by Karen Anders
Everything was coming to a head, getting ready to demolish her the hard way, like a wrecking ball.
“You bastard. Why did you stop me?”
He didn’t say anything, just let her vent.
He kept her backed up against the wall and he didn’t have a regret in the world about using his superior strength against her.
She shoved at his chest. Ever since he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been locked on her like a friggin’ tractor beam. He wasn’t going to leave her alone like she wanted. She was going to a dark place and she needed him. He was going to be there every step of the way. Dammit. Whether she liked it or not, he was freaking staying.
“I was so scared...”
He had his hands on her waist, holding on to her, but she wasn’t struggling to get him to let her go. She was struggling with that terrible dark well inside her, trying to make sense of it all, and she was struggling with herself far more than she was struggling with him. She was hitting him, yeah, but she was the one who was hurting. Oh, man, she was hurting bad.
She twisted against him, but not to get away, just to twist and writhe and ache with the pain.
He’d lived this, breathed this for eight years. He knew about how crap went down and how strongly it could affect someone. He knew how to find anything, complete any mission with a map, compass, weapon and target. Didn’t matter how complex, how many countries he had to travel, how many enemies he had to neutralize, he knew how to make it work and get it done.
He knew what she was experiencing because through those countries, enemies and missions, he’d experienced the same things. He recognized them in her because they were also trapped in him. Process his ass. You didn’t process this, you rolled over it and crushed it, let it mold you and make you stronger because that’s what it took to get the job done.
So he knew what to do. He knew how to save her.
All he had was himself to offer to give her comfort and something to hang onto.
All in.
Just him.
He pressed closer to her and lowered his head to hers, resting his forehead on her brow, and he let her rant at him, let her vent her anger and her pain, let her pound on his chest until she was clutching his shirt in her hands and just holding on.
“Beau...” She whispered his name, burying her face in the curve of his neck. “Oh, Beau.”
“That’s, right, Kinley. I’m here. Completely present. You don’t have to tell me what you need.”
He kissed the top of her head, let his lips slide over the silken strands of her hair—and he pulled her closer.
“Beau...” She gripped him tighter, buried herself deeper, clinging to him. “Beau. Oh, Beau.” She loosened her hold on his shirt, and her arms came up and around his neck.
Yeah, that was right—and so were the tears. She wasn’t sobbing. She was just crying silently, nearly stock-still in his arms now. He felt the wetness on his neck, and it broke his heart. God, life could be so damned hard, more than a person could handle.
And yet, it had to be borne every day, in every way, over and over again until the end, and if a guy was lucky, every now and then he’d end up with a complicated woman in his arms, somebody who could turn him inside out.
Something he’d been missing for a long, long time. He hadn’t really realized it until just this damn second.
Yeah, he was a bona fide freaking amazing genius.
These experiences were what made life worthwhile and she was the best freaking teacher he’d ever had.
“Kinley, sugar.” He spoke her name, grounding her with it, bringing her back to him.
She slid her arms farther around his neck, and he kissed her cheek.
“I’m here, chérie. It’s all you need, ma belle. Take what you need,” he whispered in her ear and kissed her again, and she softened against him.
Comfort came in many forms and sex was just one of them, but if that’s what she needed, wanted, he would comply. He wanted to make love with her, to ease her pain, to remind her there was life, always, the flame of it burning deep inside, to give her pleasure and ease her mind.
Yeah, he was so damned giving.
He wanted to take her so sweetly, to make her come apart in his arms, to make her his. He wanted to come so deep inside her, to claim her.
He opened his mouth on her neck and slid one hand down over the curve of her hip to pull her closer, to bring her up against him, and she turned her face into his neck and softly brushed her lips across the skin she’d made wet with her tears.
It was enough.
He kissed her neck, using his teeth so gently, licking her with his tongue and then sliding his mouth to hers and kissing her deep, angling his head to get more of her. Inch by inch, he hiked her skirt up over her ass, giving himself the contact he needed. When he had the skirt up around her waist, he slid his hand down over bare skin, over the softest skin he’d ever touched, over the perfect curves of her backside.
Right on. He’d been completely one hundred percent correct.
No panties.
Thong.
He needed the distraction because his heart was getting more and more wrapped around her. The taste of her, the way she held on to him, the way she looked at him, telling him how much his comfort meant to her.
A man could freaking lose his mind from this.
Chapter 13
To know how amazing it was to feel alive made his heart drop like a stone. Freefall without a parachute.
He hooked his fingers in that tiny scrap of lace covering what he wanted and pulled it down her legs, his eyes never leaving hers, wrapping his free arm around her thighs to steady her.
Moonlight caressed bare skin and the soft curls between her legs. Gotta love the way spandex stayed where it was placed: up around her provocative hips.
Leaning forward, he pressed his fingers to the hot center of her core, and he teased her, pushed her, felt her softly grind her hips against him and burrow her fingers through his hair.
“Beau...” His name was a sigh on her lips, her body silken, a force to be reckoned with in his arms.
He released her when he felt the pressure against his arm to allow her to spread her legs wider, and he slipped his fingers up inside her. She was so soft, so wet, so beautiful—electrifying, turning him on, getting him hot and hard.
“Beau...”
“Come for me, chérie.” He wanted it so badly, to make her come undone, to make her feel so good. He wanted her to know he was her man, the one she needed, the one who could take her higher. But...the thought slammed into him...he needed her, too.
Her sighs grew rougher, more guttural, until he felt the contractions of her release rippling through her.
When she collapsed against the wall, he rose to his feet.
He took a breath. Her trust in him was in her eyes for him to see, and tenderness slammed into him as hard as a hollow-point bullet, shredding his insides.
Taking her mouth with his, he fitted himself to her and pushed up inside. No hesitation. No thoughts. It was mind-bending. She was so hot and slick, taking all of him on his first thrust, to the hilt.
“All in,” he whispered on barely a breath, and her breathing hitched.
Her mouth was soft and wet, sucking on him, sucking on his tongue, then deepening the kiss. Between them, he felt her pushing at her top, and he did his best to get it up and off her. And then her breasts were exposed and so soft and full, and filling his hand even as he filled her, again and again, getting lost in her, mindlessly, so easily, following the heated warmth of her skin into pleasure so deep he never wanted it to end.
All he wanted was to be with her.
To be like this, driving into her, holding her to him. He had his tongue in her mouth, his hand on her breast, and his other hand wrappe
d under her thigh, lifting her leg around his waist, letting him go deeper and deeper. He thrust into her, and she took him every time, all the way, moving her hips with his, until the heat and the rhythm and the seductive softness of her body took him straight over the edge.
He pinned her up against the wall, his body rigid with the pleasure pulsing through him, her soft gasps of breath hot against his mouth. Her.
So perfect. Especially her. Hot and soft, and wet, and silky, turning him on and setting him off.
He pushed into her one last time, watching her face as he slid deep inside just to feel her, just to see her pleasure as she finished him off. Just to hear the small sound she made. God, he could do her all night long, but he didn’t feel like she had the strength left to get to the bed.
So he held her and stayed inside her, just loving the way she felt, his heart still pounding.
She was so dangerous.
“You okay?” he asked after a few more moments had passed, brushing his mouth across her cheek.
“Yeah.” She sighed, rocking against him, ever so slightly, and he sucked in a breath—it felt so good.
He pulled out, and in one powerful move had her in his arms. She snuggled up to him and there it was again. Damn, he loved when she did that.
He walked to the bathroom, a half-naked and totally boneless Kinley in his arms. He felt as if he’d just conquered the world.
He set her down on the commode and turned to the oval tub. Twisting on the taps and reheating the water.
Her eyes darkened when she looked at him and she rose, reaching for a washcloth. She dipped it in the bathwater and gently wiped at the skin at the top of his shoulder. It stung, but he was too busy watching the way she administered to him with that knee-buckling look on her face to care.
He cupped her face and rubbed his thumb along her tough little jaw. While she was attending to a couple of other nicks, he reached for the holder binding her hair. Pulling the elastic free, he started to unplait her hair, loving the thick silk as it unraveled as easily as he had. He reached for the skirt and shimmied it down her legs and off her.
His throat tightened as he rose and buried his face in her neck, breathing her in, filling himself with the warm and lovely scent of her skin. “I thought I had lost you.”
“Oh, Beau. I knew you hadn’t. I knew you would come for me. I knew it,” she murmured, softening against him and running her fingers up through his hair—and he kissed her, moved his mouth to hers and played with her, sucking on her tongue, gently biting her lips, just trying to get more of her.
She was so responsive, teasing him, giving of herself—he felt it with every move she made.
He nuzzled her neck and she sighed. He glanced to see the tub was ready and left her to turn off the taps. He closed the door. The bathroom was filling with steam. He took her hand and drew her to the tub.
He climbed in first and then assisted her in. He settled into the steaming water. Pressing his back against the tub, he tugged her until she folded down against him, pressing her back to his.
“Lean back,” he said and she did, just like that. He immersed her to her hairline in the water. “Now scoot up.” She complied and he reached for the shampoo. Dabbing some into his hand, he lathered her hair, scrubbing her scalp. She sighed softly, her hand caressing his leg beneath the water, her thumb going to the top of his thigh.
“All in?” she said, her eyes downcast. She had to be looking at his tattoo.
“It’s one of things we say. All in. All the time.”
“I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you, Beau, a man who so fully participates in everything he does. I love that about you. It makes me want to be like that.”
“Like what?”
“Facing my fears head-on and dealing with them instead of retreating and letting them control me.”
“Handling the fear in battle is the number-one thing that keeps you alive. Admitting your fear is all right. Totally. Handling it is the key. Because being afraid is a natural reaction to danger,” he said tenderly.
“Even you get afraid?”
“Yes, even me. Now down again.” He rinsed her hair out, lifted her back up, then applied conditioner.
“Scoot over and let me do you,” she said.
“Mmm-hmm, I like the sound of that.”
When she turned to face him, he was blindsided by her beauty, with her slicked-back hair leaving it stark and out there.
He kissed her mouth as he shifted so that his back was to her front. The water sloshed as there was a lot of displacement from his large body.
He didn’t wait for her to tell him to dunk. He just did it. When he rose, she pulled him against her so that he was cradled in her arms, and he floated like that, enjoying the feel of her skin against his.
Finally she let him go and unlike her he had to tilt his head back for her to be able to wash it.
“Yeah, wasn’t that you wanting to go after el Ajeer? Wasn’t that you calling me a bastard and slugging me?”
“It wasn’t about you,” she said, running her hand over the nape of his neck.
He nudged her hands with the back of his head. “I know. Give me some credit, sugar. I knew you were hurting.”
Her hands were so gentle on him, slipping through his soapy hair as if she couldn’t get enough of the feel of him.
“He took everything.” Her voice held the pain he’d seen in her tears and his heart squeezed at the sound of it. “For what? To make my father some kind of an example in his war of terror? What did he accomplish?” Her voice was getting bitter and angry. “Nothing. And my father died protecting me. I know it. He would never have run. He was a SEAL like you. He would have fought.”
After dipping down and rinsing his hair and getting the conditioner treatment, he turned toward her. “I’m sure he did, Kinley, but you’re wrong.”
Her green eyes met his with the same pain he’d heard in her voice. “What? What do you mean?”
He cupped her face between his. “He didn’t die for nothing. He died for you and the way we live our lives. Free and unafraid. If anything, he made a statement.”
She closed her eyes as his words penetrated. Softly, she said, “He took my father’s trident.”
He stiffened and everything in him rebelled, heat whooshing over him, fury in his blood. “He freaking what?”
She opened her eyes, acknowledged his anger with her gaze. “He ransacked our home, trashed it and took it. My father kept it in his office, on his desk to remember to serve well in everything he did.”
His lips thinned.
That just solidified this guy’s place at the top of his hit list.
* * *
Beau wrapped a towel around her from behind and pulled her back against him, drying her off. She pushed at her heavy hair and sighed. Her gut still churned and she still felt raw and shredded from their ordeal in that ramshackle apartment complex. The place where Daniel had died and where they had had to leave him behind. She had seen it in Beau’s eyes that it had killed him to leave a man behind, had heard it in his voice. But they hadn’t had a choice.
Both of them had to call in. But she couldn’t face that yet. She walked into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, leaning over and rubbing vigorously at her hair, then tossed the towel at her feet.
Beau came out of the bathroom looking like the battle-scarred warrior he was. God, he was beautiful with his broad chest, delineated abs, legs strong and muscular, his fingers nimble.
She didn’t want to think about anything else, not about earlier, when she’d been crying in his arms, and not about the loss that would forever haunt her days, not right now. The ache was always with her. It never went away completely.
But with Beau, she had a chance for another small reprieve, and she wanted it, just a little more ti
me with him, time to be held and cared for, and to get lost in his loving. It was crazy, something of the moment, intense and vital, sex and solace and salvation all wrapped up in Beau Jerrott with his sexy Cajun accent and his midnight-blue eyes.
She pulled the blankets down and gave him a sultry look over her shoulder as she settled on the mattress. He didn’t need a verbal invitation. Every cell in her body cried out for him.
He was across the room, his damp, sexy hair framing his stubbled face. He put a knee on the bed and slid his hand over her ankle, brought it to his mouth and kissed it.
Just as she remembered the day her father died with the clarity that was born out of anguish, so would she remember until the day she died how Beau had saved her today, in more ways than one. No matter what happened between them.
“Beau,” she murmured, and he moved up another inch and kissed her shin, then the inside of her knee.
Movement by movement he worked his way up her leg, stretching himself out on the bed, until his mouth was back at the hot sweet center of her desire. She lifted her hips against him in rhythm with the forays of his tongue, and she let herself sink into the loveliness of how he made her feel.
And so it went, on and on, his mouth on her everywhere and then coming up to take her in a kiss, hot and soft and deep, claiming her as he pushed up inside her. Everywhere she held him; she could feel the sleek, powerful movements of his muscles beneath his skin.
The world disappeared, every moment in his arms drawing them closer time and again—hot mouth, soft skin, hard body, thick muscles, the angle of his hips, warmth, eroticism, tenderness, falling...falling...falling into... Oh, God. Falling away and dropping hard.
She was a goner.
On his next thrust, he pushed up harder into her and held himself deep, and there he stayed, his breathing slow and even and sure, his body like iron.
He leaned down and kissed her, a fleeting touch of his mouth.
“You’re hot, sugar,” he said, smoothing her hair back off her forehead.
They both were. There was too much heat between them for them not to spark and catch fire. Their bodies were slick with sweat and he was teasing her, holding himself so still, second after endless second, until even the slightest movement nearly sent her over the edge.