Target of One's Own

by M. L. Buchman

  Cars.

  “I’ll prove you can’t catch me.”

  Instead of a grimace, he raised his eyebrows.

  “You take the Citroën.” She’d still beat him even if she drove the Renault. She crossed to the Citroën to fetch her helmet and jacket.

  “You got a red outfit to wear with the Renault? Not sure it’s legal for you to drive it if you don’t.” There was something sly in his voice. Teasing her about her suitcase? Teasing her at all? That would be an absolute first for him.

  In answer, she grabbed her shirt’s zipper at her throat and tugged it down far enough to expose the front strap of her bright red bra. She’d long since learned that even being lightly built, a girl needed support when off-road racing.

  “Is that red enough?”

  Luke’s eyes went dark. He didn’t move an inch as she made a show of putting on her jacket and zipping it all of the way up without zipping up her shirt first. He hadn’t moved when she’d donned her sunglasses and helmet.

  It was the first time she’d ever gotten a “male” reaction out of him and it felt like someone had just kicked on her body’s turbocharger. Chance had led her hand to grabbing the red bra when she was changing. Which had left her wondering just how desperate she was to get Christian to lend them his cars.

  Enough to…?

  No! She’d decided that before she’d even returned to the garage. Even pretending just wasn’t going to happen. But to have it work so well on Luke Altman—the unmarried SEAL Lieutenant Commander Luke Altman—that was a different matter entirely.

  She stepped around him, climbed into the Renault, and fired off the engine. Plucking Luke’s helmet off the seat, she held it out to him. He took it autonomically but made no move to put it on.

  “You got to catch me to get the prize.” By which time she hoped that she knew if she wanted him to.

  “I—”

  She never heard “I—” what because she gunned the engine and popped the clutch.

  In the rearview she could see him trying to bat the sand she’d sprayed off his face and out of his hair.

  Luke spit out more sand as he yanked on his helmet and jumped into the Citroën. By the time he’d strapped in, she was a kilometer down the beach—well clear of the fishing boats and accelerating hard.

  The shore lay south-southwest, almost straight into the sun. And there was a tiny shining star redder than Mercury far down the beach. He’d be damned if he didn’t catch it.

  To hell with behaving. Most of the fishing fleet had pushed back out to sea while they ate…much of the beach emptying. He opened up the Citroën.

  “Come on, baby. Show me what you can do!”

  And the car leapt. They were twenty klicks down the beach before he caught up with her. The Citroën was awesomely powerful. Though catching up to DeMille had seemed a little too easy as if she’d been waiting for—

  DeMille slashed up the beach. The tide had come in, so the beach was narrower and all the sand they had to run on was soft. What was she up to this time?

  She started carving S-turns in front of him, up and down the beach. Soon, he was enveloped in a cloud of dust and had to slow to make sure he didn’t end up in the ocean or wrapped around a baobab. When he finally broke through into clear air, DeMille was again well down the beach.

  “Gonna play hard to get, DeMille? Well, two can play at that game.”

  This time he waited for a long straight stretch that he could see was clear before he attacked. He jounced and rocketed over the lumpy sand, carved by wind and water into knee-high humped dunes. The car was jumping every other one.

  Launch…slam! Launch…slam!

  He hoped he wasn’t about to shatter the car. That would piss Christian off but good.

  Luke was almost upon her. Close enough to imagine that he could feel the heat of her. Smell her over the Senegal sea and iron dust. Could almost touch—

  And she jolted ahead.

  She’d been holding a gear in reserve. Now she was taking the dunes in groups of three. He tried, but he couldn’t get the Citroën to fly the way she was lofting the Renault.

  No, she wasn’t lofting it. She was racing low and fast, as if she’d found the flow of running up the steps and now he was the one who was clumsy like some midshipman jouncing up a ship’s ladder.

  How?

  He tried changing gears and engine power.

  No better.

  Then he remembered something Christian had said about the suspension. He angled across the dune tops ever so slightly. Not a big obvious zig-zag as she’d done earlier to raise the dust cloud, but an angular attack, up and down the beach. The ride smoothed out and he began keeping pace with her.

  Now that he thought of it, he saw that Zoe was doing the same.

  Damn but she was incredible, hurling three tons of racing machine over rough ground at two hundred kilometers an hour.

  He managed to pull even, but he couldn’t get by her. He knew that she was toying with him, but he wasn’t going to let her get away with it this time.

  For twenty kilometers neither of them could get more than a few meters of advantage. Waves breaking in a white blur to the right. Palm trees close on the left, but the bright sun far enough into afternoon to pound relentlessly against the car. No sound but the engine’s roar. No feeling except the twitching of the wheel in his hand and the impact of tires on sand transmitted to his butt.

  Ahead by a nose, the length of the front end…

  Then catching a bad patch of sand, and suddenly he was staring at her rear bumper, again clawing to keep up.

  He was just about to—

  Zoe cut over hard in front of his nose. She didn’t clip him, but it was a close thing.

  His rear end broke free—she’d forced him to brake at a bad moment on a swell of sand, and probably knew that. It took everything he had not to roll or flip. Dumping speed. Handbrake on, then back off. Down two gears and gun it while counter-steering.

  The dust and sand was a cloud around him as he finally spun end for end. Running backward down the beach for a moment, then snapping around to aim forward once more.

  Finally back under control, he prepared to gun after her. Paybacks were gonna be hell.

  Except she wasn’t down the beach.

  Instead, she’d parked the Renault sideways across the sand like a road block.

  DeMille simply sat at the wheel, looking at him out the side window.

  He rolled up until his front bumper stopped a single meter from her door.

  Never in his life had he needed a woman the way he needed Zoe DeMille. Not Marva. Not the head cheerleader who’d taken his cherry at sixteen—Susan? Cindy? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

  He needed DeMille.

  But still neither of them moved.

  They finally shut off their engines at the same moment.

  Shed helmets.

  Stepped out onto the hot sand.

  Closed car doors.

  Zoe didn’t move away from the Renault, outlined in yellow against the red.

  He couldn’t stop moving.

  12

  Zoe couldn’t move. Pinned in place by…what?

  Not like the shocked disbelief that such a thing couldn’t be happening, like so long ago.

  Simply unable to set her body into motion. It waited for something. Waited somewhere outside her control. All she managed was to remain standing.

  Luke didn’t hesitate. By some superhuman strength, he approached her. Not puzzled by her inaction. Not even hesitant.

  He stepped to her and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Lifted her and placed her back against the driver’s door. His hand scooped her butt as her legs wound about his hips of their own accord.

  She groaned as she tightened her legs to pull them closer together.

  This was what she needed. She needed a man. It had been a long time and she needed him so badly that it actually hurt. Zoe needed someone to want her. One who saw her. Who…

  H
is kiss seared thoughts out of her brain faster than the heat of the afternoon sun. His heat reflected her own as she clung and held and bit and beat her fists against his shoulders.

  There was no undressing. No time for that.

  No pause allowed in this race. Too much need.

  He pushed against her, pressing hard between her legs exactly where she needed him. Their first time was going to be fully clothed.

  Luke drove against her. Slammed her back harder against the car as he raked his teeth down the side of her throat.

  Against the car.

  The…car!

  All she could remember was the car against her back, her own helplessness, and—

  Zoe screamed!

  It ripped out of her.

  Her body’s uncontrolled flailing found a target.

  She doubled her fists together and slammed them at her attacker. She heard a grunt of pain.

  Again, fists joined and raised.

  Slam down!

  Something caught her fists before they found their target. She fought. She squirmed.

  Her body was still pinned to the car.

  The car!

  She couldn’t escape. She couldn’t free her arms. Couldn’t free her body.

  Her knife. If only she could reach her knife, she could—

  But her hands were trapped. She couldn’t break free. Couldn’t—

  “DeMille! Stop!”

  She screamed again, but there was no help. No one to save her.

  No one on the lonely stretch of empty beach.

  No one to—

  Beach?

  She was on a beach?

  The next cry caught in her throat.

  Not in a dark garage that reeked of motor oil and grease?

  Pinned against a car by…

  “Luke?”

  “Welcome back,” his voice was no more than a low growl.

  “Let me go,” Zoe couldn’t catch her breath. Each attempt stuck in her throat. A throat that hurt as if she’d screamed until… “Please let me go,” the helpless pleading tone hurt almost as much as the scream had.

  Luke eased back, lowering her to stand on the sand. The last thing he released was her hands—he’d caught her joined fists easily in one mighty hand.

  When he finally released her, her knees let go and she slid the rest of way to the sand. Pulling up her knees, she buried her face against them.

  After a long moment, she heard Luke slide down to sit with his back against the car too, but she couldn’t look at him.

  “What happened?” Why did she even ask? She remembered, but wished she didn’t. Maybe Luke would be kind and not answer the question. She felt unaccountably chilled in the shadow of the car despite the hot afternoon and the scorching sand.

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  She could, but it would kill her to open the door on that piece of her past. All she could do was shake her head. She barely knew Luke, and there were places she wasn’t ready to go with anyone, especially not some SEAL Team 6 superhero.

  Luke remained silent for a long time. Long enough that she was afraid she was going to have to speak first. Even if she couldn’t look up at him. Even if she couldn’t face…

  “I’m guessing there’s someone I need to kill. Very slowly and very painfully.”

  That forced her to look up at him.

  He was staring at the Citroën’s front end, parked just out of reach, not at her. His jaw was set in a grim line. There was already a bruise forming on his chin and cheek.

  Had she— Yes, she’d done that.

  “Who?” Luke’s voice was still rough with anger when he asked.

  “He’s already dead.”

  “Do I tell you Well done?”

  She shook her head. “Dead, though not my doing.”

  “You do this thing every time?”

  Again she could only shake her head. “First time ever.”

  “Well, ain’t I the lucky guy.”

  She buried her face back on her knees. For one glorious moment, she’d had exactly what she wanted. Exactly what her body craved. And then— He was never going to touch her again; not unless he was a total idiot. Lieutenant commander wasn’t a rank awarded to idiots. At least not very often and never in SEAL Team 6.

  “I’m not pissed at you, Zoe.”

  “No. Don’t call me that,” she held her knees tighter. “You’ve never called me by my first name before.”

  “Considering what I was about to do to you, using your first name seems about right.”

  “Screw my brains out?”

  “Yeah,” Luke sounded pretty grumpy about not getting to do that. Or maybe embarrassed at having seen more than she’d ever shown anyone.

  “I was looking forward to that, too.”

  “Then…why?” There were a lot of long pauses when talking with Luke. She supposed that she’d rarely left him big enough gaps to speak. Not that he used all that many words even around the long pauses.

  “The car. Being pressed up against—” she shuddered.

  Luke grunted.

  “It felt…amazing.” Now she was doing the pause thing.

  “For about six seconds.”

  “You were counting?”

  “Not likely.” His soft chuckle actually made her feel a tiny bit better about the whole disastrous mess.

  “Do you still want to…?” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t believe that he was even here beside her still. That he hadn’t simply driven away in disgust.

  “What? An apology fuck for trying to crack my jaw?” It was purpling more brightly with each passing moment.

  “No. I mean…” No, it was too humiliating to ask. “Never mind. Maybe we should just drive back to Dakar and pretend none of this ever happened.”

  “Zoe… DeMille… Shit! Whoever you are, you dizzy broad. Yes I want to. I’m not the sort who is going to hold a rape against a woman. I only hold it against the bastard who deserved to die.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  Luke dug his hands through the sand for a bit before answering. “Better explain yourself then. I’m just a local boy from the Maine woods, not some New Age, sensitive hipster-type.” That almost earned him a smile, but she couldn’t quite find it yet.

  “How can you want me after I…” she nodded behind her toward the car. The car where he’d almost done exactly what she’d wanted before she’d totally lost it.

  Luke rose to his feet and held out a hand. He helped her to her feet, but didn’t let go of her hand.

  “DeMille—no, to hell with that. Zoe, when you’re ready, I’m your man. Yeah, the heat right then was pretty hot. But you’re my favorite fantasy of the moment.” He shrugged. “Kind of sounds like shit coming out that way, but it’s true.”

  “I’m your fantasy? Despite being a screwed up mess?”

  He shrugged a yes.

  A superhero, Special Operations Forces SEAL wanted…her? More than the heat of the moment? That was certainly unexpected.

  The slutty part of herself, the one she’d tried to leave behind with the Huckfest truck jumpers, wanted to jump Luke right here and now. Ten years ago she’d buried that desperate girl, even holding a ceremony out in the dunes and burning that damned photo that just happened to include every single guy she’d fucked during that year’s event.

  The sensible military girl knew that guys like Luke Altman weren’t for women like her. He should be with…

  “What happened with you and Sofia?” She regretted the question the moment she asked it.

  Luke offered her a half smile. As if he could see everything behind her question. The nerves about her own slender and short physique. Wanting to have sex with the man who’d already slept with her commander. Being so much less of a woman that—

  “Nothing,” Luke interrupted the crazed stream of her thoughts.

  “What?” Is that how he treated women? Insipient rage was blasting the last of the fear out of her system. “You can ca
ll doing it with her nothing?”

  “No, I mean literally nothing. It was weird. Drinks. A little talk. I even liked her by that point. Not just her body.”

  “Which looks awesome,” And so unlike her own.

  “Which looks awesome,” Luke agreed without the least hint of embarrassment.

  She couldn’t believe she was discussing her commander’s body with a man who had just said he wanted to make love to her. Was she trying to talk him out of it? No, even she wasn’t that stupid about men.

  “Wasn’t enough. Should have been.” He looked out to sea for a long moment, then shook his head. “It wasn’t. We even tried a kiss, but…” Luke shrugged as if he talked about women with other women all the time. “It wasn’t like kissing my sister or anything weird, it was just…nothing.”

  “Did I mention that you’re an asshole?”

  His smile slowly reappeared as he looked down at her once more. “You might have.”

  “Asshole.” She went up on her toes and kissed his unbattered cheek.

  Not once since he’d helped her to her feet had he let go of her hand. Maybe having sex with Luke wouldn’t be slutty, because she didn’t want a man between her legs—she wanted this man between her legs.

  Luke scanned the beach for potential threats as he constantly had during the drive to Saint-Louis. On the drive back he’d had other things on his mind.

  Miles of empty in both directions. Christian had said that that the nearest road here was four or five klicks back into the bush. The only living things that came here would be the seagulls and the occasional rally car. There weren’t even any of the former at the moment.

  Just the two of them, the sea, and a whole lot of sunshine. He hadn’t wanted Sofia Gracie, but something about Zoe was electrifying his body. And he didn’t think it was just the idyllic setting.

  He turned back to face her at the unzipping sound.

  Zoe shrugged out of the jacket. Then, without looking away from him, did the same with the blouse and finally the red bra.

  He knew he should move. Knew this was his cue. But all he could do was look at her. She was strangely perfect. Her small size had nothing to do with the size of the person inside the body. Moments ago she’d had a panic attack. And now she was… Or was she?