He showed her the barracks next, opening a vacant room so she could take a look.
“It looks like a prison cell.”
“Nothing fancy—just a bed, a sink, and a toilet. Most operatives stay for just a week or so at a time.”
She smiled up at him, finally making eye contact. “My room is much nicer.”
“Wait till you see mine. I am the boss, you know.” He led her to the elevator and up to the barracks. “Corbray and I use this room whenever one of us is here. He stays in D.C. most of the time to be close to Laura, his wife. He heads her protection detail.”
“She was abducted by al-Qaeda, right?”
“Abducted, held prisoner for eighteen brutal months, beaten, raped. They claimed she was dead. Corbray found her during a SEAL raid and brought her home. She barely knew who she was. She still gets the occasional death threat.”
Laura Nilsson was one of the strongest people Derek knew.
“Poor woman! It’s a wonder she didn’t get pregnant.”
Derek swiped his keycard but said nothing. It wasn’t his story to tell.
He opened the door and stepped aside to let Jenna enter, biting back a grin at her surprise. “Home, sweet home.”
“It looks like an office with a bed.”
“That’s pretty much what it is. I’m able to view all the security feeds and the monitors in the operations room, as well as communicate with all of our operations centers from here.”
“So, you’re able to work in your pajamas. That must be nice.”
“I don’t wear pajamas.”
A hot blush stole into her cheeks, and she looked away. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier today.”
“No, you’re not.” He wasn’t going to let her off easy.
Her gaze jerked to his, outrage on her face. She opened her mouth to object, but he cut her off. He wouldn’t play that game.
“People who are sorry don’t stare. You’re as attracted to me as I am to you. If the two of us weren’t trying so hard to follow the damned rules, I’d be fucking you—”
He never finished because Jenna jumped into his arms—and kissed him.
* * *
The feelof Derek’s lips against Jenna’s was like the answer to a prayer. If she’d had any fears that he might not take what she was offering, she forgot them when he crushed her against him, answering her kiss with his own, his little growl of approval an aphrodisiac. In a blink, she was high on him—the spicy scent of his skin, the hard feel of him, the heat of his lips on hers.
He scooped her into his arms, and carried her a few steps to his bed, the power of his body making her ovaries purr. He stretched out above her, his hips between her thighs, his gaze searching hers. “Are you sure?”
“God, yes.” She pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor to drive the point home, a shiver running through her when his gaze shifted to her bra.
Oh, how she wished she hadn’t worn one today.
She started to unfasten the front clasp of her bra, but he caught her hands.
“Let me.” She stretched her arms over her head, a gesture of surrender.
“God, Jenna.” His brow furrowed, and he rocked back on his heels, his big hands cupping her breasts through lace. “I love your breasts.”
He flicked her nipples with his thumbs, making them draw tight against the fabric, frissons of pleasure shooting through her, the fire in his gaze as arousing as his touch. Then he unfastened the clasp with a single quick motion, tugging off her bra and lowering his mouth to an aching nipple.
She moaned, arching to feed him more of her, every tug of his lips and flick of his tongue making her womb tighten and flooding her belly with liquid heat. She slid her fingers into his hair, his mouth moving from one nipple to the other and back again until she was all but writhing on the bed, months of suppressed sexual need unleashed.