Treasured by Thursday

He took his time, until she was raw and squirming. He’d yet to touch her most needy parts, and they screamed for his attention. He moved down her waist, kissed the edge of her hip.

When she lifted her hips, she heard him laugh.

“Now it’s me who’s dying,” she told him.

He lifted one of her legs until it was bent at the knee, and he knelt between them.

The first clasp snapped, catching her by surprise. The second was expected.

He rolled the stocking down and turned to her other leg. Once they were both gone, he led his fingers on a slow dance up her calves, her thigh, and stared everywhere he touched. When she was certain he was going to relieve some of the monstrous tension in her body, his hands bypassed her core, took the edge of the garter, and pulled it off.

Her breath caught when he removed the final layer. She’d never been this exposed to a man, but instead of feeling embarrassed, the word treasured popped in her head. “Please,” she mumbled.

Hunter’s eyes shot to hers with such lust . . . such passion, her heart skipped in her chest. “I don’t deserve you.”

It frightened her to think he’d stop. “You’ve taken me this far, Hunter. It would be cruel to leave me like—”

With his eyes locked to hers, he let his hands find the top edge of her inner thighs. “I passed turning back before we entered the room, Gabriella.”

He lowered his head. The first touch was with the swipe of his tongue.

Gabi cried out, clenching the sheets with her fists.

He didn’t need to be told where to touch, what to taste . . . he was simply there, completely consumed with her in two breaths. “Oh, Hunter.”

It had been so long . . . too damn long. The strings on her violin were drawing tight too quickly. Her hips lifted from the bed and she shattered.

Literal stars shot as her orgasm ran over her.

Hunter didn’t ease away, he shifted, his boxers found the rest of the clothing on the floor, and Gabi heard the tearing of a wrapper.

She captured his hand as he rolled the condom on, smiled. The impressive anatomy with his clothing on was just as extraordinary without it.

She opened herself up to him. Wrapped her arms around his neck. The feel of him nudging her had her smiling.

“Last chance, Gabi.”

“I thought we passed turning back,” she said with a grin.

He growled, tilted her hips, and offered a sample. “You’re right.” He gave her everything. “We did.”

Yes.

He filled her, every empty space was now branded with his scent, his touch.

Hunter pulled her into his arms, his lips once again took possession of hers, and he slowly started to move. Gabi’s buildup was slower this time. And Hunter didn’t rush.

He muttered about her beauty, said more than once he didn’t deserve her, told her how amazing she felt.

Their pace sped up until kissing wasn’t possible and all their attention was on the spot they were so intimately joined.

Her nails pulled him closer, the edge of completion only a hair out of reach. Just when she thought she was going to lose it, Hunter whispered, “Come for me.”

She did. And the feeling rolled and rolled, then shot past both of them.

Hunter soon followed with a growl she was all too familiar with.

Remington hadn’t slept on the plane, and the sun in Rome was entirely too bright.

He exited the airport and found his way to the taxi station, grateful to be out of Colombia. The place had eyes, and he couldn’t help but wonder who, exactly, had been watching him. Other than the kids lifting his phone, he hadn’t been mugged or even propositioned.

The only promising lead on the Picano accounts was the two so-called bankers. After he left them, Remington’s information dried up.

Once he was settled in a cheap motel . . . or what would be equivalent to an American dive, Remington dialed Blackwell. It was the middle of the night in the States, so when voice mail picked up, he relayed the important details. “Ahhh, Rome. Such a big city. Colombia was a bust. If I knew better, I’d swear whoever had their hands in that account had a reach far outside those boarders. Lips were closed up tighter than my first wife. Anyway, my cell is back on, same number. If you tried to call earlier . . . sucks to be you. Damn kids,” he muttered. “I’m posing as your hot tamale’s personal agent. Vouch for me. These Italians aren’t as quick to talk, which leaves me wondering how far I’m going to get. I might need to pull in another set of ears . . . or someone who speaks the damn language.” Remington caught a yawn and kicked off his shoes. “Don’t bother calling for at least six hours. I won’t answer.”

He pushed from the bed and closed the blinds. “Have I told you how much I love traveling on your dime?”

He hung up.

He would be up by dusk and ready to find the contact he’d made before he boarded the plane. Then, after a decent night’s sleep, he’d be at the bank in the morning.

As the city around him woke, Remington did his best to drown out the noise and the light. He hit the bed and instantly felt his body sinking. His last thought before he fell asleep was, I need to have something tomorrow or Blackwell’s wallet is going to shut.

Sleep first . . . information later.

Hunter woke with a start. His head swiveled to the side.

Gabi was still there. Her hair splayed on the pillow, her eyes closed, and her lips slightly parted as she slept.

They’d just complicated everything.

He couldn’t bring himself to care. It was still dark, the clock on the table said it was after three in the morning.