Disavowed(50)

Too much. Too good. He couldn’t hold on anymore.

“Briar,” he croaked, eyes squeezing shut as he gripped her fingers tight. She murmured something and leaned down to place a soft kiss on his lips, teasing him with a flick of her tongue. Before he could deepen it she sat up again.

Still holding his hands she rocked faster, harder, making him see stars until he surged into her and the orgasm finally exploded. His body shuddered as wave after wave of sensation careened inside him, wiping out everything else.

Briar gradually slowed to a stop as he sagged against the bed and eased her grip on his hands, sighing in contentment as she bent to kiss him, her lips and tongue lingering on his. Matt groaned into her mouth and kissed her back, trying to catch his breath.

When she finally released his hands and cradled his face between her palms to keep kissing him as though she never wanted to stop, he felt his heart wave its little white flag in surrender. He was done for, and was man enough to admit it to himself. But not to her, not yet, because he had a feeling it would make her bolt. All he knew was, he was staying at her side throughout the rest of this, no matter what happened, and then he wanted her.

After a few minutes Briar’s lips left his to kiss the tip of his nose, his forehead. She leaned back slightly to look into his eyes and the softness he saw in her expression filled him with peace. “That was so good. Thank you,” she whispered.

He gave her a tender smile, ran his fingers through her jaw-length hair. “It was my pleasure, sweetheart.”

At the endearment she searched his eyes for a moment, then returned the smile and stretched out along his side, tucking one thigh over his and nestling her head into the curve of his shoulder. “Pretty sure it was at least half mine.” She sounded supremely satisfied about that.

After ditching the condom, Matt reached over to turn off the lamp and wrapped both arms around her. He’d given her pleasure and a measure of peace, and it was enough for now.

Holding her close in the darkness, he listened to the sounds of her even breaths and the beat of her heart, waiting until she’d drifted off before allowing himself to follow.





Chapter Fourteen





As he left his second meeting of the day Will checked his phone and discovered a message from the lab. He waited until he was alone in his car before using the burner phone to call them back. “This is Will Balducci. You have some results for me?”

“Yes,” the male voice replied. “The samples are a perfect match with the ones in our database. They definitely came from her.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. Briar Jones was dead then. “Best estimated cause and time of death?”

“Based on the photos, two gunshots to the chest, time of death around six p.m. last night, as your contact told you. Without a body to examine it’s impossible to be a hundred percent sure, but those wounds are definitely fatal. The victim would have died within minutes, if not sooner.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome.”

He drove back to his office at CIA headquarters in Langley, still not entirely satisfied with the situation. To deal with Jones and her handler he’d been forced to handle it privately and use outside contractors. He’d hired George not merely because of her formidable skill, but because he knew she would think like Jones.

Without a body it’s impossible to be a hundred percent sure.

Exactly. That’s what was bothering him the most right now.

George had informed him she’d dumped Jones’s body in a lake near the safe house in Colorado, where it would be unlikely anyone would stumble upon it, at least not before fish or other scavengers had ravaged her beyond recognition. The handler was currently in a Denver morgue. A team of Feds had been sent there to investigate, but they’d never be able to trace her death back to him.

Thing was, he didn’t trust George. Until this was all nailed down and he was officially in the clear, he wouldn’t be able to relax.

In his office he logged into his computer and checked his e-mails. Five minutes in, someone knocked on his door. He looked up to find the Deputy Director of Counterterrorism standing there. “You got a minute?”

Will waved him in. “Sure.”

Rob closed the door behind him and lowered his weight into a chair opposite the desk, glancing at the framed photo of Will and some of his teammates back in his Navy days, their faces covered in camo paint, fresh back from an op. Then his attention switched to the martial arts trophies lined up on the shelf, and finally down to Will’s hands and the fresh abrasions on them. “You still at that?”

“Three times a week.” And twice weekly at the range, where he could still put a grouping dead center in the target from seventy-five feet with a pistol.