by Jami Alden
He’d felt it, too, the first time he’d been in heavy combat. Felt that sick pit in his stomach that came from the knowledge that death was all around. He’d quickly learned, like everyone else in the battalion, to compartmentalize and not let the horror of whatever he’d been through interfere with attending to basic bodily needs like sleep and eating.
Despite the stress, Sean had no trouble polishing off two sandwich rolls piled high with real roast turkey, roasted red peppers, provolone, and some kind of fancy mustard and chased them down with a bottle of beer from a microbrewery in nearby Coeur D’Alene.
As he looked at Krista, her face pale, eyes shadowed with grief and regret, he felt another surge of unwanted sympathy. She liked to think her line of work had given her a tough hide, but right now she looked like she’d fall over if he so much as touched her.
“Why don’t you go get some rest?” Sean said. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“There’s one guest room, down the hall, first door on your left. Nothing fancy but the sheets are clean,” Ibarra said around the last bite of his sandwich as he keyed something into his laptop. He shot a look at Sean. “You can take the couch, unless you want to share.”
A hint of color rushed to Krista’s cheeks. “Couch is fine,” Sean said.
“Williams sent the police reports on Caparulo,” Ibarra said as he turned the laptop around so they could see the screen. Sean uttered a silent prayer that Ibarra’s subterfuge worked and Cole wouldn’t get busted for sending electronic copies of the files.
“There’s nothing there I don’t know already,” Krista said, disgust and disappointment barely edging out her fatigue. “The crime scene report doesn’t even mention that the window to his bedroom was open.” She let out a soft curse. “Maybe Stew found something else. How long will it take you to access his computer if it’s online?”
“I’ve already done it,” Ibarra said, “but it’s going to take me awhile to sort through everything on his hard drive. Same thing with the queries I’m running on the bank accounts.” He looked first at Krista and then at Sean. “It’s late. No reason for any of us to stay up and wait for the data to churn.”
“I don’t think I can sleep.” Despite her obvious fatigue, her voice was laced with nervous tension.
“Then rest,” Sean snapped. “Your body needs to recover. You won’t do anyone any good if you collapse.”
“Fine.” Krista straightened up with a sigh and stretched so her hair tumbled down her back and her T-shirt tightened over the round fullness of her breasts.
Sean tore his gaze away and caught Ibarra staring at the same thing. His friend shrugged at Sean’s glare.
Krista, oblivious, poured herself a glass of water at the kitchen sink and ambled down the hall. “Come get me if anything happens.”
“That is one damn good-looking woman,” Ibarra said, loud enough for Krista to hear if she cared to listen.
“She’d eat your balls for lunch,” Sean snapped as he gathered up the empty plates and took them to the sink.
“Don’t worry, man. I wouldn’t try to horn in on your territory.”
“For fuck’s sake, did you forget that that woman helped put me on death row?”
Ibarra cocked a thick eyebrow at him. “You’re gonna try to tell me that that mark on her neck came from the car accident?”
Sean’s blood heated as he had a sudden, vivid memory of closing his lips and teeth over the delicate skin of her throat.
“People fall for each other across enemy lines all the time. Hell, I wouldn’t be here if my great-grandfather had gone along with his father’s plan for him to marry a nice Basque girl.”
Somewhere in his tired, overstimulated brain were a thousand arguments to shut his friend down, but at the moment all he could come up with was “Shut up, Ibarra.”
His friend laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Get some rest, man.” His dark eyes turned serious. “It’s good to see you, Sean. I’m glad you got in touch.”
“You might change your mind if this gets you killed.”
Ibarra shrugged. “Better to go out fighting than to keel over at age seventy from ass cancer.”
“Hoorah,” Sean said and smiled. The circumstances could have been better, but it was good to feel like someone had his back.
“There’s some blankets in the hall closet,” Ibarra said as he started down the hall to his room. “And if you change your mind about sharing with Krista, there’s a full box of Trojans in the table by the bed.”
“Fuck off,” Sean called to Ibarra’s retreating back. He kicked off his boots and stretched out on the couch. He closed his eyes, shifted around, but couldn’t find a comfortable position. Krista’s tight, drawn face haunted him.
He heard noises from down the hall. She was still awake, moving around. Now it sounded like she was pacing.
He pulled a pillow over his head, but he couldn’t block out her restless movements. He got up from the couch, resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get any much needed rest until she settled down.
Maybe he should check on her, try to get her to eat a little something, or better yet, bring her a drink to help her get to sleep.
He went over to Ibarra’s bar and poured two glasses of bourbon. Krista was probably more of a fruity cocktail or a wine girl, but this would mellow her out a lot quicker.
Sean pushed open the door to the guest room and found Krista standing hunched over the small desk, scribbling madly as she muttered to herself.
She looked up, startled. “What is it? Did Ibarra find something?”
Sean shook his head. “You need to get some rest.”
“How can I rest?” She gestured helplessly at the notebook on the desk. “People are trying to kill us. They got to Jimmy, they got to Stew, and it’s my fault.”
Her eyes were wide, haunted. Sean knew that look, knew she was imagining Stew Kowalsky’s death, putting herself in his place, trying to envision what his last minutes must have been like.
“You’re not going to do anyone any good if you burn out. Here,” he said, pressing one glass into her hand as he cocked a hip on the edge of the desk.
Krista’s nose wrinkled as she gave the liquid a delicate sniff. “Why are you bringing me bourbon?”
“I figured you could use some help relaxing.”
“I guess it’s worth a try.” She shrugged and drained most of it in one gulp and set it aside with a little shudder.
He took a sip of his bourbon and tucked his free hand into his pocket so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to comfort her. He didn’t trust himself to touch her in any way, especially not when he was alone in a room with a goddamn queen-sized bed in it. Crap. He knew coming in here was a boneheaded idea.
But the lost look in her eyes wouldn’t let him leave. He drained the last of his bourbon and set the glass down on the desk next to hers. “Don’t dwell on it,” he said quietly.
Her eyes narrowed on his face. “How can I not?” Her hands came up to cover her face as he crossed the room to crack open a window. She gave a little shiver and wandered across the room and sat down heavily at the foot of the bed. She wrapped her arms around her waist and stared down at the floor. “We weren’t very close, but Stew was a good guy, someone I considered a friend. I never imagined I would get him killed.”
She swallowed hard and despite his better judgment Sean was compelled to cross the room until he stood in front of her, his big sock-clad feet almost toe to toe with her smaller ones. “I suppose you had to get used to this in the army, right, seeing friends die?”
“It’s not something you ever get used to.” He reached a hand out to her bent head and then thought better of it and yanked it back. She would be fine. There was no reason for him to sit in here while she wallowed. Best thing would be for him to leave her be and stretch out on Ibarra’s couch for a few much needed hours of sleep.
He froze when she looked up at him with those big ocean-colored eyes, shiny with tear
s. Goddamn it, he hated how defeated and scared she looked. Krista was a tough chick. The kind of woman totally capable of taking care of herself.
But the last day and half had ripped away that tough-chick facade and shown them both exactly how vulnerable she could be. And God help him, but seeing her like this awoke the protective instincts Sean thought had been mostly beaten out of him over the last three years. He reminded himself that whatever trouble she was in was her fault, and his only worry should be getting himself out of the mess she’d put him in.
Still, it was almost impossible not to pull her into his arms and tell her he’d do everything he could to make sure she got out of this in one piece.
“I don’t guess you do.” She shook her head and dropped her gaze back to the floor.
She stood up and reached for his hand, and Sean reflexively gave it. An action he immediately regretted when the protective urges roaring in his blood were joined with a jolt of lust so intense it almost made him forget who she was, where they were, and why it was beyond stupid to give in to the need screaming through his body, demanding he lay her down on that bed and claim her once and for all.
He stifled a groan as Krista’s fingers curled around his. Yeah, he was hard up, but this was ridiculous. One touch of her hand on his, plus the memories of that hand on other parts of his body, and he was as hard as a spike, almost shaking with the need to yank her into his arms.
She tilted her face up to his, and he had to strain to hear her over the roaring in his ears. “I’m sorry,” she said, and then shook her head. “I feel like that’s all I ever say to you, but I am. I’m sorry I dragged you into this and I’m sorry Megan has to go into hiding. I’m sorry I got Stew killed and us shot at. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I was trying to do right by you. I just wanted to make sure anyone who had a hand in what happened to you and those women got what they deserved.”
Sean felt like something was cracking open in his chest as he pulled her to him, unable to resist taking her into his arms. He was just comforting her, he told himself firmly, determined to ignore the thick heat pulsing through his veins. He knew what it was like when you tried to do the right thing and somehow managed to fuck it up for everyone.
Hell, his urge to protect Evangeline Gordon had helped get him into this mess in the first place.
And where do you think protecting Krista Slater will get you? whispered a sinister voice in the back of his head.
He shoved it aside. Like it or not, he was hip deep into her trouble, and no way was he hanging her out to dry.
Krista buried her head against his chest. He felt the press of her breasts against his ribs, the heat of her breath through the thin fabric of his shirt. He tipped his head until his nose was nuzzling her head and inhaled the floral scent of her hair, and under that, the warm fragrance of the woman herself.
She tipped her head back from his chest and his breath caught when he looked down to meet her gaze. Her pallor was gone, her cheeks as rosy and pink as her plump little mouth.
Sean wasn’t even sure how it happened. One second he was looking at her, and the next he was covering her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue between her lips like he would die if he didn’t get a taste.
She made a startled sound and froze with her hands on his shoulders, and that was enough—barely—to pull him back from the edge.
He jumped back, propelling himself halfway across the room as Krista backed up in the opposite direction, her hand held to her mouth, eyes wide with shock.
“Shit, I didn’t mean for that to happen again,” Sean said. “It’s not—”
Krista held up a hand. “It’s not personal. You were just being nice and trying to make me feel better. I get it,” she interrupted. “And I know that what happened last night wasn’t personal either, so don’t worry that I’m reading too much into it.”
Sean put his plan for a hasty retreat on the back burner and cocked his head. “You had your hand on my dick. I’d say that’s pretty personal.”
The pink in her cheeks darkened to fuchsia and she swallowed hard. “That’s—that’s not what I mean…” Her voice trailed off.
Sean never thought he’d see the day when clever, articulate Krista Slater would be at a loss for words. “Then what do you mean?” He took a step forward.
“I mean, I get what happened then, just now, isn’t about me specifically.” She wrung her hands in front of her, her fingers twisting and untwisting. Sean’s blood warmed at the memory of how those long, slender fingers had circled his cock. “You said yourself, you weren’t with a woman for over three years, and I imagine even with some…uh, relief…from, uh…other women…”
Sean forced himself not to smile at the way she struggled with the euphemism and wondered what she’d say if he told her there hadn’t been any relief since he had gotten out of prison.
Not until last night, anyway.
“You’re young, and obviously, uh,”—another swallow—“virile. You probably have a lot pent up and are not as discriminating as you might be otherwise…”
“You think I’ll fuck anything with a pulse? Is that what you’re getting at?”
Krista’s brows pulled into a frown. “I wasn’t going to put it that crassly, and I’d like to think I have some appeal. But let’s face it, under normal circumstances, given our history, there’s no other reason for that to have happened, right?”
He studied her face carefully, saw the uncertainty in her eyes. He knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to tell her she was right. It was nothing about her, nothing but him scratching an itch that had been three celibate years in the making.
Wanted him to brush it off, tell her it meant nothing so she could convince herself it meant nothing to her.
But after everything she’d put him through, no way was he going to let her off that easy.
Three steps had him across the room, mere inches from her, so close he could feel the air around her heat up. She took a step back but was hampered by the small desk, where she sat perched, her eyes darting around him as she searched for an escape.
Sean leaned down and planted his hands on either side of her hip bones. “So what’s your excuse?” he rasped.
“What do you mean?” Her voice was high, breathless.
He bent down his head until his mouth was right next to her ear. “You know exactly what I mean. You were as turned on as I was. Don’t try to tell me you weren’t. And I can’t imagine you have three years of celibacy to explain it.”
Her breath caught and then sped up as she tilted her gaze up to his. “Not quite that long, but no, I don’t.” Her face was pink before. Now it was crimson, her light eyes standing out in stark contrast as she looked at him with embarrassment and resentment.
That wasn’t the look he wanted to see on her face, not by a long shot.
He slid one hand up, under the silky fall of blond hair to curve around her neck. He leaned in, widening his stance until her legs were bracketed by his. “So it’s really me you want, not just a hard dick and a warm body?”
Her nostrils flared at the crudity, but she didn’t deny it. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it?” She kept her hands tightly fisted against the desk, like she was fighting the urge to slide them around his waist. “But I felt something…even before you got out of prison.”
“So what are you saying? You’re curious to see what it would be like to be with a convicted murderer? Don’t feel bad. Lots of women like the idea of a man who’s been behind bars. The caged beast who could snap at any second. All that danger—”
“Stop it,” she snapped through gritted teeth. “Don’t act like that. I know you would never hurt me. I know you’re a good man.”
The impact of those words was so powerful he actually took a step back. That, and the absolute conviction and deep regret in her greenish-gray eyes hit him like a fist in the gut. I know you’re a good man. He shouldn’t care about her opinion, or anyone else’s for that matter. He knew he was a good man. H
e knew what he was and wasn’t capable of, so he shouldn’t care what people thought of him in the past or present.
But the way she was staring at him, really seeing him for the first time…He felt like the lead blanket he’d been wearing for the past three years was finally falling away.
Her lids dropped under his intense stare and her tongue came out to lick her lips.
He bent his head, calling himself a thousand kinds of idiot as the last thread of his resistance snapped. He sucked her plump bottom lip between his teeth and ran his tongue over the curve. Jesus, he thought, groaning at the way her lips parted so easily beneath his, the way her tongue slid out to meet his. Blood roared in his head as he struggled not to thrust his tongue down her throat.
Jesus, if only he could write off his response to her as just an overreaction to stimulus—any stimulus—after being locked up. Deprive a healthy young man of female contact for three years, put him in the room with a woman who was attractive and receptive, and what did you expect? Of course his dick was going to get hard.
But that wasn’t the truth, not even close. And for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on—not with every bit of blood dropping from his brain and heading for parts below the waist. He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone in her crazy, inexplicable reaction to someone completely inappropriate. “I wish I could tell you this was all just because I’m desperate and horny, making up for lost time after being locked up.” He slid his palm under the hem of her T-shirt, groaning at the feel of warm, smooth skin. “It would be so much easier if that was all this was.” He cupped a breast and flicked a nipple through the silk of her bra, loving the way it jumped to immediate attention against the pad of his thumb.
“There hasn’t been anyone,” he said between kisses. “I haven’t wanted anyone. I’ve been walking around like I’m dead inside and then you show up.” He couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice, angry at his own lack of control. Like she needed anything more on him, but he couldn’t keep himself from spilling his guts. “All of a sudden all I can think about is how you smell, how you might taste.” He sucked her tongue into his mouth for emphasis. “How soft your skin would feel.” He whipped her shirt over her head and slid his hands down the smooth line of her back, down the curve of her waist and hip.