“My bad.” He pressed in, and she moaned. “Yeah, definitely my bad.”

When he was fully inside her, he forced himself to stay very, very still. Absorb as much of the sensation of her surrounding him as he could. As she writhed beneath him, trying to get him to move, he watched. Her skin glowed in the weak light. It was pearly, the purest sort of alabaster that sun had barely touched. Marred only by the lines from her bra—poor boobs, trapped in your prison day after day—he couldn’t absorb enough of her.

Then she rolled her hips, squeezed him deep inside, and he was screwed for waiting. He moved, and she found his rhythm perfectly, wrapping her legs around him, pressing her heels into the backs of his thighs as he pushed and pulled.

He nuzzled against her neck, inhaling her scent. Imprinting the moment when she smelled like jasmine, looked like heaven and felt like sin. Her hair, loose from its normal twist, tickled his nose and made him want to laugh.

Why? Why had he been denying them both this moment?

Because you wanted to make sure there were more to follow.

He ground into her, pressed hard enough that his pelvic bone rubbed against her in a way that had her jolting, like she was coming out of a dream. “That, oh God, more of that.”

“The lady asks, and I deliver.” He did it again, and barely managed to bite back the smug grin when she moaned and her eyes rolled back with pleasure. That, right there, was the biggest compliment a man could receive. And getting it from the woman he wanted to impress more than anyone else? Priceless.

“Yes, please . . .” She gasped, and he kissed her, absorbing as much of her sexy sounds as he could. No telling how thin the walls were, and though he wouldn’t give two hot damns who knew, he wouldn’t have her embarrassed.

Before long, he knew he was a goner. The pulsing of her walls around him told him she was just as close. Balancing on one elbow, he maneuvered around enough to reach down one hand and caress her clit.

That touch was the catalyst she needed to explode. Head thrown back in exultation, she bared her throat to him. He kissed against the rapid pulse point, fighting to finish with her. Just as she tilted her head back down to capture his lips, he followed her into his own climax, muffling their groans together as they kissed and their bodies erupted.

*   *   *

GREG rolled so Reagan was splayed over the top of him. She was no lightweight thanks to her height, but her weight felt good pressed against him. He liked the reminder that she was with him, and not going to just fade away, as if their lovemaking were only a dream instead of a real event.

“I’ve got to be crushing you,” she moaned, but didn’t move. “I couldn’t care less, though.”

“Shut up,” he said mildly, and kissed the top of her head.

“I suppose,” Reagan said, tracing a hand over his shoulder, “I have to disclose our relationship now to my supervisor.”

She said it with all the excitement of a woman walking in front of a firing squad. “You could skip that, but it wasn’t the best idea when Marianne and Brad tried that.”

“I know.” She sighed again. “It’s just my supervisor isn’t really my biggest fan right now.”

“Speaking of your biggest fan, that’d probably be me. How could I not be your fan after you did that thing with your hips where you—” He muffled a laugh as she kissed him to keep him quiet. “Sorry. Slipped out.”

“Uh-huh.” She glared at him, then snuggled into the crook of his neck. “I could just stay here for a day or two.”

“Fine by me.” His fingertips walked a path up and down her spine, starting at her neck and ending right above her butt. Each time he circled that little dimple of skin, she shivered. “So the real question is . . . are you going back to your room now, or in the morning?”

“Now.” She started to push off his chest, but he held her flat against him. “Greg, I have to. I don’t have clothes here.”

“Sure you do. I’m positive I took some clothing off you at some point this evening.”

“Any fresh clothes,” she corrected, looking exasperated. “Men. Only they would think you could wear the exact same outfit two days in a row and nobody would notice.”

“We do it every day,” he pointed out. “Nobody says, ‘But Greg, you wore those cammies yesterday!’”

“I’m going to ignore that.” She sat up and ran fingers through her hair. She looked up, disgruntled, when they snagged in a snarl of hair. “I also don’t have a brush, or anything else I need to get ready in the morning. And I refuse to do the walk of shame ten minutes before I’m doing wakeup rounds.”

“Task master.” He sat up himself and kissed her shoulder before hopping over to grab his boxers. “Fine. Get dressed and I’ll walk you down to your room.”

“You will not.” Looking about as offended as possible while still buck-ass naked, she rose up on her knees and let her jaw unhinge itself. “You’re not walking me back. I’m five rooms down. I can manage myself, and it’s much less suspicious if I do it alone.”

“But we’re not hiding the fact that we’re dating,” he said reasonably. That, he knew, was his first mistake. Being reasonable with a naked female.

She glared, then started gathering up her clothes. She’d gotten as much as she could when she walked into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door sharply.

“Okay, then.” He picked up his jeans, then changed his mind and turned the air up in his room. It had been comfortable . . . but that was before he’d gotten sweaty in the sheets. When the door opened a few seconds later, he turned and found a wet dream standing in the opening.

She wore her skirt, her bra, an unbuttoned suit jacket, and bedroom hair. Her feet were bare and she was scowling at him.

“Hold on. Don’t move.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I need to commit this to memory, so when I’m ninety-two and I can’t remember my birthday or my middle name, I can still remember what you looked like just after sex.”

She slapped a hand into his gut and walked by. “Clearly, I forgot something when I went to the bathroom.” She took the jacket off, slipped her tank back on and righted herself . . . dammit. After a few tugs, she pulled her hair into a haphazard ponytail. Minus the shoes, she passed for normal again. Not quite as starched up as she normally would be, but anyone giving her a passing glance wouldn’t see a problem.

After he got one leg through his jeans, she bent down to kiss his forehead. “I’m going now.”

“No, wait.” He hopped, trying to catch his balance to slip the second leg into his jeans, but fell back on his ass. “Stop. I said I’d walk you.”

“And I said I was going alone.” She grinned as she opened his door just enough to slip through. “I win. Good night, Greg.”

He narrowed his eyes at her retreating back just before she closed the door behind her. It was oh-two hundred, and he had about four more hours before he had to be up.

That meant he needed to get some sleep. So for tonight, he’d let her go. They’d hash out her hasty exit in the daylight.

CHAPTER

17

The next morning, Reagan began her true education on the sport of boxing. And while she’d paid attention during practices, what she’d witnessed paled in comparison to watching the real deal.

Though she had watched a few boxing matches online to prepare for the job, the actual match—unofficial though it was—took her breath away.

Tressler waited for his opponent to touch gloves before the bell rang. But the moment they had, it was on. Tressler came out swinging, which didn’t shock Reagan. The young Marine had more cockiness than he could back up, from what she’d seen. His opponent, who she guessed to be closer to twenty-five or so, let him take a few swings at air before coming at him with several punches on his torso and shoulder. Tressler stumbled back, looking dazed and maybe a little shocked.