Negotiations (Close Contact Book 2) by Megan Mitcham Page B

snarl.
    “Why would you fuck me like that?”
    “How exactly did I fuck you?” He’d never had a high pitched voice, not even at pre-puberty, but now it sounded as though he gnashed gravel between meals.
    Those plump lips mashed into a thin line between her teeth, when she, no doubt, realized her error in word choice. Blonde locks caressed her back and chest as she shook off the implication of his tone or maybe the annoyance he fueled.
    “You know exactly why I’m here, and I’m not leaving until I get an explanation. You’re trying to railroad my career, and I won’t allow it.”
    “Did you come?”
    “What?” Paige retreated a step.
    “You said I fucked you.”
    After a silent moment she surged forward. Her pretty breasts lead the charge.
    “I’ve been through boot camp, hell week, FBI training, and a shitty marriage. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than dirty talk to intimidate me. So, cut the crap.”
    “Did you come?”
    “This morning in the shower, but it had nothing to do with you.” A confident smirk played over her lips.
    “Then I didn’t fuck you.” He canted his head.
    “Oh?” The smack of palms against gently curved hips, drew Donovan’s gaze from her pouty mouth.
    “No.” He let his gaze linger before dragging it up the swell of her breasts, and smooth column of her neck. “If I had, you’d have come again and again, and this morning in the shower you would have been thinking of me on top of you, inside you, filling you, pushing you.”
    Her smirk fell, and her expression gaped. He watched as her eyes searched his, as her mind tried to calculate the situation and decide upon the best way to handle him.
    Using the moment he’d built, Donovan stepped over his bag.
    Given the option of being pushed over by his chest or retreat, she stepped back. Two steps of his and four on her part had her ass against the ledge. Startled, her gaze flew left and right, taking in the glittery skyline. Her head tilted down as she assessed the fall, and then she scanned the rooftop looking for a way out.
    “Paige.” He snagged her attention. “Do you want to know why I want you under me?”
    Again she searched, but this examination was internal. While he waited for her response, his gaze scoured her head to toe. Wet lips, heaving breasts, braced legs all begged for him.
    After a time her glance locked with his.
    “Yes,” she breathed.
    He took a step closer, his hips crowding her against the ledge.
    “Contrary to what you believe, I want you under me, with the SRT, because it will save lives. With the commander as a go-between for you, the negotiator, and me, the force team leader, there’s too much lag time in critical situations. It provides too much air and opportunity for things to go wrong. Miscommunication. Errors. Deaths of hostages, my men, you.”
    He swallowed past the memories of comrades lost and the rage at watching her take a bullet.
    “You like to go face-to-face with these crazy fucks, which works most of the time. But what happens when it doesn’t? I’m not hooked in your ear. The commander is. I need to be in the room, in your ear, in your head.”
    Donovan pressed closer still.
    “Come under me. We’ll work together. You’ll like it.” He emphasized his last point by grinding his hips against her.
    A deep belly laugh rolled out of her mouth and her lips curved high.
    “Men. You’re either threatened by us or in awe of us. The threatened ones want to control and the awed ones want to watch. You’re no different, soldier. You hate that I call the shots at a scene and see an opportunity to change that. Well, I have oodles more training in psych and for negotiations than you, and you won’t issue orders to me.”
    Yes, he would, and she’d follow them. She’d beg for them.
    Donovan planted a palm on either side of the ledge, pinning her in place. Her hands didn’t come up to shove him away, which he took as consent. Slowly, he leaned in, passing her lips by a