So what if she took fringe benefits every now and then? It wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before. Anonymous sex was the safest kind of sex for a woman in her profession, and she hadn’t been with a man in almost two years now. And the need in her was wild.
This is different, Faith. This man is not like the others—you don’t have control…
He gave a small groan of pleasure against her mouth as his fingers found her G-string. He hooked his finger under the strap.
Lust ribboned through Faith like wildfire.
She reached up and threading her fingers into his thick, dark hair, she drew his mouth down harder against hers, her tongue seeking, tangling with his, her desire growing desperate. Against her hips she could feel the bulge in his jeans, and her body screamed—she needed him. All of him. Hard, fast.
But she had to get that piece of paper out of her bra first.
“Upstairs,” she whispered, breathless against his lips. “I’ll lock the doors.”
Chapter 2
Faith woke with a start.
Parrots screeched in the branches outside her window and already the air was like a sauna. In raw panic she rolled over, groped around the bedside table, looking for her watch. A champagne glass clattered to the floor.
She jolted upright in her bed. For a brief moment she couldn’t piece together where she’d left her watch, where she gotten undressed, what time she’d gone to bed. Then it hit her. Like a rocket. Her hand went to her forehead.
Santiago.
She must’ve fallen asleep in his arms. Her gaze darted around the tiny room that had been her operations base for the past six months. What time had he left?
Panic struck deeper.
She’d let herself go in the moment, during the best sex of her life. She’d fallen into a deep, sated sleep in the arms of a stranger and she hadn’t even noticed him leaving. How on earth could she have allowed that to happen, especially the evening before a major job?
Her gaze flashed to the empty champagne bottle and glasses. She recalled taking the champagne out of the small bar fridge in the corner of her room, thinking she’d secretly toast the end of her stay in Tagua. Sex with Santiago was her reward for hanging in.
Faith angrily threw back the mosquito net and lurched out of bed. As she got to her feet, a crushed white bloom with pink stamens fell from her hair to the floor.
Faith stared at the bruised petals near her toes.
Her attention shot back to her bed. Another bloom, this one perfectly intact, rested on her pillow. A mix of alarm and confusion spiraled through Faith.
Slowly, she reached for the flower. The petals felt like silk against her skin and a strange sensation tightened her chest. They reminded her of the white roses her mother had given her on her twelfth birthday. It was the first time Faith had ever been given flowers. It was the same day her mother had just given up and died, leaving Faith to face her father alone.
It was also the year Faith had first run away, promising herself she’d never be weak, like her mom; that she’d never allow a man to beat her into submission without fighting back; that she’d never bring kids of her own into this world, or dream about stupid idealistic lives behind white picket fences where families all smiled in church every Sunday, because she knew it was a lie. Behind the smiling faces hid drunks, wife beaters, bad mothers, bullies and cheats. She’d vowed to show her
father a woman could not only be as strong as a man, but better. She was going to show her bullying father that she could be a real hero. Not a sham like he’d been—a man who wore his war medals on his chest and beat his weak wife in the secrecy of his home.
A tear slid down her cheek. Startled, Faith brushed it away.
In a moment of inexplicable panic she tossed the flower onto the pile of tangled sheets and moved quickly to her bathroom. She braced her hand against the bathroom wall, steadying herself as a wave of dizziness swept over her. She was still suffering the aftereffects of a stomach bug she’d contracted a week ago—she hadn’t been able to keep food down for days and it had weakened her defenses, that’s all this was. It had nothing to do with Santiago, or that flower.
Or her past.
Or the fact she’d lost control.
Faith’s self-control defined her—it was the reason she’d become a top female sniper in the U.S. Army. It was why STRIKE had chosen to groom her as a NOC—nonofficial cover operative—for their deep black ops assassin program. She couldn’t afford to lose it.