Elite Ops - 01 - Wild Card by Lora Leigh

Author:Lora Leigh [Leigh, Lora]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2010-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

Later, much later, Sabella stared into the darkness. Noah slept beside her, one arm under her, one thrown over her. His head rested next to hers, the soft rhythm of his breathing flowed over her. There were things, Sabella thought, that men just did not always consider when it came to women. Because women were smart enough not to tell them.

Women took the time to know the men they loved. The little things. Women were curious like that, where men weren't always as perceptive, even big tough SEALs and superagents. For instance, the way a man touched a woman's body, the woman he loved. Not just the feel of his fingers, but how he did it. The strength could change, it could be gentle and firm, or it could be desperate and hungry, but still there were things that remained the same. Certain sensations, certain ways of doing it.

The way a man took a woman, hard and fast or slow and easy or anything in between, there was always a single constant. And that was the man.

Scars marred Noah's hands and his body. There were calluses her husband hadn't had and there were calluses her husband had had that were missing from Noah's hands. But the way his cock pressed into her, the nerve endings it stroked, the way he filled her, the way he stretched her, it was all too similar.

Too many things were too similar.

"Sabella. You hit my truck. It was right there, in plain view." The memory slashed over her, around her. It seared in her memory. Nathan yelling at her. Nathan never yelled at her. He always controlled himself. But she had shocked him that day. He had gripped her shoulders to move her out of the way, but she had felt it. Felt the way his fingertips pressed, not ungently, in a distinct way. The way his fingers flared out, gripped, moved her. She remembered his eyes. So wild, the way they went feverish with anger, arousal, and pure lust as he dragged her into the house.

It was distinctive. She remembered the exact spots his fingers had pressed into her shoulders, how it made them feel, how his eyes had changed.

She remembered where he hid his guns. How he hid his guns.

He had known where the coffee cups were in her kitchen that first morning when she had informed him he wouldn't be sharing her bed. She had distracted him, made him angry right off, and he had stalked straight to the coffee cups and pulled one free, and not once had she shown him where they were.

He slept against her as her husband once had. He held her as her husband had held her. And that first night, between sleep and waking, she was certain, now she was certain to the soles of her feet, that she had heard him whisper "go síoraí." The words only her husband had known to whisper to her.

She turned her head to stare at him, watched how his hair fell over his brow now.

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