by Misty Evans
In the adjacent bathroom, he heard the shower start. Her voice called to him over the noise, “What do you want for breakfast?”
The image of Lucie, warm and wet under the hot water, made his body harden. “You,” he answered.
She laughed. “You like eggs, yes? I brought bacon, too.”
Who would’ve thought he’d still be here, talking about something as ordinary as what to have for breakfast? All night they’d talked and laughed and fucked, that same easiness between them that John had never felt with another woman.
An easiness that scared him.
Yet, here he was, discussing breakfast options. Outside, his truck sat in a bed of snow. It would take an hour to unbury it, clear off the drive. Meanwhile, the storm raged, daring him to try. But it was nothing compared to the storm inside his heart.
A smart man would hightail it to the shower, grab the soap, and wash her back and all those other body parts he loved so much. A smart man would go cook the eggs and bacon and work hard to make her laugh again.
But then, a smart man would enjoy the way she looked at him all the time with her heart in her eyes. Those beautiful, emotion-filled eyes…she was hungry for love, not just sex, and while he’d pretended it didn’t matter, it did.
Shit. Why was he still here?
Because once I had her in front of me again, once I tasted her lips and heard those words—John, I need you—I couldn’t let her go. I couldn’t leave.
Not this time.
Running away was for pussies. In the line of duty, he’d never run from anything. In his private life, it was just the opposite. He was tired of running from people, from his own fucking emotions. Maybe with Lucie he didn’t have to.
Home.
He glanced at the truck again. The freedom it offered suddenly didn’t appeal.
Wandering over to the open bathroom door, he took a deep breath. Leaned on the jamb. He didn’t have to leave. He could stay, explore this thing—whatever it was—with Lucie, and not panic.
“Eggs and bacon would be perfect,” he said, watching her through the frosted glass. Ordinary conversation the morning after. A first for him. He liked it.
“I’ll make some scones, too,” she said, washing her hair. She leaned back into the water stream, her breasts on glorious display behind the glass.
John’s cock twitched, but he stayed rooted where he was, forcing himself to soak in this ordinary, mundane moment of “normal.” The type of normal he’d never had.
Was this what Lawson had with Zara?
John’s chest still felt tight, and the itch to leave lingered under his skin, but normal wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. In fact, he felt…content.
Huh. Another first.
Lost in his thoughts, he was surprised when the shower shut off. Lucie opened the door, grabbed a towel, and stepped out. When she saw his face, her brows knit into a frown. “If you don’t like scones, I’ll make toast.”
“Um…sure.” He tried to concentrate on the breakfast selection, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to freeze this moment. “Lucie?”
She toweled her wet hair, the frown dissipating. “Yes?”
Standing still, he just stared at her, trying to work out what he’d been thinking. Wanting to tell her that he was staying, that he hoped to stay longer than breakfast. Longer, maybe, than the weekend.
He started to speak, stopped. Tell her.
Wrapping the towel around her body, she noticed his struggle, and her eyes grew wary. “What is it?”
His jaw clamped tight as a vise, refusing to let the words out.
She stepped toward him. “Ça va? Are you okay?”
Backing up, he shook his head. No, he wasn’t fucking okay. A knot had formed in his chest. He was stupid, foolish.
Scared.
Don’t be a pussy.
“I’m… I want to…” Jesus. What was wrong with him?
Her face fell, the light in her eyes dimming. “You are leaving then? Before breakfast?”
The hurt in her voice was too much. Way too much. They’d been here before—him bailing—so what else did she expect? He turned, faced the wall, wanting to put his fist in it.
This was why he couldn’t do relationships. Not all the other bullshit he told himself. It wasn’t his job or the fact he could be killed on any of his missions and leave behind a family. He was broken inside. Something wasn’t right. Other people knew how to handle emotions, knew how to tell another person they loved and cared about them. He didn’t.
Lucie came up behind him. “It’s okay. I understand.”
“Just…” Shit, she thought he was leaving again. He had to find the words. Whatever it took. “Give me a second, Luce. I’m okay. I just need a fucking second.”
She had to be so confused, God knew he was, but she simply wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his bare shoulder. “You can have all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Not going anywhere. No more running.
Turning in her arms, John grabbed her face and covered her mouth with his. Once more, he felt her acceptance, her understanding. He needed to convey what he felt, not with words, but with actions.
Her mouth was warm and soft, letting him take control. His hands went to the edge of the towel, and as his lips worked her mouth, his fingers slipped the towel free, sending it to the floor.
Breaking the kiss, he spoke against her lips. “I need you, Lucie.”
A heartbeat of silence. “You’re not leaving?”
Taking her face in his hands again, he simply shook his head. Then he went back to kissing her, devouring her, teasing his way into her mouth.
Her hands skimmed his chest, one dropping down to tickle the waistband of his sweatpants and delving inside. It fisted around his hard cock and he moaned, kissing her deeper and nearly laughing with relief as the crazy lust flared between them like always.
He would talk to her. After breakfast. He’d tell her he wanted to try and make something out of this. Something more than sex and a weekend fling. He would…just not right now.
Right now, he had a woman to please, and hours and hours of uninterrupted time in which to do it.
Chapter Five
Lucie woke in John’s arms and reveled in the feel of him. In the smell of him. For the first time in weeks—maybe months—she relaxed.
They’d made love so many times, she’d lost count. Brought many of her fantasies to life. Ate cold leftovers, played naked pool, and took a swim. Both exhausted after all the fun and games, they’d gone to bed late Sunday afternoon and stayed there.
She grinned at the memory. She was bone tired from the extreme physical activity, but her heart was full, and the thought of him, the feel of his arms around her, made her want to wake him up and do it again.
She’d been so convinced he would leave after the first night. But he’d stayed.
Midnight was half an hour away. She’d dreamed about her birthday and all the things on her bucket list the trust fund money could help her mark off. That list and the money could do a lot of good in the world.
But the millions going into her bank fund in a few minutes couldn’t compete with the way John made her feel. She hoped they’d have more than this weekend to relive in the coming weeks and months. He’d brought up the idea that maybe they could head south for a few days together. Spend his vacation where it was warm and sunny. Her heart had jumped at the suggestion…not because she hated winter, but because he was making plans with her. Real plans.
He moved against her, tucking her closer. “You awake?” he murmured.
No need to ask the same of him. His erection pressed against her bottom. “Feels good to wake up in your arms.”
He nuzzled her neck and she shivered. “Glad I stayed. Wasn’t sure your dad was going to let me.”
Outside the windows, the moon reflected off the snow-covered ground. Two long stripes of blue light fell across the king-size bed. Lucie turned in John’s arms to
face him, loving the way the diffused light accentuated his strong jaw and muscled shoulder. “I wasn’t sure he would let either of us stay. Zara insisted and he gave in. Like he always does with her.”
“You and Z are tight, huh?”
Zara felt like the only real family she had here. “The truth about Charles being my father didn’t come out until we were nearly teens. No one believed it except Zara. The DNA test proved the truth, but did nothing to endear me to them, and I gave up the idea of becoming a Morgan for a long time. Zara and I remained close, though. Each of us longed for a sister growing up, so the day we found out about each other, it was…du bon et du mauvais. Good and bad. How do you say it? A mixed blessing?”
“Had plenty of those in my life.”
She smiled, remembering the first time Zara had phoned her. Lucie had been in Paris; Zara lived in New York with Charles and Olivia. “From the moment we met, I wanted to be just like her. She was going to be a great ballerina, like her mother, and I was jealous. My mother worked in a factory sewing clothes.”
John chuckled. “Grass is always greener.”
Lucie didn’t ask what that meant. Her heart warmed at being able to finally talk to him about her sister. In their brief times together, John had steered away from discussions about family. “A few years later, Zara was injured at the same time I was offered a modeling contract. Our situations reversed. But she’s an overachiever. Had to show me up by becoming a spy.”
They both chuckled this time. “How is the ballet studio?” he asked.
After Dmitri, Zara had conned Charles into giving her money to open a dance studio for underprivileged kids. Lucie became her partner, running the place while Zara was out of town on missions. Lucie discovered she liked being in charge of something.
In the early days, the kids had taken Lucie’s mind off her own problems and given her perspective. “We have so many applications! I plan to hire two extra instructors next week and set up additional afterschool classes by April. This summer, I’m adding drama classes, music lessons, and modeling training. I have a lot of connections from my modeling days, and my trust fund money is going to help more kids. Most of them are awful at ballet, but a few have potential to go into other types of entertainment.”
He smiled. Brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Most women about to inherit that kind of dough would be thinking about jewelry, shoes, and weekend getaways to St. Tropez.”
“I have been to St. Tropez on a shoot. Beautiful, but I’ve always wanted to visit Disneyland. Have you ever been?”
John’s face contorted and he barked a laugh. “Never, but I hear it’s nice. Maybe that’s where we’ll go while I’m on vacation.”
“I would like that. Besides, I don’t wear much jewelry and I have plenty of shoes. Some of the kids we help have nothing.”
“You know…” He hesitated as if struggling with himself. His fingers lingered on her neck. “You’re too good for this family.”
Shocked, she drew back. “Not true, John. Charles is a philanthropist. And Zara—”
“Z’s a lot like you. She cares about other people. Your ol’ man? Sorry, darlin’, but the only reason he gives away money is so he can write it off and look good doing it.”
“Write it off?”
“His taxes. And he’s in the tax bracket that pays a lot less than the working man.”
Lucie shook her head. “You don’t know him.”
“I know men like him.” He raked a hand over his face. “You don’t need his approval, Luce.”
But she did. On some level, she was still the little girl without a father in her life. “I just want to have a family. A real family.”
“Why?”
Was he really asking her that? “Everyone wants to be loved, to be part of a family. Don’t you?”
John rolled onto his back, stared up at the ceiling. Didn’t answer.
There it was again. She’d said something wrong. “Lawson told me you don’t have any family.”
“Lawson should keep his trap shut.” He heaved a sigh. “No, I don’t have a family, except for Pegasus. Never did. Not like you’re talking about. Don’t know who my father was, and my mother was a junkie who gave me up at birth. I bounced around in foster homes until I ended up in front of a judge at seventeen. He offered me a choice: the army or jail. Best father figure I ever had.”
Sadness tugged at her heart. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but from dealing with the kids like him at the studio, she knew he’d see it as pity and hate it. “A mixed blessing then, yes? If you hadn’t chosen the army, we would have never met. You have served your country and saved dozens of people during your time with Team Pegasus. People like me.”
He put an arm behind his head. “Some days that’s enough. Some days it isn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing translated to the failures of his latest missions, she would bet. That she understood. She also understood he wasn’t ready to talk about them.
Laying her hand on his chest, she traced the outline of his tattoo. “What does it mean?”
He glanced down, followed her finger with his eyes. “Some kind of endless knot or luck symbol. It’s Buddhist.”
“You don’t know the meaning of your tattoo?”
“Not really.” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Got it a long time ago when I was still a Beret undercover in Indonesia. We were looking for a gang leader, so I went drinking with some of his boys. Befriended them, you know, and ended up with this tattoo and a hell of a hangover.”
What a life he’d led. “I’d like to hear more of your stories.”
He glanced at her, looked away.
“If they are not…” What had he called it? Zara worked these types of missions. Secret. Top secret and… “Classified.”
He came up on his elbow, stroked her arm. “You’re amazing, Lucie. I want you to know that I, uh, I…”
Overhead, a thud sounded. Then another.
Lucie glanced up. “What was that?”
John looked at the ceiling as if he had x-ray vision. “Tree branch, probably.”
They fell silent, listening. The wind blew and the house grew quiet. John kissed her and she kissed him back, wondering what it was he wanted her to know.
They were getting hot and heavy when there came a faint squeak, squeak, squeak downstairs.
John tensed in mid-kiss and raised his head.
Squeak, squeak, squeak.
Lucie strained her ears. “Is that the refrigerator?”
His focus went to the bedroom door. “You set the security system, right?”
Had she? So much had happened since the party, her memory was a blur. “I think so.”
A nerve jumped in John’s jaw.
“You think someone’s trying to break in?”
“After this storm? Nah.” He flipped back the sheets, pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Rummaged in his overnight bag and stuck something black in a pocket. “Probably the fridge like you said. I’ll go check.”
He didn’t believe it was the refrigerator. She rose and grabbed one of his shirts from the floor. “I’ll come with you.”
His ear was against the bedroom door and he looked over his shoulder. “You stay here. It’s probably nothing. I’ll be back in a minute.”
No way. She was going with him. But a drop of fear entered her bloodstream. Fear—the emotion she hated most.
John slipped out the door. “Lock this behind me, okay?”
Lock it? The fear spread. “John—”
“It’s okay.” He smiled, but his body language said it was not okay. “I’m just being paranoid.”
Paranoia. Her best friend for months after leaving Paris. “Better safe than sorry, yes?”
With a nod, he shut the door. Lucie crossed the room and laid a hand on the lock. This was ridiculous. Houses always made weird noises at night. The blizzard might be over but the wind was still blowing hard. That cou
ld be the cause.
She locked the door anyway. Refusing to give in to senseless fear, she backed away and sat on the bed. Then she flipped on the bedside lamp.
Nothing happened. The power was out. Luckily, the house had a backup generator. It would kick on momentarily.
A minute passed. Deep in the bowels of the house, she heard a motor start. The light came on and Lucie breathed a sigh of relief.
Another minute passed and she heard nothing downstairs. No John.
Waiting sucked. Especially when adrenaline pumped through her veins, demanding she do something. Anything. The bad memories from her abduction and torture at Dmitri’s hands swam through her head.
The bedroom had a fireplace. Although it was gas, it looked like a traditional log-burning unit like the one downstairs. It even had a set of iron accessories. Bolting across the room, she grabbed the poker, tapped the solid iron against her palm. Better safe than sorry.
Returning to the bed, she plunked down with her weapon. Endless hours of therapy had helped her control her fear of being a victim, but when confronted with the real possibility once more, the therapy, she discovered, was flat-out worthless.
John’s here. Nothing bad would happen when he was around.
She kept a tight hold on the iron poker and watched the door.
…
The squeak of wet shoes on the marble floor gave away the intruder’s presence.
John pressed his back against the living room wall next to a portrait of Charles and Olivia and froze. That’s what he’d heard upstairs: the unmistakable sound of wet boot tread on a dry surface.
Easing forward on bare feet, he brought the front door into view. There were no lights on downstairs. None except for a red light on the security panel that told him the system was activated. How had the guy gotten in?
For a second, John hoped it was Lawson who’d come back because Zara had forgotten something. Lawson would’ve announced himself. Lawson would’ve waited until daylight.
A dark shadow outside the massive front windows caught his eye. Clouds had moved across the moon again, but snow lit the landscape, turning the dark lake a bluish white.