A Shot at Love Page 8

  It was customary for the sexes to be paired, most physical attacks occurring to women by men. The need to understand how to protect oneself against an assault dictated this pairing. Gemma had sparred and grappled with all ages and types of men. As she’d risen in rank, she’d earned the respect of many of them and the admiration of all the female students.

  But she’d never experienced any kind of sexual pull before now and wasn’t quite sure she knew what to do about it.

  The tension in her body was coiled so tight, her reflexes all standing at attention, it took her a solid few seconds to respond when he calmly asked, “Had enough?”

  For an answer she closed her eyes, centered her mind as quickly as she could and unwound that coil.

  The move caught him off guard just as she’d hoped it would.

  As her shoulders and the rest of her body relaxed against the mat, Ky struggled to keep his hold secure on her. Using his instability against him, she clasped her fingers together, and with her imprisoned arms, lifted and wound them around his neck, making him lose the tenuous balance he had left.

  In a heartbeat she flipped him to his back again with a single thrust of her hips and had his own arms plastered above his head while she straddled him.

  Gemma’s hands were strong. Lifting and carting cameras, tripods, and a plethora of heavy photographic equipment over the years had made them so, so when she pressed against his arms to keep them in place, she thought he’d push back.

  He didn’t.

  He simply let her hold him.

  Her shoulders lifted and dropped with each breath she took, her gaze glued to his. Ky’s breathing was as deep as her own and with each shift in his chest, she pushed down a little further, a little harder, until she was balanced right above him, their faces close enough to feel the heat of the other’s breath.

  And still, he didn’t fight back.

  Her gaze glided to his mouth where a fine line of moisture outlined the notch above it. She stared at his full, solid lips, fantasizing about what they would feel like pressed again her own. Would they be hard and rough? Or soft and intoxicating?

  Ky bent his knees, a move she instinctively interpreted meant he was going to try and gain the upper hand again, and, as a counter measure, Gemma dropped her knees to the mat, settling solidly and completely on top of his groin.

  The feel of him, hard and long, against her was the most erotic sensation she’d experienced in some time. Even though they were both fully clothed, she felt naked and exposed where their bodies came in contact and touched. The moisture drenching through her thong wasn’t from sweat. And if she knew it, he probably did as well.

  A harsh moan grumbled from deep within him when she settled her weight down fully on his pelvis.

  For a hot second her entire body stilled as she simply allowed herself to feel him.

  Good God, he was huge. Gemma realized right then how long it had been since she’d felt such a strong burst of arousal fire within her. That it had to be for this man, a man she didn’t even like, and one she didn’t want to trust, was beyond vexing.

  When he shifted and pulsed against her, growing even larger, her vision blurred, then cleared as she stared down at his mouth.

  It would take nothing for her to close the minute amount of space separating their faces and claim it.

  That she considered doing it proved just how long it had been since she’d felt the need for a man. He watched her as she watched him. When his tongue swiped against his bottom lip, Gemma’s gasp echoed in the room.

  His eyes turned to slits and his shoulders heaved with each deep breath as he stared up at her.

  Sexual electricity crackled in the air between them and when Ky lifted his head slightly from the mat, his gaze never moving from her face, Gemma inched downward to meet him halfway.

  His lips silently formed her name.

  Gemma.

  Just when their mouths were a whisper from kissing, Ky blinked, opened his eyes wide and dropped his head back to the mat, all the while keeping her prisoner with his gaze.

  Confused, Gemma pulled back, lifted herself from him and forced her body upright. When she stood flatfooted, she moved back, taking a few literal and mental steps away from him.

  “Enough for today?” he asked after a moment while he pushed up on an elbow and regarded her with eyes that gave away nothing.

  But did his voice sound a little tighter than it had?

  “Yes.” She attempted to pull her gaze from him, but when he leaned forward and stood, every muscle and joint unfurling in a single line, she couldn’t have forced her eyes away from his body if commanded to.

  Once again he reminded her of a panther, sleek and lithe, his every motion calculated, stealth, and powerful.

  Dangerous.

  That was the word to describe Kyros Pappandreos. His calm and cool façade belied the danger seeping through him, hidden, and ready to unleash at a moment’s call, and God help her, she longed to witness that side of him.

  Gemma shook her head. She had enough danger in her life with a crazed mob boss hunting for her.

  He stood before her and swiped the back of his hand across his wet brow. “How’s your knee feel?”

  “It’s fine,” she answered, automatically. Even if it did twinge a little, she wasn’t going to admit it to him.

  “You gonna do anything else down here, now?” he asked.

  “No. No, I’m...done for today.”

  He nodded and moved to a table in the corner she’d hadn’t noticed. He lifted his gun from it, slid it into the waistband of his sweats at his back, and then clipped his phone on.

  When he turned back to her, his face could have been carved from granite, the expression blank and rigid. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and then make breakfast. Any requests?”

  “No, I—. No.” she shook her head, trying to force the image of him naked and wet in the shower from her mind. “Whatever you make is fine.”

  It was his turn to nod. “There’s plenty of hot water. You can shower now, if you want, as well. No need to wait.”

  She wouldn’t let words form in her mouth. She was afraid that if she spoke, she’d give voice to her thought that they share a shower, so she simply nodded once and followed him up the stairs.

  Chapter Five

  Ky let the icy water sluice down his neck and shoulders as he bit back an oath from the freezing shock of it against his bare skin. He’d told Gemma there was plenty of hot water, but he wasn’t taking advantage of it.

  He needed to cool down.

  Christ, he needed to calm down. He was so hard, walking up the two flights of stairs to his bathroom had his hands shaking and sweat pouring off him.

  If sanity hadn’t taken over just when it had, he’d have flipped Gemma flat on her back again and given in to his roaring desire to possess her mouth.

  And possibly more than just her mouth.

  From the moment he’d turned and found her staring at him, her eyes wide and filled with nerves, he’d been fantasizing about what she would taste like, feel like. In truth, she hadn’t been far from his thoughts from the moment he’d shut his eyes the night before until he opened them again.

  Gemma was an enigma in every way imaginable.

  She’d shown him a stubborn side, a determined side, and even a vulnerable side of her personality. She’d been flirty and quick-witted with his partner, something he imagined she was in her daily dealings with men, but reserved and self-contained with him. She was passionate about her profession but obstinate about her safety. She’d actually argued with him when he told her she needed to move the desk in her room from under the window for fear anyone on the street could look in and see her. Pouting like a three-year-old and insinuating he knew nothing about technique or lighting, she’d done as he’d asked.

  So many conflicting facets wri
tten into one woman.

  To discover her hidden talent and finesse with weaponry had almost been too much for him to take in.

  Beauty, brains, talent, and she was skilled at martial arts. He’d had to fight to keep the smile from his face when she questioned his own abilities with the escrima sticks. What would she have done if he’d confessed the numerous trophies he’d won in the sport? Or that he’d been studying the discipline longer than she had?

  He had no doubt she’d have still consented to fight with him, her own pride and sense of self-worth would have made it impossible to refuse.

  Where the thought to spar with her, hand to hand, had come from, he could only guess, but the unshakeable need to touch her, to have his hands all over her, to have her willingly consent to it, had pushed the question from his lips.

  He’d thought to hold back, go easy so she wouldn’t reinjure her knee, but she’d proven her defensive skills were exemplary, outmaneuvering him twice. He could have argued it was because he was distracted by how perfect her lean, toned body felt against his, or how cottony-soft her skin was under his fingers, or even how she smelled like ripe cherries.

  But they would have just been excuses.

  Gemma Laine, he’d been thrilled to learn, was a worthy opponent on several levels.

  When she’d reversed him to his back and settled over his growing-by-the-second erection, he stopped fighting and simply reveled in the exquisite, erotic feel of her body against his.

  The raw need that surfaced as he’d lain there overwhelmed him to the point of the almost-kiss. He’d forgotten every rule, every regulation, every oath he’d ever taken. In that moment, all he knew, all he could see, feel, and want, was Gemma.

  She’d been as caught up in the moment as he’d been, he was sure of it. While he watched her head bend down, bringing those amazing lips closer to his, Ky had sensed something floating in the air between their bodies: something frightening, something real.

  He’d pulled back at the last moment when the realization of what it was came to him. Equal parts thankful and regretful the kiss hadn’t happened, Ky knew down to his core he had to keep a close watch on his emotions from now on and think with his head and not other parts of his treasonous anatomy where Gemma was concerned. He couldn’t give in to his desire for her, couldn’t allow it to surface again no matter how strong or forceful it was.

  He had to keep her safe, avenge his agents, find Ritandi, and put him away for the rest of his natural life.

  That was the objective. He needed to remember it.

  When his body finally turned numb from the cold water, his erection now a memory, he shut the shower off, towel dried and dressed. He glanced at himself in the bedroom mirror and resolved to clamp down on the unexpected tightening in his system whenever he was near her. He could do it. Like YiaYia was fond of telling him, he had the blood of his warrior ancestors flowing through him with a matching will of iron.

  From the staircase he heard the sound of voices drifting up. Jon said something he couldn’t make out, and then Gemma’s laughter rang through the hallway.

  In that instant, Ky knew no matter whose blood flowed through his veins, it couldn’t stop the yearning coursing through them for this one, beautiful, stubborn woman.

  Her laughter died the moment he walked into the room, but for a brief, small second, he’d seen her face before the internal shade came down over it. Eyes the color of cobalt crystals were moist with mirth, her cheeks plumped by the rise of her lips. Happy. She’d looked genuinely happy.

  Ky wanted to see her that way again, and by something he’d done or said, not his partner.

  “Did you leave me any hot water,” Jon asked. He filled a coffee mug and held it out to his partner.

  “Plenty.” Ky crossed to the refrigerator. From its depths he removed a carton of eggs, milk, and bread, then reached up into a cabinet and found cinnamon and sugar.

  “French toast?” Jon asked.

  Ky nodded.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Jon addressed Gemma, “because Papps makes the best French toast this side of, well, France.”

  Her lips lifted. When she turned to him, he thought a challenge drifted in her gaze as she fiddled with the buttons on the ever-present camera slung around her neck.

  “Mine has been known to bring grown men to their knees,” she told him, her head cocked at a jaunty angle, her hair swishing across her cheeks, “so yours better be good.”

  While he whisked the ingredients together he tossed her a quick glance over his shoulder and said, “I’ve never had any complaints.”

  “Hey,” Jon said, his attention bouncing between them, “why don’t you two have a cook-off? See whose is better?”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re suggesting that just so you can eat more?” Gemma asked him, then grinned when his hand flew to his chest.

  “Woman, you wound me. Again.”

  “Deny she’s wrong.” Ky dipped a few slices of bread into the bowl, then placed them on the now-sizzling griddle.

  He looked over at his partner when they were settled to his satisfaction and screamed, “Down!”

  He grabbed Gemma and dragged her off the chair and under the table.

  Just as she yelled, What the—, an explosion detonated the coffeemaker, hot liquid spurting and raining down all around them.

  “Stay down!” Ky ordered, one hand restraining her, the other holding his gun, cocked and ready. He’d positioned his body as a shield over hers.

  A spray of rapid and unending gunfire blasted through the kitchen, destroying everything it hit. Ky felt a scorching stab on his back as the skillet was struck, the oil spurting from the implosion.

  “Shit!” Jon crouched next to them, his own gun drawn.

  “Perimeter breach,” Ky told him, keeping his body over Gemma.

  A slight pause in the hail of bullets was enough for them to reach up and return fire. They discharged their weapons in a swift series of blasts.

  The kitchen window was shattered, blown from its frame, but Ky was able to get a good view through it.

  “How many?” Jon yelled.

  “At least two,” Ky told him, crouching back down. “Front lawn and moving.”

  Jon nodded. His eyes did a quick dance from Gemma back to his partner. “Cover me.”

  Ky nodded. Jon mouthed, “three…two…one,” and then jumped up, sprinting.

  At the same time, Ky sprang up and fired three shots in swift succession, giving his partner enough time to bolt from the room, his own weapon primed. Several shots and then a scream shattered the air.

  Gemma squatted under the table, her hands covering her ears.

  “Stay here,” he commanded. “Don’t move.”

  Raw and stark terror drenched her face when she looked up at him.

  “Understand?”

  She nodded a staccato assent.

  Ky stood cautiously, every muscle in his body tensed, the sound of gunfire coming from his right.

  He slithered to the doorway then plastered his body against the frame as more shots rang through the house. A flash of movement came from his left and he spied a figure drenched in black, a hood barring his face, an automatic weapon braced in his hands. He spotted Ky and took a stance.

  Ky was quicker. He fired first, once toward the head, once, the body.

  The gunman went down, his weapon banging from his hands.

  Ky kept his gun trained on the man as he approached, kicked the gun across the floor, and checked him.

  Dead.

  The blast of more gunfire made him drop to a squat and position himself behind the staircase bannister. The commotion was centered to his right, the living room.

  Suddenly, an eerie silence boomed in the house.

  Ky, his weapon at the ready, mentally counted to five.

  “Jon?
”

  When he got no response, he moved stealthily down the hallway.

  The living room was in shambles, the front window blown, the walls littered with caverns from the bullets.

  Another body, identically dressed as the first, lay across the entrance to the den.

  Just as Ky checked the man’s status, a faint, “Papps?” met his ears.

  Jon was sprawled across the floor, his gun gripped in his hand, a deep crimson stain drenching the front of his shirt.

  “I’m hit,” he said when Ky reached him.

  “Did you see anyone else?” he asked. He tucked his gun into his shoulder holster, then ripped Jon’s ruined shirt apart. A single hole lodged squarely in Jon’s upper arm spewed bright red blood from its center. Ky took the edge of the shirt and pressed down hard.

  A hiss blew past his partner’s lips. “No. I think there were only two.” His color was pasty, sweat drenching his brow and upper lip.

  The faint sound of sirens tinged the air. While putting pressure on his partner’s wound, Ky pulled his cell phone from his belt and pressed a single number. A voice answered immediately.

  “What?”

  “We’ve been attacked,” Ky said without a greeting.

  “Status?”

  “Two intruders down.”

  “Agents?”

  “Winters is hit. I haven’t found LaRoux and Coble.”

  “Get out of there, Papps. Take your witness. Contact me when you can.”

  “Winters—”

  “Now!”

  The call disconnected.

  Jon looked up at him. “Gemma?” he asked. He swiped his tongue across his mouth.

  “I’m here,” she said from behind them.

  Ky’s head snapped up.

  Gemma ran to them, her gaze flitting from Ky to Jon. Her eyes were wide and glazed, her skin alabaster white. She still had her camera slung around her neck. Relief surged through him when he realized she hadn’t been shot during the firefight.

  When she dropped to her knees next to them, his relief flew and anger got the better of him. “I told you to stay out of sight!”

  She stopped short, glared at him, her brows tugging together, and for a moment he was afraid she’d lash out at him for yelling at her. But in the next second she pursed her lips, and, silently dismissing him, gave her attention to Jon. She yanked off her hoodie, then pushed Ky’s hand and the drenched shirt out of the way and placed the garment over Jon’s wound.