CHAPTER

16

Reagan knocked on the final door, closing her eyes for a moment and praying the inhabitant answered while wearing pants.

The door cracked, and a young Marine poked his head out. “Hey, Ms. Robilard.”

“Hi, Jonathan.” She smiled. “Everything okay? You have everything you need for tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, but didn’t open the door wider. For that, she was grateful. “You doing bed checks? Coach Ace was already by like half an hour ago.”

She held up the clipboard. “Just part of the service here with the Marine Corps boxing team. I’m in 112 if you need anything.”

He nodded, then closed the door quietly. She made a check mark next to his name, then started walking back down the hallway. Counting with her pen, moving down her list, she did her best to estimate how long it would take to do a wakeup visit to everyone in the morning. If they had to be up by six thirty, then she’d need to start at—

She didn’t have time to shriek as an arm whipped out from seemingly nowhere and yanked her into a room before shutting the door. She gathered enough oxygen to gasp, but not shout. A hand covered her mouth and she started to bite down . . . until she recognized the scent. Then her eyes adjusted to the dark room, and she identified the outline of the man pressed against her.

“Meph?” she managed to get out.

The dark figure chuckled. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t want you to sound the alarm before you realized it was me.” His hand dropped away, smoothed over her frazzled hair and down to cover her still-frantic heartbeat. “Easy now.”

She took a deep breath in and out, then repeated the gesture until she felt confident she wouldn’t vomit or pass out. When her arms felt strong enough, she punched Greg’s biceps as hard as she could with her left hand.

Given how he laughed, it felt more like swatting at a fly to him. Damn the man.

“You suck so bad,” she bit out, then tried to bend down to grab the clipboard she’d dropped. But he wouldn’t let her budge. “Greg, stop. I have to get back to my room.”

“You will . . . eventually.”

“Greg,” she protested, but stopped trying to fight when he kissed her. She couldn’t think when he did things like that to her mouth. He played with her tongue, traced the edge of her teeth, swallowed her little moans and gasps of pleasure as his hands cruised up and down her body.

“Greg,” she finally managed to gasp as his lips worked their way from her mouth to just below her earlobe. “Greg, we can’t. We’re here for work.”

“I’m not working right now. Are you?”

She kicked at her clipboard, barely nudging it an inch. “I should be.”

“You know what I love about you and your obsession with heels?” he asked, completely ignoring her protests. “They put you right at the best possible height to kiss.”

“Which was my intention, of course,” she said dryly, biting back a moan while he sucked on her earlobe. “Gre . . . oh God. Okay, you have to stop that.”

“No,” he said, then gripped her butt and pulled her to him. On instinct, she wrapped her legs around his hips and clung.

“Oh my God. Greg, you can’t carry me like this. I’m too heavy!”

“Bullshit.”

“Put me down,” she hissed, then gasped when he dropped her. She bounced on the bed once and then was covered by his hard weight, pressing into her. She cradled him, her hips opening in welcome before she even realized what she was doing. “We can’t.”

“We can.” He kissed her, while using his fingers to undo her suit jacket buttons.

“We shouldn’t,” she tried again.

“We should.” He pushed the jacket off her shoulders, rotating her until he could peel it off and toss it aside.

“We could get fired,” she whispered as he traced the lace of her camisole tank. Its neckline was high enough to be business appropriate, but when he dipped his finger down under the lace, it felt far less than decent. It felt decadent.

“We won’t.” He pressed a kiss in the center of her breast bone, moving the tank down with him. “Are you going to do a bedroom check on yourself?”

She thought about that for a second. Was it worth the risk that someone might need her? Was this man worth it?

Before she even knew she was doing it, she knocked on the nightstand twice. “Reagan? Are you in there? Yes, I’m here.” She grinned. “All set.”

“God, woman.” He kissed her hard, ending with a playful smack. “You kill me.”

*   *   *

GREG had realized, as he’d sat in his small private room that night waiting for Reagan to finish bed checks, that the problem had been him all along. He’d been pushing back the inevitable for so long, it built up to a bigger deal in his mind than it needed to be.

So the solution? Get back to the basics. Take back what they needed to begin with. What they needed . . . was each other. And they needed each other tonight.

He pushed her tank up to rest just above her breasts, then leaned over and kissed the spot between each rib. She squirmed, but he didn’t relent until he’d driven her crazy.

“Greg,” she whined. “Greg, don’t tease. Please.”

She ripped off her camisole and tossed it in a corner. He nearly chuckled at her impatience. But the sight of her gorgeous bra stopped him from laughing. As serious as the woman was with her shoes, she put equal dedication into her underwear choices.

The bra was like a cupcake, with how gorgeous and pretty it sat there. Black, like her suit, but with threads of silver highlighting a flowery pattern throughout the cups that molded over her generous breasts. And each side topped not with a cherry, but a sweet pink bow.

“Tell me,” he said, pausing to swallow. “Tell me you are the kind of woman who matches her underwear sets.”

Catching the hitch in his voice, she smiled like a woman who knows she has a man caught in her traps. “A woman like me, going out without matching underwear? Unheard of.”

“Amen,” he said, and reached under to unsnap her bra. The cups relaxed enough for him to remove the bra entirely, and he rubbed a thumb over each pink line over her creamy flesh. “Why do you wear it so tight it presses in on you? Seems like it hurts.”

“Curse of the curvy girl.” As he passed a thumb over one nipple, her eyes closed in bliss. “Gotta keep it tight enough so the girls don’t escape.”

“That’s not very nice.” He pressed his lips to one particularly dark pink line in apology. “Sorry, girls. I’d let you free way more often than she does.”

“Are you talking to my boobs?” She laughed and swatted at his shoulders. “Weirdo.”

“But you like it.” He took one tip in his mouth, ran his tongue over it, and felt her sigh of agreement. Moving on to the second breast, he did the same, and placed the palm of one hand over her racing heart.

Her hips thrust up, grinding against his stomach with every suck, every tug of his mouth. He knew what she wanted, but she’d have to wait. He did, however, reach down and pull on the zipper to her skirt, giving her the chance to wriggle out of it. Her bottoms did, in fact, match the bra. Another confection waiting to be delved into.

She moaned, then lifted her legs to kick her heels off. He wanted to ask her to keep them on, but too late now. But when he leaned back to take in the entire picture she made in nothing but her panties, he realized he didn’t miss the heels as much as he thought.

Quickly, before she lost that look in her eyes, he undressed and grabbed a condom from his bag. When he turned back around, he found she’d stripped her own panties off and had tossed them aside. Sheathing himself, he slid back on the bed and nudged his way between her thighs.

“We waited way too long for this,” she breathed as he nudged the head of his penis against her opening.