She whimpered and panted into the pillow, desperate for release. She wanted to raise her bottom, to spread her legs, to do something to bring the sweet torment to an end, but she couldn’t move. Helpless to do anything but take him, she was left hanging on the edge of an orgasm that seemed to hover just beyond her reach.
Then, when it seemed she could take no more, the tension inside her drew to its full height like a great shimmering wave and crashed over her, carrying her helplessly along as it surged through her, drowning her in pleasure.
She cried out, arching back, Zach’s sure strokes making her pleasure last until she lay, weak and panting, her face against a pillow.
He released her wrists and withdrew from her, pressing kisses along her back. Then gently he turned her onto her back, catching her legs and settling himself between them. It was then she realized he hadn’t yet come, his erection lying hard against her.
But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t lust or playfulness she saw on his face, but a look of tenderness and torment, his brow furrowed, his gaze soft, his lips parted, his breathing still fast.
He smoothed the hair off her face, his gaze traveling over her features. For a moment, she thought he had something to tell her. But when at last he spoke, it was only to say her name. “Natalie.”
He adjusted his hips, nudged himself slowly inside her, and the pleasure began again. But this time he took it slowly, his gaze never leaving her face, as he brought her to a second shattering climax, his groans mingling with her cries as he at last claimed his own release.
AFTERWARD, THEY TOOK a long, hot shower together, getting water all over the marble floor, Zach feeling more alive and more at peace with himself than he had in years. While Natalie dressed and made breakfast, he checked in with Rowan, who told him Quintana was being transferred to a more secure federal facility—this one run by ICE, Immigration and Customs Enforcement—within the hour. He’d be available for interrogation by early afternoon.
Zach found Natalie setting the table, the scent of her cooking making his mouth water. She was wearing a short denim skirt that showed off her legs, together with a lacy V-neck tank top that made the most of her beautiful breasts, her dark hair still damp, her sweet face free of makeup.
She glanced up and smiled, those adorable dimples appearing in her cheeks. “Hungry?”
He held her gaze, grinned. “Starving.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “I hope you like eggs Benedict. I made sausage, grits, and fresh coffee.”
“Mmm.” He sat, unable to take his gaze off her while she poured the coffee then sat across from him.
How in the hell had he gotten so lucky? She was smart, brave, beautiful, sexy as hell, had a playful side in the bedroom—and she could cook. No man deserved all that in one sweet package, let alone him.
Don’t question it, McBride. Just go with it.
He took a bite of the eggs and another. “Delicious.”
She smiled, clearly pleased. “I’m glad you like it.”
He jabbed his fork at what looked like a thick, white pool of Cream of Wheat. “So this is grits?”
“You’ve never had grits?” She gaped at him. “How did you get to be thirty-three years old without ever tasting grits?”
Amused by her reaction, he scooped some onto his fork and tasted it, nodding in approval. “Tastes like . . . corn?”
“That’s what it is—a corn mash or corn gruel.”
So the mystery of grits was solved once and for all.
They ate their breakfast slowly, talking about everything and nothing at all, the moment so like Zach’s fantasy from early this morning that it was like waking to find himself living in his own dream. But dreams rarely lasted.
He washed the last bite of eggs down with a gulp of strong black coffee, then glanced at his watch. “They’re transferring Quintana to the ICE facility outside town this morning. I’ll go in this afternoon to continue interrogating him.”
The sunshine left her face, her expression anxious, shadows in her eyes. “Will you be gone late?”
He reached over, took her hand. “If you want me to arrange for someone to be here with you while I’m away, I can do that. I don’t want you to be afraid.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. Okay, well, it’s partly that. But also, I just hate to think of you being anywhere near him. I don’t know how you keep from beating the tar out of him after what he put you through.”
“It’s not easy.” Then Zach told her about yesterday’s fruitless interrogation and how he’d allowed himself one punch to the bastard’s gut before reining in his rage. He didn’t tell her what Quintana had said to him. “Sometimes I want to forget that I’m supposed to be one of the good guys. If I ever get my hands on Cárdenas . . .”
He let it go, the subject clearly upsetting to her.
“Tom called while you were on the phone. He wants to know what I’m working on. I had to tell him I didn’t have anything. That’s the first time that’s happened.”