by Cynthia Eden
Only John didn’t see her gaze. He was busy staring at the tree. She’d hoped the tree would make him happy, but his features were still tense and far too guarded.
She knew why.
The men they’d met in town. The stories about test subjects being wrong.
She had to show John that there was nothing wrong with him. That he was absolutely perfect.
“What next?” John glanced her way. “Are you tired? Do you want—”
“You,” Shelly finished.
He blinked.
She let her smile widen. I’ll show him. He’ll believe me. “I said we’d make new memories, and that’s what we’re doing. New memories and new traditions.”
“I don’t understand.”
She glanced down at the rug that lay in front of the fireplace. “I think that we should do this every year. Put up our tree, and then make love by the fire.”
“Shelly…”
“Until we have kids,” she added, thinking this through. “Because then we’ll have to change things up a bit. We’ll put up the tree, and then after the kids go to sleep, we’ll—”
He grabbed her, lifting her into his arms and bringing them eye to eye. “You…can’t.”
“I can’t what?”
“You can’t want kids with me.” His words were so guttural. So painful to hear. And his eyes blazed with pain.
She wanted to take all of his pain away. So she kept a soft smile on her face and said, “I can want that. Not today. Not tomorrow. Because I want time with you. Just us. Time for us to get to know each other. Time to make more memories.” His hold tightened on her. “But one day, yes, I do want kids. And I think you’d be an incredible father.”
“What if I’m—”
“Don’t.” Her smile was gone. She pulled out of his arms, making him put her back on the floor. “Don’t say you’re wrong. Because you’re not. The man I’m falling in love with—he isn’t wrong. He’s good and he’s strong, and I can count on him to never let me down. So don’t you dare say anything negative about him.”
His face had gone slack with shock. “You’re…you think you could love me?”
Oh, John. I think I already do. “I know I could.” Then she was grabbing his shoulders, pulling him toward her, pushing her mouth against his. Kissing him with all of the need and desire she felt. Showing him how much she wanted him. How much she cared.
They slid down to the rug. Pulled off each other’s clothes. Kissed. Stroked. Laughed. Because this time, she just felt happy with him, and he finally seemed happy, too. Like her words had unlocked something inside of him.
Her hands went to his cock. His heavy, thick cock, and she leaned down to press a kiss to the head. John’s breath rushed out and his laughter died. “No, baby, if you do that…”
She just pushed him onto his back. She slid over his body, and she tasted him in front of the fire. With the Christmas lights shining on them, with the scent of fresh pine filling the air, she savored him. Showed him how much she cared.
But he took over, rolling her beneath him. John caged her beneath him on the rug, and when he stared down at her, his expression was so fierce.
His cock shoved at the entrance to her body, but he didn’t sink into her, not yet.
“Every Christmas,” John gritted out, “just like this?”
She swallowed. “Every one.”
He drove into her. Her back arched because he felt so good. So incredibly good. Her legs wrapped around him as he thrust, sliding in and out.
“Best…tradition…ever…” John’s deep voice rumbled.
Her nails raked down his back. The heels of her feet dug into his ass. His hand slid between them, stroked her clit, sent her careening right into her orgasm.
She gave a little scream as she came. His cock shoved deep into her once more, sliding over her clit and sending a wave of pleasure spiraling through her again.
“I love you,” he whispered, and then he was coming. She felt the burst of his release inside of her. Hot. Sexy.
Her heart thundered in her chest. So incredibly fast. She couldn’t quite catch her breath, and Shelly didn’t even care. John was on top of her, still in her, and she decided he was absolutely right. “Best…ever…” Shelly panted.
He laughed, and the sound warmed every single inch of her. She looked up and saw the star on the tree top.
A new memory had just been made.
***
“Someone’s coming.” John tensed when he heard the distant sound of the engine. He was in bed with Shelly, his body wrapped around her, and he’d planned to thrust in her again but…
Someone was coming to the cabin. It was after midnight. No one should be on that stretch of private road.
“What?” Her voice was drowsy. Sexy as all hell. She lifted her head, sending her hair trailing over the pillow. “Are you sure?”
Absolutely. “We need to get dressed.”
And they dressed in silence. His body was tense, adrenaline already pumping through him. The threats to Shelly should be gone. They should be safe.
“Do you think it’s the men we met in town?” Shelly asked, her expression turning thoughtful. “Sawyer and Jay? Are they trying to talk to you again?”
He hesitated and then…He gave a psychic push. Sawyer, that had damn well better not be you coming to my mountain. He used the same path that Sawyer had created in his mind earlier, and sending that message seemed as easy as breathing.
What in the hell are you talking about? Sawyer’s instant response. As clear as if the guy had just spoken from right beside him. I lingered a while at Sammy’s bar. Talked to the owner, a real character who seems to know your lady pretty well.
Sawyer could be lying but…
It didn’t feel like a lie.
And then the car was closer. He recognized the sound of that particular engine. Fuck. It’s the sheriff. Why the hell would Blane be there at that time of night?
Is something wrong? Now worry came clearly from Sawyer. I know where the cabin is. Actually, I’m not too far away. Jay and I can be there—
But John cut the link in his head. “It’s the sheriff,” he said to Shelly. “And he’s coming in fast.”
They dashed downstairs. He glanced outside the front window, watching as the sheriff brought his car to a fast halt. The sheriff rushed out of the vehicle and headed straight for the cabin. “He’s alone,” John added, frowning.
“Why didn’t he just call?” Shelly’s fingers slid over his back.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
John unlocked the front door, letting in a blast of cold air and snow. “Blane.” He motioned for the guy to come inside. Blane’s heartbeat was racing and the fellow was sweating like mad. The faint scent of alcohol clung to him. “What’s going on?”
Blane slammed the door shut behind him. Locked it. His fingers were shaking. “Those bastards in town. They’re grilling Sammy. Talking to everyone. Trying to learn as much as they can about you both.”
Shelly hurried toward him. “You don’t trust them.”
“Hell, no. I don’t. I don’t know them.” Blane’s fingers slid toward his gun, moving nervously. “After everything that’s happened lately, do you blame me?”
No, John didn’t blame him.
“Shouldn’t have gotten that last drink,” Blane mumbled. “Shelly, shit, I hate to ask, but do you have any coffee? I know it’s helluva late, but we’ve got to talk. There are things going on that you don’t understand.”
“I’ll put some coffee on.” She nodded briskly. “Go into the den, I’ll be right back.”
John turned, heading for the den. He could feel Blane behind him.
Shelly was hurrying for the kitchen, her steps light, but she paused and turned back around. “Blane, do you like straight black—Blane!”
John spun around, too. Blane had yanked out his gun. He was aiming it straight at John’s head.
“Shot to the head and you don’t come back,” Blane sn
arled. “You don’t come back.”
John leapt for the guy.
“That’s what Jay said, shot to the—”
John hit him. But Blane had already fired and the bullet exploded from the gun.
Chapter Fifteen
The thunder of the gun was too loud. The men crashed to the floor as Shelly rushed toward them.
Bam. Bam.
Two more shots.
And…
John was on the floor. Not moving. There was blood streaming from his temple.
Blane staggered to his feet. His hand was shaking as he took aim again. “Let’s be real sure that you don’t come back again, asshole.”
Shelly threw her body at him. They collided with a force hard enough to make her bones shudder before they slammed into the little table nearby. It splintered beneath them, sending a lamp shattering to the floor. She rolled fast and surged to her feet, aware of blood spilling from her wrist where a thick, glass shard of the broken lamp had lodged. The shard was long and jagged, and it hurt like a bitch. “Stop!”
He still had the gun. The bastard hadn’t dropped it, but at least he hadn’t been able to shoot John again. And her body was between Blane and John now.
“I won’t let you do it,” Shelly swore. “You’ll have to kill me before you can get to him.”
But Blane…laughed. Laughed as he holstered his weapon. “Oh, Shelly, that was always the plan.”
She shook her head.
He bent and pulled a knife out of his boot.
Fumbling, she yanked the chunk of glass out of her wrist. More blood flowed, but she ignored the wrenching pain. She wanted to look back at John, to see if he was still alive, but she didn’t dare take her gaze off Blane.
“Can’t kill you with my service weapon.” Blane gave a little shrug. “That wouldn’t make sense.” His gloved fingers gripped the knife. “So I’ll use this, and then I’ll put it in John’s hand. My bullets are in him because, well, someone had to save the day after he attacked you, and, of course, I was just the man for the job.”
“Your plan is a whole freaking lot like Devin’s was!”
He smiled at her. Took a step toward her. She instantly slid back.
“It is,” Blane agreed. “Because we were working together. It was all supposed to be so easy.” His gaze darted over her shoulder. “Who the fuck knew a super soldier was going to come to your rescue?”
Her bloody fingers curled around the chunk of glass. She used her right hand because she could barely feel the fingers of her left. She didn’t want to look at her wound to see how bad it was. “You were working with Devin.”
“I just said I was, didn’t I? I mean, shit, what did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t understand. We were friends—”
“You and your brother had the company. You had all the money. God, Shelly!” A sharp bark of laughter came from him. “You didn’t even care about the company! You spent your days painting pictures and not even noticing the world around you! I thought at first that I could romance you, get you to marry me, and then I’d take what was mine. I mean, I always kind of liked you. But you screwed that up, didn’t you? Backed away from me before I had any real chance.”
“We were friends,” Shelly said again. She was talking mostly to buy herself time. To buy John time. She kept telling herself that he just needed time to heal. But Jay’s voice replayed in her head. I’ll make sure that you stay permanently dead. A bullet to the brain will do that to your kind.
“You know who else was friends?” Blane demanded, tossing her word back at her. “My dad and your father. They were such fucking good friends that they worked together up here in the mountains, they invented together, but your asshole of a father stole the ideas my old man created. He took the inventions. He patented them. He got all the money, and I got left with jackshit.”
Her heart surged in her chest. “That isn’t true.”
“It fucking is!” Blane screamed. “My dad didn’t think the shit they made was going to be worth anything. Thought they were just tinkering around. He signed the rights away. Let your dad pay him five grand for them. Five freaking grand! Then your dad walked away and made millions.”
Her breath came faster. Harder.
“My dad died when I was eighteen. I’d just found the papers he signed. I knew he’d helped to build that damn company. Your dad came to me. You know what he did?” Blane didn’t give her a chance to respond before he blasted, “Offered to pay for my fucking college. Like that was going to make us even. I asked him about my dad’s inventions. And your father lied to my face. He said the things he’d done with my father hadn’t helped the company. That he’d had to completely change them, redevelop them. Bullshit!”
“Blane—”
“I wanted what was mine. Even after your dad died, I had to stay on this godforsaken mountain, waiting, watching, as Charles got more and more money.”
And the rage inside of him had grown.
“Then Charles took a partner.” More laughter spilled from him. “But it wasn’t long before good old Charles found out that Devin had been taking money from the company.” Blane’s lips curled in a humorless smile. “I heard them arguing one day, outside of Sammy’s. Charles was going to fire Devin. Going to cut the man off without anything. And I saw my opening.”
Her gaze dropped to the knife in his hand. She had a flash of facing Devin again. For an instant, she could see his face so clearly. She’d accused him of killing her brother. His eyes had gleamed and instead of a confession, he’d just said, “Did I?”
Pain twisted in her stomach. “There were no signs of a forced entry at my brother’s house. The police thought he knew his attacker. That he let the guy inside. He didn’t even fight back because he didn’t see the attack coming.”
Blane glanced at the knife in his hand.
Shelly swallowed. Blood kept dripping onto the floor near her as her wrist bled and bled. “Devin didn’t kill my brother, did he?”
“Devin was supposed to take out the bodyguard your brother had tailing you.” Anger roughened Blane’s voice. “Turns out that asshole was harder to kill than we thought.”
Her shoulders stiffened, her spine straightened, and an ice-cold rage filled every vein in her body as she tightly gripped the chunk of glass. “You killed my brother.”
“I was just taking back what was mine. Years I spent up here, watching him get richer and richer and—”
She flew at him. Ran straight for him and slashed him with the chunk of glass. He wasn’t prepared for her attack. The jerk had still been going on and on about how he deserved his cut of the money. She sliced him across the face, cutting into his cheek. He yelled and instinctively lifted his hand to shield his face. People always cared so much about their faces. He was so busy defending himself that he wasn’t striking back.
She sliced again, cutting across the arm he’d raised. Then she drove the chunk of glass at his stomach, shoving it as hard as she could.
He stumbled back.
“My brother worked for everything he had! So did my father.” Her breath heaved out. “I saw your dad’s old designs years ago, you dumbass. They didn’t work. They never worked. Only no one said anything to you because we didn’t want to tarnish your memory of your dad. My father gave him that five grand because your dad was broke, and he needed a loan from a friend. There was never any partnership—”
His hand closed around her throat. His left hand grabbed her throat and his right brought the knife up to her face. He put the blade right on her cheek. “You fucking bitch.” He squeezed her neck harder, choking her, and she could only gasp. Spittle flew into her face as he demanded, “Did you think a chunk of glass was going to stop me?” His breath blew over, and the scent of alcohol was so strong. He’d gotten his liquid courage, then he’d come up there to kill her.
She thought he’d slice open her cheek. But he didn’t.
He laughed at her again. “Glad you gave me a few wounds,” he mutter
ed. “It’ll make my story more believable.” He stopped choking her but moved the knife down to her throat. “Got anything you want to say?”
Not to him. “I love you, John.”
Blane’s eyes widened. “What the fuck—”
“Sweetheart, I love you, too.”
Blane hauled her forward. Twisted her around so that her back was against his chest and his arms looped around her. He kept the knife at her throat, cutting into her skin so that blood spilled from her neck. Not deep enough to kill, but the threat was there.
And she saw John. Standing near their Christmas tree. Blood dripped down his temple, covering the side of his face. His shirt was wet with blood, too, as if he’d been shot in the chest, and she remembered hearing the extra blasts of gunfire.
“No!” Blane screamed. “I shot you in the head! I heard what that bastard said in town—a shot to the head will kill you! I shot you—”
“Shelly’s scream warned me. I was able to dodge a direct hit.” John’s smile was absolutely terrifying because it promised death. “You grazed my head. The bullet didn’t go into my brain.” He waved toward his chest. “These wounds took me out for a bit, but as you can see, I’m back now.” He pointed at Blane. “And you’re a dead man.”
Shelly was smiling. She couldn’t help it. A knife was at her throat, but John was back. She’d bought him the time he needed. Blane wasn’t going to win.
“Stay away from me!” Blane blasted. “Or I will slice her from ear to fucking ear! She’ll be dead before you can reach me.”
Was it true? Or was John faster? She could see the struggle on his face. He wanted to lunge forward, but…
Blane pressed harder on her throat. She didn’t make a sound, she wouldn’t give Blane the satisfaction of making her cry out, but Shelly felt more blood slide down her neck as the pain deepened.
“Why won’t you just die?” Blane’s voice was shaking. So was the hand that held the knife as it cut across her skin. “Shit, I was so afraid that you’d remember me. I met you before. Charles introduced us the same day I killed the bastard. He’d hired you to watch Shelly, but I swear, you’d fucking gotten some kind of crush on her. You were telling Charles that you wanted to meet her, that you wanted to explain who you were. You thought you were going to have some kind of chance with her, and that would have screwed up everything. So I had to act. I took out Charles. Devin went after you, and then Shelly…”