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chest that made his thoughts evaporate and fire spread through his lower body.
    He tasted her lips, and she opened to him, but her mouth remained tense with restrained hunger. One Ryker burned to release. And when her tongue eased past his lips and slid against his, all his thoughts sank into Rachel and the feel of his tongue moving in her mouth.
    Public , a little voice chattered in his head. You’re in public.
    But, dear God, her mouth was perfect—the heat, the movement, the taste. He wanted his cock surrounded by this mouth. Stroked by this tongue. Sucked by these lips. All while he fisted her hair and watched her fuck him, those big brown eyes looking up at him, drenched in pleasure.
    “Your bill.” The bartender’s get-a-room tone snapped the moment like a dry twig, and he and Rachel came apart with a start. For an extended second, they stared at each other in surprise, maybe even a little awe.
    Where the hell did that come from? was rolling around in his head when Rachel licked her lips, tucked her hair behind her ears, and turned to scribble a signature across the credit card receipt, then slid the card into her purse.
    “Let’s go.” She whipped her sweater and her bag from the chair, grabbed Ryker’s hand and started toward the door.
    “Hold on,” he said, turning back toward the bar. “My stuff.” When he bent to pick up his duffle and backpack, his head swam the way it did from the percussion of an IED that exploded a little too close. She was already making him dizzy.
    With his bags over his shoulder, he took her hand again, and the smile she gave him softened her sweet face and made his legs feel like he just finished a sweaty, sandy, mountain hike.
    They didn’t talk as they made their way through the busy terminal toward baggage claim and out to the shuttle area. Ryker’s mind darted to the consequences of having Rachel discover who he really was, to Troy and Jax and the job he should be consulting on, to the surreal sensation of his hand wrapped in Rachel’s.
    Rachel.
    God, this was weird. She’d been popping into his head for the last week at the strangest times. And he hadn’t even known what she’d looked like then, only that she was funny and clever and didn’t easily take offense to his teasing. Some women could be so sensitive.
    He scanned the curb outside baggage claim. Across the drop-off lanes, a burgundy Crowne Plaza Hotel van pulled up.
    “Perfect timing,” she said, picking up the pace and pulling Ryker along.
    He would agree—everything since she’d shown up at the bar had been perfect timing…if it weren’t for the fact that they really had been scheduled to meet earlier, and in a whole different way, and for a whole different purpose.
    Guilt edged in. He stalled the realization, hoping the annoying emotion would dissipate. At the stairs to the van, he held her waist as she climbed, then sat beside her where she took a seat halfway down the empty rows. Three other passengers got on, all sitting at the front.
    Rachel angled toward him and swung her thigh over his, leaning in and looking up at him with those big, warm eyes.
    Shit. He had to tell her.
    “Hey.” He wrapped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close, nudged a strand of hair off her forehead with the other hand. “I should tell you—”
    Her fingers pressed against his lips. The van doors closed, and the vehicle started moving.
    “The only thing I want to know now,” she said, voice soft, “is, one: if you’re married.” He shook his head. “Two: if you have a disease you could share.” His lips curled beneath her fingers, and he shook his head again. “Three: if you don’t have condoms.” He chuckled, shook his head, and covered her hand with his. “Four: if you’re wanted for violent crimes.”
    He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. “No.”
    “Or five,” she said, “if you’ve changed your mind about the hotel.”
    He kissed her hand again, letting his tongue travel up from the