by Zoe Dawson
Hours later, dirty, grimy and so tired, they dragged themselves up the stairs of a beautiful townhouse. “Who lives here?”
“It’s mine,” she said and opened the door. “My parents left it to me.” They were still clasping hands. She looked up at him, the strain gone from her face, a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes, and Scarecrow’s heart did a barrel roll in his chest. Like he’d said in the tunnel, this woman had come to mean more to him in such a short time than any relationship he’d ever had. She’d not only saved his life several times today, but she saved almost the whole of Westminster. This woman was amazing—the kind that loved speed and taking chances, the one who rode a motorcycle like a stunt rider, full out throttled, but the very same one who with two simple pieces of wood had averted a disaster.
Something sweet and sharp unfolded in his chest, closely followed by another more sobering emotion. Feeling exposed, he shifted his gaze and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
He now had the time to examine why she was so deep under his skin. He’d liked his casual, no-strings relationship with Sarah, and he’d never really had much trouble with women. He attributed it to his mom. She’d taught him how to be a gentleman and that pleasing a woman was simple. He was sure that Scarlett wasn’t an easy woman to read, but there was something…some connection between them that gave him x-ray vision into her. Right now, he was experiencing emotions that were so caveman primitive it scared him. The last time he felt this way was when he was fighting for his freedom from Hank. He had the strongest urge to shelter and protect her as he did with his mom. He realized he’d indulged her because ripping her away from her home, from everything she loved, tore him up inside. But she’d also shown him strong women were resilient, often a damn sight more than men.
When the teams had been opened up to women, many of the guys had scoffed that not one female had the stones to sign up for BUD/S, go through Hell Week, and not ring out.
He’d like to introduce them to Scarlett. Orphan, spy, loner who cared deeply about what she did for a living, no matter what she’d said back in Bellise.
“I’m going to take a shower. Join me?”
He did, where they washed each other. Paramedics had already cleaned and bandaged their more serious cuts.
She dried her hair while he pulled down the bedsheets and fluffed the pillows. When she came out of the bathroom, she shut off the lights, illuminated only by the wan moonlight. She dropped her robe, stark naked beneath the silk that lovingly fell from her shoulders. She was so damned beautiful.
The minute he reached for her, she choked out his name and came into his arms. His heart laboring against the bittersweet ache in his chest, he caught her against him, her body molding to his. Dragging in a ragged breath, he closed his eyes in a grimace of raw pleasure as she shifted beneath him and opened to him. On a ragged groan, he settled himself in the hot cradle of her thighs and lost himself in her tight, wet heat.
15
Scarecrow slouched down in his seat. Sir Rodney was thanking them, and he wanted to pay attention, it was that he was tired. He glanced over at Scarlett; her heavy-lidded eyes told him she felt the same. They had been put through the ringer yesterday with the MBFF humps, and this debrief was droning on.
But he wasn’t off the hook yet. He had an embassy party to attend tonight. He just wanted it over and done with, so he could go back to her townhouse and get some more sleep before the upper crust bash. He’d have to wear a tux and mingle as if they hadn’t gotten all banged up and bloody trying to save a large chunk of western London along with Piccadilly Circus, Big Ben, Parliament, the palace, Westminster Abbey, and a good chunk of their shopping, a section of London that was one of the biggest tourist draws in the British Isles. He didn’t give a damn who was there, he wasn’t extending his damn pinky.
While Sir Rodney blah, blah, blahed his way through his gratitude, Scarecrow became acutely aware of Scarlett’s hand on his leg, and it was heading north at a good clip.
He looked over at her, but she was focused on Sir Rodney like a laser. Nothing registered on her face regarding the intimate position of her questing, seductive hand. He jerked a bit when she squeezed his thigh, and Ruckus glanced at him and frowned. He probably thought Scarecrow had fallen asleep and jerked awake. Thank God. If Ruckus knew what was going on under the table, he would use his ass for a chew toy.
She brushed his dick, and Scarecrow sucked in a breath. Wicked glanced in his direction, but Scarecrow didn’t dare look at him. He unfolded his arms, his hands going under the table, but he wasn’t quick enough. She cupped his thickening hard-on, and it took all his training not to react.
He clenched his jaw as she went boldly for his waistband. He was wearing sweats and boxer briefs beneath, keeping it loose and easy. Well, with this kind of goat fuck, he was heading for tight and hard.
He couldn’t bring himself to clasp her wrist to stop her, but just as she pulled on the ties to release the elastic waistband, Scarecrow was suddenly aware that the room was deathly quiet, and Sir Rodney had stopped talking.
Everyone, every single person in the room, was looking at him.
He had no fucking clue as to why.
Oh, shit. Had Sir Rodney asked him a question?
He glanced at Scarlett for some help, but the sly gleam in her eye told him she was enjoying every minute of this. He narrowed his eyes at her, promising retribution. Her expression said, Oooh, I’m so scared.
Ruckus cleared his throat as the silence turned awkward.
Oh, Christ, he wanted to laugh. Trying not to let that bubble of amusement get away from him, his attention shot to Sir Rodney. But he was looking at Scarlett, a warning on his face. Aha! He knew her game.
Sir Rodney’s mouth hiked up, and he said, “I’m sure you’re very spent, Mr. Porter. I will repeat what I said. The Queen has asked if you’d attend a private luncheon before the embassy party.”
She still had a hold of him and was working her way inside, her fingers brushing over the tip of his cock. It was really hard to think, let alone form a response to Sir Rodney.
“That’s a serious honor, sir. Isn’t it, Arlo?” Scarlett said.
He had his teeth gritted so he wouldn’t groan as she swiped her thumb over the head of his now fully erect dick. All he could do was nod.
“Quite,” Sir Rodney said. “Thank you again for all your assistance and especially to you, Mr. Porter and Ms. Kozlov, for going above and beyond the call of duty, risking life and limb for the good of Great Britain.”
He went to leave the room, and Scarecrow wanted to grab Scarlett, throw her down on the table, and fuck her until she cried out and he came hard.
“Ms. Kozlov.”
She jerked and looked at Sir Rodney. “Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement, her eyes glittering with barely suppressed laughter.
“You will school Mr. Porter on proper etiquette and deportment for his luncheon with Her Majesty?”
“You can count on me to school Mr. Porter.”
Her underlying meaning wasn’t lost on Scarecrow, and that urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation made his throat ache.
When he could, he disentangled himself from her. He took her by the arm and hustled her out of the room before any of his teammates could follow through with questions or catch on to what had taken over the attention of one of the most focused men on the team.
He had her hand and she had stopped containing her laughter. He ducked into an empty conference room and swung her around. “You are such a bad girl.”
She pouted and said, “It’s your fault. If you weren’t so sexy, I wouldn’t want to have my hands on you constantly.”
“Okay, I’m damn sexy, but in meetings, use some imagery to curb that delicious appetite.”
She ran her thumb along his jaw. “Is that a Navy SEAL trick?”
“We have plenty of tricks. We’re goddamned magicians,” he growled. “But yeah, think of me with warts or boils on my body.”
“But am I worth it?”
She placed one arm on his shoulder, then the other with a smirk. “Yes, you are.”
He smiled.
“So, we better get going.”
“Why is that?”
“I want some more sleep, and you’ll need to have enough energy to help me into my dress.”
“I can zip you up.”
She smiled. “Oh, love, there isn’t a zipper.”
“No zipper? How do you get in and out of it?”
“Let’s just say it’s going to require something slick.”
He grabbed her hand and they left Vauxhall. Back at her townhouse, she smiled as it came into view.
“You love this place. Why didn’t you use it?”
“Memories.”
“Bad ones?”
She turned to look at him, and her voice softened. “No, good ones.”
He cupped her face and rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. She smiled, and it almost touched her eyes. In that one split second, he wanted nothing but happiness for Scarlett, the woman she had evolved into. “C’mon, sugar. Let’s go rest before the circus.”
“Be sure not to call meeting the Queen a circus.”
“I suppose dog and pony show is also off limits?”
“A-mericans. Such brash, cheeky devils,” she said, stopping and grabbing a garment bag from the coat rack by the front door. “Oh, forgot to tell you. Your team logistic specialist dropped off your tux. Did she go shopping for you for formal wear?”
“It’s her job to make sure we’re prepared for anything.”
She shoved the bag against his chest. “Sounds to me like you’re a bunch of spoiled elitist jerks.” She bolted to the stairs, laughing. “I get the right side of the bed.”
“No way.”
“Way. You snooze, you lose.”
He chased after her, her laughter echoing in the stairwell as he caught up to her.
“You want me to…what?”
“Help me get into my dress.”
“So where does the lube come in?”
She held up the shiny red retro dress, a throwback from the sixties with a tiny mock turtleneck collar, long sleeves, with a short skirt. “This is latex, and it’s impossible to get this dress on dry skin.” She leaned forward. “I have to be wet.” She gave him an amused Are you having fun? smile.
His interest was piqued. He was such a man, she thought.
“You’re wearing that to a lunch with your Queen?”
“Yes, it’s cheeky, but I’m after all a secret agent.” She smiled. “It’s so Emma Peel cool. I don’t think Her Majesty will mind.”
“Maybe you should put some clothes on until you actually have to get lubed up.”
She smiled, aware of what she looked like in a T-shirt and pink panties.
Scarecrow glanced up. She hadn’t moved and was a teasing invitation for sex standing there like she was. “Have mercy on me, sugar.”
“Not a chance, sailor.” With her back to him, she stripped to her skin, then looked over her shoulder at him.
“Nothing underneath…underneath,” he said, his voice hoarse and cracking the first time.
“Sorta, love, it’s going to be snug, just me, a thong and the rubber.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk, let alone dance.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Get yourself under control, mister. You wouldn’t want a boner when you meet the Queen. Don’t worry about messing up. I’ll be right there next to you to make sure everything goes easy.” She waggled her brows, and he groaned.
The night was full of pomp and circumstance, something that Scarlett had ducked most of her career, a career she felt was over.
When he’d met the Queen for lunch, he had been a proper gentleman, not under any obligation to bow, but he did, and that got her right in the heart. He was a noble warrior. He respected her queen and her country. He respected her. But there was no surprise there.
At lunch, he’d conversed with the Queen in that soft Southern accent, talking about his hometown under Her Majesty’s curious and lovely eye. The protocol was for her to talk to the guest on her right during the first course, then the guest on her left for the second. She noticed that even the Queen was royally charmed by a good ol’ boy from Louisiana, his brave acts aside. She sought him out between courses and all through dessert.
With that thought, she realized that it was time for them to go back to Bellise.
They went to bed and he held her, a smile forming when she remembered not only how much fun it had been to tease him when he was tugging that dress over her slippery body, but how much fun it had been to get it off. This house had been empty for so long and so had her heart. But now, she was at a loss. She was beginning to come alive, feel that not only was unconditional love possible, but she didn’t have to feel like a chump for wanting it. The scent of him was like warm cinnamon. She fell asleep against her warrior, and for the first time in her life, she felt truly safe.
But her nightmares wouldn’t leave her alone.
She got up and went to her old bedroom. Rummaging around in the closet, she found the box she was looking for. As she piled her childhood memories on the floor: an old stuffed gray hippo, frayed with age, a beat-up skateboard, mittens and a hat her mum had knitted, and…she closed her eyes as she touched the old leather-bound photo album.
It felt warm to the touch as if the memories locked inside had life and weight. She could feel the heaviness of them as she lifted it out and went back to the master bedroom and Scarecrow’s sleeping form. She set the photo album on the bedside table.
Her past was lost in time, and she settled on the mattress with her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin on her knees. Scarlett watched Scarecrow sleep, not really amazed at how contented she was to do just that. Being near him shaved away doubt and fear. Her lips curved, and she tucked the sheet a little higher on his chest. He looked so relaxed; the lines between his eyes that always showed when he was in deep thought were gone, yet there was nothing boyish or innocent about him, even asleep. Young in his years, he was wise in his experiences, now with a few new scars and bruises. He was effortlessly a man—strong, skilled, and sexy—and he made her more aware of herself as a woman.
She might have stars in her eyes, but she was a realist. It was a mess that couldn’t be fixed, and she felt as she had years ago…breakable. She didn’t like it and managed not to think about what would become of them if they weren’t together. This temporary affair meant more than she was willing to admit right now. What would they be apart?
Not the same people who had met at an airport.
She’d shed everything to go to Bellise and avenge her family. She wanted to do what needed to be done so she could go on without ghosts.
She eyed the plump old photo album no longer buried. But she felt the resistance in her to opening it. Those were her childhood memories, something her adoptive parents had preserved for her when they had brought her to the UK, yet she didn’t feel she could claim those memories until The Butcher was dead.
There would be comfort in being reborn, in starting fresh, just as there were supreme drawbacks. Like guilt over those she’d hurt.
Stop hiding and do something played in her head, and she pressed her forehead to her knees. She signed up for the intelligence field for all the wrong reasons, but yesterday was the most she’d ever cared about her adoptive city.
All because of him.
She lifted her head and found Scarecrow awake and wearing nothing but a badass smile.
It fell slowly, and he sat up frowning. “Talk to me, sugar.”
Scarlett’s mouth went dry, and she felt like the coward she was.
“Sometimes I wonder if I even know what I’m doing. I keep thinking. Maybe my answers aren’t in the future with a clean slate, but in the past where I lost myself.”
Scarecrow searched her up
turned face. He grasped her hand, and she squeezed back. “Are you ready to talk about this?”
“I have to. I—” She started a couple of times, then closed her mouth.
“When you’re ready, sugar baby.”
She felt on the edge of a revelation that was just tantalizingly out of reach.
“I haven’t ever said this to myself, let alone out loud.” She swallowed. “Think about the worst thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life, Arlo. A scene that haunts you with the slightest provocation.”
“Not anything in combat… My dad’s death, not being there for my mom, and for him. The pain of him dying with something that he wanted to tell me. Now I’ll never know. The sense that I let him down.” He closed his eyes, and she was caught between guilt for making him remember and joy that he shared it with her.
Her eyes filled, and she leaned over and kissed him. “I’m sorry.”
She sat back, cross-legged, then pushed her hair off her shoulders. “The city of Timavir was small, but it was a prosperous and tight-knit community. We had the misfortune of an overall corrupt government, and as that tainted the country, discontent grew. The stage was ripe for a rebellion, but the rebels weren’t interested in building something. They were interested in taking what they could under the guise of a new regime,” she said, staring at her photo album, her fingers itching to reach out and touch it. “My father spoke out against both the government and the rebels.” Her throat constricted, thankful for her adoptive parents taking the time to find out this history for her so she knew where she had come from and what had happened. “It was summer, beautifully green, cool weather, a typical day.” Her eyes misted over. “He pushed me on the swing that day.” She smiled to herself. “It’d be the last time there was peace there.” She turned to look at him. “They never had a chance.”
Scarecrow didn’t interrupt, the torture of her emotions flowing in her words.
“They came in the night. We were caught off-guard. The noise woke me, and my mother came for me. They herded us into the living room. They gunned down my family, my father, my mother, and two older brothers. The only reason I survived is because she shielded me.”