by Zoe Dawson
Yeah, reams wouldn’t be enough to hold his heartache. And secrets? He had them by the bushel. Most of them were stored up in a whole lot of pain.
He lingered on her face in the snapshot, the hole in his chest getting bigger.
And it was a secret he would take to his grave without ever giving it up.
When Rock tried to take Neve’s arm, she sidestepped him, and before he could open her door, she pulled it open herself and got into the passenger seat.
He sighed. Yeah, it was going to be a long night.
He pulled up to his home, located on a cul-de-sac, opening the garage and parking his SUV inside. He tried to help her out, but she wasn’t having any of it. Neve was back to her old self. Which should make him happy. Right? Distance, anger, discontentment between them was good.
She went up the three small stairs into the house and he closed the garage door, locking the car. Shutting the door behind him, he entered the kitchen. Neve was standing at the wide sliding glass doors that led out to the patio and the pool.
“Neve.”
Their eyes met in the glass, and hers looked bruised and battered. She folded her arms over her chest. “Can I use your pool?” Her clipped tone was clearly broadcasting she wasn’t open for conversation. “I could use the extra PT.”
He suspected it was more about releasing some of the tension that had built from being attacked.
“Of course, you can. I can barbecue us something to eat.”
She licked her pink and enticing, full bottom lip, the top a perfect bow. He wanted to lick it. Suck on her.
She gave him a short nod, still not giving him an inch, but that was all right. He would rely on sniper doctrine. He would plan to take the least traveled, most difficult route to ferret out what was going on with Neve. He was used to lying in wait for hours on end. His patience was honed and legendary. He would apply the fundamentals. Nothing mystical, nothing magical. She would tell him what he wanted to know.
“I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.”
He went to pick up her bag, but she beat him to it.
“Lead the way.”
He headed toward the stairs and climbed them to his room. “I’m not taking your bed…bedroom, Russell.” Her voice was breathless but firm.
He felt like there was something hard pressing on his lungs at just the thought of her in his bed. “I insist.” His voice was firmer.
“I don’t want to displace you.”
“It’s only for one night, Neve, until Dex can handle your door.”
“Dex is handling my door?” Her inquiry was punctuated with definite anger in her voice. What the hell? She was so damned stubborn.
“Yes.”
She frowned, playing with the strap of her bag. A quiet Neve didn’t bode well. Her head came up and her gaze riveted on his face, her eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I’m capable of handling my own business, do you?”
“It’s not that,” he assured her.
She set her bag on his bed, and uh-oh, she put her hands on her hips. “What is it, then?”
“I’m making you do this so I know that you’re safe and cared for. Tristan…” He trailed off. This was about his fears and worries over her safety, and until she told him what she was keeping under wraps, he would handle his own worry his way.
She threw up her hands and grabbed up her bag again, reaching inside and pulling out a bathing suit. “Oh, this is for Tristan, is it? Peachy.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “Damned peachy.” He studied her, not liking the awful tension he sensed in her. He really didn’t need to see her in fewer clothes. That wasn’t going to help. “He’s my best friend, and I told him I would take care of you if the need ever arose.”
His gaze locked on her face, he waited.
Finally, she drew in a deep, shaky breath and straightened, folding her arms tightly across her chest—never a good sign. “Was that like a Marine buddy pact when you were in combat?” she bit out, a depleted look in her eyes.
“Yes, it was.”
She lifted her chin and gave him one of her cool looks. “I can take care of myself, Russell. Now march out of here and let me change. I need to swim.”
By the time Rock had arrived back home from a run, the last light of dusk was fading from the sky and the full moon was sitting high above the eastern horizon. His body was wet with sweat, the muscles in his legs ached, and his lungs were on fire. He had pushed himself every step of the way, hoping a grueling pace would keep his mind focused, would keep him from thinking.
All that had happened had thrown him for a loop; his first instinct had been to bulldoze his way in. Contact with Neve always made him crazy. But he would have to endure it. He just kept reliving that moment when he’d burst through the door and that descending knife was so damn close to her heart. He’d gone berserk.
Slowing to a walk, he swore and shook his head as droplets went everywhere, hitting his shoulders and his overheated upper body. But that wasn’t the only thing that was eating a hole in his gut. It was Neve. It would always be Neve, and no amount of running or lifting weights was going to get her out of his system.
He was feeling things he didn’t want to feel. And she had no damned business telling him she could take care of herself when all the help she could ever want was standing right in front of her. It hurt to think she either didn’t trust him enough to confide in him or didn’t care enough to.
Frustration bordering on anger churned in his gut, and he punched in his alarm code with more pressure than was warranted and jerked open the side door to the garage.
After stripping off his soaked tank top in the hallway, he fired it into the washing machine on his way past the laundry room. He glanced out the door to find her still swimming strongly across his oval pool. The lights made the water sloshing over her look like liquid midnight against a pale, heavenly body.
Ripping his gaze away from her, he took the stairs three at a time and headed for his bathroom, hoping a shower would put things back in perspective. If it didn’t, he was in big trouble.
But there were things he couldn’t ignore when he stripped down and stepped into the shower enclosure. Like the fact that he was fully aroused, that his pulse rate had nothing to do with the five-mile run, that his lungs kept trying to seize up. He braced his arms on the tile surface and closed his eyes, letting the hot water pour over him. He tried like hell to shut down, but those constant feelings kept washing over him in waves, making his pulse run thick and heavy. Gritting his teeth against another rush, he clenched his hands into fists, trying to stop the response. He didn’t want to feel as if his skin was rubbed raw every time he took a breath.
He’d thought he’d had everything under control, and he had damned near lost it all. He simply did what he had to do, but the bastard who had attacked her was dead. No answers there. He didn’t think, didn’t let his thoughts stray.
But his thoughts didn’t listen to the Marine part of him and meandered right into the sensual territory.
He’d needed to hold her against him to make sure she was still warm and breathing.
Now that was working against him. The memory of her heated skin sliding over his, his hand entangled in her hair…and he remembered in absolute living detail the erotic memories, making all hell break loose inside him. His mind, his body—it was as if someone had flipped a switch.
He clenched his jaw, his whole body primed and throbbing. And he could only let his imagination run free, fantasizing what it would be like to be deep inside her.
Realizing he was having very dirty thoughts about Tristan’s little sister, Rock swore and roughly adjusted the temperature setting, the shock of straight cold water doing little to ease the heaviness between his thighs. He didn’t want this. Damn it, he didn’t want this. Feeling as if the walls were closing in on him, he turned off the water, then dragged his hand down his face. This was getting him nowhere. There wasn’t enough cold water in the world to wash away what he was feeling.
He opened the door to the shower, rounded the glass block wall and reached for a towel. Deep in thought about what his next step would be, he heard the gasp, and his head came up, water dripping from his wet hair down along his neck and across his chest. He froze for a split second. Neve was standing there, one arm out of her suit, a dark-tipped breast buoyant and plumply full against the blue fabric, her hand under the second strap.
All he could think was that she had a beautiful body. Toned and honed with strong lines that made him breathless and only aroused him more. Her muscle definition was awesome, not juiced, just sleek and cool looking, like she’d worked for it. She was pure, kick-ass gorgeous. Her long, dark hair was wet, but no less luminous; the glossy strands shone against the dark fabric of her suit.
Her deep, jet-black eyes tipped with impossibly long, thick lashes, flowed down his body, and then her heated gaze widened. Elegant, black eyebrows lifted. She jerked up her eyes and her suit at the same time he grasped the towel off the rack and dragged it across his…oh, damn.
There was no way she missed his aching hard-on.
She flushed as he wrapped the towel around his waist.
“Well, now we can say we’re past that awkward seeing-each-other-naked part.”
He tucked in the end. In spite of the tension, he managed a laugh.
She gave him a cheeky smile.
“One more thing to check off my list,” he said as she stepped back. “It’s okay. You can have the shower. I’m done. I’ll get dressed and get the food going.”
Still aroused, his erection throbbing, he dressed and then went downstairs and fired up the grill, then, when it was ready, he got two steaks out of the fridge and set them to grilling. His senses were sizzling like the steaks as he imagined her in the shower, all wet and slick, those tantalizing breasts all soapy as she washed her delectable body. Back inside, he shucked two ears of corn and got them into the water, then made a salad.
He heard her footsteps on the stairs, then moments later she appeared in the kitchen.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He poured her a glass of wine. “Sip and sit,” he said as he handed her the wineglass and went out onto the patio, which was awash with moonlight. Year-round, San Diego’s weather was mild, and it was so beautiful in September. Several trees in his yard were adding orange and red to the landscape, along with the colorful and fragrant sage.
The only sound was the rustle of leaves and something scurried through the underbrush, probably a gecko, the only sign of life.
“This is beautiful, Russell,” Neve said, folding down into a patio chair. “You’ve made a nice life for yourself.”
He wished he could say he was content, but it would be much more fulfilling if he had someone to share it with.
“Yeah, the chain has taken off. It’s been a surprise to me. I had no idea I was any type of businessman until I set my mind to it.” He had shocked the hell out of himself. Rockface was thriving, and he was enjoying the heck out of managing it. He was even installing a climbing wall in his downtown store.
“Tristan loves working with you. It’s so great to see him so happy. Amber is so good for him.”
“Speaking of Tristan—”
“I will take care of talking to him.” She looked at him, her eyes bleak. “The assassin threatened my family, Russell. I don’t need you to run roughshod over me, regardless of what he asked you to do.”
“I’m not running roughshod over you. But there is safety in pairs, Neve.”
She stiffened and choked on her wine. “What?” She stared at him for an instant, almost as if she were paralyzed. “We’re not a pair, Russell. That wouldn’t be smart for either one of us.”
His gaze locked on her face. “I don’t back down from a fight when my friends are involved.”
Finally, she drew a shaky breath and let it out. “I’ve got to handle this. Our lives hang in the balance, and it’s my fault.” She stepped off the patio and stood silhouetted against the light. She paused and took another swallow of wine, then spoke, her voice barely audible. “It’s terrifying to think something might happen to my family because of me.” She avoided eye contact with him.
“Neve. Please let me help you.”
She turned and faced him, giving him a wan smile. “I think I’ve put enough people in danger for today.” Her face ashen and her hands visibly trembling, she came back to the chairs and sat, not a trace of animation in her. She clasped the armrest. Her attempt at a second smile failed.
He had forced himself to remain disengaged during her responses—not allowing any kind of feeling to surface. But now, as she sat there, the vibrancy beaten right out of her, he experienced a rush of rage. She was out of her element here, wouldn’t confide in him, which hurt, and her life was in danger.
He’d accidentally killed for her. But if she were threatened again, he would have no problem deliberately killing to keep her safe.
He would be watching her from now on, and eventually he’d find out what was going on.
After dinner, she said her good-night and went to turn in. At the bottom of the stairs, she said unevenly, “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I’m okay. I’ll handle things from now on.”
Then she turned and went up the stairs, and Rock watched her go, his lungs suddenly so tight it was impossible to get air into them.
A rush of emotion jammed up in his chest, and he returned to the kitchen and poured himself a shot of whiskey. He went back out to the patio, staring at the expensively designed landscape. He’d never sleep with her trapped in his head, not without help. Damn her and her pride. He really didn’t have any options here. Neve had put on a brave face. She wouldn’t accept his help. There was no way he was going to leave her alone and vulnerable.
So that only gave him one alternative.
He was stepping in whether she liked it or not. And it was too damned bad if he trampled on her pride.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep, uneven breath. He had let himself get far too close. But it wasn’t nearly close enough.
Yeah, the secret he carried would stay buried. It had to. There was too much at stake, and it would complicate and tangle things up way too much.
No one would know he was watching her.
No one would ever know that he was deeply in love with her.
Chapter Three
Neve settled into Russell’s big bed, the scent of him engulfing her until she could barely breathe, let alone sleep. She picked up her laptop and booted up. She was sick with dread and worry about what that man had said. She’d thought about nothing else since he’d told her the White Falcon wanted revenge and was gunning for her family. She had to discover what this threat was and neutralize it.
Russell couldn’t understand how she’d had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously in her family. When she’d gone into the US Coast Guard Rescue Swimmer program, she was bucking some pretty big odds. Twenty-four weeks of relentless physical punishment for a chance to become one of the most elite and fearless first responders on Earth. Such a small percentage of men ever finished, so a woman had to be stronger, faster, and better to compete. Out of a class of fifteen, with only two female candidates, she was the only woman in her graduating class of three. She’d had to prove herself over and over, and she wasn’t about to let down her guard now. Staying strong was what was important in both her professional life and her personal life. She couldn’t lean on anyone.
She rescued people. She didn’t need rescuing.
Russell was just being his protective self. Part of her wanted to let him in. All the way in, but that would make her too susceptible to his charms. She had already somehow gotten her whole family into danger. She wasn’t going to add Russell to the mix, too. She would figure this out. This was her problem, not his.
; She typed the words White Falcon into Google. The results that came back were predictable. Images for white falcons surprised her. She had no idea there were albino ones. But nothing that would pose a threat to her or her family.
Opening up her email, she quickly typed:
[email protected]
Hello, Marco, I need to talk to you urgently. Let me know when I can call you.
Neve
She pressed Send and closed the laptop. If anyone knew any information about this White Falcon, Marco would. She’d hauled him and three DEA agents out of the Pacific when one of their drug busts on the sea had gone south and she’d been assigned to a cutter. Marco had told her he was her forever friend. Panamanian, a slick street fighter and a steadfast ally of the DEA, he told her he’d owed her his life and for her to let him know when he could repay her.
She lay down in the dark and closed her eyes, but all she could see was Russell in his full, naked glory, sporting that impressive erection. That image was burned into her brain, and it just got that much harder to get him off her mind.
But he was just like her father. He didn’t believe in her abilities, didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt. He’d saved her life tonight, and she felt a twinge of remorse for not at least thanking him, but she couldn’t seem to get the words past her tight throat.
She was grateful and she was crazy about the man, but she wasn’t going to get tangled up with him for many reasons, no matter how beautiful he was.
Oh, God, the man was beautiful.
She fell asleep and spent the night dreaming about white falcons with malevolent red eyes fluttering outside her window. Toward dawn came a very erotic, wholly arousing dream of Russell in his bed with her and the sheets pulled off her naked, writhing body, his head between her legs, giving her an intense amount of pleasure.
She woke up throbbing.
As the room brightened into day, she pushed off the covers and dressed carefully, her shoulder stiff and aching, the skin around her cuts tight and painful. In the mirror, she saw that she had a black eye, bruises on her arms and torso where her attacker had held her and kicked her. She leaned against the bathroom sink for a moment to get control. All the times that she’d ever been hurt had been job related. Most of her feelings after those incidents were about failure stuffed into a heavy layer of guilt and self-recrimination.