“Oh, good.” Nathan opened the door and set a foot onto the pavement, blood reallocating itself in his legs. A flat stretch of grass along the Potomac River, the place looked exactly the same as it had the one time he’d visited years ago. He retrieved a blanket from the trunk. Thanks to the summer air, sweat prickled on the back of his neck.
Starr wasted no time commandeering a spot, snapping the blanket over the crisp, yellowed grass.
The air rumbled. He pointed to the barely-visible end of the runway. “Watch.”
Three seconds later, waves of air, thick as ocean water, rolled over him. All sounds were swallowed by the whine of a jet engine as a silver 727 glided over their heads.
“Whoa.” Starr hugged herself and crouched a little. He laughed and pulled her closer, his body mass dwarfing the woman. “Closest you'll get to a runway in the country.”
Her head fell back, and her glasses slipped to the top of her head as her face traced the path of the jet overhead. “They're so big!”
She dropped her sunglasses back to her nose and grinned toward the sky as the belly of a second plane, a big mother, soared overhead, far slower than Nathan anticipated. A delayed, new wall of hot air, tinged with scents of jet fuel and fetid river brine, swamped them.
They spent a good thirty minutes lying on their backs, watching planes, some larger, some smaller, careen overhead. Some, shockingly close, settled to land on the tarmac about 500 feet away.
She turned her head, her hair catching on the blanket fabric. “I wonder where they're coming from.” Her eyes held that wistful, dreamy cast he'd seen in Annapolis.
“Chicago, probably from some endless, boring business trip.” God, Nathan sounded cynical even to himself.
“Or back from vacation. In the Caribbean.”
“Maybe.” She deserved tropical cruises, swanky resorts where they put those umbrellas in giant coconuts. She deserved all that and more. He didn't have money to travel, let alone the permission. Fuck. Permission.
He sprang up to sitting.
“What's wrong?” Starr laid her hand on his thigh.
He was in Virginia. He'd left Maryland. Leaving the state without telling Erin was a parole violation. He should have thought of that before promising her a day out. He’d like one day, one frickin' day, where he didn't have to worry about anything—not who he was, what had gone down, and how close he could be at any moment to going back to hell.
His heartbeat clanged inside his chest. The air out here was too hot. The thick, fuel-tinged air could drown a man's lungs.
Yet, how would Erin know? It's not like he wore an ankle bracelet. Maybe he'd tell her when he got back. Wise? Probably not.
Nathan rubbed his sternum. Declan knew they were going out because Max, like an effing babysitter, had insisted he call in before leaving. It was enough his boss knew he was on the loose. He was with a co-worker, albeit one he was in love with. He wasn't running.
His clammy shirt pulled across his shoulders.
“Nathan? You okay?” She sat up on her elbows. Great, she was worried about him when it should be the other way around. And, you know what? He was tired of it. God, he was tired of not knowing when the train might come off the tracks. Tired of panic attacks and worrying about what he couldn’t control. It made the MacKennas win a little. Fuck that. This was going to be okay. Hightailing it back would only create more angst, and he'd be damned if he'd erase that light from Starr's face.
He pulled the fabric clinging to his chest and wafted a little air over his skin. “Fine.”
The roar of an approaching plane threatened to drown out any further conversation. Starr's hair fluttered in the breeze, the sunlight lighting up all her red hair.
He stood. “Got to make a quick phone call.”
She shielded her eyes from the sun. “Okay.”
“Perfect. Be right back.” He jogged back to his car, got in, and started it up so at least he had some A/C.
Declan picked up on the first ring. Before the man could get two words out, Nathan confessed his location. Declan didn’t miss a beat.
“I’ll check in and tell her I asked you to go down there for me,” the man said.
He’d lie for him? “You sure?” Not like Declan, but he’d take it.
“I'll handle it.” He hung up but called back a minute later. “Nathan, text Erin where you are and say when you’ll be back.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me about this little instruction. Just do it.”
“Not so little.”
Declan’s chuckle didn’t ease shit inside him.
“Okay, doing it.”
The line went dead.
Nathan stared at the phone in his hand for a few seconds, but finally, ever the good ex-con, he did what Declan said to do, and waited for the other shoe to drop and break his foot. When her return text came back with a simple “don’t do it again”, he had to read it three times to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Was it possible Erin was letting him off the hook? His fingers dug into the top of his head with his hand. What did Declan say to her?
Her second text followed shortly after. “Strike two.”
Okay, he wasn’t exactly off the hook, but she didn’t tell him to hightail it home, either.
The passenger door cracked open. Starr dropped herself into the passenger seat and threw the blanket in the back. “Too hot. Hey, you hungry? There’s food at the marina down the way.”
Her hand snaked across his shoulder, and he shuddered. The contradiction of the softness of Starr and the harshness of his life collided so hard, a laugh burst from his throat. “I’m starving.” He yanked the car into drive and pulled out.
He didn’t trust life could be this easy. Yet, here he was with Starr's hand trailing down to his thigh and his phone sitting in the console with a good message for once. Maybe he was finally getting a break.
The parking lot of the Washington Sailing Marina was full of cars, though he managed to get a spot. A few people strolled along the pier as if shopping for a boat or something. Must be nice to just leave the pier open and trust people would be content with looking at your boat and not trying to steal it. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever been that trusting.
“Hey, boats first.” Starr tugged his hand. “Then food?” She jogged lightly to the gate that led to the docks.
“My woman has spoken.” He ambled after her, easily catching up and steering her toward a historic schooner at the far end. Starr had a different idea, however, and yanked him toward the more expensive yachts. His girl certainly had an eye for the finer things in life.
She stopped, cocked her head, and gazed down at the side of a massive two-story yacht. “Beauty's Secret.” She glanced up at him. “What do you think? His wife or mistress?”
“Who says it's a man's boat?”
She drew closer to him and laid her palms on his pecs. “Someday, I'll have one of these, and I'll name it Nathan's Star.” Her head fell back, and he caught her around the waist before she tipped backward.
“Hey! Be careful. You could have fallen in.”
She raised her head. “I knew you'd catch me.”
Trusting and limp against his palms, he swung her. Her red hair shimmered like molten copper in the sun. His hands, full of her warm, toned body, itched to grab a fistful of all that red while he worked her rosebud mouth with his own and thrust inside her until she couldn't walk straight—until he couldn't walk straight. His desire to claim every bit of her luscious body grew with every second she let him hold her. She pulled herself up, her palms curling around his biceps. “I just love being outside. I'm indoors so much.”
“Sunshine and fresh air are highly underrated.” He should know.
“Hey, let's go sit on the end.” She broke free from his hold, and he followed closely, unwilling to be more than a foot apart from her, her familiar cinnamon scent mixing with the briny air.
They sat at the end of the slip and let their feet dangle over the edge. Airplanes still power
ed overhead, but they were a distant second to the slap-slap-slap of the water against the pier mountings and the occasional squawking of a bird.
“It must be fun to be the captain of a ship.” Starr leaned back on her palms. “I wonder, if things had been different, if my father hadn't been a drunk or my mother hadn't died, or if I'd gone to school—where I would be? Maybe I'd be on one of these boats” —she swung one arm in the air— “or one of those super deluxe yachts in Annapolis.”
“I’d like to give you your dreams. I wish I could buy you a boat.”
“You would?”
“I would.”
She bumped his shoulder with hers “What could I get you?”
“To see a smile on your face would be enough.”
A peach stain grew on her cheeks. “My smiles for you are free, and you’ll always have them.” She held his gaze, just as she had so many times. An overwhelming sense of being trusted filled him, as if this woman would stick with him no matter what.
“Tell you what. I promise someday you'll have an entire fleet.” It wasn't a promise he should make, but why the hell not? With her by his side, maybe he could turn his life around, and in turn, hers. She'd had too much unkindness in her life.
Her smiled returned. “And my first boat will be named Nathan's Star.”
If goodness were tangible, it'd be the energy rolling off her right now. He inched closer, as if whatever she had could be absorbed into his own skin.
“Generous of you to name your first boat after me. I mean, talk about pulling a Johnny Depp.” He laughed at the puzzled look she gave him. “You know. The actor who tattooed Winona Ryder's name on his skin before ...”
Her face stilled as if he’d shocked her.
Yeah, going down that particular trail was too soon. He got it.
“Oh, don't you worry, Nathan Baldwin. I'd put a ring on it before I'd get the tattoo.”
Okay, she shocked him more. A ring. He’d done that once—a hurried affair, picking out the cheapest gold band he could afford. His love for this woman, however, demanded a diamond someone could see from space.
She unfolded her legs and let them dangle once more over the side of the pier.
He could do it. Hell, he’d propose right this second if he had anything to offer except complications. This woman, however, deserved to feel wanted. “No, I’d put a ring on it.”
She turned to face him and flashed him a wide smile.
Suddenly, he could see himself bending on one knee before her, holding out a little black box. It had to happen someday because for once, he had someone he wanted who wanted him back.
“Tell ya, what.” He got to his feet and held out his hand. “Next weekend, you and I are going out for a real date.” No more of this picnic stuff. Maybe he’d take her to that fancy French restaurant where he’d picked up those truffles. “Now, how about some lobster?”
She took his hand and let him pull her up. She must have liked his date offer because her lips found his with such ferocity he couldn’t mistake her earlier meaning. If he asked her to marry him, she would say “yes.”
For once, his heartbeat ratcheted up for something other than panic. Happiness—that’s what this had to be.
40
Light streamed in from Starr’s bedroom window, which should have woken him up. Instead, it was Starr’s hand curling around his hip and gripping his ever-present erection—the one that rose like a flagpole every time she was around. Her hand traced a greedy message into his flesh, and this was a message he could answer.
He turned, twisting the thin sheet around his middle. It slipped down to her waist, exposing her breasts. Starr's body was a gift from God. He trailed fingertips from her rib cage to her waist and hip and indulged the movement a few more times just to feel the satin skin under his calloused index finger. “This might be my favorite part.”
“What about here?” She took his hand and pushed it down her belly to between her thighs where his fingers met petal-soft folds shaved smooth. His finger traced the seam, lightly, reverently. Air ran ragged over his lips, and his face found its way into her neck. He had to scent her, breathe her in.
His cock pressed painfully against his belly as it made contact with hers. Yesterday had been amazingly perfect. On their way back from the marina, somewhere between Virginia and Maryland, he’d even figured out a way to get MacKenna off their backs. He just had to get a voice recording of Ruark threatening him. That couldn’t be too hard. Where and when and how eluded him, but he’d do it even if it meant he had to hire his own P.I., to follow Ruark around. He wanted an infinite number of days to feel her skin like this.
He pulled back enough for his Starr-seeking organ to find its place. He glided into her, and heard her soft moan rumble through her chest. Hell if his ego didn't take a rocket ride along with his lust.
“Jesus, Starr,” he said into her neck. Not even air could circulate between his front and her back as he moved inside her, crushing her to the mattress.
How'd he live before—without her? His love for her smothered all other emotions. The words, “I love you,” weren’t nearly sufficient to express all she’d awoken in him.
His hand found her breast, and he rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger until her soft pants grew into louder moans and little begging sounds. He began to thrust so hard she cried out.
“Okay?” His word was nothing but a long, drawn-out pant
“Mmmhmm. Good.”
Her legs wound around his. Her hands grasped his ass and pulled and kneaded, and her mouth...Jesus, her mouth was so open and pliable. His mind split, half desperate for his cock to stay buried right where it was, half wanting to pull out and give her mouth a test.
As if he'd said something aloud to that effect—hell, he might have because God knows what was coming out of his mouth—she inched backward. He got the signal. He was being too rough.
“You sure you're—”
“Shhh.” In some balletic move, she swung her legs free and pushed him back down to the mattress. When her lips met his cock, the raw, dirty, uninhibited way in which she just threw herself at him made his head explode—both of them. By the grace of God, he didn't come right away.
She sucked him off for an eternity. She teased, pausing, and then starting, controlling his pleasure. He let her have that control because he got it. Prison had fooled him into believing he was barely a man, that nothing was in his control anymore. It was wrong.
He may have been a walking shell when he exited prison, but this woman reminded him of himself, or what he could have been. Sure, he could end a life with his bare hands now, but this woman between his legs? She made him want to start a life. He’d care for her, shield her, give her everything, That’s what his strength was designed for.
Even as he was coming, she didn't stop with those devil-blessed lips and tongue of hers until he was spent.
She laughed a little, probably at his throaty groans. “Glad to be of service.”
He captured her chin in his hand. “You don't think we're done, do you? That's the last time I come before you, ever again.” He crawled down to her legs, split her thighs, and showed his someday future wife—for all doubts on that score had been erased—exactly how much he meant what he promised.
41
“I can't believe it's Tuesday already.” Starr yawned into her reflection in the make-up mirror.
Luna popped open a lipstick. “Thank God we have a repertoire to rely on. I have no creativity left.”
They both could have used more time off, given they’d just put on a show for charity and dealt with a sociopath’s insane gesture of a pig’s heart, but allowing what happened to interrupt their lives anymore was not happening. She wouldn’t let whoever sent that disgusting bouquet to dictate her life. She chalked up her resolve to Nathan and his insulating attention.
The last few days had been a bizarre mix of rest and relaxation and waiting for the other shoe—or pig's heart—to drop. Nathan had been ste
llar at distracting her with a day trip out of town. He was also a willing participant when she did what “experts” said never to do. They tumbled into bed and went for each other’s bodies. Whoever said sex wasn't the answer wasn't getting any, at least not getting anything good, and Nathan was very, very good.
He knew exactly how to settle her nerves. He let her set the pace but always left her desperate for a little. It was a delicious combination of respect and lust, which until him, she hadn’t realized had been missing in her life. Hell, it’d been missing for her sisters, too. They got one or the other, but she was never living without this magical combo again.
In fact, God, please, let them be heading somewhere more permanent. She was not letting this man go, and if she had to drop to one knee and propose to him, she’d do it. Nathan still glanced around like someone was about to jump out at them, but they were surrounded by friends who wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them. She wished he could see that. Then again, he’d not had anyone watching his back for far too long.
“Hey, let’s go and check out the set-up.” She grasped Luna’s hand. Their hunter act had been such a hit at the charity show, they’d decided to lead with that tonight.
As soon as they entered the hallway, they ran into a familiar friend, a bouncer from the old days of one-night gigs in the clubs up and down the East Coast.
“Amos!” Luna leaped at the heavy-set man who sported more tattoos than Max. “How have you been? How are you here?”
“Right as rain, Miss Luna.” Amos gave her a head nod. “Dec called. Said he needed some temporary extra muscle, and when I heard you three were here, well …” He shrugged.
See? Declan had things under control.
They headed to the stage, which was a good thing because the male mannequins were all in the wrong order, and the camo pants were even on backward on one of them. The stagehands must have been messing with them.
Phee plunked her bag down dramatically on the stage, startling her. “Jeez, Phee. You’re awfully late today.”
“Yeah, well, Moonlight had a follow-up visit.”
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