He cupped her soft flesh, pointing her hardened nipple toward his face. He stroked it over his open lips in a slow, terrible circle.
“This is why, Mandy. A man cannot look at your body without envisioning his hands, his mouth on you.” His cock in you. “It is disrespectful. Of you. Of himself.”
She arched against him as if hungry for more touching. “I cannot control what foolish thoughts men think.”
“We have important work to do. Do you want us distracted beyond all reason, too far gone to help you?”
Mandy wrapped her arms around his neck. “There is only one man I want distracted beyond reason. Only one, Rocco. I will beg if I have to. I am not proud.”
Rocco shifted upward slightly as he smoothed his hand over her cheek. “Forget me, Mandy. We cannot be. Not now.” Perhaps not ever.
“Take me back to bed. Please.”
He lifted her, and carried her to her room. When he set her on the bed, she took hold of his hand before he could pull away.
“Stay with me. I won’t touch you. You need to rest before Kit and his men come. You can avoid sleeping as easily here next to me as you can in that chair in the living room.”
Rocco stroked a finger down her temple. He shook his head. “Good night, Mandy.”
Back in the living room, he sat in the armchair. Alone. The fabric was still heated where her body had been. His skin burned from her touch. Her taste. It would be like this the whole night, he knew-the specter of her nearness as terrible as actually holding her.
Hell. If he were going to burn, it might as well be for the flesh-and-blood woman as for her memory. He took up his cell phone and shotgun, then joined her in the bedroom. “Move over,” he grunted, irritated as much with his weakness as his need.
He settled his shotgun on the floor and set his phone on her nightstand, then lied down on top of the covers. She curled into him, propping a knee on his thigh, her breasts against his ribs, her head on his shoulder.
“Is this you not touching me?” he asked.
“Hm-mm.” She wiggled a bit closer. “It’s already too late, you know. We already are something.”
He reached a hand under her shirt, moving upward to capture her breast. “I know.” And it hurt. Wanting her. Touching her. Leaving her.
Chapter 13
Late the next afternoon, Rocco put away the post-hole jack and the metal stakes he’d pulled from the old fence line. He’d continued with his normal work that day, after they had rearranged things in the basement to make the rooms ready for Kit and his team. George had been released from the hospital but wouldn’t be allowed to return to work for another few days. The construction crew continued as usual. Mandy had worked with Kitano. Despite the shadow that hung over the riding center, she had a schedule to keep and there was still much work to be done.
A black SUV turned up the drive.
Rocco shoved his leather work gloves in a back pocket and picked up his shotgun, watching from inside the toolshed. He expected it was Kit, but wanted to be certain. He couldn’t see inside the vehicle with its dark tinted windows, and that made him nervous.
He didn’t have long to wait, however. Kit jumped out of the driver’s side and hurried around to the passenger door. Rocco shouldered his gun and went to greet them.
“Back off, Kit. I’m not a goddamned toddler,” Blade groused as Kit tried to help him get out of the SUV.
Rocco smiled. Some things never changed. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you needed big, bad Kitten to bring you home,” Rocco teased.
Blade’s piercing gray eyes lifted to Rocco. For a moment, Blade studied him, missing nothing. It was uncanny how he could look at a man like that, peel all his protective layers off, and see the truth of what lay beneath. “You look good, Rocco. Kit had me thinking you’d taken up cutting yourself or some such bullshit.”
“Hell, you know better than to listen to him,” Rocco admonished as he held out a hand. Blade hooked his thumb around Rocco’s and pulled him close for a shoulder bump. “I’m glad you guys are here,” Rocco told them, “but I don’t like it one bit.”
Kit slapped him on the shoulder, then handed him a duffle bag. “Thought you’d keep all the fun to yourself?”
“Something like that. Where’s the team you mentioned?”
“They stopped for dinner at the diner in town. Wanted to make it real obvious that the game had changed.” Kit smiled.
Blade looked at Rocco and grinned. “You’ve heard of the subtle and patented ‘Guns Blazing’ approach?”
Rocco laughed. “You staying here or at your place, Blade?” he asked as he took up another duffle bag.
“Here, for now,” Kit answered for him.
Rocco led them through the front door into Mandy’s house. No sooner had the door closed than Mandy came running from the kitchen.
“Kit!”
“Hi, sis,” Kit said, catching her up as she launched herself at him.
She pushed free and looked up at him, cupping his hard chin in her hands. “Wow. Look at you.”
“What do you mean?” he said with a frown.
“You’re all buff. And you’ve got that flat top. You look scary.”
“I am scary.”
Blade scoffed that off, stealing Mandy’s attention. He stood inside the door, leaning on his cane.
“Hi, Ty,” she greeted him, somewhat cautiously.
“What? No hug for the man who watched after your brother’s ugly hide all these years?”
Mandy smiled and gave him a hug. Watching Blade’s arm wrap around his woman, Rocco felt an unfamiliar tension ratchet up his nerves. He had the absurd drive to rip her out of Blade’s hold-until he caught the look in his friend’s eyes, the look of an orphan at Christmas time. Blade had no one, nothing to go home to. There would be no welcome home dinner for him. No one to weep tears of joy at his return. Rocco knew what that hollowness felt like, for he’d experienced that very thing not too long ago. He met Blade’s gaze and watched him shutter away his emotions.
Blade straightened and looked down at Mandy. “Well, little sister, you sure filled out in all the right places,” he said with a grin.
Rocco made a warning sound. Mandy moved to stand in front of him and leaned back against him.
Kit frowned, glaring at Rocco. “What the hell is this? I sent you to protect my sister, not take advantage of her.”
“Dial it back, Kit.” Rocco pushed Mandy behind him. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”
Kit moved closer, his face dark with anger. “Implying, hell. I’m stating full out. You overstepped yourself.”
“You got an issue with me, then let’s take it outside. ‘Cause, yeah, I got a thing for your sister.”
“A ‘thing?’ What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I care for her.”
“Shit. I care for her, too, Kit,” Blade interjected helpfully, “but you aren’t tearing me apart.”
“Stay out of this, Blade.” Kit was face to face with Rocco now. He was built heavier and had a few inches on Rocco, but such differences mattered little to either of them. “What are your intentions? My sister deserves better than a wham-bam, thank-you ma’am.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kit.” Mandy leaned around Rocco’s arm to speak-he blocked her from coming forward. “I’m not a child, so don’t you two dare have this conversation without me. And what Rocco meant was that we’re still discovering what it is we’re feeling. Don’t crowd us. Now, why don’t you all go wash up? I’ve got dinner ready.”
Blade laughed. He clapped a hand on Kit’s shoulder and steered him toward the bathroom. “Nice going. Would have been better if you two had come to blows, splattered some blood, broken some furniture. Next time, try harder, okay?”
Rocco had forgotten what a smart ass Blade could be. He rolled his shoulders, then followed his two friends. It was going to be interesting having them here.
Dinner was an event Rocco could have passed on. He didn’t like sh
aring the table with Mandy and two other men, despite the fact that one was her brother. Mandy sat opposite Rocco, as she had for many meals. Unbidden, the memory of her sitting before him in her bra, laughing, being serious, being Mandy, popped into his mind-the night he’d driven her to put the brakes on their relationship.
“It’s great that you haven’t changed the place much, Mandy. I can still feel your grandparents here,” Blade said. Rocco narrowed his gaze on the man, trying to read beneath his statement. Blade was an expert in manipulative psychology. He knew, always, what to say and when to get the results he wanted. Exactly what was he after here?
“I didn’t want to make many changes. I liked that homey feeling. It’s as if they’ve just stepped out for a little bit and will be right back.”
Blade smiled at her. Rocco lost his appetite. “Your grandfather was a big influence in my life. He stood strong against my dad. He’s the only one who ever did, I think.”
“What he did for you when you broke your leg, getting you to stretch it out by riding and doing all the different chores he had you do inspired me to go into hippotherapy. I noticed your injury’s in the same leg. I can massage it for you, if you like.”
“Sure. That’d be great.”
“No,” Rocco growled. What the hell was wrong with him? Blade was like a brother to him. Rocco should be glad that Mandy could help him, but all he could think of was her hands on his friend’s thigh.
“I’m a trained physical therapist, Rocco. It’s what I do. Or what I was meant to do, before all of this.” Her voice broke, and it was that thread of emotion that made him relent.
“Then you aren’t doing it alone.”
Blade sighed. “Fine. Rocco can join us, because if he doesn’t, I won’t get the massage. And if Rocco comes, Kit has to as well because he’s too damned curious to be left out.”
Kit frowned as if he were no more pleased about Mandy treating Blade than Rocco was. “We’ve got the other guys coming shortly. Let’s get them settled first. Besides, I need to talk to both of you. Rocco, if you have gear down at the bunkhouse, bring it up here. You can bunk with me.” He looked at his sister and added in a grim voice, “Or Mandy.”
Kit’s phone rang. “Bolanger,” he answered.
“Hello, Mr. Bolanger. Glad to see you arrived safely,” came a smooth voice on the other end.
Kit hit a couple of buttons on his phone, triggering the voice recorder. “Who is this?” he asked, though he knew the answer. Amir Hadad, lieutenant to a powerful Afghan druglord.
“I am disappointed that you don’t recognize me. I know your name, where you live, who your friends are, what your sister is doing. I know so very much about you, yet you know nothing about me.”
“So enlighten me,” Kit urged.
“My name is not important. What really matters is that I am going to destroy your life as you did mine. First, I will kill your friends, who themselves are guilty of heinous war crimes. And then I will terrify your sister, a process that has already begun. Perhaps I shall offer her protection as only a strong and intelligent warrior can-”
“Well, that eliminates you then, Amir” Kit interrupted the man’s diatribe.
“Ah, so you do know me. I will destroy your village, as you did mine,” the man continued, his voice strident. “It is the will of Allah that justice be granted. An eye for an eye. Allah akbar, Mr. Bolanger.” The call ended. Kit stopped the recording.
Kit looked at Rocco and Blade. “Allah akbar, my ass.” He played the call back. “Amir Hadad is here, in town. He’s watching us.”
Mandy gasped. Rocco reached across the table and took hold of her hand. He could feel her trembling and tightened his grip. “Amir started it, but we’ll end it.”
“Mandy, do you mind if I talk to Rocco and Blade for a few minutes? We’ll go outside.”
Reluctantly, she let go of Rocco’s hand. “Not at all. I’ll get some coffee started.”
Rocco and Blade followed Kit as he moved across the porch and walked into the middle of the wide, circular dirt driveway. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looked at the construction site. Rocco glanced at Blade to see if he knew what Kit was up to. His face revealed nothing, which meant he knew exactly what Kit was going to say.
“What’s going on, Kit?”
“I want to talk to you about joining Tremaine Industries.”
Rocco had mixed feelings about Kit’s new endeavor. The Army’s Red Team Program produced assassins-the coldest, deadliest killers in the service or out of it. Going into business with any number of other sociopaths wasn’t something to take lightly. “Who else is in?”
“Blade’s in.”
Rocco looked at his friend. Blade smiled and shrugged. “What can I say? I like guns.”
“You know Max Cameron, Val Parker, and Kelan Shiozski,” Kit continued. Those were names Rocco hadn’t heard in years, guys he’d completed the Red Team training with. “The others finished the program before Blade and me or came after you. You’ll meet them tonight. Tremaine Industries is a sanctioned company that’s well funded and equipped. Their work led them to the group behind Mandy’s problems. Owen Tremaine wants you, too, because while collectively we know several languages, none of us has your linguistic capabilities.”
“I’m done, Kit. I’m fried,” Rocco told him.
“Don’t decide yet. We’ll talk more about it later, with the rest of the guys.” He looked at each of them. “I think it may be the only way to keep Mandy safe. And we’d be able to complete something we left unfinished in Afghanistan.”
Rocco frowned. “What’s that?”
“Take down Abdul Baseer al Jahni and his little flunky, Amir Hadad.”
* * *
Mandy waited with the guys for the rest of Kit’s team to arrive. Rocco was pacing, which heightened her nervousness. She jumped when Kit’s phone rang.
“They’re here,” he said as he went to open the front door. The dogs started barking when the first of the six men crossed the porch. Each of them was carrying large black equipment cases and heavy duffel bags. When they were all in the living room, the space shrank to half its size. Every one of them was tall, wide, and built for fighting. Though they were dressed in civilian clothes, no one could mistake them as anything but warriors.
Three of them came forward right away to greet Rocco. They grabbed hands and bumped shoulders, pounding each other on the arm.
“Damn, it’s good to see you again,” a tall, black-haired warrior said. He had warm, olive-colored skin with dark brown eyes and arching black brows. His high cheekbones gave him the look of an American Indian. “When we didn’t hear from you, Max and I checked in with Kit. Heard you’d taken a long-term assignment in Afghanistan.”
“Yeah, you were under, what, seven years? Sure took you long enough. But you always were the slow kid in class,” said a man who looked like a Viking warrior.
“Slow kid? What the hell, Val? He smoked your ass in training. He smoked all of us,” the third man clustered around Rocco said. He looked like a pirate with the red bandana he’d tied around his head like a skullcap and his bushy beard and moustache. Blue ink covered his arms in a complex pattern that looked Celtic.
Val grinned. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He paused and gave Rocco a searching look. “You are okay, aren’t you? You look like hell.”
Rocco shook his head and gave them a sheepish grin. “Never could hide anything from you.”
Mandy reached over and slipped her hand into Rocco’s. One by one, the men became aware of her. It was unnerving having all nine of them turn their focus on her. Rocco wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She felt an odd thrill at the thought that he was staking a claim.
Kit glared at him, still unreconciled to the fact that they were together. He made the introductions. “This is my sister, Mandy Fielding and that’s Rocco Silas,” he said for the benefit of the men who hadn’t yet met Rocco. “You guys know Blade. We’ll go around the room.” He thrust a thumb toward the ma
n leaning against the wall. “That’s Owen Tremaine, founder of Tremaine Industries.” His light, blond hair was shaggy and had a slight curl to it. His tan face was weathered and clean-shaven. The fine lines about his ice-blue eyes told a story his mouth would never reveal. His cold gaze met Rocco’s for a long, assessing look before he glanced at Mandy and nodded.
“Mandy, that’s Max Cameron, Tremaine Industries’ systems expert,” Kit said as he indicated the man with the bandana. Shadows darkened his hazel eyes as if he’d seen more of life than he’d wanted to. He looked like a knot of energy. Mandy wondered how he could sit still and be focused enough to be their tech guy.
Next, Kit nodded to the man whose rich butterscotch hair fell in waves from his forehead-the Viking warrior in the trio who’d greeted Rocco. Thick brows framed Caribbean blue eyes. A trim beard and moustache wrapped around his mouth in a way that didn’t quite obscure his dimples. “That’s Valentino Parker, sniper extraordinaire.”
Kit gestured toward a man who appeared to be Puerto Rican, with warm mocha skin and black eyes. “Angel Cordova, Tremaine’s engineer and demolitions expert.” He was built like a wrestler, with arms as wide as her thighs. He had a great square jaw, a mobile mouth with large, white teeth. His hair was thick and wavy, shaved close to his head.
“Kelan Shiozski,” Kit continued, pointing to the next man. “He can move like a shadow,” he told Mandy. Kelan, the third member of the trio around Rocco, had inky, black hair that was straight and fell to his shoulders. He looked like a tribal warrior from long ago.
“Greer Dawson is a systems guy, too.” Greer looked like an all-American suburban athlete, lean and clean-shaven with silky brown hair that curled about his ears. Thick brown brows arched over whiskey-colored eyes.
Mandy looked at each of them as he was introduced. She tried to associate each name with a face, but feared she’d get it scrambled for a while. She’d never seen such a large group of fierce men. She did notice that, except for Owen, each of the other men had acknowledged Rocco with a demeanor that was neither assessing nor judgmental. He was one of them-nothing more needed to be said.
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