Hot & Bothered (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 8)

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “So now you trespass whenever you please? Nice.”

  She closed the door behind her and shoved the paper and bottle Jared had given her into her pants pocket. Not that they were hidden considering the bulge or the fact Ryan had seen her put them there. Her heart beat harder.

  “Figured this was the one place you couldn’t avoid me.”

  “What do you want?”

  He nodded at the bulge on her hip. “What did Jared say?”

  Oh fucking hell. Her heart skipped a beat and sweat broke out on her torso. She had to tell him. But how could she tell him right now, right here?

  Ryan, you’re going to be a father.

  The thought made her stomach lurch.

  “Rest, hydrate, stay inside midday. I’ll be fine.”

  Ryan didn’t look convinced. “That’s it? After the fainting and throwing up? After all I’ve seen you eat is bread, and not a lot of it?”

  Heat marched across her skin. “You’ve been here barely twenty-four hours, and my stomach was upset. I expect I’ll eat more today.”

  And she would once she got the antinausea meds into her system.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Emily?”

  She reached around to twist her ponytail into a bun, securing it with a couple of pins sitting on her bedside table. Then she put her hands on her hips and stared at him. “I’m telling you what you need to know. There’s nothing more.”

  Liar.

  He stalked toward her, his big form imposing on her space. When he stopped in front of her, she was afraid to take a step back. Afraid that doing so would reveal too much. He loomed over her, his blue eyes searching hers.

  And then he reached out with one hand and skimmed his fingers beneath her jaw, forcing her to tilt her head up to meet his gaze evenly when she’d dropped her lashes over her eyes.

  “You forget that I know you, Emily.” His voice was soft, gravelly, and she wanted to sink into it. Into him.

  Her heart thudded and her skin burned—and she was positive he could see her pulse throbbing in her throat. Giving herself away.

  “You don’t know me that well,” she croaked.

  His mouth twisted ironically. “No, you’re right about that. Had no idea you’d come to me that night to give me a good-bye fuck. Couldn’t have predicted that one.” He leaned toward her, his eyes searching, always searching. “But I’ve learned to tell when you’re hiding something, thanks to that night. And you definitely are.”

  He took another step closer until he was fully in her space. She felt as if she were paralyzed. She couldn’t move a muscle. And then his hand was on her hip, his fingers sliding downward—

  Into her pocket.

  “No,” she cried as he pulled the bottle and paper free. She snatched at it, but he held it up high, out of her reach. “You have no right!”

  “I have no right? I spent months listening to you whenever you needed an ear, talking to you when you wanted to talk, being your friend. I did that at a cost to myself, Emily. I hid it from everyone, from my superiors, from your sister. I did it because you needed someone. I was there for you when you said you were afraid, and I was there for you when you wanted to perform a fucking experiment with my body. You wanted it even though I told you that was the one line I couldn’t cross. The one thing I wasn’t supposed to do. So what did I do when you insisted? I fucking gave in, because you asked it. Because you said you needed me. And what did you do? You left. You disappeared without any explanation, back into a life that you knew none of us would approve of. You took advantage of me, of the team, of your sister. And now you say I don’t have a right to know what’s wrong with you?”

  Emily trembled from head to toe. She’d screwed this up so badly. Screwed up everything. She’d been trying to do the right thing, to fix her life, but she’d ended up hurting the people she loved the most instead. And she hated feeling guilty about that, especially when she knew she was doing good work. That her meetings with Mustafa were making a difference.

  “Ryan,” she choked out.

  His expression was granite. “Tell me what’s on this paper, Emily.” He held it without opening it. Held the bottle without reading it. His eyes bored into hers. “If you ever cared about me, if anything you ever said was real, then tell me what’s on this paper.”

  “If I don’t want to?”

  “Then I’ll walk out of here and never ask you another thing. We’ll be finished for good.”

  Emily swallowed. “I thought we were finished already. I thought you hated me for leaving.”

  “I don’t hate you. I’m pissed, but I don’t hate you. Lie to me about this, and that just might change.”

  She put her hands over her face and took deep breaths. My God, she’d barely processed this news at all, and now he was demanding to know what was wrong. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Being pregnant with the child of the man you loved was supposed to be joyous.

  Yet there was no joy here. And there would be none when she told him. He wasn’t going to be happy about it. He wasn’t going to ask her to marry him.

  She didn’t expect to feel his arms around her suddenly, but that’s what happened. Didn’t expect to be dragged against his big body and held close. She couldn’t help but clutch her hands into his shirt and press her face to his chest. He smelled good. Like sun and sand and Ryan.

  She dragged in a breath that came out as a sob even though she tried to stop it.

  He squeezed her tight. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me, honey. Whatever it is, I’ll help you through it. We’ll get you to a doctor, get you taken care of. You don’t have to suffer.”

  Emily couldn’t help but laugh, though it was a broken sound that was as much sob as humor. “Oh, Ryan, it’s nothing like that. I’m not dying.”

  She sniffed and pushed back until she could look him in the eye. His brows were drawn low as he studied her. Her heart hammered and she felt light-headed again.

  She dropped her gaze to her fists clutching his shirt. “I’m not dying,” she repeated.

  “Then what?”

  She didn’t want to say it. But she had to. “That doctor was wrong. The one in Qu’rim. He said I… I couldn’t g-get p-pregnant.”

  Ryan’s body tightened like a steel coil. He pushed her back a step, his hands on her shoulders, the bottle and paper falling forgotten to the floor. There was confusion in that gaze. And pain.

  “Are you telling me you’re pregnant? Right now?”

  She nodded.

  “Jesus.” He stepped back and raked a hand through his hair. It was longer than military regs allowed, but in HOT the regs didn’t apply when the object was to blend into their surroundings. “You’re pregnant… I didn’t think…” His nostrils flared. “Whose is it?”

  Emily went still. Had he really just asked…? Heat and ice flashed over her skin in rapid succession. And then the anger began to build. The injustice of it. And, worse, the suspicion that if he could think she’d been with someone else since their night together, he most certainly had.

  She whirled, clenching her hands at her sides before she launched herself at him and wrapped them around his throat. Closed her eyes and sucked in breath after breath to keep from imploding right here and now.

  “You can ask me that?” she grated. “After that night? When you know why I came to you? Why it had to be you?”

  Silence…

  “Wait a minute. Are you telling me…?”

  She whirled around again, pretty sure she wouldn’t wrap her hands around his neck now. “Yes,” she yelled. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, you prick! This baby is yours!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “DUDE, YOU OKAY?”

  Ryan looked up from where he’d been leaning back in his chair, two of its legs off the floor, listening to his guys talk about the mission. Fiddler was looking at him strangely. No, fuck, they all were.

  “Yeah, fine. Why?”

  “You seem a million miles away.”
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  Brandy caught his gaze, looked away. Brandy hadn’t been there yesterday for the revelation that Emily had been in Ryan’s bed the night before she’d disappeared, but the man knew something was up. Knew and had probably already told Victoria. Yeah, Ryan’s balls were definitely in danger now.

  Not that he fucking cared. He had bigger things to worry about.

  Emily was pregnant. With his kid. What. The. Fuck.

  “It’s been nonstop since we left DC. I’m fucking tired.”

  Which was bullshit because Special Operators were accustomed to going without sleep, without showers, without food except stuff that was dried and tasted like tree bark for days at a time. Hell, the number of times he’d brewed coffee in a fucking tin cup with a Sterno can and stale water. It tasted like day-old socks, but it provided the caffeine jolt a military operative needed.

  “You can go to bed as soon as we’re done here, princess.”

  “Fuck you, Ice,” Ryan said.

  “All right, assholes,” Matt said. “It’s been a long day. Let’s wrap this up and get some R & R while we can.”

  “So it’s two more days,” Kev “Big Mac” MacDonald said, “and we’ll hopefully know where the hostages are being held. Unless something shakes out sooner.”

  “Could be a double cross,” Cade Rodgers said. The Echo squad leader didn’t say much, but when he did it was usually memorable. And not in the best way.

  “Could be,” Matt replied. “We won’t know until Emily meets with Mustafa again.”

  Ryan’s gut churned. Meets with Mustafa again? Over his dead fucking body.

  Brandy’s nostrils flared as he sat up straight. “Ain’t nobody sending my almost-sister-in-law into a goddamn double cross situation. Victoria will gut me if anyone touches a hair on Emily’s head.”

  “Don’t see as we have a choice,” Big Mac said. “She works for Black. She’s the contact.”

  Matt held up a hand to quiet them. “Look, we haven’t given up on our intel finding the location first. We have analysts working day and night back at HQ.”

  “If Emily goes, I’m going with her,” Brandy said.

  Ryan’s chair hit the floor with a thump that reverberated through the room. “Me too.”

  Everyone looked at him. No one said anything.

  “We’ll figure out who’s going where when the time comes,” Matt growled. “That’s not up for discussion yet.”

  Brandy looked militant.

  Ryan stood. He couldn’t sit here another second. Not when his skin felt like it was stretched too tight and about to split apart at any moment. His emotions churned like a hurricane. He had to get out of here, get some air. “We done here?”

  Fiddler’s brows rose. Cade Rodgers looked at him as if he were watching a bitch fight about to happen and enjoying it immensely. Ice openly gaped, which would have been funny if Ryan were in the mood for funny.

  Matt’s brows drew together. Then he nodded as if he’d decided something. “Yeah, you’re done, Flash. For now.”

  Ryan strode out of the room, his eyes burning, his gut churning, his breath razoring in and out of his lungs. It wasn’t late, but it was dark now. He hadn’t seen Emily in hours, not since she’d told him she was pregnant and he’d felt like she’d hammered a fist right into the center of his belly.

  He’d stupidly forgotten who he was dealing with as his mind had churned over her words. Asking her whose baby it was had been automatic. And the minute he’d done so, he’d known it was the wrong question. He could still see the hurt on her face, the defeat in the set of her shoulders as she’d turned away.

  He’d known he was the only one. Known he’d spent an entire night making love to her without any protection whatsoever. Because she’d told him she couldn’t get pregnant.

  He’d believed it. Hell, she’d believed it. Or had she? What if it had been a trick?

  He hated that he thought that, but goddamn it, she’d proved he didn’t know her as well as he’d thought he did when she ran away. Those were the thoughts whirling through his mind when she’d told him the baby was his.

  “Say something,” she’d said.

  He hadn’t been capable of saying anything for several minutes. Hell, even now he couldn’t remember what he’d finally said when he could speak. What they’d talked about. It hadn’t lasted long, and then he’d found himself outside her door, staring at it. She’d closed it in his face.

  He crossed the compound, nodding at the man who guarded the wall. The man nodded back, then spit into the dirt as he continued his circuit. Ryan was bunking with Fiddler in a small room at the opposite end of the compound, but that’s not where he was headed. He passed inside the main house and toward the stairs leading to the second floor. Ian Black stepped out of his office, lifted an eyebrow. But he didn’t stop Ryan as he went up the stairs.

  He came to a halt outside her door, his heart thrumming, his brain burning. He hadn’t said the right things earlier. Hell, he didn’t know what the right things were. He lifted his fist and pounded on the door.

  A second later, it opened. Emily stood there in a T-shirt and camouflage pants, her hair flowing loose and free, her dark eyes full of hurt and suspicion. Dear God, this woman was having his baby.

  Of all the things he’d ever considered doing, kids were a distant—seriously distant—thought. His lifestyle wasn’t conducive to a kid, though his brain reminded him that Ice had a kid and handled it all right, especially now that he had Grace in his life.

  Yet Ryan had been raised right, and he knew what he was supposed to do. His father had married his mother, in spite of her nuttiness, and he’d been there for Ryan when his mother finally fell apart. His father had always been a rock. A calm, guiding spirit who didn’t lay blame or shove off responsibilities.

  Ryan could do no less. His father would be ashamed if he did.

  The words tumbled out. “We need to get married.”

  Emily’s eyebrows climbed her forehead. Then they arrowed down again and her face reddened.

  “That’s just about the sweetest proposal ever, Ry—but no.”

  She pushed the door closed. Ryan stuck his foot between the jamb and the door before she could shut it all the way. She ripped it back open and glared at him.

  “What?”

  He blinked. His heart was an organ completely out of his control right now. It pounded, his head throbbing in time with the blood pulsing through his body. “What do you mean what? You’re pregnant. I’m here to do the right thing.”

  She crossed her arms and cocked a hip. “Oh really? It only took you…” She glanced down at the Fitbit she wore and pressed the button for the watch function. “Six hours. Six hours since I told you I was pregnant to decide that you want to marry me? No thanks.”

  He threw his arms wide. “What do you want me to say? You shocked me. I had to think.”

  She snorted. “Dude. If you had to think that hard about asking me to marry you, then no, it’s not the right thing for you to do.”

  Goddammit. She was driving him crazy here. Fucking insane. What the hell did she want from him anyway?

  “You’re pregnant.”

  “I know that, genius.”

  Ryan closed his eyes for a second. “Can we just talk for ten fucking minutes without all the hostility?”

  She stepped away from the door and went to sit in the only chair in the room. Ryan closed the bedroom door behind him and watched her as she folded her arms over her breasts and crossed her legs. The message was certainly clear—she was shutting him out.

  He let his gaze slide over the room. It was bare of any furniture but a twin bed, a chair with a small desk, and a dresser. But she’d managed to make it cozy for herself. There was a woven tribal rug on the floor, a sheet that hung over the single window, a few books on the desk, and a lamp that she’d put a sheer piece of fabric over. The fabric had come from one of the markets, he’d bet, its edges dripping with metallic coin-like objects that would rattle when shaken.

>   “What do you want to say?” She regarded him like a queen surveying her subject. Haughty. Proud.

  He didn’t like it. “I think there’s a lot to say, don’t you? We’re having a baby together, and that changes everything.”

  “It does. But I’m not marrying you because you believe it’s something you have to do. I know what it’s like when your partner starts to resent you for being unable to have a baby. I’d rather not find out what it’s like to have one who resents me because I had a baby instead.”

  “I’m not going to resent you.”

  “How do you know that, Ryan?” She clasped a hand over her still-flat belly. “How do you know you won’t hate being a parent? Won’t hate that you have to change diapers or put up with tantrums or get up at two a.m.? And what about when you have to consider two other people in your decision making because it’s not just you anymore?”

  Ryan blinked. “You’re having twins?”

  Emily growled. “No, I’m not having twins. I meant me! You have to consider me and what I want too.”

  Jesus, he was an idiot. “Yeah, I get that.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “This is a lot to process.”

  “It is for me too.”

  He went over and knelt beside Emily’s chair. Then he reached out and swept his fingers along her soft cheek. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, and he found that encouraging. There was something rather frightening about the idea of her refusing his proposal, as if she were shutting him out of her life.

  “Marry me, Emily. We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work. I’m not bin Yusuf. I’ll take care of you.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EMILY TREMBLED AS A SHIVER skated over her body. Ryan was touching her. Gently, sweetly, in a way that he hadn’t touched her since that night in his apartment. It was so tempting. So damn tempting to say yes.

  Her heart begged her to say yes. If she married him, she could make him love her.

  No. That was exactly the kind of thinking that had led her into a downward spiral when she’d been a teen. You didn’t make people love you. Thinking you could only led to heartbreak.