Closer (The Unit #1) Page 4

  “I work for the DOD on a top-secret project. Only a handful of people know of it,” she confessed. “I am the only engineer currently working on a robotic prototype. It will be completed and fully operational in three weeks. Once it is complete, it will be able to fly, undetected, into any terrorist hold up in the world, and release a pharmacological weapon, a powerful anesthetic and sedative chemical compound that degrades the functioning of the brain and renders the subject incapacitated for eight hours. In theory, that is enough time for the military to move in and clean up the cell. There is, however, a black market for this type of technology. If this technology fell into terrorists’ hands, not only would they have a new weapon but they would have a delivery system for all of the biochemical weapons which are currently against the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention. Terrorists could mist targets with Sarin, mustard gas, cyanide, phosgene, or any other number of agents which are out there that cause incapacitation or death.” She sighed audibly when she finished speaking, accepting the tea Michael handed her. “I’m the only one with the knowledge of a working delivery system. I can see why someone wants what I know,” she continued.

  “Are you working for a terrorist organization?” he uttered, knowing he would believe the answer she gave him. There was something about her he instinctually trusted.

  “No, I don’t work for a terrorist organization,” she professed.

  “Then the people I am working for are not people who want to keep you from divulging state secrets to terrorists?” he questioned, a spark of recognition in his eyes.

  He did believe her with all of his heart. There was no way this beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman was working against the very country she pledged to be protecting with her new weapon.

  He believed her and it wasn’t just because he wanted to pervert her. He believed her because she was worthy of a top-secret security clearance, the highest level security clearance available. He knew what he had to go through to get that level of clearance. One’s whole life was evaluated and inspected until the government found sufficient proof of trustworthiness. Credit checks were run, college classmates were contacted, and siblings were investigated. He believed her because her eyes communicated what words never could, truth.

  But this left Michael in a precarious position. He trusted Rob. Why would Rob set him up in anything that wasn’t above board? He would wait until his employer called and make his plan then. He was, however, certain about one thing, he wouldn’t be delivering Emma anywhere but to her bed.

  He walked around to stand beside her, gun still in his right hand. He placed his gun on the counter within his reach and took the hand holding her tea cup and lowered it to the counter. Spinning her around on the stool, he spread her knees with his leg. He stepped inside her legs coming closer to her lips. Instead of kissing her, he placed his big arms around her rather petite body and hugged her.

  He whispered in her ear a sincere promise, “I will protect you.”

  She felt goose bumps rise along the edges of her skin. She sat there, and for some strange reason, allowed Michael to hug her. Maybe it was because he believed her. Maybe she was able to convince him he was working for the wrong side. Whatever the reason, it felt good, too good, to be held by him. He was, after all, the direct conduit between her and the men who wanted her.

  « Chapter Five »

  As they stood in the kitchen, Michael could never remember a time when a woman felt so good, so right, pressed against him. He felt her soft breasts mold against his hard chest. He pulled her closer; her arms still hanging at her sides.

  He wasn’t a bad looking man and knew women found him attractive, but he wondered about her, because Emma felt completely different in his arms. The thought of losing her plagued his mind. Now, the hard part would be convincing her to trust him. He knew she only told him what was necessary to convince him to help her. He could feel her seriousness coming off of her like a palpable energy. She had won. She had used her intelligence and the truth to convince him what he was doing was wrong, that she was the one needed protecting. She knew he was a patriot, that vibe came off of him in waves.

  “Are you in the military?” she chanced asking him once he pulled away and was standing in her space.

  “Yes, a Green Beret,” he responded matter-of-factly.

  “How long did you serve?” she asked as her eyes connected with his to gauge the truth of his statements.

  “Eight years with the Army,” he replied honestly, holding the eye contact.

  He hadn’t lied to her yet and he wasn’t going to start now. He had to get her to trust him if he was going to protect her from whomever was after her knowledge. He ran his hands up and down the side of her arms reassuring her that she could trust him; he would be there for her.

  She stood to go get dressed, pushing Michael out of her space. He reluctantly let her go.

  When she returned to the living room, she saw Michael building a fire. She was dressed in a warm cowl-neck sweater and her favorite pair of jeans, the ones with the hole in the knee. Her feet were bare.

  “It’s going to be a long night,” Michael mumbled to himself after he saw how sexy she looked.

  “Are you hungry? I could use something to eat,” Michael confessed.

  “Sure, I can make us some sandwiches and chips.” She wasn’t the greatest cook but she could whip up a mean cold cut sandwich. She stood and went to the kitchen. He didn’t follow choosing instead to enjoy the fire. A few moments later she reemerged from the kitchen with two plates. She set the plates on the coffee table and went back to get their drinks.

  “Is water okay?” she shouted from the kitchen.

  “Do you have any milk,” he asked.

  “Sure.” She came back into the living room with a glass of water for herself and a tall glass of milk for Michael. She set the drinks next to the plates. Michael picked up his plate and quickly ate his sandwich. Emma took delicate, small bites of her sandwich. Michael was done with his before Emma had finished half of hers. “Do you want me to make you another?”

  “Please. I haven’t eaten much today.” Emma placed her plate down and went to make him another sandwich. He ate the second with the same enthusiasm with which he ate the first.

  When their stomachs were full, dirty plates and glasses on the coffee table, Michael gathered the dishes and took them to the kitchen sink. Emma followed and watched as Michael rinsed their plates and glasses and placed them into the dishwasher. Back in the living room Emma wondered aloud to Michael, “Any plans?” He sat down on the red couch and patted the seat next to him. His plans were to have her lying naked beneath him. She sat down close, their shoulders touching.

  “I’m going to wait until my employer calls me before I make a plan. I need the information he is going to provide before I can figure out a way to keep you safe. But until he calls, we probably should get some sleep,” he said watching her eyes sparkle in the firelight.

  Michael stood and separated the logs, taking care to securely close the glass pane. He made sure to leave the damper open so the fire would die out naturally. She rose from the couch and noticed his gun was now lying on the end table. She knew, at that moment, he was on her side. Her head told her to grab the gun and flee, but her body was paralyzed. What was going on with her body? Why did her heart trust Michael so completely? She made her way to the stairs and he followed. He wanted her in a way he hadn’t ever felt before. Something inside him craved her touch, which is why he left his gun sitting on the table. He would never leave his gun.

  “I am going to sleep in here tonight, in that chair,” he said pointing to the chaise lounge chair in the corner of her loft bedroom.

  “Why? I am not going anywhere,” she confessed to Michael as she grabbed her night clothes from the dresser and made her way to the bathroom. He really hoped she dressed in something unattractive, something that hid her curves from his mind, or he may be crawling into bed with her.

  She earned the biggest smile
she had ever seen when she stepped out of the bathroom. “You look adorable,” Michael said, standing and grinning.

  “Thank you,” she cautioned. She stood in a pair of sweatpants covered in splotches of paint and t-shirt that reached her knees. His hand found the button on his jeans and he undid them. She watched unapologetically as he removed his pants. If he could watch her, she most certainly had the right to watch him. He folded his jeans and tossed them onto the ottoman in front of the chaise lounge chair. She tossed a blanket in his direction. He caught it and sat down as if getting comfortable for the night. He knew he would never sleep, not with her so close. He would agonize all night about wanting something he couldn’t have.

  She crawled into bed pulling the covers up to her neck. “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?” he asked looking at her in the moonlight which shone into the room.

  “For believing me. For not handing me over to the bad guys. For saying you will protect me,” she rambled on feeling foolish for thanking the man who had planned on kidnapping her.

  He didn’t respond. Instead, his feelings stirred within his core. So he sat on the lounge chair in the corner of her loft with only his thoughts to keep him warm. Tonight he would watch over her while she slept.

  It wasn’t long before Michael heard the deep, even breath coming from Emma. She was sleeping soundly in her king size bed. Michael watched over her like he promised, although he had a killer hard on from the thoughts which were whirling through his mind. It wasn’t long before he heard her moan. Was it a pleasure filled moan or a moan filled with anguish over what he had put her through today? That thought threw a splash of cold water on his raging member. She tossed and turned, and he wondered what she was dreaming about.

  Michael spread her legs with his hands, pushing her open to accept his head. He dragged his rough fingers up the hyper-sensitive flesh of her calf, following his hand with a trail of kisses. He stopped at her center and spread her folds with his thick fingers. He dipped his head, lapping at her clit. He circled her with a pressured tongue. She arched under his touch, pushing her core closer to his mouth. Her hand finally found its way into his curls, firmly entangled in his hair and forcing his head closer.

  Michael watched in the moonlight as her hand traveled down her stomach to her center. He saw her hand rubbing herself underneath the covers. God, he prayed, hoping she was dreaming of him.

  Michael continued lapping at her clit and then dipped his tongue, pushing it into her core. He licked and sucked at the entrance of her body. Then, as he resumed licking her clit with pressured, rhythmic stokes, he pushed at her opening with two fingers. His fingers slid easily inside her. He slowly moved his fingers in and out of her slick, hot center as he suckled on her clit.

  He was licking furiously up and down and around her clit applying the perfect amount of pressure while her hand pulled him roughly, closer to her. She held his hair to bring his mouth where she needed it while she arched her hips, moving them back and forth against his mouth. His hand made its way up her belly to her bare breasts and pinched her nipple.

  Michael watched her free hand palm her breast and tug at the nipple. He watched as she arched under the covers, rubbing herself.

  He continued sliding his fingers in and out of her body, sucking and licking her clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

  Michael heard her moans increasing. He could see her hand working harder under the blanket. He had a front row seat to see her pleasuring herself. God, she’d better be dreaming about him. She lifted her back off of the bed and cried out, “Michael.”

  Her spoken word woke her up. She felt herself coming down from her intense orgasm. What had she just done? God, she prayed he was asleep. He couldn’t know she was attracted to him. Not to the extent that had her dreaming about his tongue on her body. She peered over at his sleeping form in the chair. “Thank God,” she thought as she finally came back in to herself.

  What did this mean, dreaming about Michael the way she had? Was it the adrenaline that caused her to masturbate in her sleep, something which had never happened before? She hardly ever reached orgasm when she had sex with a man because she was always stuck firmly in her head, thinking about what he was thinking, always drawing upon the worst case scenario: Sure he’s sleeping with you, but it is only because he wants the release. She really had to work on her body image. Intellectually, she knew she was attractive, but she never felt that guys found her that attractive, even though they told her they did. She had serious issues. With Michael, that wasn’t the case. She knew, body and soul, he was attracted to her. He said it with the way he destroyed her with his eyes.

  Did she really want Michael that badly? She was attracted to him, which was now painfully obvious, and she believed he was attracted to her. But it had to be the situation. She had never felt these intense feelings before. She had to figure out what they meant before she did something her head would regret.

  She lay there painfully awake. All she could hear was her own heavy breath escaping her mouth. She listened carefully for Michael’s slow, easy breaths. It was a good thing he was an expert at disseminating false information or she would have figured out he witnessed her pleasure and heard his name escape her lips. She longed to be nestled safely in his arms, but he was all the way across the room in that damn chair. Why didn’t she just ask him to sleep with her? What would he think of her if she did? What did that make her, asking her kidnapper to sleep with her? But he was more than that now; he was her protector. At least that is what he promised to be. They could surely sleep in the same bed without touching each other. Although, God knew, she wanted to touch him, affect him, the way he affected her. She wished to touch the very soul of his being. Her dream and subsequent orgasm left her feeling bereft. She craved Michael’s touch. She had never experienced anything like it before, and she was certain she probably would never experience anything like it again. After what seemed to be the longest twenty minutes of her life, she whispered his name. Michael feigned sleep. He would never let her know he had witnessed one of the most erotic sights of his life, a sight that had made him damn near close to coming in his underwear. He saw her body, although covered, move and arch under the blankets. He heard his name escape her mouth as she found her release.

  « Chapter Six »

  Without curtains, sunlight blasted into the room, a problem he thought needed to be addressed. He opened his eyes in a squint against the bright light reflecting off of the snow and nearby tree branches. The sight was really awe-inspiring. Tree branches layered with two inches of snow. The mountains held a magical quality, which soothed his wounded mind.

  She was in the same spot he’d left her in last night. His morning erection was pressing hard against his underwear. It was a good thing he remained covered.

  It hit him then. He’d actually slept all night without booze. What this woman could do for him! She was the balm to his blistering burn. He felt calm in her presence. He had slept through the night with her orgasm fresh on his mind. This was the first good night’s rest he’d had since his college days. He needed her. There were no longer any doubts. Now, he just had to make her see it too.

  “Time to get up, sleepy head,” he said.

  She smiled. “I thought it was all just a dream,” she confessed.

  “What? That someone wants to kidnap you?” he retorted.

  “No. That you were here,” she whispered.

  He was definitely making progress. “I am here, Emma. You better get used to it,” he bantered.

  Her eyes met his and they held each other’s gaze for what felt like the briefest of seconds. It wasn’t awkward like she thought it was going to be. He was still here; he still wanted to protect her.

  She got out of bed. God, after the night she had, she must look a wreck. She had to rectify the situation. She shuffled her way into the bathroom telling Michael she was going to take a shower. Great, now Michael got to imagine the way the water pebbled and beaded dow
n her body. He wanted to lick the water from her bare breasts. He was hard again just thinking about her. She was no ordinary woman. He would have been able to resist an ordinary woman. He hungered for Emma, for her touch, her taste, her moans.

  She exited the shower dressed in her robe. She ran a brush through her hair, which she let lay loosely around her shoulders. She put her glasses on and brushed her teeth.

  She found Michael in the kitchen pouring two cups of coffee. “What do you take in your coffee?” he asked her, opening the fridge to get out the milk for his cup.

  “Cream and sugar please,” she responded shyly. Why was she feeling shy around him all of the sudden? This morning in her room she was bold, but now she felt self-conscious in front of him. He fixed her coffee and handed it to her across the kitchen bar where she sat on the same stool she’d sat on the night before. He came to her side, turning her around so she was facing him.

  Just like last night, he leaned in between her legs, but this time he took her mouth in a possessive kiss, which had her parting her lips to allow him access. She didn’t know where this “trusting her gut” would take her, but she sure was enjoying the feel of being his, even if it was just for the moment. Her robe loosened in the front to reveal the swell of her ripe breasts. Michael pulled back from the kiss to admire the sight before him. With her hair dried and wavy against her shoulders, her glasses perched at the bottom of her nose, her robe open in the front revealing perfectly large breasts, he couldn’t help himself. He found his hand tracing the edges of her robe, dipping his calloused fingers lower onto the swell of her bosom. He lightly fingered her breasts. A moan escaped her lips and his erection pushed harder against his pants straining the zipper until he was afraid it would bust. He pushed further into her, recapturing her mouth. This time his kiss was demanding. She gave as good as she got, kissing him back, equally fervent. Her hands wandered their way under his shirt to trace the outline of his rock-hard abs. Was this really happening? She ran her hands under his shirt up to his chest. This time it was he who moaned at the contact. He pulled her to the edge of her seat and pushed up against her center. She could feel his attraction through his pants pressed against her body. He picked her up like a petite thing and placed her on the kitchen table. He removed her robe from the rest of her body so it laid open at her sides. A Renoir, that’s what she looked like, a fine work of art; a masterpiece made just for him, her hips and stomach soft to his calloused touch. Running the tips of his fingers over her body, he stroked up and down her thighs paying careful attention to her hips. How he loved her hips. She was aching at her very center. Her body wanted him. She wanted him. She wasn’t going to deny her feelings any longer regardless of what was causing them.