Hotter Than Wildfire

by Lisa Marie Rice

  They were as close as two human beings could possibly get. He was inside her, his body entirely covering hers. Mouth, chest, sex twined with his.

  The cold and loneliness she’d felt this past year was simply banished. Poof! As if it had never existed. She was joined to this man every way there was, skin rubbing against skin. She was sure she smelled of him and tasted of him.

  “Oh,” she breathed, and couldn’t say anything else. Words were blasted from her head. There really weren’t any words for what she felt, only sensations. Warm, golden sensations.

  “Oh yeah,” Harry agreed in a rough whisper.

  Silence descended. Not the awkward silence of two people who didn’t know what to say to one another, but the silence of something too big for words.

  Harry was still hugely hot and hard inside her. Wasn’t that unusual? Weren’t men supposed to…to detumesce after sex? After two climaxes, surely he should have lost his erection.

  But no.

  Ellen’s eyes closed and she felt as if she were floating in a warm ocean, floating, floating…

  “I hope you’re not thinking of sleeping,” Harry whispered in her ear. “Because I haven’t even begun.”

  Chapter 10

  Seattle

  “Christ, hurry up.” Montez hopped from foot to foot, breath pluming in the frigid air. He wasn’t dressed for an op and it was fucking cold up here on Cougar Mountain, ten miles from Seattle.

  Driving up, they’d stopped at a hardware–fishing gear–grocery store in the sticks and bought two shovels, gloves and a big tarp.

  He hadn’t actually been there when his men had buried the body, but his men had sent him the GPS coordinates, precise to the inch.

  Once they were over the spot, Montez had started to dig side by side with Piet, but Piet had simply held up his hand and motioned him to one side.

  O-kay.

  Truth be told, he didn’t mind that he wasn’t allowed to grub around in the peaty soil, unearthing a dead body. Piet wanted to work alone? Fine.

  Piet must have done a lot of gravedigging in his life, because he worked as steadily and regularly as a machine. Within half an hour, there was a huge pile of dark, loamy earth piled up next to a coffin-shaped hole with clumpy dark sides.

  With half an ear, Montez had been listening to the sounds Piet was making, like a sort of music, with the background a steady whistling noise through the pines. Slide-hiss, clunk, patter. Slide-hiss, clunk, patter. The iron of the shovel biting the earth, shoveling under a clump of earth, being tossed to the side.

  The sounds changed and Montez walked to the side of the hole.

  Piet was digging around something. Something that was appearing minute by minute as he dug, like an image coming out of a bath of photography chemicals. Soon, Piet had dug all around and a body was exposed. Montez looked down, shining his flashlight. Blond hair, now dark with clumps of soil, a fancy designer jacket, creased and filthy, brand-new boots, still shiny. He recognized those. He didn’t recognize anything else.

  Skin sloughing off from bones. Skin dark, features bloated beyond recognition. Montez frowned.

  Piet glanced up briefly, without stopping his movements. “Looks different—been in the ground a week, yeah?” He spread the big tarp around the right side of the hole, letting some of the tarp dangle down over the side. “Help me,” Piet grunted, and Montez jumped in with him into the hole. They muscled the dead weight of Roddy Fisher up onto the tarp, rolling him up in it. At the end of the exercise was a long, sausage-shaped plastic roll that Piet heaved up onto his shoulders as easily as hefting a shovel.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Go where?” Montez had no idea why he needed the body.

  Piet settled the body onto his shoulder. “To stake it out, as bait.”

  San Diego

  Harry usually woke up abruptly, coming up out of sleep like a deep-sea diver cresting the surface at the last second with a gasp. He had nightmares often, and coming awake instantly was a self-defense mechanism.

  Get me out of this fucking hellhole, fast.

  But now he woke up in swoops, each stage with a little more sensory input, each stage better than the last.

  First, eyes closed. A sensation of warmth. He usually woke up from his nightmares icy cold, no matter what the weather outside was like. Now, he felt warm all over. There was a soft, warm weight on his left side, spreading warmth throughout his body. He moved his hand, cupped around something soft and warm.

  He felt…good. Fantastic, in fact. He rarely slept through the night and was usually tired when he woke up. It wasn’t until he had his second or third hit of coffee that he felt ready to face the world. Now he woke up so refreshed he felt like a lion.

  There was something soft and gently rounded attracting the palm of his hand like a magnet. He ran his hand up and down, encountering warm…woman.

  His eyes popped open. He hadn’t any sex since before Afghanistan. He’d been living in Nosexistan for two years.

  The sex he’d had before was technically okay, but impersonal. He never wanted to stay the night and he never had women in his own house. Her place or a hotel room, he didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t his own space. And he always left after the sex, before falling asleep. Sleeping the night through with a woman made him vulnerable.

  He never knew when he’d have one of his nightmares, waking up screaming in the night. No one could know how messed up he was, and he couldn’t mask it asleep. In the night, he was exposed and open.

  So the feel of a woman under his hand was surprising. Terrifying, actually, because it felt so damned good.

  He looked down and smiled. A mass of shiny, red-brown hair was spilled over his chest. He saw a pale, perfect profile, lashes so long they cast a little shadow, skin like cream with a touch of rose underneath, so unlike the icy white color she’d had while he’d sat vigil beside her.

  She was a quiet sleeper. Even with her head on his chest, he couldn’t hear her breathing, but he could feel the slight rise and fall of her narrow ribcage. She was tickling a few chest hairs with her exhalations.

  A slender arm crossed his chest, a narrow, long-fingered hand curled around his ribcage, holding him even in her sleep. His skin tingled where it touched hers, all along his side. One bended leg was thrown across his, knee just under his crotch. If he hadn’t had a massive hard-on, the knee would have been right over his dick.

  He hadn’t gone down even for a second since they’d kissed. Not even close. It was like he was plugged into this electrical socket called Ellen that made everything in him stand up.

  Last night flashed through his mind in one pulsing, red-hot memory and his cock lengthened and thickened. He couldn’t see his dick because sometime in the night he’d pulled the covers up over Ellen’s shoulders, but by God he could feel it.

  After being essentially dead meat, a hanging piece of flesh he forgot about for days at a time, useful only as a conduit for pissing, his cock now throbbed with feeling. It had had a taste of something it wanted more of. Much more. So much, he couldn’t imagine ever being sated.

  He obviously was pumping something into the air, because Ellen stirred, eyes moving back and forth behind her lids. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide and they found themselves staring at each other.

  He watched her as she blinked, trying to put together the unfamiliar pieces: his face, the fact that they were both naked, that she was plastered against his side. She stirred, her leg glancing across his cock. His very hard cock.

  She turned stoplight red. It was amazing to watch. One pulse and her color changed completely, down to her breasts. Or at least what he could see of her breasts. Harry would have happily checked to see whether the red ran down to her nipples, but she was suddenly clutching the blanket around her as if it were a lifeline.

  He tried not to sigh. If it were up to him, he’d simply turn her a little, lift her leg with his hand and slide right in. Oh yeah. That first, fiery moment when he entered her…oh man. Noth
ing in his experience of fucking had come even close.

  Was she sore? She had to be. She’d been so fucking tight that first time he entered. Good thing he’d come immediately and lubricated things a little. Harry had no idea how much time he’d spent in her—even the concept of time passing had fled his mind—but it had been a lot. She had to be sore.

  And, come to think about it, most of last night had been about him, not her. The level of excitement he’d felt had simply fried his brain.

  He was always in control while fucking, it was Harry’s Law. He had always been big and strong, and…well…big all over. It was always possible to hurt a woman while fucking—squeeze too hard with his hands, hold her too tightly, plow her too hard.

  The thought made him really sick, so from that very first time standing in a doorway, he made sure he was in control and not hurting her. That was Rule Number One.

  And, alas, there was also Rule Number Two, which was, Don’t let her get too close.

  Fucking was great, a fabulous stress reliever. Mostly fun, always exciting.

  Relationships, not so much. He’d never really had a relationship, actually. Being someone’s partner meant…talking. Opening up. Letting her into his head.

  Letting her see the demons.

  No. Absolutely not. What was in his head was going to stay there. The only people he let see his vulnerabilities were his brothers. They knew and they weren’t talking.

  So fucking was great, and if the lady wanted more than that, here’s the door, the world’s full of men.

  Last night had been an eye-opener. First, he hadn’t been as much in control as he’d have liked. Actually, he hadn’t been in control at all. Not once had he thought his moves through, parceling out the intimacy, this much and no further. There hadn’t been any governing mechanism at all up in his head. It had all been in his body, and not just his cock.

  There had been this enormous sense of…letting go. He hadn’t held anything back, not emotionally and, unfortunately, not physically. He’d quit when Ellen had become practically comatose.

  She hadn’t complained, though. She’d smiled at him, stroked him gently, touched him in a way that…oh man. There weren’t any words. The emotions roiling around in him felt good, but really unsettling and brand new.

  Well, enough navel-gazing. He was ready for round two—or was it round five?—but she wouldn’t be.

  Still, that left a lot of room for other things.

  Kissing her neck, nuzzling her collarbones, down to those small yet spectacular white breasts with the deep-pink nipples…he got sidetracked at the nipples because they tasted so fucking good. Like a cross between vanilla ice cream and the ocean.

  Yeah.

  Ellen’s hands were on the back of his head, fingers deep in his hair, and that felt really good, too.

  It all felt good. Incredibly good, in fact. Touching her pale skin, the taste of her, her hands on him…

  He sent the hand not stroking a breast down over her side, following that incredible dip of her narrow waist, across that flat belly and ah…bliss. The lips of her little cunt were soft and swollen, moist. He touched her at the opening, his finger and his mouth on hers making lush sucking sounds in the morning silence, then tested her inside.

  Warm, soft, wet. But there’d been just a little hesitation there, the tiniest of flinches, which she immediately stifled. Yeah, time for plan B.

  Harry kissed his way over that lovely belly, down to where his unshaven chin caught a little in the soft cloud of dark-red hair between her thighs. And farther down.

  He settled between her thighs and lifted her legs and opened them, content for the moment just to look.

  Jesus, she was so fucking beautiful, even here. Soft and pink, small petals unfurled, tender flesh glistening. He looked up and met her eyes, those gorgeous green eyes. There was this moment of magnetic connection that frightened him, so he bent down, opened her with his fingers and kissed her, exactly as if he were kissing her mouth.

  Her cunt tasted even more delicious than her breasts. Sweet and salty, utterly intoxicating.

  And oh, man, he could taste her arousal. He tilted his head for a better, deeper fit and she clenched, a hot, warm pulse against his mouth, followed by the softest of sighs.

  He urged her legs even farther apart with his hands and she was fully open to him now, completely his.

  Every stroke of his tongue was met by a pulse, a sigh, then a moan. Deeper, deeper…her thighs started trembling and then suddenly she stiffened, gave a wild cry that echoed in the room, and started coming against his mouth, her entire body tightening under his mouth and hands, soft moans rising higher when he licked her clitoris.

  Oh God, there was nothing better than this, nothing. He forgot everything, even his own body, completely immersed in hers as she came and trembled against him.

  The trembling slowed, stopped and she gave a big sigh. Her arms flopped to her side, exhausted. He was pretty wiped out himself. He opened his eyes and looked at her, suppressing a grin as he crawled back up to her.

  She had her head back, staring at the ceiling, one arm off the mattress, breathing heavily.

  “You okay?”

  “Huh.” She wriggled fingers and toes. “Yeah. I think so. Everything seems to be working, though I think I either blacked out or had a religious experience there.”

  The grin broke out. He was feeling pretty good himself. He could climb a mountain and wrestle lions and tigers to the ground if he could just get his muscles to work.

  “You know what?” she asked the ceiling.

  “No, what?”

  “I’m hungry. Starving.” She slanted a glance at him without moving her head. “I could eat a horse and spit out the bones.”

  “Uh huh.” Harry wriggled his own toes, or tried to. Nothing much was moving. “As soon as I get some motor control back, I’ll take care of that for you. Could do with some grub myself.”

  God, it was true.

  Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hungry. When he first came back from Ramstein, eating had seemed impossible. It was as if his stomach were filled with sand. The very idea of food had nauseated him. It was only because Sam and Mike insisted, to the point of buying takeout and standing over him until he choked down as much as he could without actually vomiting, that he had eaten at all. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be hungry.

  Christ. Sex, hunger. All those forgotten things were roaring back, as if he’d been away for a long time and had just come back, stronger than before.

  He was hungry and he wanted another round with Ellen as soon as she could manage it.

  She turned her head, looked down. “Uh uh. Don’t even think about it. Not until you feed me first. There are, like, rules.”

  “Oh yeah, I know.” Of course there were rules. Not letting your lover go hungry was right up there. He smiled at her, his head hitting the pillow, the edges of his field of vision going gray, black.

  “Get food right away,” he mumbled. “Rest my eyes first.”

  Ellen made a little clucking sound of exasperation. “Big bad warrior, can’t even stay awake. I think I’ll do a little foraging in your kitchen, see what’s there.”

  “Do that,” he slurred sleepily. He tried to remember if there was any actual food in his kitchen, but couldn’t get his head to work that much. He could feel his extremities. That was more or less it as far as a functioning brain was concerned.

  He heard rattling noises from the kitchen, the smell of coffee reaching into the bedroom. The ping of the microwave. She’d obviously found something to work with.

  Maybe he could wheedle her into bringing him breakfast in bed. Oh yeah. Feeding each other whatever she’d drummed up, sipping coffee. He had a small jar of honey somewhere; he could drizzle a little over her breasts and lick it off.

  On that very happy thought, his mind drifted, went away.

  Until he heard a sharp crash, the sound of glass breaking, and Ellen’s scream.
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br />   He was out of bed in an instant, heart pounding as he scrabbled for his Glock. He ran into the living room, not knowing what to expect but ready for anything.

  Ellen was sitting on a chair, laptop open, a shattered glass on the floor, shards glinting in the morning sunlight. Water was still spreading out over the floor.

  A hand covered her mouth. She was that icy white color again.

  She turned to him, desperation in every line of her face and burst into tears.

  Seattle

  “All over the news. She can’t help but see it.” Montez closed down the Yahoo News site and turned around. “That’ll rattle her.”

  “Oh yeah.” Yiah.

  Piet looked into the rearview mirror of the rental SUV. It showed the rain-spattered street of secondhand-clothing shops, pawn shops, a palm reader, a Chinese laundry and the Blue Moon. Kerry Robinson was coming on duty at noon. Montez would have waited until she came off her shift. It would be dark then, less chances of anyone seeing them.

  But Piet had argued that in tracking, time was of the essence. They had a bead on where Ellen had been—San Diego. And she was with someone. Every day that passed was a day in which she and her unknown protector could decide to move on, and they’d lose her again. Not to mention the fact that two big shocks in close succession were more likely to throw her off course than two big shocks that were separate.

  Montez thought it was all bullshit. That Piet was just anxious to get the job done and get away. But what the hell could he do? And if he were truthful with himself, he wanted this over, too. Yesterday. The bitch had taken way too much time and attention, had taken him away from work at a really tough moment, when he needed to concentrate to keep his company afloat.

  He hadn’t argued with Piet and so here they were, at five to noon, on a rainy Seattle street.

  Christ, Montez thought, looking out of rain-spattered windows, what lousy weather. How could anyone live here? It was all so gray and empty. Everyone looked like drones, even the kids. Even the losers who frequented the Blue Moon. Out-of-work day laborers, drunks, guys who looked like they hadn’t shaved or washed in a week. They all trickled there into Loser Central.