he prayed she’d accept.

  When he stepped out of he
r closet into the bedchamber, at first he didn’t see her. “Kate?”

  “It took you long enough,” she said, her voice low and sexy. She lay in her bed, the cream-colored sheets pulled only up to her waist, her breasts bare and tempting in the light from a softly glowing lamp on the nightstand.

  Max stepped forward. “I hope you were expecting me.”

  “Only you, babe. Only you.” She threw back the sheet and quirked her head. “Join me?”

  His heart flipped in his chest, and his blood pounded through his veins as he ripped through the buttons on his uniform.

  For such a proper ambassador’s daughter, she was mind-blowingly passionate, a fact that still amazed him and made him burn with desire.

  Max shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it on the bedpost.

  “Let me help, or we’ll be all night.” Kate leaned up on her knees and reached for the buttons on his shirt, flicking through them with quiet efficiency. Then she tugged the tails out of his trousers and pushed the edges over his shoulders, her hands sliding down the muscles of his shoulders and arms. She pressed her lips to his chest, finding and nipping at the little brown nipple over his heart.

  Max sucked in a breath and concentrated on control. He unbuckled his belt and slipped the hook free on his trousers, his motions jerky in his haste.

  “Uh-uh.” Her fingers caught his as he reached for the zipper. “Mine.” Kate dragged the zipper down. “Always in uniform? Right down to the tighty-whities.” She clucked her tongue even as she hooked her thumbs on the waistband of his trousers and underwear and pushed them downward until his cock sprang free. “Come to me.” She stroked him, those supple digits sliding over his engorged shaft, her right hand reaching low to cup his balls and roll them between her fingers.

  Patience shattered. Max kicked off his dress shoes and trousers. He grasped Kate’s shoulders and lowered her to her back in the bed, then climbed over her. “You take my breath away.”

  “I try.” She smiled up at him, her full, pink lips puckering. “Aren’t you going to kiss me hello?”