by Mandy Baxter
“My shift’s over in a half hour.” She leaned a hip on his table and flashed him a million-watt smile. “Maybe we could go get a coffee?”
He could do it. He could take the eager cocktail waitress back to his place. Let her try to make him forget the damned hollow ache that was eating him alive. She seemed up for it, giving him some serious fuck-me eyes....
“I think I’m going to have to pass. Sorry.”
Disappointment darkened her expression. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’ll be back with your drink in a sec.”
As Landon drained his glass in a few gulps, he regretted his decision not to ask for the bottle. The mellow buzz relaxed him, but it wasn’t delivering the full-body numbness he was looking for. How was it possible to hurt this damned bad and not die from it? For a month he’d been a useless heap. A zombie simply going through the motions, pretending to be alive. Inside, he was as lifeless as a corpse.
Emma was ever present in his mind. The memory of her a sweet torture that he refused to let go of. He knew how witness protection worked. Emma Ruiz was dead. For good. The Marshals Service would keep her identity and whereabouts buried for as long as it took the feds to wrap up their case to take down Sousa’s operation. For weeks, Landon had been calling in favors, skirting the rules, flirting with the line that, once crossed, would get him good and fired. All in an effort to find her.
Emma Ruiz truly was a ghost....
“Is this seat taken?”
Landon froze, the voice too familiar to be real. He refused to look up, to suffer the disappointment of seeing his waitress standing above him while his mind played cruel tricks on him. And yet, his body betrayed him, shaking with the need to see her face, to confirm that he was once and for all losing his grip on reality.
His breath sped in his chest, the familiar adrenaline barreling through his veins like fire down a tunnel. Slowly, he turned his head, fearful to hope and at the same time praying for a miracle. He dragged his gaze from the floor up, tracing the curves of her hips, narrow waist, and petite frame. His eyes met the endless brown depths of hers, and he scrubbed a hand over his face as he stared in disbelief.
Standing before him—so close he could touch—was the most beautiful ghost Landon had ever laid eyes on.
“You look like you could use some company.” Her lips curled into a sweet, mischievous smile, and she held out her hand. “I’m Alessandra Batista. Well, for at least a couple more days, anyway. But you can call me Alex.”
She might have been “Alex” to the world now, but she’d only ever be Emma to him. God, how he’d missed that smile. It lit her entire face with a moonlight glow that held him helplessly in orbit. Landon pushed his chair out from the table, wobbling a little on his feet as he gained his balance. Without a word, he took her into his arms and kissed her for all he was worth. If this turned out to be some sort of drunken delusion, he wanted to be damned sure he got everything he could out of it before he sobered up and came to his senses.
“Well,” Emma breathed as he pulled away, “I should go away more often if I’m going to get a greeting like that when I come back.”
Landon cupped her face in his hands and drank in every beautiful detail, committing each to memory. Not that he wasn’t fucking ecstatic to see her, but WITSEC wasn’t exactly easy to break out of. Then again, he wouldn’t put anything past Emma. She took determination to an entirely new level. Her wide smile didn’t falter as she took Landon’s hand in hers and slid into the booth. How she even managed to move was a mystery to him because his fucking legs had gone numb the second he’d laid eyes on her.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless, McCabe.” He settled down beside her, his mouth still hanging open like the hinges of his jaw were broken. “I’ve got to say, I feel sort of powerful, having the upper hand on you.”
Landon shook himself from the stupor that had settled on him. The whiskey probably wasn’t helping his reaction time, either. “What are you doing here? How?”
“You should know me well enough by now to realize that when I want something, I go after it.” She laughed. “Oh, Crawford says hi, by the way.”
“He knows you’re here?” Jesus, he couldn’t articulate for shit. He had the urge to pinch himself—you know, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Emma was here. Sitting beside him. Jesus.
She quirked a brow. “You must not pay very close attention at work. Does your supervisor know about your attention deficit disorder?”
He couldn’t even wrap his head around what he was seeing, and she was making jokes. Talk about a role reversal. “I haven’t been back to work yet,” he replied. “Tomorrow’s my first day.”
Emma’s brow furrowed and she reached out to lay a gentle hand on Landon’s torso. The heat of her palm soaked through Landon’s shirt over the place where he’d been shot. “I was so worried about you.” Her words were nothing more than a whisper. “Are you okay?”
“I am now.” His own voice caught in his throat. “But seriously, Emma. What are you doing here? It’s not safe—”
“You marshals,” she interrupted. “All so high-handed.”
“Emma.”
“Landon,” she teased.
Now wasn’t the time for jokes. If she was recognized, word could get back to Sousa’s organization. The guy might be in a cell somewhere, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still order someone to kill her. He gave her a look and she sighed. “Fine. But for the record, you’re no fun when you’re all growly and concerned.”
No shit. His tension level had jacked up into the stratosphere. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sure you’ll get the whole story tomorrow, but in a nutshell, since the rest of Sousa’s associates have been rounded up, the investigation is winding down. Crawford wanted me to stay in Witness Security for the duration of the trial, but I refused. I’m not going to hide and put my life on hold because of Sousa or whatever threat he might present. I’m not an innocent victim, I willingly inserted myself into this situation, and I’m not going to waste taxpayer money and hide out for the rest of my life. I’m not any safer as Alex Batista than I am as Emma Ruiz and the Marshals Service knows that. I could be recognized anywhere at any time. I’m not going to hide anymore, Landon. I won’t. I want my life back.”
Fire and steel. Those two words described Emma to a tee. “And you’re not even a little worried?” As though he had to ask.
“Not in the slightest.” She reached out and brushed her fingers across his jaw. “Besides, everyone knows that the best marshals work in Portland. . . which is where I’ve decided to settle down. I know one in particular who’s earned a reputation for protecting stubborn women with a penchant for computer hacking.”
Landon captured her hand in his and brought it to his lips. He’d kill any one of Sousa’s buddies who thought to do Emma harm.
Her dark eyes became hooded when his lips touched her skin, and a thrill shot through Landon’s veins. He’d never get enough of her. Ever.
“So,” Emma said, her dark eyes sparkling. “Are you done drinking for the night so we can get out of here?”
She didn’t have to ask him twice. “My place?”
“Perfect.”
Emma smiled into the pillow as Landon placed featherlight kisses across her bare shoulder and down her spine. A month apart felt more like years, and Emma had made every threat possible—including refusing to cooperate and hacking into a few government servers—until the feds and the U.S. Marshals Service had agreed to relocate her from Connecticut to Portland while they transitioned her out of witness protection. It wasn’t exactly a small feat to bring someone back from the dead. The feds had argued that until an official press conference could be held, it was best for her to stay off the radar, which was fine by her. She’d stay holed up in Landon’s apartment for the next week if he’d let her. And once everything was set right, they promised to fly her dad to Portland as well. Finally, after so many weeks of h
eartache, Emma’s world spun straight on its axis. Life couldn’t get much better than this.
“I’m going to have you in the shower and lick the water off your breasts,” Landon murmured against her skin. “And then I’ll lay you out on my dining room table and feast on you like you’re my last meal.”
“Landon,” Emma chided. “That’s hardly sanitary.”
“Shhh.” His breath on her bare skin sent a thrill through Emma’s body and goose bumps rose on her flesh. “After that, I’m going to set you on my lap right on my living room couch and fuck you so slow that it takes you hours to come.”
“Well.” Emma’s breath stalled with his heated words. “That certainly sounds like a good use of our time.”
“And when we’re done there, I’ll take you up against my bedroom wall. Hard.”
His erection brushed her backside, as smooth and hard as polished marble. Emma arched her back, rocking into him and Landon hissed in a breath as his teeth grazed her shoulder. “And after that?” His erotic talk nearly had her out of her mind with desire. They’d been at it for hours already and it still wasn’t enough to sate them. They were as bad as a couple of addicts, not knowing when to stop. That was the thing, though. Emma didn’t think she’d ever get enough of Landon.
“After that . . .” His voice was a sensual growl that made Emma’s abdomen clench tight as a warm rush spread between her thighs. “We’ll start right back here, in this bed, and I’ll tease you with my mouth and fingers until neither one of us can wait another second.”
“So you can tell me the thirty or so ways you want to fuck me—in wonderful detail, I might add—but can you come up with a few words to tell me how you feel about me?”
Funny that this was the question she was almost too afraid to ask. There was no doubt that Landon wanted her. He’d made himself crystal clear on that front. But were his feelings for her only physical? An intense chemical reaction and nothing more? She’d fought so hard to get here, back to him. Emma needed to know that all of it had been worth the risk.
The heat of his body left her as Landon pushed himself up and away. Cold fingers of dread speared her heart as she prepared for the worst. Damn it, Emma. It’s too soon to ask him that question. You’re going to scare him away.
He gently rolled her onto her back and Emma averted her gaze, unable to look into his face while he said words she didn’t think she could bear to hear. Her body betrayed her as Landon settled himself between her thighs, sliding into her slowly as he filled her completely.
“Emma, look at me.”
She couldn’t. The pain of loving someone who might not love you back was debilitating. And still she wanted him. Craved him. Needed him deep inside of her the way he was now. Landon urged his hips against hers, and a tortured moan escaped Emma’s lips. It was heaven and hell all at once, a purgatory she’d gladly suffer for as long as he wanted her to.
“Emma. Look at me,” he repeated.
She finally met his gaze only to find, shining in his blue eyes, a depth of emotion that was so intense it caused her heart to stutter in her chest. Landon braced his elbows on either side of her and smoothed her hair away from her face with both hands. “I love you. Whether you’re Emma Ruiz or Alex Batista, or even Gertrude Flatzengraf. I love you so much that I don’t think I can take another breath unless you’re here to give me air to breathe. The past month without you almost destroyed me. I can’t live without you, Emma. I love every stubborn, clever, protective, fiery, beautiful, SportsCenter-loving inch of you. And I’ll tell you every minute of every day if I have to until you know without a doubt that I love you and I that won’t ever love anyone else as long as I live. Is that descriptive enough for you?”
Moisture stung at Emma’s eyes and there was nothing she could do to stop the happy flow. A tear spilled over and trickled down her face as she laughed quietly at her own sentimental foolishness. “I love you, Landon,” she said. “In all the ways that you said and more. I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you and I hope you plan on living for a long damned time because you’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”
“It’s the badge, isn’t it?” he teased. “The ladies love the badge.”
Emma leaned up to kiss him, the gentle rhythm of her hips matching his as he thrust inside of her again and again. With their bodies joined, and now their hearts as well, she knew that nothing would come between them ever again. Her life had changed for the better. She’d been reborn and this new life would be filled with love and hold none of the loneliness of her previous one.
“It might be about the badge. A little,” she said against his mouth. “Now, about that shower . . .”
Keep reading for an excerpt from
the next installment of the
U.S. Marshals series,
ONE TOUCH MORE,
available in November 2015 from
Mandy Baxter
and
Kensington Books!
As usual, his give-and-take with Dr. Meyers had earned Damien a pat on the head and the privilege of being allowed to resume his undercover work. Unfortunately, if he’d known Bill Crawford—the SOG director for the Pacific Northwest—was going to ship him off to Boise, Idaho, he might have saved himself the trouble and just taken the desk job. As far as assignments went, he reminded himself, it could always be worse.
For the past year, the U.S. Marshals Service’s Fugitive Task Force had been hunting Gerald Lightfoot, a heavy hitter who’d managed to slip federal custody before they could slap his ass in the nearest supermax. A veteran of the drug trade, Lightfoot had a finger in everything from weed to heroin, and word was that he was now operating his syndicate in the United States from somewhere in Russia. By using the waterways, he’d been smuggling product down into the port of Seattle and distributing throughout the Pacific Northwest and California. His most recent specialty was a synthetic that was going by the street name of Stardust because of its glittery physical properties and because its ability to give the user a quick high was likened to being shot up into space. It had shown up in Idaho a few months back. Sales were quickly gaining traction and had grabbed the attention of the USMS only after several teens had died. The Boise PD had assigned a special task force to stop the flow of Stardust into the city, but they couldn’t keep up with the suppliers and dealers. Bastards got craftier every fucking month.
It was a revolving operation, never staying in the same place for more than a month or two. Seattle, Portland, Spokane, and now Boise. The task force figured that they only had a window of about four weeks to nail Lightfoot’s contact here before he pulled his product and moved on to the next city. The distributor in Boise was the key to finding Lightfoot, and had become the Fugitive Task Force’s number-one priority.
Damien had been brought in to work the chain from the bottom up. First, locate the dealers, then hook up with Lightfoot’s distributor. With such a tight time frame, he didn’t have long to lay the groundwork.
“Hi! Are you checking in tonight?”
Damien looked up at the sound of the chipper voice and his brain went abso-freaking-lutely blank. The woman behind the counter gave him a wide smile as she tucked a section of her short hair behind her ear. Wide, blue eyes the color of a deep mountain lake stared back at him, fringed with dark lashes that made the blue that much brighter. He towered over her, yet he sensed in her a confidence that was far larger than her petite frame. And that smile . . . holy shit. It was the sort of expression that skirted flirtatious and made his chest hitch.
“Yeah,” he responded with a smile of his own. “I’m early though, so if you can’t check me in yet, it’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Can I get your name?”
“Damien Evans.”
Her voice rippled over him, smooth and sweet as whipped cream. He checked her name tag—Tabitha—and noted that she was also the assistant manager. She might be helpful later down the line, especially if this place did in
fact turn out to be one of the hotels that Lightfoot’s man was dealing from. Managers spent more time at the hotel than anyone, plus they made it their business to know the regular guests.
“Okay . . .” Tabitha scanned the computer screen and puckered her lips in concentration. Damien found the act entirely too distracting, his gaze locked on the dark pink flesh that looked as soft as flower petals. “Looks like you requested a room on the top floor. Is that still okay?”
“Yep.” A bird’s-eye view would help him to notice anything out of the ordinary in the parking lot or street.
“And you also requested a room facing the parking lot?” She cocked a brow and gave him a wry smile. “I have to admit, that’s a first.”
He smiled back, couldn’t help himself. Damien wasn’t exactly a playful guy. Gruff described him to a tee. But he found that he wanted to try, for the first time in what felt like forever, to be a little flirtatious back. “Would you believe me if I told you I was a writer for Parking Lot Monthly and this place made my top ten list for spacious parking spaces?”
Her laughter was infectious and it tingled down Damien’s spine in a warm rush. “You know, our guests comment all the time that our parking spaces are extra roomy.”
“It’s all in the lot design,” Damien agreed.
“Totally.” Their eyes met and Damien swore the air sizzled between them. “Okay, well, here are your keys.” Tabitha tucked two plastic cards into an envelope and slid them across the counter to him. “And I need to swipe your credit card. You won’t be charged until you check out.”
“No problem.” Damien pulled the Visa that he used for undercover operations from his wallet and handed it to her. She swiped the card in the machine and handed it back.
“I have you down for seven days and if you need to extend or shorten your stay, just let me know.”
“Sounds good.” Damien tucked the card back into his wallet and retrieved the large duffel with his clothes.