by Alicia Scott
He raised his head with knowing eyes and suddenly found himself pushed backward onto the bed. She didn’t give him a chance to recover but climbed on top to kiss him passionately. Her legs tangled with his own, her hips pressed intimately next to his rigid length while her tongue traced his lips and flickered inside experimentally. He caught her head with his hands and, in slow, leisurely motions, stroked her mouth with his tongue.
Just as her body turned liquid, he shifted her over until her legs straddled his waist, pressing her against his rigid, demanding length. For one moment, she stilled.
Slowly, he stroked her back with his hand and looked at her with burning eyes. “It’ll be better this time, Suzanne. Trust me.”
For her reply, she bent down and kissed him deeply.
He went more slowly, wanting it to be good. He wanted to watch her eyes turn that iridescent gold. He wanted to see her skin flush and her neck arch with passion. He wanted his name on her lips, hushed and breathless. Slowly, with spinetingling control, he rotated his hips against her. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes darkened. He moved again, and felt her hands grip his shoulders.
“Like that, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Just concentrate on the feel.”
She arched back helplessly as he moved, her own hips restless against him. She felt achy and heavy, hungry and needy. She could feel his burning length so close, pressing against her, rubbing against her. She at once wanted him just to take her, but also to prolong the moment. She shuddered, leaning back and moving against him.
He cupped her breasts with his hands, rolling her nipples as he continued to rotate his hips. She gasped, and her eyes turned molten gold. He bit his lip at the effort for control, and at that moment, nothing meant more to him than watching her satisfaction.
He brought one hand down and found her warm, moist folds with his index finger. She cried out, her eyes closing and her hands squeezing his shoulders. He rubbed her again, watching her body bow while his teeth bit into his lower lip.
“Please, sweetheart,” he whispered thickly. “For me.”
He pressed his hand against her and watched her explode. Her whole body shuddered, the passion washing through her like a giant crest that crashed into his own burning need. Before the last wave had passed, he thrust into her, plunging deep and low as. her name was wrenched like a plea from his lips.
She collapsed onto his chest, and he held her tight as they shuddered through the storm.
For a long, long time, he simply stroked the long, tangled mass of her hair and listened to her breathing return to normal.
“I told you I could do better,” he breathed against the top of her head. Against his chest, he could feel her lips curve into a smile.
“Of course,” she said sleepily as her eyes drifted shut. “I always knew it would be you,” she murmured as she drifted away. “Somehow, it would be you.”
Chapter 10
Suzanne awoke with the hazy sensation of sleeping next to a furnace. Hot and uncomfortable, she made a feeble effort to push away from the heat, only to discover it was rock solid and included a heartbeat. Her eyes popped open and she discovered herself half-sprawled across Garret’s chest.
For a long moment, she didn’t breathe. Then very slowly, she exhaled.
He didn’t move, and from her position she could see the even rise and fall of his flat stomach. Realizing he was still asleep, she allowed herself another breath. Then, moving carefully, she. brought up a hand and cleared the rest of her hair from her eyes.
So this was waking up with a man.
She imagined it was nicer during the winter, when the air was nippy and you could huddle close. Right now, the room’s air conditioner was turned too low to combat the July heat, leaving her sticky and warm. Lying as she was, her right arm had fallen asleep wedged between them, she could feel a slight dampness against her hip.
Her cheeks abruptly turned red as she figured out what the moisture was: the infamous wet spot on the sheets. She’d heard other women whispering about these things.
She shifted slightly, not sure what to do, when suddenly, Garret moved next to her. With a sleepy mumble, he turned toward her, pillowing her head on his shoulder while his other arm curled around her hip. He sighed, muttered something and fell back asleep with his arms around her.
In spite of herself, she felt her eyes sting. She could hear his heartbeat, loud and strong, and his legs felt muscular and tantalizing tangled with her own. After all the years of simply waking up and getting out of bed, this felt right. She brought up one hand and lightly touched his cheek. Twenty-four hours of beard rasped against her fingertips and brought a smile to her lips. Very slowly, she slid her hand down his arm.
He’d definitely regained some of his weight. Running her hand down farther, she found filled-in strength versus the gaunt outline of before. He probably had another fifteen pounds to go.
Lightly, she traced the puckered path of the burn scar down his arm and found herself frowning. He’d fought fires in Sarajevo, he thought. It would explain so much. But what had he been doing there away from his team? And why did he get shot in D.C.?
The surge of protectiveness gripping her caught her off guard, and she found herself automatically snuggling closer to him. She liked her head on his arm. She liked the way he moved to accommodate her and she liked the way he wrapped his arm around her and held her close.
She gripped his shoulder firmly and willed the feeling to pass. He wasn’t hers. Just the moment was hers, and she’d sworn she would be content with that. She stroked his arm and shifted more comfortably in his embrace.
This time, she tested out the thick matting of hair on his chest. It felt springy and rough, a unique texture she decided she liked. She followed the line of hair down and felt his stomach abruptly contract. Her hand stilled, and all at once she became aware of burning heat just inches from her palm.
The early-morning erection, a normal biological function, one corner of her mind registered—she’d read of these things. The rest of her flushed crimson all the way to her toes.
Her fingers beat a hasty retreat up to his chest and lay there in agonizing wait. At any second, she expected to feel his hand abruptly grasp her hip, or perhaps hear his gravelly voice rumble in her ear, “Don’t you ever finish what you start, sweetheart?”
Maybe he was just waiting and, the minute she actually rolled away, he would grab her in a viselike grip and make fierce, passionate love to her until she melted into the sheets all over again.
Jeez, would he ever wake up?
The paradox of these thoughts didn’t escape her, and a feeling of desolation swept through her. She didn’t want one moment, damn it. She wanted dozens of moments, hundreds of moments. She wanted to wake up knowing she would wake up like this again and again and again.
He’d gotten to her last night. He’d showed her worlds she hadn’t known even existed. And waking up in his arms like this…She’d never meant for him to get this close. She’d never meant to fall for Garret Guiness all over again.
She curled her hand into a fist and forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. Then carefully, not daring to even look at his face, she crawled out of bed, picked up her clothes and left.
Garret found her out in the driveway two hours later, his eyes blinking owlishly against the bright sun. His shirt hung open, his jeans still unsnapped and his feet bare, as he walked out the front door.
For a moment he simply looked at her, armed with a crescent wrench and wearing old gray sweatpants with an oversize white T-shirt already streaked with grease and other older stains. She glanced over at the sound of the door opening, but didn’t stop working on the exposed engine of her Ford.
“Car trouble?” he asked, his voice still raspy with sleep.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” she replied crisply, still bent over the engine. “Someone could see you.”
He looked out at the empty road before him and the trees on all sides. “There’s plenty of tim
e to return to the house at the sound of a car.” He walked down the porch steps to the driveway. “You got up early this morning.”
“I always get up early.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough.”
“I didn’t hog the covers? I didn’t snore?”
“No. Could you hand me that screwdriver over there?”
He turned his head to see an open red tool case on the grass. Telling himself he wasn’t disappointed, he retrieved a large screwdriver and handed it to her. As she bent under the hood, he could see the shapely outline of her butt through the soft fabric of her worn sweats. He grinned to himself, feeling better.
“Need some help?” he asked at last.
“No.”
“What seems to be the problem?”
She glanced over sharply, looking at him directly for the first time. “You’re in my light.” Unperturbed, he reached over and wiped a smudge of dirt from her soft cheek. He didn’t start frowning until she flinched at the gesture. “Please, Garret. I’ve got to get this fixed.”
He stepped back, feeling a tightness in his stomach as she returned to her work. He didn’t like waking up this morning and finding her already gone. Never mind that he’d done that a time or two himself. Never mind that he should be grateful she was handling this so well.
Whatever he wanted, this wasn’t it.
“What seems to be the problem?” he tried again, pleased by the reasonableness of his voice.
She banged against something with the wrench and muttered a curse that sounded suspiciously like “tuna fish.” “Won’t start,” she said more clearly. She straightened up, wiping her hands on her old gardening T-shirt, and glared at her car. “I’ve had problems getting it to turn over lately, so I guess I should have known.”
“Sounds like the solenoid switch or the starter. Maybe I can help.”
She turned to him, her face set. “I don’t need your help, Garret. In fact, I just examined the solenoid switch and it happens to be fine. Now, I’m going to take out the starter and give it a look. I’ve been keeping this thing running for quite a few years all by myself, thank you.”
He looked at her for a long, hard moment, his own dark eyes beginning to spark. “Since when is it a crime to offer assistance, Suzanne?”
“I can take care of it myself.”
“I’m not disputing that.”
“I don’t need you, Garret.”
“Sweetheart, that wasn’t what you were feeling last night.”
Her jaw opened, her eyes widening and her cheeks flaring a brilliant, furious red. “You…you…” She took a deep breath, then her eyes narrowed dangerously. “But we’re not in the bedroom anymore, are we, Garret?”
He stiffened, not liking how sharply her words struck. Muttering an oath under his breath he snatched the tool from her hand. The silvery metal flashed in the sun, and just as he was about to say something else, his eyes caught the gleam and abruptly he stilled.
* * *
The fire in the sky…
It had taken them four hours to pile the bodies together. Four hours to find family and loved ones and heap their remains on top of the other. Then Zlatko stood, his massive shoulders straight, his eyes expressionless. He lit the torch and touched it to the funeral pyre.
And the men who’d spent their days fighting fire now let the flames carry their loved ones away.
He’d never seen flames burn so brightly as that afternoon, and the crackling of the branches sounded to him like weeping. The wood at least mourned. The men simply watched and were silent.
No one talked that night. No one gathered around the campfire to swap tales of the latest adventure. No one told stories of other times and other places. There wasn’t even the heated sound of arguments from people who’d been cooped up in the little camp for too long.
They all just sat on toppled logs, enveloped in grief and rage, drifting helplessly without anchor. Finally, Zlatko stood in the middle of the camp. His eyes burning on Garret, he drew them all together.
“There must be vengeance for this crime. There must be retribution.
Tonight…Something must happen tonight…”
“Garret! Garret!”
He blinked rapidly, his eyes coming into focus to find Suzanne staring at him with concern. A frown crinkled her brow, and she looked at him intently.
“You remembered something?”
He simply nodded, still wading through the depths of his mind.
“Something useful?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I think.” He looked at the car, blinking several more times. He was still gripping the crescent wrench and he had Suzanne pinned against the car. Belatedly, he took a step back.
“Are you leaving?” she asked straightaway, her chin coming up.
He just looked at her.
“I want to know when you go. I want you to tell me.”
He shook his head, his own thoughts not keeping pace with hers. “I’m not going,” he said at last. “I still don’t understand…”
His voice trailed off and he squinted his eyes as if that would help him see the past more clearly. The slaughter, the funeral pyre. He understood quite clearly that he fought fires, though he didn’t understand when he’d stopped being a SEAL. Still, he trained and led the men to fight the flames, until that one day when they’d returned to find the camp destroyed. And they’d built the funeral pyre, watched the flames soar to the sky. And then…and then…
He swore, and hurtled the wrench to the ground, where it jumped and clattered. Slowly, Suzanne bent down and retrieved the tool.
“You’re almost there, Garret,” she said softly. “Don’t push yourself too hard.” You don’t have to be that anxious to leave.
“I just want to know,” he said, his voice taut. He began to pace out a restless circle on the driveway. “Everything went so badly. Was it my fault? Did I do something that got those people killed? What the hell went wrong and what did I do? Suzanne, what happened?”
She looked at him helplessly, only able to shake her head. “I’m sure whatever happened, you did the best you could,” she supplied weakly. He merely glared at her.
“People died, Suzanne. Women and children. And I can’t even remember enough to know why. I see it happening in my mind over and over again. Maybe I don’t have amnesia at all. Maybe I did crack up.”
“Dr. Jacobs said you just needed time.”
“Yeah, well, Dr. Jacobs isn’t the one dreaming of redflowing rivers.” He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a long moment.
In front of him, Suzanne twisted the wrench in her hand. “Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard,” she said at last. “Maybe it will come to you just like it did now.”
He nodded and glanced at the wrench in her hand. Slowly, his gaze came to rest on her face. She didn’t look angry anymore. If anything, she seemed concerned about him. Without questioning the instinct, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
He buried his face against her neck, breathing in the soft scent of roses. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stroked his silky black hair. A shudder trembled through his strong frame, and he pressed his lips against her neck. He needed the feel of her softness pressed against him; he needed to feel her close and know that at least here, there was shelter from the storm.
He held her even tighter and closed his eyes.
Then, just as unexpectedly, he pulled away, looking out at the distant horizon and all the things he couldn’t see. His gaze settled back on her face, and he tried to ignore the sudden sheen in her eyes and the ache in his own chest.
“Maybe I can get that starter out,” he said gruffly.
She nodded and handed him the wrench. Without another word, he bent down and crawled beneath the car.
When Cagney pulled into the driveway six hours later, the car was gone. Frowning to himself, he walked through the house, searching for signs of Garret. Just as he was beginning to get worried, he
stepped onto the back porch and heard sounds of clanking from the shed.
After glancing idly at the new table sitting on the porch, he walked down the steps to the workshop. “Garret, it’s Cagney. Open up.”
The clattering suddenly stopped. He heard a muffled oath and then the door was pushed open. Garret’s rumpled head appeared, his eyes blinking owlishly at the bright daylight.
“Something happened?” he asked curtly.
Cagney shrugged. “Nothing really happened. But I just got off the phone with my old partner from D.C.”
Garret nodded and let Cagney in.
As the door closed behind them, Cagney also found himself blinking to adjust to the dim light in the shed. He glanced around. For all intents and purposes, Garret appeared to be packing up the tools.
“Leaving?” he asked sharply.
“I don’t know,” Garret said levelly. “You tell me.”
Cagney leaned against one wall and folded his arms across his chest. “Couple things,” he started to say, keeping his voice curt enough to match his brother’s. Even as he listened, Garret was packing up more equipment. “I actually called Melissa nearly a week ago, wanting to get more information about the shooting in D.C. and ask her to be on the lookout for anything strange. Well, it took a bit of doing, but just two days ago, officers were called by some neighbors to report a possible break-in. Window broken, but best they could tell, nothing stolen. It was Mitch’s house, Garret. And I had Melissa check it out. There was another note there, addressed to you.”
Garret stiffened, his hand momentarily stilling over an assortment of sandpaper. He forced himself to pick up the sheets and add them to the box. “And?”