by Nancy Gideon
She knew who Abel Conroy was. All their clan had heard of the calm wall of reason who had protected Bram, the mad king. Conroy was a legendary fighter and shrewd tactician, fierce yet fair, brutal enough to control Bram's dogs of war. He'd tamed a pack of vicious killers into a disciplined force and safeguarded their mountain fortress whose walls had never been breached.
Colin was crafted in Conroy’s image, in attitude, not appearance. Tough, clever, a realist, yet willing to do whatever it took. He was her way inside the Terriot domain. He could provide her with everything she needed. All she had to do was harness him to her lead without letting him run away with her. Not an easy task when he'd already ripped the leash from her hands and run circles around her best laid plans. She had to take control of his heart the way Abel Conroy had, and that humbling loyalty would follow. Together, they could have everything either of them had ever desired. And they could have each other. Forever.
“How’s he doing?”
Mia looked up almost guiltily as Colin’s doctor entered the room. “You tell me.”
Susanna bent to check Colin’s damaged hand. She drew a sharp breath, alerting Mia, who came out of her chair to lean across his slumbering figure to see what had startled the physician.
“I don’t understand,” the doctor murmured. Then her stare fixed on Mia. “Was anyone with him when you came in?”
“No. He was alone, sleeping.” Not really a lie. She wasn’t sure why she’d didn’t offer the truth except she wanted to hear it from Colin first.
“I don’t know how to explain this.”
“This,” Mia discovered was nothing short of a miracle.
Colin’s hand had healed over. Oh, it wasn’t good as new, still horribly eaten away by the caustic damage done, but the rawness was gone along with, she hoped, the pain. Had Brigit MacCreedy somehow managed a cure?
Susanna glanced up at her. “I need to run some tests. They might take a while. Have you been home at all?”
Mia shook her head, suddenly feeling soiled and stale.
“Go, get changed, get something to eat. He’ll still be here when you get back.”
When Susanna spoke those kind words, she’d meant for them to be true.
Usually, Mia was tripping over the bastard. Wouldn’t you know the first time she actually needed him, Isaac Thorne was nowhere to be found. No message on her hotel phone. No evidence that he’d been sniffing around her room in her absence. Why had he so viciously attacked Colin? She knew he was behind it. She was so close to earning the Terriot prince’s trust, to having him right where she wanted him! Or was it the other way around? Did he fear she was the one in Colin’s thrall?
Frustrated, exhausted, she stretched out on her bed thinking to just close her eyes only to wake up and find most of the day gone. Still no calls. She showered, changed her clothes, neither act taking the sharp edge off her worry about Thorne.
How could he have been so reckless, exposing their ties to those New Orleans Patrol crazies? Thorne had built upon Rueben’s initial spy net within their ranks, swelling their number like a hungry infestation of pests, ferociously chewing away at the foundation of the local organization established to protect their own. Her plan had been a silent infiltration, not this clumsy, increasingly violent mess. Perhaps it was time to do away with Isaac. His agendas no longer ran parallel to her own. She was the one with the most at stake. She’d risked her life toying with the Terriot princes and their volatile king. So far, they thought her harmless, a pawn to Rueben. If they discovered different, her life would be forfeit before she could draw a breath. All she need do was whisper a word to Rico that Thorne was tied to his brother’s misery and that hitch in her side would be gone . . . at the risk of everything blowing up in her face.
The one she needed to speak to was MacCreedy. If his sister carried the Guedry heir, she had more to fear than Mia if Thorne decided to go rogue. That link would make her . . . family. What a strange twist of fate. She’d arrived in New Orleans alone with just the threads of a desperate plan. And now she had the prospect of love, of belonging to people she’d never imagined considering as more than her mortal enemies.
She had to find Thorne before he destroyed her hope of any happiness. A happiness she’d discovered had little to do with power.
“Gone? Mia gaped at the doctor. “How could he be gone?”
“We couldn’t keep him here,” Susanna explained. “He’d healed far beyond our capabilities already. Try to talk him into coming back for some practical physical therapy. He’s right handed. It isn’t going to be easy for him to just jump back into the life he was living. Cale wants to take him back to Tahoe, at least until he’s stronger. He can’t manage on his own yet. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
“Why would he listen to anything I had to say if he won’t listen to the two of you?”
Susanna just smiled. “You know why.”
When she bumped into Rico on her way down the hall, he had the same argument.
“Colin isn’t one to ask for anything, and he’ll swear he doesn’t need help. But he needs someone in his corner.”
“And that’s me?”
“He’s alone when he shouldn’t be.” And then Rico said something that gave her a whole new respect for him. “I’m asking if you’d be there for him.”
Colin answered the door after her third increasingly loud knock. Rico was right. He was pale, wobbly and looked ready to implode. When met with his hostile glare, she took a chance.
“Hi. Want some company?”
“No.”
Her hand slapped against the door to keep it open. “Thought you could use someone to talk to.”
“You thought wrong.”
“I’m offering to be a friend here. This is a first for me, so don’t be a dick. Let me in.”
The fact that he didn’t smile was discouraging. He walked away without a word, but left the door, and the opportunity, open. She took it, slipping inside and following him into the small living area where some old rocker ballad crooned mournfully. No sign of alcohol. Good. He went to the couch and dropped onto it, staring broodily anywhere but at her.
“How are you—”
“Don’t.” He cut her off. “Don’t ask how I’m feeling. I don’t feel anything, and I’m not in a hurry for that to change.”
She wasn’t good at this Florence Nightingale thing. “Do you need anything?”
“To be left alone would be nice.”
And he wasn’t making it easy. “Can I get you some dinner?”
“I’m fine.”
No, he wasn’t. He looked brittle enough to break into tiny pieces.
“Anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” She put a sultry lilt on that to make him smile, but he didn’t.
“Even if you could, I don’t have the energy.” To prove it, he flopped down on his back, stretching the length of the couch and then some, and braced his healthy forearm across his eyes. “Leave me alone, Mia. I’m not in the mood to be fussed over. I dodged one hell of a bullet, and I’m still trying to get on top of that. Just let me take it in. Okay?” He tensed when she knelt beside the cushions and offered a suggestion.
“You could just lie there.”
“I’ve got plenty of time to just lie there after I’m dead. I’m just glad it wasn’t today.”
She couldn’t pretend to be amused. And she wouldn’t let him get away with his pissiness when they should be celebrating that he was alive. Maybe he’d forgotten what a good thing that was.
Colin went still at her touch. Though he tried to hold that stoic front, his lips parted slightly when her fingertips traced over their curves and peaks. Such delicious lips. She couldn’t resist a small taste.
There was nothing death’s door about his response. His returned pressure encouraged a tender play of tongues. His breathing shuddered when her palm lowered to cup him and unhurriedly coax a rise of interest. Her clever fingers did the necessary things to free him for a more hands-on man
ipulation. Strong, purposeful strokes punctuated with teasing revolutions of her thumb. As his body tightened, her lips and tongue replaced her hand, caressing, surrounding, teeth nipping gently along that sturdy length, finally devouring it. His hand lowered to the back of her head, clutching, not to hurry or direct, just hanging on until a low moan rumbled deep in his chest, rising in volume and intensity to a groaning bellow.
When the hard, pumping spasms ended, Mia sat back to savor the sight of him, his dreamy eyes almost closed, lips parted for the quiet pant of his breaths. Colin’s grip tightened, bringing her up so they could share a slow kiss.
Stroking his face, she murmured in that voice that was part purr, part growl, “How’s that for couch-side manner? Would you like to get more comfortable now?”
“Yes. I would.”
“Shower first. And I don’t mean a sponge bath.”
Colin let her haul him off the sofa onto embarrassingly weak knees and steer him, with an arm about his waist, into the bedroom. She tossed back the covers on his neatly made bed then unmade him just as efficiently, skimming off his tee shirt, palms smoothing over the skin left bare, dipping to shove down already unfastened pants before grabbing handfuls of his butt.
“You are the hottest damned thing I’ve seen,” she told him, letting that scorching stare run up his chest like a caress to boldly meet his gaze. “You drive me wild, Colin Terriot. You make me crazy and careless and foolish. You’re a bowlegged, X-rated dream, and I can’t get you out of my head.”
She paused as if to add more. Or her heart? maybe? But Mia skipped on.
“I can’t be near you without needing to have my hands on you. Why is that? Why can’t I control myself around you?”
“If I knew the answer, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you.”
She didn’t smile. Instead, Mia grew even more intense. “I can’t image not seeing your smile, not watching you walk away and wanting to grab this fine ass with both hands. Not wanting to smack you when you come up with those annoying comments that usually hit too close for comfort. Not tasting you, breathing in the scent of your skin, your sweat, hearing your laugh, the way your voice gets so deep and gruff it makes me explode. What would I have done without you, you big, irritating fool?”
“What would you do with me if you had me?”
The truth tumbled out.
“I’d never let you go.” Hearing those words spoken with such fierce sincerity, Mia laughed to lighten to the mood. Her hold on his rump tightened, tugging him into the eager rub of her still-clothed body. “And I’m not going to let you go tonight. Not for a second.”
Considering how hard his heart beat, his kiss melted softly against her lips, just like his voice. “Stay.”
Because Colin wasn’t as steady as he needed to be, Mia backed into him beneath the hot spray, her palms on the shower wall, her body carrying his weight as he settled in deep from behind. His name whispered from her. Hips rocking slowly, he braced his useless arm against the tiled wall as his left hand slipped over her dramatic curves and hollows, kneading, rubbing, finally tucking between her legs to begin a clumsy manipulation. Hers fit over his for a quick repositioning.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “This is awkward. I’m not used to—”
“Don’t stop! You’re doing fine.” Her words dissolved into an inarticulate cry punctuated by her body’s strong spasms. Once they quieted, she brought his hand up, fitting his palm to her cheek so she could rub into it contentedly. “More than fine. Let’s get to bed before we both fall down.”
Knees trembling, he didn’t argue, letting her towel him off and lead him to those inviting sheets, where she pushed him onto his back so she could climb aboard for a slow, sensuous ride. Watching her move above him, feeling her clenched about him so hot and greedy, sharing her long, desire-drenched kisses, seeing passion smolder in her dark eyes as they came to a satisfying conclusion, he knew. Nothing would ever be better than this moment with this incredible female.
The only thing missing were the four words he’d longed his whole life to hear.
I love you, Colin.
Not this night, he accepted with a sigh, holding her close as she snuggled into him on a lusty moan. But hopefully soon.
Sated, still exhausted, but content, Colin lay with eyes closed as daylight filtered through the shutter slats, enjoying the heat and curvy fit of Mia Guedry wound about him, her thigh over his, her head tucked beneath his chin, her breasts cradling his ribs while her palm meticulously detailed his abdomen. Having her there beside him felt so good, so right, something he could look forward to waking up to.
He waited for her to get to what she wanted to say.
“You don’t remember, do you? I’ve been here before.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s good to have you back.”
“Not having sex with you. Here, in your bedroom, here.” She gave a bounce of her hip to make the mattress move.
Colin smiled. “No, you haven’t. I’d have remembered that.” And then he knew with a stunning certainty. “You brought me home from the club. You drove. That’s why the seat was up so far.”
“Don’t worry,” she soothed. He could feel her smile against his chest. “I didn’t take advantage of you.” No, she’d tucked him in, tidied up his mess, folded his clothes, and had locked up after herself.
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“I didn’t want things to get . . . awkward.”
He didn’t know what to say except, “Thanks for having my ass.”
A husky chuckle. “Always a pleasure. Such a nice ass.”
He thought a minute, a frown beginning to form. “I didn’t act like an idiot, did I?”
“You were pretty much out of it.” She patted his six pack. “Like wrestling a really big, droolly puppy.”
A groan. “My ego may never recover.”
Her hand slipped lower for a fondle. “Oh, I think it probably will.” Abruptly, she lifted to give him a lingering kiss that woke him completely then confused him when her mood quieted. “How are you really?” When he didn’t answer right away, her focus shifted to the destroyed hand resting on the sheets beside him. When her fingertips grazed the swell of his bare forearm, he started to pull away. “Does it still hurt you?”
Her tender concern twisted him up inside, making his response terse and cautious. “No. It’s fine.”
“Can you use it?”
“There’s not much left that works.”
“Let me see.”
He pushed her off him, tucking his hand in tight to his side, warning, “I’m not a freak show, Mia.” He felt like one.
“No,” she replied in that same gentle tone. “I know that.”
He could have stopped her as she reached over him, but he didn’t. Let her see for herself how damaged he was, how damned far from that perfect she so desired. He braced for her response as she started at his shoulder, rubbing down his taut bicep to cup his elbow, carefully settling his arm across his middle. Oddly, she made him think of Cale with his casual acceptance of what still shocked the hell out of him. That horror had had once been his hand.
“Dr. LaRoche has no idea how you managed to recover as well as you did. She called it a miracle. Is that what it was?”
She was fishing for something. He wasn’t sure what.
“I don’t know. I don’t care if it was a miracle or fairy dust. I didn’t think I was going to be leaving there with all my pieces and parts, if at all, so I can’t complain.” But he couldn’t look without flinching.
Brigit MacCreedy’s magic had healed all that was raw and torn. What flesh was left on the back of his hand retained a healthy color, but palm and fingers resembled bare anatomical models, just bone, destroyed joints and grisly sinew.
Mia lifted that ruin, and as he watched, stunned, she pressed her lips to the back of it.
“Can you feel that?”
“A little.” Just a faint tickle of warmth.
She smiled, turned his h
and to cup it in hers then pressed his palm to her cheek.
“Mia, don’t.” His voice choked off, thick with distress.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Yes.” They both knew it wasn’t a physical pain.
“It’s okay. I’m not delicate. I’ve seen worse. It could have been your face, your eyes. You could have died. And if you try to give me that only half a man speech, I’ll just point out that last night we had no problem at all getting things accomplished. You’re alive. I’ll take you any way I can get you and be grateful.”
He wasn’t going to bring it up, but since she’d already stripped him literally and figuratively bare . . . “Were your people behind what happened to me?”
He watched it flit through her dark eyes, that brief panic and scramble to recover. Because she thought he accused her, or because he’d caught on to her? Would she lie to him now to protect her actions, her motives, if there were any, or tell him a truth he couldn’t bear to hear?
“I had nothing to do with it, Colin. If I had any idea something like that would happen, I would have stopped it.”
How he wanted to believe her, but he didn’t dare. “So who was it?”
“I don’t know. Really, I don’t. There’s no advantage to us in harming you. Or MacCreedy,” she added quickly. She paused, considering for a moment, then admitted, “But the silver, that’s a Guedry thing, just like the tattoos link to the New Orleans clan. What have we gotten ourselves into? I don’t know who we can trust . . . other than each other.”
He studied her, knowing she was the consummate performer, that she could be, hell, probably was, feeding him a line just to keep stringing him along. The silence grew unsettled and more and more strained. Not at all where he wanted to progress.
“I need to go.”
Her abrupt words woke a riot of objection. “No. Stay.”
She settled his hand atop his bare middle and carefully released it. “I shouldn’t be here at all.”
“Why?”
“You know why. Guedry. Terriot. It’s who we are.” A pause then a slightly challenging, “Isn’t that why you asked that question?”