Duck and Run

by TL Schaefer

  He splayed a hand over his heart, as if wounded. “No touching, clothes stay on. I just want to talk.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  “Yeah, I know exactly what kind of ‘talking’ you want to do, bub. While I’m not adverse to the concept, we wait until it’s done.”

  Nick grinned, his expression easy. He’d been teasing her. He grabbed the deck of cards and shuffled, then passed them to her. “Your deal.”

  Nick made a surveillance pass every hour, pronouncing them secure each time. And when the phone rang as twilight dipped into night, Cris answered it with a heady feeling of exaltation.

  “Come home, Cris. We got the bastards.”

  She pumped a fist in the air, drawing a smile from Nick.

  “Wrapped them up in a net even Wilson can’t escape.”

  “So he was behind the whole thing? Nick and I had our doubts. He seems too slick for this kind of operation.”

  “Don’t know yet if Wilson was honchoing it, but I doubt it. Regardless of his direct involvement, it originated from his outfit.”

  “What about Smith?” The man who’d thrust them into this whole nightmare was at the forefront of her thoughts.

  “The accountant said they all had contingency plans south of the border. The Treasury Department has frozen all their accounts, so we don’t know how far he’ll get, but no one’s seen him here since he scoped out your place. We’ll keep surveillance on both the yard and your house for a week or so, just in case, but he’d have to be a complete moron to show his face. I can guarantee any of the minor players who weren’t caught immediately have put out the word. You and Nicky broke this wide open, girl.” His voice rang with almost-glee, or as close as Linc got.

  “No, I think stupid criminals did that all on their own. Hang on a second, I need to ask Nick something.” She cupped her hand over the phone.

  “Except for Smith, we’re in the clear,” she said, carefully gauging his reaction. Pure relief broke over his features, followed by what she could only describe as a devilish glint to his eye. Yeah, they were on the same page, all right. “Nick and I are going to hang here for the night, then head back in the morning.”

  “That’s smart,” Linc replied. “It’d be late by the time you rolled into town anyway.”

  Nick had sidled closer, so he could hear Linc’s booming voice. He nodded as a slow smile tilted his lips. Cris’ heart stuttered a few beats. “That’s great. I’ll give you a call as soon as I hit town, check in.”

  “Affirmative. Love you, Cristine.” Genuine warmth colored his words.

  “Love you too, Linc. I’ll call Dad as soon as I hang up.”

  “Already done. See you tomorrow.” Linc hung up, and with that, Cris had no earthly reason not to follow up on her staggering attraction to Nick. Her stomach fluttered with nerves as he reached over and took the phone from her suddenly numb fingers.

  He pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear gently. “Don’t overthink it, Cristine. We’re cool, okay?”

  She nodded, realizing that as much as they’d joked and played about the concept, Nick had no idea about her little heart-to-heart with herself today. He didn’t know she’d already made up her mind about finishing what they’d started at her house. That realization calmed her and made up her mind. Nick McLain would be hers tonight, whether he realized it or not.

  Chapter 11

  Nick could almost see the wheels spinning in Cristine’s mind, saw the moment she came to a decision. Since he was an optimistic man, at least when it came to this, he could hope they were on the same page. But he wouldn’t push, because regardless of what he’d told her earlier about his track record with relationships, he wanted to see where this attraction with her went. And deep inside, in a place he rarely dared to acknowledge, he hoped it was more than a fling. Cristine O’Connor-Eagen was the kind of woman you stayed the course with, and damned if he wasn’t ready to try. Or at least he thought he might be.

  Which, given how he’d been raised, was pretty astounding.

  She slowly stood, bringing her so close her breasts almost brushed his chest. He took a deep breath in response, and her scent flooded through him, bringing every sense on alert. Then her hand was rising, her fingers sifting through the hair at his nape.

  “I want this, Nick,” she breathed. “And I think you do too. But the ball’s in your court.”

  Yeah, like he’d refuse a gift from God. “Oh, I think you know my intentions. They’re anything but pure.” He lowered his head, his mouth brushing against hers slowly. Before, they’d been caught up in moments of risky passion, where every embrace was forbidden, laced with danger. Now, he’d take his time, savor her. Show her what it was to be savored, thoroughly and deeply.

  She arched into his body, the stiff peaks of her nipples brushing against his t-shirt, taunting, teasing. He groaned at the contact and dove into her, tracing the seam of her lips. She opened to him, her tongue tangling with his, a silken swipe of heated velvet. Cris was going to be the death of him.

  She tasted of cola and sweet, sweet woman. Their tongues tangled, and he had to force himself to slow it down, to make every moment last. He ran his hands down her arms, the satin of her skin flowing like water beneath his fingertips, before settling his hands at the span of her waist.

  He flexed his fingers, reveling in her indrawn breath, at the pulse hammering in her neck. Damn, this was going to be good.

  Then she pulled away, making his heart almost stutter to a disappointed stop.

  The sight of her pulling off her t-shirt, revealing a bra that was more function than frills, froze his breath in his lungs. Standing there in jeans and a bra, sneakers still on her feet, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “What?” she asked, her voice almost tentative, and he realized how much she’d sacrificed with this gesture. How much this woman who offered everything to everyone so seldom received anything in return. Even a kind or comforting or complimentary word.

  “You’re beautiful, that’s what.” His voice was low, rough with a raw edge he couldn’t temper, didn’t want to.

  Her face shone as if lit from within. “My, what a way you have with words,” she teased, then looped her fingers in his waistband and pulled him close again. “Now show me what else you’re good at.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Nick agreed, trying and failing to keep his expression solemn.

  The man was sex on a stick. And that voice? Just thinking about it made her quiver inside.

  Cris hated that she’d let her insecurity show, but even after knowing Nick McClain for less than two days, she wanted this to work, to be right, even if it only lasted as long as they were in this cabin. She deserved it; they both did.

  She slid her hands beneath his shirt, her palms sliding against his flanks, her fingers kneading strong muscles when she found his back.

  He groaned, low in his throat and she lost herself in the sound, in him, as he dipped her low, as if they were dancing, and began to feast on her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. She threw herself into the moment, giving him more than her body. Tonight, she was giving him her trust.

  He stepped her backwards, as if they were dancing, until the back of her knees hit the sofa. She sat down on it gratefully. The man’s mouth was positively wicked, making her forget who she was, but not what they were doing.

  He loomed over her, making her feel even more petite than usual, but now, just like in the storm shelter, she felt protected, as if he were shielding her from the world. He stripped off his shirt and even though she’d seen him before, it hadn’t been in this light, in the context of a man about to become her lover.

  He was just as striking as before, but now she knew his history, knew battle had carved each of the scars on his body. This was a man who knew honor, who knew what it meant to stand by your friends, your comrades. A man who would have died for what he believed in. Still might.

  He dropped carefully to his knees in front of her, favoring his knee, and crowded betw
een her legs. She traced the strong lines of his face, his shoulders, with shaking fingers. Everything about Nick McClain and this moment seemed right, and there was no way she was going to miss it.

  She fused her mouth to his again and moaned as he trailed questing fingers over her bra-covered breasts, learning what she liked as he plumped and tweaked and teased. Need spun within her, beginning to spiral with each taste of his lips, each brush of his fingertips.

  She grabbed his head and lifted until his gaze found hers. His eyes were bright, almost fevered, and sexy as hell. “Move. Can’t get my pants off.”

  Her words sounded short, choppy to her own ears, but he seemed to understand well enough, a woman-eating grin crossed his face as he pushed away and stood slowly, grabbing her hands and pulling her up his body as he did.

  His fingers were sure as they unlatched her bra, and then they were skin to skin. Barely leashed strength rippled beneath the surface of his body, and she shivered in response, her nipples hard little points against his chest.

  He held her at arm’s length, and the loss of heat almost had her protesting. Until he slipped the button on her jeans and pulled them down her legs, leaving only her panties in place.

  “Sneakers,” he whispered as he crouched at her feet, looking up at her with an expression she couldn’t quite define. He looked powerful and almost dazzled at the same time.

  She stripped out of her shoes and socks wordlessly, then sat back on the couch, content to let him direct their actions.

  He slid his hands up her calves, then her thighs, his thumbs barely brushing the elastic of her panties before coming to a rest at her waist.

  “One of us is overdressed,” her voice was almost unrecognizable. It sounded like an old movie star’s might—sexy and sultry.

  He smiled, and it was so piratical all he was missing was an eyepatch. “Not so much,” he replied, and dipped his head to her stomach, his hot breath teasing her through the thin cotton of her panties, his nose brushing her belly button.

  She barely had time to draw in a startled breath before he was pulling her to the edge of the couch and his hands slid her panties down just far enough to give him access, but not enough to give her freedom.

  She started to say something, anything, and then his mouth was on her and all she could do was sigh his name and let the sensations roll over her.

  Nick thought this might possibly be the happiest he’d ever been. Ever. Cristine shuddering beneath him, her skin impossibly pale against the black leather of the couch, the spicy scent of her surrounding him as he pleasured her.

  Her fingers were twined in his hair, directing his movements, showing him what she liked, and he happily obliged. And then she was coming apart beneath his hands, his mouth. He held her down and worshipped her with his tongue until her grasping fingers began to push him away. He finished with one long, languid swipe that brought another satisfied sigh, then used the couch for leverage and stood.

  She lay sprawled across the sofa like a pagan invitation, flushed and beautiful in her pleasure. He quickly shed his clothes and pulled on a condom with shaking fingers, then sat next to her and pulled her into the shelter of his arm. She curled against him like a cat, her fingers unconsciously stroking and kneading until his hard-on felt like an iron spike and he thought he just might explode from those sensations alone.

  Then those curious fingers drifted south to his dick, and he looked over to find a devilish smile on her lips that quickly turned to a pout. He was absolutely positive no man had ever seen that expression on her face. It was too real, too erotic for a woman so accustomed to responsibility and gravitas. “You already put the condom on?”

  “Couldn’t risk it,” he rasped as her fingers played over him. “Want you too bad.” He lifted her by her waist, surprising a squeak out of her, and settled her over his lap. “Don’t want to chance my knee, not for our first time.” She’d shown her vulnerabilities earlier, now he would show her his.

  “Hmmm, even better,” she murmured. “I get to be in charge.”

  Pure anticipation spilled through her body as she poised herself over him, then slid down, one delicious inch at a time. Nick went still beneath her, his face carved in hard, intractable lines. She arched over him and began to move, the breath freezing in her lungs as he surged beneath her, setting a tempo so frantic, so inescapably erotic, she could do little else but grasp his shoulders and hang on for the ride.

  His gaze locked with hers as she rode him, holding her captive even more than the hands clasping her ass. Jesus, she could drown in those eyes. And then she was coming apart again, shattering over him, around him. She heard her own high, keening cry and didn’t care that she uttered it, only that he was joining her, splintering with her, his hands locking her into his thrusts, his mouth plundering hers as he came undone.

  She slid atop him, utterly boneless, warmth and contentment spilling through her. She’d never felt like this in her life. Ever.

  Sunlight speared through the curtains, creating a halo around Cris’ already golden hair. Nick figured he was the world’s biggest sap, and probably a bit of a stalker, but also knew he’d never tire of watching her sleep.

  Her face lost the haunted look he hadn’t even noticed until she was asleep, relaxed. Now she looked years younger, like a girl just out of college, rather than the honed weapon she’d become. And while the schoolgirl held appeal on a purely masculine level, the woman made her pale in comparison.

  As if aware of his scrutiny, Cris shifted, throwing an arm over her eyes to shield it from the light. Bruises he hadn’t noticed before ringed her upper arm, the imprints of fingers clearly visible.

  Rage began to build within him. He sure hadn’t put those marks there. But he was going to find out who had.

  “Stop it. I can feel you glowering.” Her voice was rough from sleep and satisfaction, and tickled along his nerve endings, turning anger into something much bigger, something that swelled within him until he thought he might burst.

  It was too soon to feel such things, they’d only known each other three days. But his heart knew, had known the moment she pulled him out of that trunk and thunked the tire iron against her open palm. This woman was for him. Now he just needed to convince her.

  “Who marked you?” He traced the fading bruises with his forefinger. He knew his tone conveyed more than he ought to be sharing with her right this second, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

  “Skip who got feisty when I snaked his trophy ride a few days ago.” She was coming fully awake now, but left her arm where it was, as if she didn’t want to greet the day quite yet. Or maybe she was avoiding him.

  She was such a dichotomy. Fragile enough to be bruised by an asshole’s hands, but strong enough to shoulder the weight of the world. Or at least her family’s world.

  Then she pulled her arm down, and opened her eyes, smiling in welcome before she held out her arms. “Morning, handsome.”

  He rolled her on top of him, his heart clenching as she settled above him like a goddess. How had he of all people, hit the girl-of-the-century lottery?

  “It’s your lucky morning,” she breathed, rocking against him, and he wondered if she’d read his mind. And then she proceeded to show him exactly how fortunate he was.

  Given the fact she hadn’t taken a lover in a long, long time, it only stood to reason that the morning after might be awkward. Especially when they’d both admitted they didn't want or need more than last night.

  It wasn’t until she was in the shower, alone, warm water cascading over her body, that Cris began to have second thoughts.

  The off-the-charts sex had been fantastic, but logic told her to give Nick the stiff-arm, to keep her distance. They’d only known each other a few days. They lived too far apart to continue seeing each other. He was a cop and being around him reminded her of all she’d lost. She didn’t need him. She was financially set, and secure in who and what she was. She didn’t need a man to be complete.

  Her i
nstinct told her something altogether different. Even though Nick proclaimed he wasn’t a keeper, every bone in her body said he was. Being around him was like coming home, even for something as goofy as playing cards to kill time. He listened to her, respected her decisions, made her feel like a woman. They clicked, in a way she’d never experienced.

  After Austin she’d made a vow to go with her spidey sense rather than her brain, but right now rationality was overruling her intuition.

  It was, honestly, too damned soon for her to feel more than a healthy liking for Nick, no matter how much they tore up the sheets. She and Trent had dated for over a year before even talking about moving in together, and then getting married a full year after that. They’d taken all the right steps, and still gotten it spectacularly wrong.

  She didn’t want to do that with Nick, she realized. She lusted for him, yeah, but it was more than that, had been since Linc outed him, and she’d really seen the full force of his personality. She respected him. For what he’d been and done, and for the man he was now.

  Nick would fit perfectly into her family, and maybe that's what was making her so twitchy. She could see him playing football in the front yard with her brothers, could just as easily see him spiffed up and having cocktails at a fundraiser.

  Shouldn't she be happy she'd found someone like that? Shouldn’t she be finding ways to make something work, or at least figuring out if Nick even wanted more? Instead, she was already beginning to push him away, finding excuses, putting up the armor she'd earned the hard way in Austin.

  As her thoughts tumbled and soap suds ran down the shower drain, she came to a realization that had nothing to do with Nick, nothing to do with the next few hours as they left this safe haven and moved back into a reality of not ducking and running.