Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

  Suede tapped her index finger to his lips, tracing the lower lip because it was so full and soft. So inviting.

  Chance blew out a tremendous sigh, feathering the tangles that had fallen over her forehead with a gentle peppermint breeze. She closed her eyes and took it in, promising to remember him for the rest of her life by this simple fragrance. Peppermint and evergreen would forever bring back memories of Chance Sinclair and the time he saved her life.

  “Mom died when I was out of the country on my last deployment, Suede. I wasn’t there and I should’ve been. Pagan and Kruze made it to her bedside in time, but I was… I was—”

  “On an important mission, right?” she finished for him. “You couldn’t get home to her in time, and you haven’t forgiven yourself for not being there, have you?”

  His eyes closed and Suede was afraid she’d ruined the tender moment. No man had ever confided in her like this before and she wasn’t quite sure if she’d responded correctly. This was a new and rewarding experience to be allowed an intimate insight into a warrior as fierce and as locked up tight as Chance Sinclair. Compared to him, Pagan was a big fluffy teddy bear and York was an empty scarecrow, stuffed full of BS.

  “That’s the thing. The Navy would’ve sent me home if they’d known, but I thought I had more time. My mission was important, and I thought she could wait until…” Chance blew out another sigh. “Shit, never mind. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You sure you’re okay?”

  His voice had grown thin and tight with every word. He still suffered for what had happened to his men and his mom. His grief was a living, breathing monster on his back, and Suede wanted, somehow, to make it go away.

  She nodded, bumping against his scruffy chin in the process. “Like I said, I am now that you’re here.” But she wasn’t about to let him change the subject. “Did you know how bad your mom was? Did you know she was dying?”

  He shook his head. “None of us boys did. We didn’t know she’d had breast cancer before then either. Damn. There were a lot of signs we missed.”

  Suede found it endearing that he still referred to himself and his brothers as boys. “She sounds like a normal mother, shielding her boys from the ugly side of life.” I wish mine was more like her.

  “But I thought we were tight. Why’d she keep that from us? We weren’t babies. We deserved to know.”

  Suede bit her bottom lip. She had no experience with the behavior of a caring woman like Scarlett Sinclair in her life. The closest she could relate was her high school girlfriend, Karen Singleton’s relationship with her mom. They treated each other like girlfriends, like best friends. They confided in each other. Shared things. Went to movies together. “I don’t know, but I’m a little jealous for the time you did have with your mom. I’d give everything to have had someone like her in my life, even if it was just for a couple years.”

  “I lived with her, Suede. I lived with her, and she still kept that from me.”

  Her eyes widened. She’d assumed he’d been divorced, or something the way he’d tended to her. “You weren’t married?”

  “No way. Deployments are tough on married guys. I’ve watched plenty go through divorces. Why would I do that to a woman?”

  She had no answer, but wow. A man like Chance still living at home with his mom. You didn’t hear that every day. “You, umm, lived with your mother?”

  His brows slammed together. “In the same gated community, not the same house. Not like either of us was home much, but she wanted to stay close. Said it made her feel safer. I didn’t mind. Lots of SEALs lived there with their families.”

  Oh, good. It was her idea. Not his. That helped. An older woman on her own deserved someone she could trust within driving distance. For a moment there, Suede thought he might have been a mama’s boy. It was time for another change of discussion. “So you were injured during the time you lost your mom?”

  A groan eked out of Chance. “Yeah. Same time.”

  Her fingers lifted automatically to his cheek, threading through the scruffy beard there, wishing she knew how to make him feel better. “So you were distracted when you got the news, weren’t you? That’s when you were hurt.”

  “No, I didn’t get the news she’d passed until after I was rescued. That wasn’t why I lost most of my team. We hit a piece of bad intel and ended up in the middle of an ambush. The only things that saved us were the Little Birds on our six that day.”

  She cocked her head, her hand not breaking their link. “Little Birds?”

  “MH-6 light helicopters. We were working with the Night Stalkers on that mission and—”

  This man spoke in code. “Night Stalkers?”

  The tension eased out of his body while he explained. “I forget, sorry. You’re not one of the guys. The Night Stalkers are the 160th Spec Ops Aviation Regiment out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky. They fly us black ops guys into tight places. It’s called an insertion. That day we went in by Blackhawk, but lucky for us, we had four baby birds on stand-by. While one laid down suppressive fire, the others pulled us out. So, yeah. Same fucking day.”

  Oh, oh, he’d cursed. “The same day?” Suede swallowed hard. Not the same week? “So your team was hit the same day that... you nearly died the same day that...” She couldn’t say it, so she cupped the back of his head, pulling him in closer, so damned sorry that he’d lost his sweet mom the same day he’d lost his team and almost his life. “I’m so sorry, Chance. You didn’t know she was gone until you finally called home, did you?”

  He shook his head, blinking, but not meeting her gaze. “I never got the chance. My CO gave me the news when I came to in the hospital.” Chance cupped her chin, rotating her head to one side then the other, studying her from what angles he could, given the lack of much light in his bedroom, but still not making eye contact.

  She wasn’t certain if he meant to hit her or kiss her. York would’ve told her to shut up long ago. He would’ve punctuated that order with a smack or two, and she would’ve run to her room to escape the prying eyes of his ‘friends’. But then, he never would’ve shared this much of his heart in the first place.

  Chance met her eyes then. “Let it go, Suede. I can’t change what happened six months ago. What’s important now is that you’re not dying. You never were, were you?” His fingers traced her still swollen bottom lip, seeming to need to make certain.

  She allowed the change of discussion. Some things were too hard to talk about. “I did too much today, and I wore myself out. I should’ve listened to Pagan and stayed in bed, but I’m definitely going to live.”

  She would’ve sung and danced to prove her point, but her eyes had finally grown used to the dark and Suede couldn’t look away. His face was dark and fierce. Predatory at an instinctual, elemental level where animal impulses ruled at a glance. Where anything could happen.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said, a gruff growl to his tone.

  Every last one of her resolutions vanished into thin air. “Ah huh,” she said, her tongue already moistening her lips in preparation and her heart singing its happy song, ‘Yes, oh yes, oh yessssssss!’

  Chance closed the distance by one painfully slow centimeter at a time, not taking his gaze from her. Suede lifted her arms and circled his neck. But where she’d expected rough handling and frenzy, he took her with the most reverent kiss she’d ever tasted instead. There was no biting or mashing of teeth to this peppermint flavored encounter, just a gentle connection that sent shivers racing up her spine and over her scalp. He drew her against his massive chest, pressing her breasts where she wanted them pressed, molded her to him like she belonged Right. There. Like a shirt or a coat or his—heart.

  A quiet, sad groan wound up and out of his throat, sparking a maternal instinct inside Suede she had no idea she possessed until then. This gentle man needed something from her, and it wasn’t sex. There was no foreplay to this contact, no wandering male fingers probing her feminine defenses or roaming under her shirt. No pinching. Rub
bing. No fondling.

  If anything, he seemed intent on absorbing what was left of her wounded soul into his, offering his strength as he took something, she wasn’t quite sure what, from her. Whatever it was, he seemed to need it as much as she needed him, so she relaxed into his embrace like a lover.

  For the first time, Suede was aware of the hard balance of his musculature against her soft curves. Her heart awoke to the easy give and take of the male and female forms. He wasn’t using his strength against her. He didn’t have to. Puzzle pieces. They were two lost puzzles pieces that had found each other compatible, and were interlocking in a physical way that defied all the frenzied, smutty, sexual lies ever told. Man and woman weren’t created merely for the sake of a good fuck. They weren’t play things for the other’s basest needs. No. This was different. There was something magical about the respectful way Chance held her. He wasn’t groping, stroking, or petting. It felt more as if he were—praying. And she was the answer to that prayer.

  Suede let him own her mouth and her lips, arching backward as she surrendered to the spirit of the moment. If this man was her other half, the part of her she hadn’t realized she’d been searching for, was this—she dared think it—love?

  Can’t be. Love’s another one of those lies. Isn’t it?

  Yet the need to offer every last bit of herself, such as it was, swelled within Suede until there was no holding back. The time was now, and Chance was her reason for breathing. She wanted him to be happy with her and for her. It was enough. It truly was.

  Carefully, cautiously, he broke the link, but didn’t go any farther than her nose. Nuzzling her cheek, he whispered, “I should let you rest.”

  No, you should let me love you, sprang to her lips, but she caught the words before they leapt the distance between Chance and herself. If this thing was real, she meant to become the woman he deserved first, not some spineless tennis player’s discarded toy of the month. Chance was too good a man to be reduced to a rebound.

  As hard as it was to dampen the tempting fire bubbling in her veins, Suede swallowed her lust and did just that. The day would come that Chance Sinclair would look at her with better eyes than the raw, emotion-filled ones tonight. If he could see past the woman she was yesterday to the woman she planned to be tomorrow, then she’d know she was good enough for him. Until then...

  “I am tired,” she admitted, the blankets now puddled on the floor.

  Like the gentleman she knew he was, Chance extricated his body from hers and ended this extraordinary encounter by climbing to his feet, tugging the blankets up and tucking her into his bed like he cared. “Sleep tight, Suede,” he whispered as he dipped low to plant a warm kiss in the middle of her forehead. “Goodnight.”

  One thing was very clear: she’d never get enough of this man. Suede lifted to her elbows. “Will you be here in the morning?” Because if you’re not, I’m not going back to sleep.

  “That’s the plan. My brothers took over my operation without so much as a by your leave. Do you believe those jerks telling me you were on the verge of death?” He raked a quick hand through his beard, but she could tell he wasn’t as mad as he let on. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured.

  A sigh escaped her lips at that affectionately spoken command. Little did he know that was exactly what he’d given her: a reason to dream. Suede sank into the pillow, her hands clasped over her breastbone. If this was love, it had all the earmarks of a terrible, wonderful, frightening thing. Chance Sinclair now had the power to hurt her worse than her parents or Lionel York ever had.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You dogs!” Chance ground out, as pissed as he’d ever been. “You guys let me think she was dying.” And I fell for it! “You turned the beacons off until I was home, then turned them on after you left!” If that didn’t make Chance feel like a love-struck hound dog, nothing did.

  “It was either that or let you run off and be noble again,” Pagan growled back as the helicopter he and Kruze had hitched a ride in zipped south-by-southwest to Portland, Oregon. “Kruze and I got this op, man. We’ll be in touch when justice is done.”

  “Wait!” Chance barked. “Don’t you dare hang up. Why aren’t you topside with York? I thought you wanted him dead. You were sure ready to end him last time we talked.”

  “I had time to think and you’re right. ’Sides, Portland’s filling up fast with assassins. Kruze and I want a ringside seat. Revenge aside, Sullivan gave me this job first, so stow the righteous wrath routine and take care of your woman.”

  The connection went dead and Chance’s mouth went dry before he could say, ‘She’s not my woman.’ What a lie. Suede Tennyson was precisely that and he knew it. He’d never felt this way about a woman before. Beneath the foul mouth and her crude public image, an innocence that he hadn’t seen coming lay hidden in Suede. As brash and snarky as she could be, he sensed an inner vulnerability, and that surprise discovery had triggered every last one of his male receptors. He wanted to not only protect her, but to support her and provide for her. Love her.

  He dropped his headset to the desktop, shaking his head. No way. This wasn’t that. Had to be that whole hero/damsel-in-distress syndrome, but damn it to hell. He was a goner. All it took was that one call from Pagan, and like an idiot, Chance had nearly fallen down the mountain to get to Suede in time. Baby Brother knew how raw he was after losing his team and their mother, and he’d used that weakness against him like a damned pro.

  Chance had been well played by the two men he respected most—until tonight. He’d made a fool of himself. Kruze and Pagan had set him up, and if anyone knew precisely how to do it, it was the men who knew him best. The dogs! This was Pagan’s underhanded idea. He had a smack-down coming. Kruze too, for going along with him.

  Chance pushed away from his laptop, not as angry as he let on, but still. There should’ve at least been a civil discussion before they’d hoodwinked him into leaving his post. What kind of a man does that? Apparently a lovesick SEAL, that’s who.

  Nope. Not lovesick. Emotional, maybe. Brain-damaged, certainly.

  Retracing his steps, he went back to his room, the beacons on and the storm in his heart calm for the first time in months. The room was dark and Suede had already fallen asleep. Chance didn’t need to do anything more than tend to his unexpected patient until she was fit for travel. Try telling his heart that.

  Carefully, he climbed under the covers behind Suede. She moaned when he wrapped an arm around her tiny waist and slid his legs alongside hers. When she bowed her head, that was enough invitation to bury his nose in her hair. And there he stayed for the next days and nights, tending to her instead of saving the world. Making certain she took her meds. Carrying her to the bathroom when she needed to go. Standing guard when she showered, so she didn’t slip and fall. Fixing breakfasts and lunches, snacks and dinners to keep her on the mend. Watching her sleep and marveling at the tender beauty who’d fallen into his arms. Wanting her to stay.

  Finally her bruises faded to yellow. The tear on her thigh healed and the five-day antibiotic cleared her lungs before they had a chance to get worse. All she needed now was rest. In the wee hours of day four, with her asleep in his arms, he let his mind return to duty.

  He’d already informed Sullivan that Pagan and Kruze were now on task; that he’d stayed behind to guard Suede Tennyson. Sullivan didn’t need to know the particulars of how that came to be, only that the single most powerful piece in this game of cat-and-mouse between Tennyson and York now lay sound asleep in Chance’s bed without a care in the world. No one but the Sinclair brothers and Senator Sullivan knew she’d survived, but even two-faced Governor Tennyson would soon believe the despicable piece of evidence York had carefully captured before he’d offed his own men.

  If Tennyson were in on Suede’s murder attempt, the video would no doubt make him happy. But if this were the game of comeuppance Chance feared it was, the war between Tennyson and York would escalate. Tennyson would strike back using Viktor Pat
rone’s brute force. York could counter with his buddy Juarez and the Gonzales cartel. The innocent folks of poor Portland, Oregon, would be caught in the middle of gang warfare.

  One burden lifted even as another settled like a heavy mantle over Chance’s shoulders. Suede was also the key to ending this war before it began, but he and she were alone now in this wild and rugged wilderness called Montana. If anyone came looking for her, if anyone thought for a moment to dredge the pond beneath Mother’s Day Falls for her body and didn’t find what they were looking for, things could turn ugly.

  A tremor ran up his spine. Chance ran a hand over his head and down the back of his neck, sure of two things. He needed to pound out a good workout to get his brain back in the game, and he needed to keep Suede Tennyson safe. Okay, make that three.

  Chance shrugged at the unheard, yet always-with-him prompting from Kruze that while Chance declared one discussion point, he always had more. So make it a dozen or two, but Suede Tennyson would also learn how to handle a weapon while she was here. She needed plenty of rest first, but she also needed practice knocking down man-sized targets at the practice range in his basement. She had to learn to protect herself, and Chance was just the man for the job.

  Maybe there was a way Suede could draw those two bastards into the open. Wouldn’t that kill the buzz York and Tennyson had going, to come face to face with the woman who could end them both during a well-orchestrated press conference? Once they knew she was still alive, all hell would break loose. They’d react, maybe over-react, and hopefully, do something stupid. Homeland Security and the FBI could take it from there.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face at the inherent danger in using her to bait men the likes of Tennyson and York, Gonzales and Patrone. The workout was cancelled. He needed to pass these latest insights onto Pagan, Kruze, and Sullivan. A war was coming and the quicker they prepared for it, the better.