Hell or High Water

by Julie Ann Walker

  “Thanks. I need to slip a note under the door of the bathroom to LT and Olivia.” She’d noticed that no one but Olivia called the golden god “Leo.” The men all called him “LT.” Initials, perhaps? “Let them know the…um…the guys”—he hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the quickly disappearing cruiser—“have the case and are headed back to Key West. I’d knock, but”—he grinned—“I don’t want to disturb them.”

  Uh-huh. It’d become obvious to just about everyone on board that more than showering was going on in the bathroom of one of the guest cabins. So to recap. Hijacked by terrorists: check. Watched a guy get his head blown off: check, check. Helped government agents retrieve a mysterious metal case from the ocean floor: triple check. And now trying to ignore the fact that said agents were busy doing the deed in one of her father’s yacht’s showers: quadruple check.

  Holy shitfire. Can this day get any weirder?

  She immediately called back the question. Because even though she wasn’t superstitious by nature, she knew better than to tempt fate.

  “A note. Gotcha.” She winked at Bran, pressing her finger to the side of her nose.

  Motioning for him to follow her into the living quarters, she tried to figure out exactly what that odd feeling was. And then she recognized it. Disappointment. She was disappointed because for a minute there she’d thought he wanted to kiss her.

  When he’d said Maddy, would you…she’d had the crazy notion that he was going to finish with…let me kiss you. So clearly she was turned on by this man of contradictions. This man she knew nothing about except that he was handsome as homemade sin, was kinda, sorta, maybe a real-life salvor who worked for the government, and was cold and dangerous enough not to bat a lash before putting a bullet in the skull of a terrorist.

  Yep, sister. It’s official. You are crazier than a bag of wildcats.

  * * *

  6:41 p.m.…

  Banu dropped the binoculars and cursed. They were anchored far to the east of the Black Gold, far enough away that the rays of the setting sun didn’t reach them, though they continued to highlight the activity on and around the yacht—activity that had the hair atop Banu’s scalp standing on end.

  “What?” Ahmed asked. “What is it? Did you see Nassar?”

  “No.” Banu shook his head, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. What the hell? How the fuck? His eyes darted about, searching the rented fishing boat as if it might hold the answers. But of course he saw nothing, nothing to explain how, why—

  “Brother.” Ahmed grabbed his shoulder. Banu blinked wildly at the man. “What has happened?”

  “I—” Banu shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Nassar—”

  “Isn’t on the yacht. At least not that I could see. And it’s crawling with men. None of them ours.” He swallowed and glanced about again. Although he didn’t know why. He was blind to the holy fighters gathered around him, to the fishing rods and the life jackets, to everything but what he’d seen through the magnified lenses of his field glasses. “I just saw one of the men moving a set of dive tanks and fins. Someone has been diving. And the only thing down there to dive for are our chemicals.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He wished he wasn’t. “Maybe Nassar was right. Maybe the people on the salvage ship really were CIA.” And either the descending twilight had caused the temperature to drop, or an icy fist of failure was squeezing Banu’s heart. Didn’t matter which. The result was the same. Goose bumps erupted over every inch of his body. He shivered, dragging in a ragged breath. The sour smell of defeat rose from the drops of cold sweat beading on his upper lip.

  Ahmed frowned. “But it does not make any sense.”

  “I know!” Banu bellowed. All his dreams, all his aspirations were circling the drain, and he couldn’t figure out how the hell it had happened. Unless…Could it be that someone else knew about the chemicals? Was there a third party at play here that had somehow tracked the case and was now claiming the capsules for themselves?

  Or had the CIA discovered the theft early on, early enough to find Nassar and torture him into giving up the coordinates of the wreck so they could go down and retrieve the sunken chemicals? But then, where was this salvage ship Nassar had spoken of? Had he sunk it? Was that the debris they saw? If so, how the hell had Nassar allowed the yacht to be overtaken? Unless…had he simply been outgunned?

  All of it was possible, Banu supposed. None of it made any real sense.

  His heart raced, his lungs ached, his thoughts whirled in a series of tight circles that made him dizzy. And then, suddenly…calm. It poured over him, welcome as a rain shower on a hot summer day, cooling his frenzied heart, soothing his burning lungs, focusing his mind on a single point.

  This was his chance. This was The One. And it didn’t matter who those men were or what had happened. He had to get those chemicals back. And he might know just how to do it.

  There weren’t many rules when it came to the high seas—a powered vessel always gives way to a sailing vessel; two powered vessels always pass each other port-side to port-side—but one standing, inviolable principle was that you never ignore a Mayday or call for assistance.

  It was gutsy, this plan of his. And maybe a little crazy too. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. And if he did somehow manage to pull it off, just think of what that would mean to his story. He could see the headlines now: MASTERMIND BEHIND TERROR ATTACK PULLED OFF AMAZING HEIST TO RE-SECURE CHEMICALS AFTER INITIAL LOSS. And perhaps this had been Allah’s plan for him all along. A road map to even greater glory.

  He turned to Ahmed who lifted a brow at the smile splitting his face. His tone was gleeful when he said, “I have an idea.”

  * * *

  6:42 p.m.…

  “Hey, now,” Leo said. “Where are you goin’? We’re not finished here.”

  Olivia stepped out of the shower and grabbed one of the navy-blue towels hanging over a rod, wrapping it around her body. Warm. It was so soft and warm. A heated towel rod. Some people really know how to live.

  Looking down at his semi-flaccid cock—even wilted it was still impressive—she lifted a brow, donning a saucy smile so he wouldn’t see what she was truly feeling: heartbreak.

  She’d been an idiot to think she’d be fine as long as she stopped things short of full-on sex. Or maybe Bill Clinton was the idiot. Because when two people shared intimacy like that, giving pleasure and taking pleasure, it forged a bond between them. A bond that, when welded together with the love she felt, became unassailable. Unbreakable. She was going to remember what they’d done for the rest of her life. Remember the way he’d loved her with hands and mouth. So tenderly. So precisely. Remember the way he’d given himself over to her. So unhesitatingly. So unquestioningly.

  In that moment, she’d known what it was to be trusted, to be cherished, to…belong. To him. She’d belonged to him. And him to her. And now she was doomed to mourn the loss of that belonging for the rest of her life.

  But she couldn’t let him know. Keep it casual. Keep it fun. Don’t let him see you’re hurting. Keep that CIA-agent cap screwed on tight, Mortier.

  “Not finished?” She winked at him, gesturing with her chin toward his manhood. “I’d say we are. At least for a while.” Her voice was rough with unshed tears, but she hoped he mistook her tone for that of spent passion.

  When he wiggled his eyebrows, she breathed a sigh of relief. He turned off the shower, and the resulting silence pressed in on her, seeping into the hollowness in her chest until she wanted to scream. She needed to get out of there. Get some air. Get some perspective. Get—

  “Never underestimate the regenerative powers of a man who has finally gotten his hands on the woman he’s been fantasizin’ about for almost two years,” he told her, grabbing a towel and rubbing it over his wet hair.

  He gave himself a few good scrubs, then held out the terrycloth, one sandy-brown eyebrow raised. “This thing’s hotter than burnt toast.”

  �
��I know, right?” His hair was standing out every which way, making him look…adorable. Still big and tough, but a little bit boyish too. And, ow. Her heart hurt. Like, seriously hurt. It took everything she had to maintain her smile. When she couldn’t quite manage it, she swiped another towel off the rack and bent at the waist. Flipping her hair upside down, she twisted the towel around it turban-style. Breathe, Olivia. Just breathe. Keep it casual. Keep it fun. Keep that CIA-agent cap screwed on tight. And that had become her new mantra, apparently. “What wonders will we discover next, do you think? I’m half expecting Jeeves to come in and offer to help us don our dinner attire.”

  She straightened to find him applying the towel to his chest and shoulders, then down his legs. The way he moved was poetry. Each flex of his muscles in rhythm and rhyme with the whole of him. “If he does, I’ll be forced to punch him in the face.”

  “Huh?” She frowned.

  “I’m feelin’ pretty territorial right about now,” he admitted, grinning unabashedly. “And I’d like to keep the number of eyes who get to see this”—before she knew what he was about, he hooked a finger in her towel and whipped it off—“to a bare minimum.”

  “Leo!” she squeaked. “Good grief.” Without thinking, she covered her breasts with one hand and cupped her privates with the other.

  He bit the inside of his cheek, eyeing her protective stance. “I hate to say it, darlin’, but the cat’s out of the bag. There’s no need to hide what I’ve already seen, touched, and tasted.”

  She dropped her hands with a huff. It caused her breasts to bounce, and he tilted his head, groaning like a dying man. Movement in her peripheral vision had her glancing down. And sure enough, he hadn’t been lying about those regenerative powers. His penis was twitching and swelling, the skin growing turgid, the heavy veins standing out in harsh relief. An answering rush of liquid heat gathered at her core.

  She should have been satisfied after the shower. He should have been satisfied. Her orgasm had been explosive, transcendent. And all evidence suggested his had been the same. But obviously, neither of them was completely appeased. She bit her lip, wondering if they would ever be completely—

  A shushing sounded behind her, interrupting her thoughts. When she turned toward the door, she saw a white piece of paper lying on the gray slate tiles. Lifting a brow at Leo, she wondered aloud, “What the heck is that about?”

  “Only one way to find out.” He tilted his head toward the paper. Shrugging, she bent to grab the missive only to hear him growl, low and guttural, like a wild animal warning its prey of its presence. “That might just be the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

  When she realized he was staring at her bare ass poking up into the air, she straightened so quickly she felt dizzy and the towel fell off her head, landing in a navy-blue heap on the floor. “You meant for that to happen,” she accused, turning to find him clutching his heart.

  “Meant for it to happen? Hey!” He held his hands up. “I’m not the one who slipped a letter under the door.” She narrowed her eyes. He chuckled, shrugging those massive shoulders of his. He needed new butterfly bandages, she noted absently. The old ones were starting to curl loose around the edges. “All right, so maybe I took advantage of the situation when it presented itself. Can you blame me?”

  “Hmph.” She pursed her lips, easily falling into their familiar banter. The truth of the matter was, when she was with Leo like this, teasing and tormenting, she was the happiest she’d ever been. And, Jesus, that just makes it hurt worse! “No, I suppose I can’t. Once a pervert, always a pervert, right?”

  “As it ever was and ever shall be, darlin’.” He winked. Then, “What’s it say?”

  She unfolded the note and read aloud, “‘Congratulations on the ax waxing.’” She looked up at him and he shook his head, making a face that said, You don’t want to know. “‘I gave the package to the contractors and they’re well on their way to Key West. Romeo is still a ways out, so take your time.’” When she read further, her cheeks ignited. “It’s signed ‘Jeeves.’”

  Leo’s face took on the mien of an Abrams tank, bristling with menace. When he stomped past her, there was no ignoring the erection that bobbed heavily between his big thighs. She was staring unabashedly when the side of his heavy fist landed against the door. The resultant sound was that of a cannon shot. She jumped at the same time a yelp sounded in the cabin outside.

  “Get lost, suckwad!” Leo bellowed through the wood.

  Bran’s chuckle drifted into the bathroom. “Can’t blame a guy for wanting a little vicarious thrill!”

  “Pervert!” Leo yelled back.

  “From what I hear, it takes one to know one!” Bran’s voice was growing fainter.

  Leo opened the door and stuck his head out. “Sorry about that,” he said after he’d slammed it shut again. “In case you didn’t know it, Bran is an asshat and a board-certified idiot.”

  And despite being completely abashed at having gotten caught waxing Leo’s ax—yeah, she finally lightbulbed that one—she heard the undeniable affection in his voice. “But you love him in spite of it.”

  He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. And, yes, he was still one hundred percent, holy-shit-would-you-get-a-load-of-that-thing aroused. But if he could ignore the giant cock in the room, so could she. Maybe. Okay, probably not.

  “Right,” he said. “Like I love flat beer and tofu burgers.”

  She slid him a sidelong glance. “Why do men have such a hard time admitting affection for one another?”

  “It’s not so much admittin’ it as talkin’ about it,” he told her.

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “We admit it when we slap each other’s asses, talk shit about each other’s mamas, and give each other colorfully repulsive nicknames. But we’re not talkin’ about it.”

  She made a rude noise that caused him to grin and start moving in her direction. Her heart took off like a startled rabbit. Instinctively, she took a step back. Instinctively because, even though he was smiling that Leo smile of his—the one that crinkled the corners of his gorgeous eyes and made his teeth flash white against his tanned face and beard—there was something decidedly predatory about his advance. In fact, she probably would have retreated another step had her butt not bumped up against the bathroom vanity. The cool stone countertop was almost as much of an assault on her senses as Leo’s looming nearness.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked. Yes, squeaked. She seemed to do that a lot around him, and she was not the squeaking kind.

  “I’m goin’ to kiss you,” he declared. “What happens after that is anyone’s guess.”

  “Oh, I suspect I know what happens after that,” she informed him with a wry twist of her lips. “Which leads me to believe you’re trying to change the subject.”

  “Am I that obvious?” He placed a hand on the bathroom counter on either side of her hips, caging her in. His body heat reached out to her, soothing her and at the same time igniting all her nerve endings like she’d doused them in gasoline and his nearness was the match. Then he leaned forward, ever so slowly, until his mouth was a hairsbreadth from hers.

  You will not squeak again!

  “More like completely predictable,” she said breathlessly. He seemed to be taking up not only all the space in the bathroom, but all the air too. “All guys try to find a way to change the subject when feelings are the topic of discussion.”

  “Well, far be it for me to be predictable,” he said and grabbed her waist, hoisting her up on the bathroom countertop. Her ass hit the cold stone at the same time he latched on to her pulse point like he was friggin’ Bill Compton from True Blood. See, she wasn’t a complete moron. She got some pop-culture references. Though, she’d sooner eat her own combat boots than ever admit to anyone that she’d been a huge—we’re talking major—True Blood fan.

  She tried to wiggle away, but he sank his teeth into her throat, a caress a
nd a threat in one. She squeaked. Damnit! “Leo! What if Bran’s outside again?”

  “He won’t be,” he assured her, soothing the bite with the flat rasp of his tongue. It made her eyes cross. “He and the rest of the guys have been tryin’ to get the two of us together like this for too long for him to distract us now.”

  “Trying to get us together?” she asked, running her hands up his strong arms to grip his shoulders. Holy hell, he really knew how to use his mouth. “Why?”

  He kissed his way across her throat to nip at her chin. “Because they know I’ve been pining for you ever since Syria.”

  Pining for her. She’d never been pined for before. A thrill of delight radiated from her center out to her limbs. If he’d told her he thought she hung the moon and stars and set the world spinning on its axis, she wouldn’t have been more charmed.

  “So that’s what all of those innuendos and all of those veiled looks have been about today,” she said, gasping when he nibbled on her earlobe. There was a part of her—the smart, rational part—that wondered if maybe she should stop things here to save herself from even more heartache, from even more knowing what she’d be missing once he hopped on that floatplane and flew out of her life for good. But the stupid, horny part of her was doing a fairly decent job of convincing her there was no way to re-break a heart that was already broken, so…yeah. Get your groove on, Mortier!

  “Sorry about that. They’re not very subtle. But they love me, so…you know.” He shrugged.

  “Wow!” She pulled back, blinking up at him. His eyes were half-lidded and full of heat.

  “What?”

  “You just talked about your friends loving you.”

  He grinned, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Told you I wasn’t predictable.”

  “You’re lucky to have them.” She sighed when his lips dallied with hers, nipping, tasting, retreating, and nipping again. The sound of their play filled the bathroom. “They’re your family. In all the ways that matter.”

  To her utter dismay, he was suddenly gone, having pulled away from her.