Risk of Exposure (Alpha Ops Book 6) by Emmy Curtis

the kiss continued. One of his hands pulled her hair back, like he’d done the previous night, but gently, insistently, until she presented her throat to him. He kissed down her neck; the chill of the air in the room fanned over the moisture he left on her skin. She shivered.
    He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, as if to warm her. She let him wrap his body around her. She couldn’t tell if his proximity was making her light-headed or if the mattress was definitely not solid ground.
    In one slick movement, he pulled her cardigan from the bottom and drew it slowly up her body. Goose bumps followed his hand as her skin was introduced to the night air. He pulled it over her head, the material scratching her nipples in an almost unbearable way.
    As the garment hit the floor, the air—so cold around her—rendered her skin impossibly taut and tender. She expected him to ravish her, but no, still so much restraint. She didn’t know if she liked him this way—it felt personal, as if he were establishing a connection with something inside of her. Except she knew he wasn’t that type. He didn’t seem to be that type.
    He held her gaze as he swept a foot out and took hers out from under her. She fell on the bed, a half gasp, half laugh escaping as she bounced. He wasn’t that type.
    “Oldest trick in the book, babe,” he said, pulling off his own shirt. He jumped off the bed effortlessly and undid his pants, pushing them down so he could step out of them.
    All she could see was his erection. “You’re the oldest trick in the book.” She grinned as she held a hand out to him.
    He ignored her hand and sat next to her. She propped herself up on her elbows.
    “You’re fearless,” he said, running a hand over her stomach.
    Clearly he hadn’t registered her near panic when she’d thought he’d left her—and her country—high and dry. “No one’s fearless. It’s too dangerous,” she said.
    “I don’t mean on the job. I mean here. With me. You barely know me, and you’re not embarrassed, or scared, or anxious about me being here, seeing you naked when most people feel the most vulnerable.”
    She frowned. “I don’t feel vulnerable. Should I?”
    “Most women would,” he replied, running his index finger lightly around her nipple.
    “I’m not most women,” she said, almost arching into his touch.
    “You’re not. You’ve been trained.”
    She knew what he meant. He’d clearly been through the same training. Do what you have to do to protect your country’s interests. Decide how far you’re prepared to go. Know you can handle yourself if things go wrong. Give your body if you have to but not your emotions, not your thoughts, definitely not your love.
    “As have you. You know who trained me. Who trained you?” She wondered if he was MI6, or maybe MI5 before he’d joined her father’s outfit.
    He paused, his eyes searching hers. “The Regiment,” he said simply.
    She forced herself not to react. “The Regiment” was insider code for SAS, the British Special Air Service. The black-ops unit so hard-core that she’d heard that people died just trying out to attend their training course. She was elated that she had someone so qualified to help her, and concerned too. What if she was being played? She knew people in black-ops divisions often had questionable morals and bendable ethics.
    “I don’t know if I’m scared or turned on,” she said honestly.
    “You should be both, love. I was in for a long time.” He stroked her gently through her panties.
    She wanted to question him further. In fact, she had a duty to her country to find out what she could about him, but it wasn’t that that was driving her curiosity. It was a desire to know him. And she had to fucking squelch that feeling immediately. She grabbed his hand and held it against her panties. She held his gaze. “I want to talk about that. But not now. Right now I don’t want to talk about anything. I don’t want to think about