Elisabeth Naughton - Extreme Measures

Relaxing, she reached inside the drawer and felt around. Then cursed her stupid luck when she found the drawer empty.

This so wasn’t her day. Wasn’t her year either, apparently.

Frustrated, she closed the drawer and then shifted her hand back to the mattress and looked down at Zane. Just her luck he was hotter than he’d ever been. The bastard. She didn’t doubt he’d gotten better looking on purpose, just to irritate her.

She shifted to push off him, when she felt something hard in the pocket of his jeans. Curious, she leaned her weight back on her knees and placed her free hand over the object. Then nearly jumped for joy when she realized it was a pocketknife.

Her pulse sped up. Maybe her luck wasn’t so bad after all.

Watching his face, she leaned forward and slid her fingertips into his pocket, moving slowly. When he grunted and rolled his head to the other direction, Eve went still as stone. Her heart hammered hard while she waited to see what he’d do. Long seconds passed, and his breathing lengthened once more. Blowing out a breath of relief, she slid her hand deeper into his pocket and wrapped her fingers around the metal object.

His hand landing against her bare thigh stopped her cold. “Hm. Like that.”

Adrenaline pumped through her body, and perspiration broke out on her forehead. She pulled her hand free of his pocket and placed it back on the pillow next to his head. “Um . . . I . . .” She swallowed. “I was just . . .”

His other hand—the one still joined with hers—landed against her other thigh. And heat sparked from the spot and spread straight between her legs.

“Mm . . .” He wrapped his big hands around her hips and squeezed, then forcefully dragged her down to meet his body. “Was dreaming about this.”

Oh holy hell. He was hot. And fully aroused. She bit her lip and reached for his hands to try to pry them away. But they were like steel, holding her in place. Then he lifted his hips and rubbed that massive erection across her already-swollen clit, and pleasure ripped through her pelvis and sent a shudder through her entire body.

Her eyes slid closed. She groaned. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from arching into him. His free hand slid up to her breast and squeezed. And she felt all common sense slipping away. Felt her resistance wavering with every rub and tug and sinful grind.

This was why she needed to get away from him. Not just for his own damn safety, but because when she was close to him, she couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t rationalize things. And when he touched her like he’d done before, like—God help her—he was doing now, she lost all ability to focus on the job at hand and gave in to temptation.

“Mm . . .” he mumbled as he pressed himself against her. “Want to taste you.”

Oh God. She wanted that too. Knew she shouldn’t but couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Her body fell forward. Her weight landed on her hand near his head. The movement caused his heavenly erection to press against her clit from a new angle, sending tiny sparks of electricity all through her lower body. His free hand slid from her breast, up her neck, and into her hair. Then his fingers tightened on her scalp, and he dragged her mouth to his.

His tongue pushed past her lips and into her mouth. Slick. Hot. So very wet. She opened for him, drew him deeper. His plump, scrumptious lips moved over hers just like she remembered. His tongue flicked again and again, tasting her everywhere. Between her legs, he lifted and lowered, mimicking what he was doing to her mouth with his tongue. What she desperately wanted him to do to her body with his hard, thick cock.

“Zane . . .” she mouthed against him.

His other hand slid across her lower back, dragging her arm with it, and she found herself trapped—one hand locked behind her and one barely holding her up. But she suddenly didn’t care. She was teetering on the edge of losing control. And it felt good. So incredibly good after all her carefully constructed years of never losing her cool. Of never letting anyone tempt her. Of never giving herself over completely.

His palm spread, and he pushed down against her while lifting his hips at the same time. His thick erection rubbed again and again at the growing wetness between her legs.

“Want you,” he mumbled. “Don’t want to wait.”

She didn’t want to wait either. She’d forgotten how good he tasted. How heavenly he felt. How he could light her up with just one wicked touch. One stolen kiss. One forbidden brush of skin against sweaty skin.

“I . . . Zane . . .”

She couldn’t hold back any longer. She gave in and kissed him, licked into his mouth, and ground herself against him. And he groaned against her lips, tightened his arm around her back, and lifted until sweet, heavenly pleasure streaked down her spine. She pulled her mouth from his and moaned. And oh, she was close. So close. If he just rubbed a little more, right there . . .

“Shh,” he mouthed against her lips. “Don’t want to . . . wake Carter.”

Her stomach tightened, and between her legs, the sparks sputtered. She glanced down at his half-lidded eyes and the dazed look and realized that he was dreaming. Caught in that semiconscious drugged state when your body reacts but your mind hasn’t quite caught up. He didn’t know this was happening now. He was reliving something they’d done a dozen times in the middle of the night back then.

The heat in her veins iced. He rubbed against her, groaned into her neck. His hot breath washed over her skin, but the pleasure was gone for her, replaced with a tingly prickling feeling that exploded all along her back. One she didn’t like.

The need to run overwhelmed her. This time not for his safety, but her own. She was in too deep with him. Losing not only her common sense, but her identity—everything that mattered. The longer she stayed with him, the harder it would be for her to pull away. And she needed to pull away now, because he clearly wasn’t feeling anything for her like she’d stupidly been feeling for him. And that made her the biggest fool of all.

She lifted her arm from the mattress and scooted back, just enough so she could reach into his pocket. His cock was hard against her fingers, and she swallowed, even as he ground that erection against her clit again. Tiny threads of arousal speared through her, tempting her all over again, but she fought them. Pulling her hand free, she quietly rejoiced when she drew out the pocketknife and her key to freedom.

“Juliet . . .”

He groaned. Lifted against her. And Eve bit her lip to keep from crying out when those sparks flared hot and wild all over again, arcing pleasure right back through her pelvis.

She shouldn’t . . .

Her body fell forward; her weight perched on her closed fist as she tried not to rub against him.

She couldn’t . . .

His lips brushed her neck. His free hand found her breast. Desire shot straight to her core.

Oh God, but she wanted . . .

“Zane . . .”

That haze of arousal was washing everything away again, dragging her back down. Telling her it was okay to let go. Just a few more seconds. Just for a minute . . .

She rubbed her body against his. Felt her orgasm rushing close. Ground her clit against his cock, once, twice, three times before she realized he was no longer moving.

“Zane?”

She stilled. Looked down. But instead of the almost-lover he’d been seconds ago, he now lay still and silent. His head was tipped to the side, and his chest gently rose and fell with his slow breaths, the clandestine memory he’d been reliving long gone as he drifted back into his drug-induced stupor.

She fell against him and groaned—this time in utter frustration.

Disgusted with herself, she rolled off him and flopped back onto the mattress, breathing heavily while she tried to cool her sweat-slicked skin. The son of a bitch didn’t even budge and obviously hadn’t known what he was doing. Dammit—she’d told herself not two minutes ago that this was a bad idea.

Her fingers tightened into a fist, and the sensation of the warm metal object in her palm finally registered. Opening her hand, she stared at the pocketknife and remembered what she’d been trying to do in the first place.

Adrenaline raced back through her body, and she pushed up to sitting and flicked the instrument open, searching for the small scissors.

Victory flashed in her brain when she found them. Carefully, she slid the bottom blade beneath the zip tie at her wrist and cut.

The plastic gave with a snap, and sweet relief filled Eve’s lungs. Quietly, she climbed off the bed, grabbed her flip-flops from the floor, and then tugged Zane’s wallet from the jacket he’d tossed aside earlier and pocketed some cash.

She paused when she reached the hall, turned, and peered back into the room. Zane was still totally out, his hair mussed and sexy around his weathered face. In the morning she’d be long gone, and he wouldn’t know what hit him.

The space around her heart squeezed tight, and she called herself an idiot for the last time. She was done with him. She’d taken care of his wound, gotten him to safety. Wherever he went from here was his responsibility and not her own. But a tiny place inside wished that she’d been able to explain things to him. That he understood. That he didn’t hate her anymore.

Foolish dreams. Wishing ranked right up there with “if only,” and she was done with both.

She closed the door softly at her back, headed for the kitchen, and turned into the great room. A flat-screen TV sat against the far wall, and she reached for the remote and flicked it on, careful to keep the volume low.

The eleven-o’clock news was running recaps of the bombing. Before she took off, she just wanted to make sure her face hadn’t been caught in any passerby footage or that the men chasing her hadn’t leaked her identity and blamed the whole thing on her.

Images of the blown-out coffee shop filled the screen, and Eve’s stomach tightened when she remembered the child standing on the street corner next to her. Please, please, please don’t list any children among the dead . . .

Seventeen now listed as injured. No update on the death toll yet, though.

Frustration warred with helplessness while she continued to watch the coverage. Fifteen minutes passed, but she didn’t see a speck about her or what had happened on that warehouse roof. Breathing a little easier, she pushed to her feet and lifted the remote to flip the TV off, when Zane’s face filled the screen.

“We have breaking news to bring you,” the newscaster announced. “Authorities are looking for this man, Zane Archer, in connection with the bombing in Seattle earlier today. If you’ve seen him recently or know his whereabouts, you’re encouraged to contact officials at the number on the screen. Do not approach him yourself. I repeat, do not attempt to approach him yourself.”

The room blurred in front of Eve, and her legs gave out. She dropped onto the couch and stared at Zane’s face in utter disbelief.

All those thoughts about leaving him came to an abrupt halt. She couldn’t go now. Not if the authorities thought he was to blame for all of this. Not when she was ultimately responsible.

Sickness churned and swirled through her belly. And for the first time in years—ever, maybe—she had no plan.

Landon Miller stood in the early morning darkness on the quiet, tree-lined street on Bainbridge Island and cursed his dumbass luck for the hundredth time.

He was gonna wring Archer’s motherfucking neck when he found the idiot.

Leave it to the dipshit to ruin the first vacation he’d had in over a year.

He thought of Marissa’s long, shapely legs and those stilletos she’d been wearing when they’d met. He’d picked her up in a hotel bar, waiting for his principal during his last assignment. She definitely wasn’t anything special, but the woman had a killer rack, and he’d been looking forward to locking her in his suite at the Fairmont and exploring her big tits, that tiny waist, and her luscious mouth from every angle during the next seventy-two hours. Now, though, he wasn’t sure she’d even be there when he finally got back. And thanks to this mess with Archer, she’d probably already found some other nameless guy to fuck senseless for the next three days.

Tension gathered in his shoulders, and he rolled his head from side to side as he eyed the white one-story home on the banks of the water. The streetlight above was burned out, the drive was empty, and the windows were dark. But that didn’t mean no one was home.