Shabaab, he told himself.
His hand felt the cold steel of the pistol. It was a comfortable, familiar feeling. A sense of security. He knew what to do with it. He knew how to aim it, how to shoot it.
And he was going to shoot it. He wasn’t going to let anyone get away. Those assholes weren’t going to kill any more people.
No mercy this time. No fucking mercy.
He came around the corner of a pine and aimed his pistol into the clearing at the source of the noise. He expected to see half of Shabaab standing there with assault rifles, indiscriminately picking off innocents. He expected to see blood. Bodies. Victims. He expected to fight.
But there wasn’t any of that.
He came back to reality. He wasn’t in the Sahel. He wasn’t in combat. He wasn’t even a SEAL anymore. He was on a ski hill in Canada. On a fucking resort. And there was a man with a yellow ski jacket, hacking at branches, making a loud snap with each hack.
What the actual fuck, Jake thought.
The man had dropped his machete into the snow and raised his hands in the air. He was wearing a resort employee’s ski jacket.
“Man, I’m just trimming the run.” The young man’s voice cracked in fear.
Jake realized he was ten feet away, pointing his pistol at this man.
“Please,” the man began to beg.
“Sorry.” Jake’s eyes widened, hiding his gun. “Sorry, I thought…” and his voice trailed off as he heard an engine loud enough to be a six-cylinder SUV pulling into the cottage’s garage.
Nodding apologetically at the employee, Jake stalked the outbuilding beside Charles’s cottage. The one where Charles kept all his toys. As he approached between the navy-blue siding of the cottage and the hedges, Jake visualized a grey SUV pulling into the driveway.
He knelt behind a tree in the shadows and watched. Charles got out, and Kate joined him on the lawn to have a conversation. It was difficult to hear from Jake’s position, but he surmised they were talking about the jet. Kate needed to go into town to make some calls because they weren’t using phones anywhere near the princess.
Charles nodded, throwing Kate the keys, and waltzed himself toward the detached double garage. Jake stood in the shadows and looked in through the small window he had access to. Charles was puttering around inside the garage, pulling out guns from the safe he kept there and preparing them for cleaning.
Peering in through the small window, he saw Charles deep in the gun-cleaning ritual that he’d once shown Jake. The process took a good fucking hour, as every piece of metal was honored and loved like a child.
But there were a lot of things in that garage that Jake hadn’t seen before: three snowmobiles, many more high-end weapons, expensive tools, and a luxury sports car partially covered by a tarp.
Jake moved back to his kneeling position, shaking his head as he looked at the snow. How the hell did that man increase his asset load so quickly? Hell, Jake had been at that cottage just months ago, and Charles had none of that shit. Where the fuck had he gotten all that money? Was he working contracts that Jake didn’t realize? Did he inherit some serious cash?
What exactly was his deal?
Looking back up at the navy-blue cottage, Jake got that overwhelming sense that no one had Aisha’s best interests at heart. He didn’t know where Kate stood or where Charles stood, but he knew that he didn’t fucking like it. And Jake couldn’t leave Aisha surrounded by so much fucking uncertainty. He just couldn’t.
14
Aisha looked into the bathroom mirror, and a very tired, very terrified woman looked back. She didn’t know who that woman was. The dark circles under her eyes nearly matched her long black hair. Her once berry-red pout had become dried and sad looking.
Like a zombie, she’d allowed Charles to steal her from Jake. She’d frozen, and Jake had been shot. And now she was alone with no choice but to follow along, even though she no longer wanted to. Suddenly, she wondered if falling back to her father wouldn’t be worse than being imprisoned by the CIA.
Was Jake okay? Where was he? She winced in pain at the memory of him being hit. Was he dead? Her eyes strained to produce tears, but a part of her had grown too numb. Losing Jake had finally broken her.
His words came to her, and she knew he would want her to keep fighting. But the thought of moving on without him left her defeated. So Aisha steeled herself against the tears welling up. She was exhausted. Physically. Mentally. She had lost the ability to even process what had happened. All she knew was that she’d lost Jake, and she was never going to see him again. That pain hadn’t settled in fully yet, and she remained in shock.
Aisha drew herself a hot bath, squirting all varieties of soap into it. She remembered Jake’s words—that she had to take care of herself. As the water ran, she observed the small cottage bathroom. The walls were wooden, and the floors were tile. The soaker tub was complimented by a stand-up shower. Big enough for two.
Of course, she had no reason to think of two people in the shower. And she tried to banish the thought of whom exactly she wanted in that shower with her. But as she dunked herself into the full tub, hot and reviving, sleep deprivation forced her into a state of unconsciousness.
In a half dream state, Jake’s breathtaking face came before her eyes, telling her she was strong and beautiful. Realizing that he was becoming simply a distant memory, she couldn’t help but dream that he was beside the tub with her. The tall, hulky, muscular man soaped her back up and down, down, down while her hands were tied up behind her head. She wished she could feel his calloused hands on her skin. His powerful grasp. The more she thought of him, the more she felt throbbing and aching in her core.
She began counting numbers to get her mind off the infinite frustration she felt. The numbers became slower and fuzzier until she drifted off into sleep.
Her deep dreams were troubled yet again, and she saw herself, years and years younger, crouching on the ground in a small, dank holding cell in the bottom of her father’s prison. A place where the most special prisoners were held when they needed to learn a lesson. Oh, she definitely received special treatment from the guards, but not the type someone would want.
Her writhing, helpless body cried into the stone floor, her bleeding cheek becoming infected by the overflowing bucket beside her. She had lost the will to live. If only she hadn’t failed in her defection, she would have been somewhere far, far away. Maybe forced into marriage with Leo, but wouldn’t that have been better than looking down death?
The door slammed open, and her father, squat and balding, stood before her with an evil smirk.
“Have you had enough?” he sneered. “Or have you learned your lesson?”
Aisha cried out, only able to make crackling noises through her dehydrated mouth.
He heaved her up, but recoiled at her stench. “Remember this,” he said with a tone of finality. “You are your mother’s flesh and blood, which means you are weak and you will always fail without me. This time, I will let you return, but if you try to run again, you won’t last longer than it takes a bullet to fly.”
He motioned to a guard. Before leaving the damp, disgusting cell, her father whipped his head back to her with a final warning. “Make no mistake, Aisha: you were born a failure. And the only way to succeed is through my vision.”
The words implanted themselves in Aisha’s mind along with everything else he’d said to her as she’d grown. The egotistical autocrat had been told far too often that he was a picture of perfection, and he hated her mother when she made him believe otherwise. And that is why he’d always hated Aisha so much—she was too much like her mother.
Beautiful, sensitive, and caring.
But even those qualities she struggled to see in herself anymore. Instead she seemed to be trying and failing on repeat, like she feared she always would.
Aisha startled awake when she heard a rough rap on the bathroom door. She wondered how long she’d been out. The bath was still warm. Her brain felt s
low. Sleepy. Still tired.
“Aisha?” A man’s muffled voice came from behind the door.
Charles?
She was so groggy, coming out of a hard sleep, that she couldn’t put words together right away.
“Are you okay? Aisha?” The voice grew concerned.
She tried to answer in the affirmative, but her voice just crackled. She then tried to clear her throat to allow sound to come through, but she wasn’t quick enough—the bathroom door swung open and Aisha shrieked, covering her full breasts in the water beneath the dissolving bubbles.
She suddenly felt very awake as Jake stood there, occupying the entire doorway, staring back at her. Pure joy flooded her body. He’d found her.
“Jake!” she exclaimed. Tears fell from her eyes furiously, in absolute disbelief that he was there.
“Aisha,” he breathed, moving quickly toward her.
“Yes.” Her tired voice was less than a whisper.
He trailed her body with his eyes, lingering on her squeezed-together breasts. The soft flesh spilled out over her hands. Hungrier than she’d ever seen him, she remembered what he’d said—he was a man, just a man.
And she was a woman.
His breathing changed slightly as his eyes continued to flicker up and down. “Towel up, and come with me.” He turned to leave. “I’ll give you a minute.”
Jake took a few steps back into the bedroom. His strong, wide back cut nearly the width of the door.
Something inside Aisha screamed—she never wanted him to leave again. With one arm, she held her breasts, and with the other she reached for the towel beside the tub.
“Just stay.” Aisha said quickly before he could move, trying to grab the towel and the tub’s edge at the same time. “Wait.”
Just as she grabbed a corner of the towel, her grip on the ceramic tub slipped, and her body sloshed back into the water with a thud.
She cried out as her elbow whacked the ceramic side.
Immediately Jake appeared by her side, reaching into the tub and scooping her entire body up with one easy lift. Water sloshed over him and all over the bathroom floor. His hoodie quickly became soaked through as he held her naked form to his chest. His mouth parted and his pupils dilated. He looked like he was ready to devour his prey.
He grabbed her the towel and wrapped her in it, holding her in his arms as she dripped water onto the tiled bathroom floor.
“Are you okay?” he demanded, much softer.
She tried to answer in the affirmative, but the pain in her elbow made her wince. He massaged it gently and inspected for damage.
She looked back up at Jake’s beautiful eyes with their many rings of color. He returned her gaze. The connection was palpable. Desire was clear. It was mutual.
She felt entranced.
All she could look at was his full lips and remember just how soft they’d felt when they’d kissed. Her nipples hardened. What she wouldn’t give to feel his lips again.
“Jake?” she asked breathlessly, wishing she could rip that sweater off and see what was underneath.
She reached up and touched his cheek. He was still young, but he’d already seen so much. His face wore the look of a man who had been to hell and back. His dark eyes seemed to drill into her.
“What happened to you?” she whispered again.
He said nothing but continued looking deeply into her eyes. After moments that felt like an eternity, he finally answered.
“Don’t worry about me.” His voice was quiet and soft. “You’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“Are you allowed to be here?”
“Obviously not.” He grinned. “But that would never stop me.”
Aisha’s hand stayed on his cheek. He brought his hand up and touched the back of hers.
“Thank you.” She smiled, and a tear rolled from her eyes. “For everything.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he said, closing the gap between them without even knowing it. “Stop doing it.”
Aisha grinned. He couldn’t help but issue orders.
“Stop telling me what to do,” she breathed.
“You need it.”
He assessed her as she ran her hand up into his hair. It was thick and long and coarse. Dark accented with some grey. Wisdom—that’s what the grey represented. He sat there, motionless, allowing her to run her hand over him. His expression betrayed nothing, but she could sense his heart beating as fast as hers. She could feel the changes in his breath.
“I thought you were gone,” she whispered, wincing from the painful memory. “I was so scared.”
His face remained emotionless, but his breath and pulse told her everything.
“I’m so sorry,” she said with sad eyes. “I froze, Jake.”
He grabbed her hand as she tried to touch him. “Please. No.”
“Didn’t you get shot?”
“The bullet went straight through.” He explained slowly. “I used the field med kit in the car… Good as new now.”
The words were more hopeful than they were convincing, and she couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through to patch himself up. But she got the sense he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“I thought that was it,” she whispered. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I know.”
His expression had changed. She saw a hunger in his eyes. An intensity. A focus. And it was on her. He tracked her every movement, assessing her lips, her face, and her eyes.
And then he snapped.
His muscles flexed and he lifted her up, pressing her back against the bathroom wall, taking her mouth with his.
“Fucking hell, Aisha.”
She ran her hand down his neck and found the zipper of his damp black sweater. She played with it, wishing she could rip it off. Seeming to know this, he reached up and did it for her, exposing his throat, neck… and they unzipped his shirt together, revealing his full chest and abdomen. His rough pace slowed, and he shrugged off his sweater easily, never breaking eye contact with her. As Aisha drank in his naked chest, she knew something was happening between them that couldn’t be stopped.
That wide expanse of bronzed, muscled chest had its share of scars. Battle wounds. It was decorated with intricate patterns of black ink and a cross in the middle of his rib cage. And then she saw it: a bloodied bandage on his ribs. She traced the outline of it, her eyes wide and hurt. What had happened to him? He sucked in air as she touched him. At his shoulder, she raked her fingertips across his chest, grazing his tattoo.
Aisha drew her fingers over the long, black tattooed sleeve, up his right arm and down over his chest. She traced the outline of the large tattoo. Letters and numbers were mixed into the motif, tributes to battles won and battles lost. Everything about him was so unlike any man she’d seen before. She was entranced. Amazed.
Equally mesmerized, his arms wrapped around her, squeezing her close as he kissed her again and again. She could feel the heat and pulse of his member in his pants.
He massaged her back muscles as he kissed her. She moaned in relief. It felt unbelievable. He tilted her head to one side and pressed his lips against her neck, kissing and sucking along the sensitive skin. His teeth teased her skin from beneath her ear all the way down to her collarbone.
She breathed and moaned and felt tingling in her core.
As he kissed back up her neck, he found her jawline and extended his tongue to delicately play upward until he found her mouth. Planting just one gentle kiss, he pulled back slightly—enough so he could look into her eyes.
“I thought you were gone, too,” he admitted. “I didn’t like how that felt.”
She felt weightless for just that moment, caught somewhere between reality and fantasy, as this giant man held her tight and looked at her with every care in the world. His eyes were warm and inviting, and she felt for the first time like she belonged—right there in his arms.
She couldn’t believe that a short time ago she was
holed up in the palace overlooking a city of other people living life. And now she was in the arms of someone real and warm and beyond her wildest fantasies.
Those camouflaged eyes were a metaphor. He camouflaged the emotion and care he carried inside to avoid showing them to anyone, even her.
After a moment of staring back at her, he cupped her face in his hands and the edges of his lips curled into a soft, sly grin.
“I keep telling myself I don’t want this,” he said, and he pressed his lips against hers. “But I really do…”
“Me too,” she whispered between kissing.
He put his other arm around her, holding her as tight and hard as possible against the wall behind her. She felt his shredded abdomen and rock-solid member pressing against the front of her body.
His hand drifted down to the towel still wrapped around her body. His eyebrow peaked, giving her one second to refuse. She didn’t. So he dropped the towel.
She stood there, breathless, excited by his sudden dominance. He moved one hand around her collarbone and loosely held onto her neck, reminding her that he could tighten it at any moment. The other hand slid down her chest, cupping her breasts.
She was exhilarated, finally was seeing his SEAL skill come out.
It felt like falling.
He reached lower, moving her thighs apart. He touched her tuft of hair at the front with one finger and slowly traced it back, pressing harder on her bud and dipping slightly into the opening of her hot core. A moan escaped her, though she tried to stifle it.
“They’ll be in here any second,” he breathed as he took her mouth again.
“Then let’s be quick.”
With that, he wasted no time. She felt a hot, hard round tip touch the outer lips of her core. She rocked back and forth with the head in between her thighs, slowly allowing his thick member entry into her tight cavity. His hot lips kissed her neck up and down again—and just as she relaxed, getting comfortable, he whipped her up again.
He grinned slyly. “I said, don’t get too comfortable.” He wrapped her legs around his waist, sitting her hot core down on the tip of his cock.
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