Kodiak nodded. “He’s going to feel it for a bit, but I warned him.”
“Good. We need him.” God, that made him feel so damn good. “They want us upstairs. Let’s go.”
They entered the conference room, and everybody expected Ice to be confrontational. He invented the word, but when he saw the DEA agents, he strode across the room, slamming them both into the wall. They were so startled that neither one of them moved.
“Where were you? Where was this infamous backup?” he ground out.
“Whoa there, Master Chief,” Blair said, inserting herself between the agents and Iceman. Ice gave way. Breakneck didn’t know how she did it, commanding his boss without raising her voice, without hardening her expression, without needing anything except presence. He’d seen generals and admirals flinch under Ice’s stare. Blair didn’t even blink.
Breakneck was so flabbergasted his mouth dropped open, every one of his brothers was shellshocked by not only her audacity, but her courage.
Ice’s pale eyes tracked her with the quiet, respectful recognition of a man who only deferred to one other woman on earth, his wife, Rose.
Breakneck felt something low and hot settle in his chest. He didn’t know what rattled him more. That Ice respected her…or that Breakneck suddenly cared if she respected him.
“She’s good,” Skull murmured under his breath.
Boomer elbowed him. “Shut up. Break’s gonna fall to his knees and propose.”
Breakneck didn’t take the bait, just raised his finger again. But damn if he didn’t feel something like pride settle into his bones.
Then the door slammed against the wall.
A man stormed in, tuxedo half-buttoned, hair slicked, smelling like expensive champagne and entitlement.
Blair turned unaffected. “Superintendent Darrow. We’re glad you could join us.”
Breakneck hadn’t thought the room could get more volatile. Then Darrow walked in, and Breakneck’s entire spine went tight.
“What the hell is going on in here?” he barked. “Sergeant Brown, why wasn’t I informed of this meeting?”
10
Charles Carroll House, Annapolis Marine Life Gallery Fundraiser, Annapolis, Maryland
The raw, desperate need finally ebbed just enough for air to become a necessity. Than broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, his forehead resting against hers, his body still pressed tight, pinning her to the tree. He was shaking, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants that matched the frantic pounding of his heart. The world slowly came back into focus, the rough bark behind her, the distant music, the soft bubbling of the fountain. All of it felt muted, insignificant compared to the roaring in his blood and the woman in his arms.
Then he felt her fingers, still tangled in the fabric of his jacket, loosen their grip. Her hands moved, a slow, deliberate slide up his chest until they rested gently on the sides of his neck. Her thumbs brushed the sensitive skin just below his ears, and he shuddered, a full-body tremor of pure, unadulterated sensation.
Her voice was a whisper, soft and reverent, a thread of sound in the hushed night. "May I touch your hair?"
The question hit him like a physical blow, a wave of heat so intense it stole the air from his lungs all over again. He froze, every muscle in his body locking down. It wasn't just a request. It was an offering. An understanding. She knew what it meant, the weight of it, the history, the power he carried in the dark strands that ended just barely above his collar.
A slow, sensuous delight bloomed in his chest, warm and potent, spreading through his veins like wildfire. It was a feeling so profound, so right, it made his ache for her sharpen into a near-agony. Ancestors help him, after the longest fucking tease of his life, she was seeing all of him. He wanted her to touch more than his hair. He wanted her hands on his soul.
He couldn't speak. He could only manage a tight, jerky nod, his jaw clenched against the overwhelming tide of emotion. He watched her face, her eyes dark and serious as she slowly, carefully, lifted one hand. Her fingers brushed the hair at his temple, soft and tentative at first, then slid deeper, her palm cradling the side of his head as her fingers combed through the thick, silky strands. A raw, choked sound escaped his throat, a sound of pure, unguarded surrender. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward slightly, giving himself over to the simple, devastating intimacy of her touch. It was the most erotic, most grounding, most terrifying moment of his entire life.
Her fingers were still buried in his hair, a gentle, possessive weight that grounded him even as her words threatened to send him spinning off into the ether. He kept his eyes closed, savoring the feel of her, the scent of her, the reality of her pressed against him.
Then she spoke, her voice a low, intimate murmur that vibrated through his skull and straight down his spine. "I wanted to tell you so many times, wanted to touch you like this, kiss you."
His breath hitched. Every unspoken moment, every stolen glance, every near-miss over four long years crystallized in his mind. It wasn't just him. It had never been just him.
"You're so fucking beautiful in so many ways, and...God, Than, I want you."
That last phrase, raw and direct and utterly without artifice, was the final blow. It shattered the last vestiges of his control. His eyes flew open, and the world he saw was her face, illuminated by the soft lantern light, her expression a stunning mix of vulnerability and fierce certainty. The desire in her gaze was a mirror of his own, a fire that had been banked for years and was now blazing, uncontrollable.
A guttural sound, half-groan, half-sob, wrenched from his chest. He didn't answer with words. He couldn't. He answered with his body. He surged forward, capturing her mouth again in a kiss that was nothing like the one before. This wasn't desperate or frantic.
