The Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series

by Jacki Delecki

  “Let me get out of these clothes.” He peeled out of his jeans and threw off his T-shirt in seconds.

  Nick Welby without clothes was an impressive site with his broad, hairy chest, muscular thighs, and his jutting erection. He reached in the bedside stand.

  Heat and liquid pooled between her legs watching a naked Nick roll on a condom.

  He looked up and snagged her in his intense look. “Honey, are you afraid?”

  That was her Nick. Always thinking of her and her feelings although he was more than obviously wanting her.

  “I’m not afraid. Not after that…what just happened. I know you’ll make it good. I trust you.”

  He leaned over and rubbed her lower lip with his thumb. “Well, I’m afraid. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She stretched out her arms to him. “I’m not believing you’re afraid of anything.”

  He chuckled then covered her with his weight. The heat of his solid body and his soft, chest hair rubbing against her already sensitive nipples agitated and soothed her all at the same time. He sank his tongue into her mouth as he nudged against her mound. And suddenly she was on edge, restless, wanting more.

  “Open your legs for me.” He spread damp kisses along her neck, making her feverish.

  She wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him closer. He growled and he slowly pushed into her part way. He whispered against her mouth. “How does that feel?”

  How could he be asking her how it felt? She was a bundle of fervor. “Good… Good.”

  He withdrew and pushed in again. She felt the pressure of stretching, being invaded.

  He rumbled near her ear, “Honey, you’re so tight.” Then he took her mouth plunging his tongue in and out before he moved down and drew her nipple into his mouth.

  He pressed further into her as he sucked harder on her nipple. She moaned and lifted her hips, angling herself to have all of him inside her, all of Nick penetrating her. She couldn’t breathe, overcome with the need for him to fill her.

  He withdrew and thrust into her completely and stopped.

  She felt a burning pressure—no pain, just wondrous satisfaction of Nick filling her, of being united.

  Straining, buried inside her, he sucked in a deep breath. “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

  “Just a little bit. I’m okay. And Nick, can you keep moving?” She grabbed the tight muscles of his backside, urging him to help with the peaking sensations.

  He stayed still, but captured her mouth. “I’m planning on moving. Moving to make you very happy.”

  He drove into her hard and fast. “I’m sorry, I can’t slow down. I’ve waited for you so long.” He grabbed her hips and worked a frantic rhythm that was building her need.

  The mighty wave rolled over her, emptying her mind of all thought, filling her with pleasure and joy. He lowered his head to her neck, his frenzied breathing matching his thrusts. And as she cried out in ecstasy, he bellowed and gave into his own powerful release.

  He collapsed on top of her. His rapid breathing, his weight pressing her into the mattress, and the gentle way he kissed her lips were bliss. She hugged him close, not wanting him to move. Who would think she’d ever want a man’s body over her? Miracles do happen.

  He rolled off of her and disposed of the condom then laid next to her and propped his head on one elbow, searching her face. His face was relaxed and replete. “Honey, I knew we were going to be good together, but that just went beyond any fantasy I had about you.”

  “Me too. Beyond anything I imagined,” She sighed, more than overwhelmed with all the emotions bombarding her.

  He kissed her, barely touching her lips, a soft brush. “Was it terribly painful?”

  She rolled to her side to face him and touched his bristly jaw and then traced his full lower lip with her finger before taking a love nip. “Hardly at all. You made it all wonderful.”

  “Thank you for…” He stuttered, “You don’t know what it means to me to be the first and last man to make love with you.”

  Confused. She asked, “Last?”

  He rolled her on her back, and bent over her, his weight on his arms. “I love you, Hollie. And I want to be with you and you with me—no one else.”

  Unable to squeeze out a single word, she shook her head.

  “No? You don’t want to be with me?” His voice got quiet.

  “No we can’t love each other, we just met.”

  Nick studied her face, watching her intently. “You just said “we” can’t love each other. Are you saying you love me?”

  “I don’t know much about love, but I’m willing to learn when it comes to loving you.”

  “It’s all a man needs to hear. I love you, Hollie. And I promise to cherish you as you deserve.” He took her lips in tender possession. “And if you’re willing to learn, I’ve got a few more lessons for tonight.”

  Hollie smiled back at his full wattage smile that had captured her heart from the first moment she met him. “Nick, that’s all a woman wants to hear.”

  Marriage Under Fire

  Book Four in the

  Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series

  by

  Jacki Delecki

  Marine veteran Maddy Jeffers never expected her most demanding and daunting mission would come off the battlefield. Ordered to infiltrate a Seattle terrorist cell, Maddy must pose as a loving wife to Major Hunter Hines. The undercover role begins to feel all too real when Maddy falls hard for the rugged, macho Marine.

  Duty and discipline are Hunter Hines’s credo, guiding every decision and every action. But constant proximity with the fierce and enticing Maddy is veering his mission wildly off course.

  Although their role as man and wife is only pretend, there is nothing false about his out-of-control desire for his partner. When Maddy’s life is threatened by an ISIS cell, protecting her becomes the only mission that matters, and Hunter is willing to break all the rules to save her.

  As the danger heats up around these two veteran heroes, Maddy and Hunter must walk a narrow path between passion and survival.

  Chapter One

  Maddy Jeffers always chose daring over caution.

  With her pelvis thrust forward by her three-inch, knockoff designer heels, she countered her absurd posture by throwing back her shoulders. Since she was on the carpet, she might as well make it a Hollywood red carpet. Placing each foot very firmly and carefully, she managed to avoid teetering and made her way down the silent, sterile hallway of Seattle’s Henry Jackson Federal Building. The gunmetal gray walls and the Pine-Sol smell of a moldering, uncaring bureaucracy took her right back to her years as a foster child—in another government building, her future in question again.

  Instructed to report out of uniform, she had been in a major quandary. Should she arrive dressed as the ecoterrorist she’d been posing as during her last undercover assignment to make it easier for them to reprimand her? Or should she look like any other office worker?

  Major Hunter Hines, her partner on the assignment, had texted her to report at 20:00 to JFB.

  The man could have given her a heads-up about what she faced; Marines took care of their own. Of course, Major Hunter Hines wouldn’t allow anything like human emotions or the dangers of that particular assignment to affect his report.

  Speak of the devil, there was Hunter, waiting in front of the glass door to the FBI office. She surreptitiously dried her sweaty palms on her tight black dress and added a swagger to her slow, agonizing walk. No way would she admit, even under the threat of torture, that her killer shoes were killing her.

  His dark, piercing eyes studied her every step. Did she imagine it, or had his Marine posture stiffened and his dark olive skin flushed when he saw her? Perhaps she wouldn’t be the only one to suffer today.

  Dressed in a dark suit with an open, oxford-blue shirt, long, inky black hair brushing the collar, he looked the part of a billionaire playboy or techie mogul—the cold devil looked mighty good. She tried to ignor
e the fact that he was sexy as hell and remember he was a pain in the ass.

  “What the—” His eyes narrowed, and she waited to hear the censure in his voice. “You don’t look like a Marine.”

  What was a Marine working undercover supposed to look like? And why was it always an issue for a woman, but never a man? He didn’t look like a Marine today, either.

  The young saleswoman at Macy’s told her this was an office dress. How would Maddy know what women wore to their jobs? She had never worked in an office and hoped to God she never would.

  Her chin hitched up an inch. She was immune to his snide, unanswerable remarks. “Good morning, sir. My instructions were to report out of uniform.” No matter what she wore, she was a Marine, through and through. “I’m blending in.”

  “Blending in? You call that sexy getup blending in?”

  She looked up at him with her best innocent face. “You think it’s sexy?”

  She pulled at the snug dress riding partway up her thighs.

  He watched her movement with his usual eagle eye focus. She didn’t miss the hitch in his breath and the way his muscular throat rippled when he swallowed. “Think what?”

  Hunter Hines lost for words—she was already feeling better.

  “If I’m going to be reprimanded in front of the FBI, I might as well look good.”

  “Reprimanded? Why would you think you that?”

  Because he was a precision machine who did everything by the book. She could envision how he recounted—in painstaking detail—her failure to identify the ecoterrorist who had planned to blow up Seattle’s waterfront.

  “Didn’t you report that it was Sergeant Welby and his dog, Talley, who discovered the bomb?”

  “Yes, and I’m glad they did.”

  If this was one of his tests to prove his power over her, she wouldn’t give him any satisfaction. She’d take it square on the chin. She had used attitude to get her through a lot of dicey moments in her past.

  “You could’ve been killed,” he continued.

  She almost fell off her high heels. She scrutinized his face, looking to see some hint of sarcasm. Hunter almost sounded like he cared. He kept her locked with his intense gaze, as if he wanted all her secrets. She had a shitload, but no one was privy to them.

  No one.

  “I thought we were meeting with the FBI agents to review the bombing.” She wasn’t about to reveal her misguided fears about the meeting. Why belabor her screw-up when he was being almost nice.

  “My orders came directly from Colonel Dawson. You and I are to report to the FBI office. And, like you, I have no idea what this is about. I thought I was headed back to Camp Pendleton.”

  He opened the door to the office. “Shall we go in and find out?”

  Chapter Two

  Hunter held the door open for Maddy. He tried to keep his focus straight ahead like a well-trained Marine, but with a will of their own, his eyes tracked the sleek dress hugging her sweet, rounded ass.

  His well-honed training and unshakeable discipline went to hell whenever his sister’s best friend was nearby. Maddy Jeffers was more of a challenge than any assignment the Marines had thrown at him. Had the gods in heaven laughed at him when he’d been assigned to work with this tiny blond bombshell?

  It would be a relief to return to his normal routine of dangerous, clandestine operations, he reminded himself. Who was he kidding? He’d miss Maddy—the way her eyes brightened in mischief, the way she ran her fingers through the bouncy curls, and the way she lifted her chin when challenged, as if to say to the world, “Give me your worst. I can take it.”

  A silver-haired woman wearing red-framed glasses low on her nose and a utilitarian suit of navy blue moved around the front desk. “Major Hines? And Second Lieutenant Jeffers?”

  Hunter stepped forward and took charge. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Dawson is waiting for you.”

  “The colonel is here?” Maddy squeaked.

  Ignoring Maddy’s surprised response, the woman pushed her glasses back up her nose and addressed Hunter. “He and the agents will see you now.”

  Maddy raised her eyebrows at him as if he had answers. The colonel must have reviewed the report by now. Surely there was nothing in it to warrant a visit to Seattle.

  “Follow me, please.” The secretary wore low-heeled shoes, unlike Maddy, who wobbled along in high heels, probably trying to add to her five-foot stature.

  Maddy toyed with her lively curls—a nervous habit he found endearing.

  He walked behind the two women, but this time he focused straight ahead. He hated the unexpected. His survival depended on his ability to assess and control a situation. The arrival of his commander was unforeseen and out of his control.

  Hunter watched Maddy as she donned her Marine armor—spine straight, chin up, eyes forward. If it weren’t such a turn-on, he’d laugh at the combination of her Marine stance with the hot dress and heels.

  “Sir.” He and Maddy saluted their commander.

  The colonel was in his late fifties, a career Marine who had a tough, take-no-prisoners presence with his clipped, military-grade haircut and ramrod posture. The humorless officer was seated at the end of a black veneer table. There was no mistaking what he expected from his subordinates.

  “At ease, Nugget.” The colonel smiled at Maddy after using the military slang for rank of Second Lieutenant.

  “Yes, sir.” Maddy stood down but didn’t relax her military bearing.

  Hunter jerked his head when the colonel spoke. “Hines, good work by you and Jeffers in apprehending the suspect.” The colonel smiled at Maddy again—a shocking response Hunter had never before witnessed from his commander. He’d have bet his father’s KA-BAR knife that the colonel would hold to the old school belief that women couldn’t be Marines. But just like him, the colonel had fallen under the spell of this petite, kick-ass Marine. It was obvious the commander liked Maddy’s clear dedication and self-confidence.

  “Thank you, sir,” Hunter and Maddy replied together.

  The colonel turned and spoke to two younger men straight out of Men in Black with their dark suits, white shirts, dark ties, and black, regulation shoes. Which agency were they from—FBI, NSA, or Homeland Security? They all dressed the same. Then Hunter recognized one of the two men as Tim Darney, an FBI agent.

  Hunter gave him a slight nod of recognition.

  The colonel’s forceful voice jolted Hunter back to attention. “You’re both familiar with Darney from your debriefing. This is Ron Forret, who sits on the National Joint Terrorism Task Force. He’s the reason we’re here.”

  So Ron Forret wasn’t FBI; most likely, he was Homeland Security.

  “Shall we sit down and get to it? I’ve got one hour before my next meeting.” The colonel didn’t waste time on further niceties.

  Both men had stood when he and Maddy entered the room. Darney headed right to Maddy. Hunter recognized a man in pursuit, and it wasn’t FBI business he was chasing. The fine hairs on the back of Hunter’s neck stood on end. He immediately went into possessive mode and started toward Maddy, but checked himself. She wasn’t his to protect any longer. Their mission was over.

  Maddy smiled at the young man, the smile Hunter wanted to be his alone.

  The colonel pointed to the chair next to him. Hunter seated himself several chairs down from Maddy and Darney.

  The colonel turned to Forret. “Why don’t you bring them up to speed?”

  Remote in hand, Forret stood in front of a large screen. He looked back and forth between Maddy and Hunter. “We’ve been searching through our bomber’s devices, communications, and connections. It turns out Brandon Billow isn’t simply a crazy, working through his mommy issues. We found a passport and airline ticket for him to Jakarta. We also found a connection to this terrorist group on his computer.”

  Forret pushed a button, and a PowerPoint image appeared on the screen. Forret read aloud the information from the slide. “Jemaah I
slamiyah, meaning ‘Islamic Congregation,’ frequently abbreviated JI, is a Southeast Asian militant Islamist terrorist organization. Since the start of the U.S.-led war on terror, it has shifted its attention to targeting U.S. and western interests in Indonesia and the broader Southeast Asian region. This group has links to both the Taliban and Al-Qaeda, and, now we believe, ISIS.”

  The colonel interrupted the presentation to look at Maddy. “Did Billow give any clues as to his association with this group?”

  Maddy blushed a rosy pink. “No, sir. And, as you know from the report, I didn’t recognize Billow as the bomber.”

  Hunter hated the way Maddy threw herself on her sword, but at the same time, he admired her for her honesty. She felt guilty because she hadn’t read the sociopath correctly. Psychologists and trained profilers missed sociopaths. She was too darn hard on herself.

  He’d like to help her lighten up, although she’d laugh herself silly at that idea. She saw him as a boring old man.

  Hunter interrupted Maddy’s confession. “I thought the Indonesians took out the group’s leadership after the Bali bombing in 2006.”

  Forret turned to Hunter. “You’re right, Major. This group had lost its momentum, but we’re getting some chatter about the beaten down militants aligning themselves with ISIS. Like weeds, you can never keep these fanatic groups from poking back up.”

  Hunter tried to grasp the implications of Forret’s presentation. “There is an active Jemaah Islamiyah cell with connections to ISIS in Seattle, and that crazy Brandon Billow was part of the cell?”

  “We don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to discover. We only have the one name. We don’t know if Brandon Billow was recruited, and so far, he refuses to answer. He’s trying to cop a plea and won’t tell us anything.”

  Maddy leaned forward. “I have trouble believing Brandon was accepted by a terrorist organization. He was on the fringe of the ecoterrorist group. He’s a loner, a ‘hanger-on.’”