A Gentleman and a Soldier

by Cindy Dees

  The distant manner he’d taken with her ever since their argument this morning softened a bit. He even cracked a tiny smile for her. But his instructions were businesslike. Impersonal. “You catch on fast. Stay mounted, and if the slightest thing looks or sounds weird to you, bolt for the hills. Do you remember that Charlie Squad phone number you called the night Ruala broke into your house?”

  “How could I forget it?” she asked dryly.

  “Call that number when you can and someone will come find you. I’m sorry to have to leave you here like this, but it’ll be just a little while. I promise I’ll come right back as soon as we know it’s clear to move you into place.”

  “Okay,” she answered gamely. She was already scared. Afraid to be alone. But that sounded so bloody weak. “I’ll be okay by myself for a little while. I didn’t mean last night that you could never leave my side again.”

  He peered closely at her in the dark for a moment. “Just remember what I said. If anything spooks you, get out of here. Dutch will cover your retreat. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, got it?”

  She cleared her throat and reached for his horse’s reins. “Right. Well, you have fun and don’t stay out too late or you’ll miss your supper.”

  Mac grinned. “Aww, come on. It’s not a school night, Mom.”

  For just a second she smiled back. “I’m a lot of things, Mac Conlon, but I’m definitely not your mother.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” he murmured.

  Did his hand actually caress her thigh as he moved past her? When she was done gaping in shock, she glared at his retreating silhouette. First he made some clumsy attempt at an apology to her, then he ignored her the whole way back to the ranch, and now he had the gall to cop a feel? He had some nerve.

  If only her nerves were half as bold as his. The minutes dragged on, and an hour passed. The horses grew as antsy as she was. They smelled supper and were not amused at being kept away from it like this. Gradually a breeze began to pick up. It had a heavy, wet smell that presaged rain. The horses sensed the storm coming, too, and Malika shifted restlessly beneath her.

  “Easy girl.” She patted her mare’s neck. “I know exactly how you feel. But we ladies have to humor the men, you know.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  The quiet voice made her jump practically out of her skin. Malika shied hard, too. Susan managed to stay on her horse and hang on to the other horses’ reins. Barely.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t scream, Mac Conlon,” she replied.

  “Nobody would have heard you but the rest of Charlie Squad, and they’d have figured we were having wild sex out here.”

  “You wish,” she retorted.

  “You say the word, and I’m there.”

  There was an undertone of seriousness to his flip response that silenced Susan. Her world tipped off balance once more. Would she ever feel stable and in control of her life again? She was still reeling mentally when Mac mounted his horse and took the reins of the packhorse from her.

  When they reached the barns, she slid out of the saddle and into Mac’s arms. She’d have fallen flat on her backside if he hadn’t been there to catch her. Yet again, he’d anticipated her need and was there for her. She really wished he’d quit doing that. It made being mad at him darned difficult. Fortunately, he set her away from him immediately and stepped back to a safe distance. As it was, her pulse betrayed her by pounding at the brief contact.

  Gratefully she handed Malika over to Frank, who passed her a cane. As humiliating as it was to use it in front of Mac, there was no other way she’d make it up to the house tonight. But as he walked beside her to the house, he seemed completely oblivious to the cane or her limp.

  A long soak in a hot tub sounded wonderful, but bed sounded even better. Her knee would have to wait until tomorrow to be pampered back to a semblance of functional. Mac followed her inside. She stopped in front of her bedroom door, surprised that he was still right behind her. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Going to bed.”

  “Where?” she asked, suspicion blossoming.

  He gazed at her solemnly. “Where do you think?”

  Alarm roared through her. “No. Absolutely not. Even if I was interested, and I’m not, I’m dead tired.”

  “So am I. And you’re not sleeping alone until we catch these jokers. You’re at maximum exposure here at the ranch, which translates to maximum danger.”

  “You’re still not sleeping with me!”

  He shrugged. “Well, it’s me or one of the other guys. I just thought you might be more comfortable with me since we’re not strangers. Who would you like me to get to sleep with you instead? I’d recommend Howdy. He’s the lightest sleeper of the bunch, and he’s the best sniper I’ve ever seen.”

  Her alarm threatened to become panic. “Are you serious?” squeezed out of her tight throat.

  He looked straight at her. “Yes, Susan, I am. Someone’s sleeping in your room until this is over. I know that’s a pain in the butt for you, but we’re moving into the final phase of this op. Now’s when the risk goes sky high for the bait. And that’s you.”

  The finality in his voice left little room for argument. And, when she stopped to think about it, she probably would feel more comfortable knowing somebody was nearby to protect her. But did it have to be Mac? Except the thought of anybody else sleeping in her room was even more weird.

  She sighed. “I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow.”

  When she stepped into her room with an armload of bedding a minute later, Mac was sprawled out on the floor beside her bed, wearing only a pair of gym shorts, fast asleep. He looked exhausted. Gently she covered him and put the pillow beside his head in case he wanted it later. Limping around him carefully, she took off her clothes, pulled on an elastic knee brace and an oversize T-shirt and crawled under her own covers.

  As exhausted as she was, she lay in bed for a long time, listening to Mac’s quiet breathing. It was unsettling having him so close. How many years had she dreamed of him in the dark like this, imagining him near enough to touch, to kiss, to…

  She had to find a way to get over these errant thoughts of him! She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she lusted over him. But the other feelings that kept flooding her… Dang it, she didn’t love Mac Conlon!

  Her mental outburst subsided, and she resumed listening to him breathe. Imagined the rise and fall of his muscular chest. Her whole body felt hot and flushed. Shoot. She was never going to get to sleep at this rate.

  The wind rattled her window, and she snuggled deep under the covers to listen to the storm come. A spatter of raindrops hit her window. There was nothing quite as majestic as a thunderstorm rolling across the high plains of West Texas. The storm cut loose all at once with a flash of light and an immediate crash of thunder, right outside her window.

  Susan jumped, or would have jumped if two hundred pounds of brawn hadn’t landed on top of her just then. A hard hand landed on her mouth and pushed her head back into the pillows.

  A harsh, male whisper grated in the echoing silence. “Don’t move.”

  Chapter 10

  P anic slammed into Susan, and she fought like a wildcat. She grabbed the first weapon that came to hand, a feather pillow, and bludgeoned her attacker with it.

  “Damn, Suzie,” Mac complained. “Don’t kill me! I’m one of the good guys! I was dead asleep and that crack of thunder sounded like a gunshot.”

  He rolled off her, but she continued to pummel him with the pillow, her fear melting into fury at the fright he’d given her. And something began to break loose inside her, heaving in her chest like a huge logjam about to bust free. “You scared the living daylights out of me!”

  He threw up his hands, covering his head as she flailed at him with the heavy pillow. His big frame was an easy target for her assault. Why didn’t he fight back? Why was he just lying there? She wanted him to fight. Needed him to. So she could vent her fury without gu
ilt. Ten years’ worth of it. “Come on. Grab a pillow and take a swing at me,” she panted.

  He peered out from under his elbow. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  The logjam gave a tremendous groan and ripped loose, sending splinters of pain and grief and anger shooting every which way. He talked such a big line about her being attractive and marriageable, but then he turned around and treated her like a cripple. God, how she hated that!

  “Damn you, Mac,” she ground out, “fight back!”

  “No.”

  She hit him harder. The pillow landed with heavy whumps against his chest and arms. “Stop…treating me…like a damned…invalid,” she grunted between swings.

  That snapped him out of his infuriating passivity. He stared at her in the blue strobe light flashes of lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “You always act like I’ll break at the slightest jostle. I’m not made of glass, you know. I won’t shatter, and I’m sick of you pussyfooting around me! Now pick up a damn pillow and show me what you’ve got, or I’m going to march downstairs and tell all your buddies you’re a coward.”

  That did it. With a move so fast she didn’t see it in the single flash of lightning it took, he flipped her on her back and pinned her to the mattress. He loomed menacingly over her. And snarled, “I…don’t…hit…women.”

  “Well, hallelujah. He finally admits that I’m a woman. We have a breakthrough!”

  His hands fell away from her shoulders and he sat back on his heels, straddling her hips. “Susan, don’t push me. I’m trying hard to be a gentleman here, but you’re making it real damn difficult.”

  She was really getting tired of his whole “good guy responsible for everyone in the world” routine. He couldn’t have made her madder if she’d been a bull and he’d just waved a big, fat red flag at her. She punched his chest, almost too irate to notice his sharp intake of breath as she surged beneath him. Her knee shouted its protest, but she ignored it. “Oh stop it, already! I’m sick of this honorable unto death martyr act out of you.”

  “Martyr? Me?” He gathered an indignant head of steam fast. “You’re the one running around trying to be so damned independent every minute of the day—”

  “You are such a jerk!”

  “I am not!”

  “Are, too.”

  “Am not!”

  “Shut up and kiss me.” She reached up, pulled his head down, and plastered her mouth against his. Whoa. All that heat and passion and masculine energy completely stole her breath away. She pulled back a few inches to gasp for air.

  He stared down at her for one endless moment, his eyes burning like brimstone. And then his arms swooped around her, drawing her to him in a crushing embrace. His mouth claimed hers with carnal fury, moving across hers like a river of fire, his tongue plunging inside the dark, wet places of her mouth possessively.

  Another blinding flash and a tremendous crack of thunder exploded right outside the window. He jumped, breaking the kiss. A second flash of lightning illuminated the rippling set of his jaw. His control was tenuous at best right now. If her intent had been to wake the sleeping tiger, she’d succeeded. Spectacularly.

  The thrill of him finally cutting loose, of finally letting go of the passion inside herself, was almost too much for her. The room spun around dizzily, and she clung tightly to him. He was as solid as a rock. His raw physical power sent her already-scattered thoughts spinning further astray in a blistering vortex of need.

  Another bright flash. A stillness came over her as she waited for the thunder to follow. Mac froze as well, listening, sprawled protectively over her. He pressed her deep into the mattress, fitting his body to hers, making her vividly aware of how slender and soft she was in comparison to him.

  His breath was warm against her temple. His wood smoke and leather scent filled her nostrils. Her chin tucked perfectly into the crook of his neck, and his skin was bare centimeters away from her mouth, from her taste and touch.

  How many times had she imagined him with her in her bed just like this? A hundred? A thousand? It was enough that the reality blended seamlessly into all those fantasies. Her mind spun off into possibilities that left her breathless.

  Another flash of light, more distant. She counted silently, one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand… The thunder started low, rumbling in the distance, rolling over the wide-open range like a slow-moving train. It broke over her like her dreams of Mac, vibrating low in her belly, deep and potent.

  The anger she’d held tight inside her heart for the past ten years drained away as she gave in to the inevitability of this moment. Mac must have sensed it, because he relaxed, as well. The tension left his hard frame and he shifted slightly, fitting their bodies more perfectly together. She didn’t even think about it. She just looped her arms around his neck and speared her fingers into his hair the way she’d imagined for a decade.

  She whispered, “Do you feel it? The storm’s coming.”

  He gazed down at her, his eyes pools of black fire burning her to cinders. “Yeah. I feel it.” His voice was rough.

  Her lips curved into a smile. “There’s nothing quite like riding out a West Texas thunderstorm. They’re as big and wild as they come. Sometimes they just sweep away everything in their path.”

  His eyes flamed even hotter. In the intermittent flashes of lightning, she saw his gaze drop to her mouth. Her throat. His stomach muscles contracted against her belly, and his hips ground slightly against hers. Exhilaration rolled through her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Lightning flared, one blinding burst on top of the next, as the thunder rolled, painting her room in surreal strobe flashes of blue white. Fascinated, she watched her hands move in jerky snapshots from his hair, down to his broad shoulders, along his arms and then disappear as she wrapped her arms around him.

  Mac rose up on his elbows, staring down at her. “Are you sure about this, Suzie? There’ll be no going back this time. We aren’t kids anymore. This will be the real deal.”

  He was right. The stakes were a lot higher this time than they’d ever been. She knew what heartache felt like now, how loneliness ate at a soul. She’d spent years looking for someone who could replace the empty spot for him in her heart, and she’d failed. Nobody had ever made her feel the way he did. If she—if they—blew it this time, there could very well be no more chances at love for her.

  The magnitude of the moment struck her. And then Mac shifted, all heat and muscle and impatient man. She had to go for it. The alternative—living like she had for ten years—was unthinkable. Her arms tightened around him. “I want it all, Mac. I want the real deal.” Her voice caught. “I want you.”

  The dark shadows enshrouding his face gave way to a slow smile. “So, show me how we’re supposed to ride out this wild West Texas storm.”

  Susan closed her eyes and opened them again. He was still there. This wasn’t a fantasy. The thrill and hunger shooting through her weren’t purely her imagination. “Are you sure?” she whispered in turn.

  A chuckle shook his chest. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”

  “No pussyfooting with me?” she asked.

  “No pussyfooting,” he answered firmly.

  And then his head descended toward hers. Their lips touched. Blinding light—heat, lust and ecstasy all in one—exploded inside her head. He lifted her T-shirt off her in a single, swift movement. And then he touched her skin directly, kissing her and caressing her, relishing her body. His hands were everywhere, stroking her, cupping her flesh, exploring. His mouth followed, warming her with his breath and his kisses.

  Pressure began to build inside her, an impatience for more, a need for release. And yet he drove her farther, pushed her higher. It was as if she’d become the growing storm, raging and roiling within its cloudy prison, demanding escape. Mac was wind and heat, molding and building the storm, whipping it up into a barely contained frenzy. He was motion and sensation, smoothness and power, throbbing n
eed and controlled violence. He was everything she’d imagined and more.

  “Please,” she gasped. She pulled him close, wrapping herself around him, arching up into him in a silent agony of wanting as the swift rip of foil tearing made her smile in the dark. Still protecting her. He didn’t keep her waiting any longer. He lowered his glorious body to hers, gifting her with all of himself in a single hot, slick slide of flesh on flesh.

  The storm broke outside, and the rain came in a rush, pounding down upon the roof, matching the surging rhythm of their movement as their bodies became one. Wild gusts tore at the trees outside, flinging the branches against the house.

  She twisted and turned with equal abandon, flinging herself against the rock that was Mac. He gave and took in equal parts, his pleasure hers, and hers his. Lightning flashed and thunder roared, the wind howled and rain slashed at the windows.

  The two of them rolled through the blackness like the storm, surging ever forward, sweeping away everything in their path. Only the fury and the grandeur of their love remained. They cried out together, their voices mingling with the night, their hearts pounding with the rain.

  Slowly the storm abated. The rain became a gentle patter on the roof, and then it became nothing more than a quiet dripping now and again. Mac lay still and silent, tangled with her across her bed. His body relaxed against hers, but he was as lethal as the tiger he resembled. A lazy kiss touched the side of her neck. “Am I hurting your knee?” he murmured.

  “Not at all. Don’t move,” she murmured back.

  His mouth curved into a smile against her skin. “I’m glad you said that. I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

  She smiled over his shoulder into the velvety darkness of her room. Heaven. She was definitely in heaven. She kneaded the ridge of muscle along his spine with her fingertips. He groaned with pleasure. She lifted her other hand and massaged more of his back.