by Karen Anders
All except for Russell “Rock” Kaczewski.
Rock and his personality punched through Tristan’s armor, and he’d been a steadfast and supportive teammate for a good solid five years until Rock had retired five years ago. Tristan was convinced that Rock would move on, but he hadn’t. He’d remained just as solid as he had when they worked as a pair to complete sniping missions all over Afghanistan.
Rock had asked for his trust, too, but Tristan wasn’t sure if he’d given it. Still wasn’t sure.
He stalked into his room.
Stripping out of his clothes and donning his own running gear, he went out the door and looked both ways. He could see her retreating form some ways off in the distance. The girl was fast.
The afternoon was turning to dusk, and the sky above the jutting, snow-covered peaks of the mountain range spread out before him had turned a colorful red, orange and purple, tingeing the uppermost peaks in a colorful hue. The wind had picked up and the cold slapped his face. He loped after Amber, marveling at the progress she’d already made in the snowy footing.
He heard a car come up behind him but kept his eyes on that blue vision in front of him. It wasn’t until he saw the car was way too close to the side of the road that he focused on it. The idiot! Was he drunk? His heart climbed into his throat when it continued to barrel toward Amber without swerving away from a dangerous trajectory that would lead to directly hitting her.
“Amber! Look out!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. She jerked her head up, but the car was almost on her. For a minute he lost them in the long shadows of the mountain, but then he saw her body sail into a snowbank as the car roared past.
“Amber!” he shouted as he increased his speed, his lungs burning, thighs pumping, feet slipping on the snow-covered road. He raced toward her still body, his mind frozen in fear.
When he got closer, his heart racing, he heard her groan, and relief rushed through him. As soon as he reached her prone body, he knelt down. “Amber, geezus, are you all right? That stupid nut job!”
He reached out as she opened her eyes and their gazes collided. She took in his face and blinked a couple of times. He wasn’t sure what she saw, but the fear in him was still stinging, thrumming through him with adrenaline and panic. And he fell into the deep green pools of her eyes, fell like a meteor, a stone into warm, seductive liquid. The silence between them stretched out, expanded in a way that lent texture to the very air between them. The sun was disappearing behind the mountains, smudging her beauty with purple shadow. He swore he stopped breathing, her gaze still locked on his face. Her body was so close to his as he bent over her, aware of how much bigger he was, responding to her in ways that were instinctive and fundamentally male—warming, hardening.
He got hard. It happened in the field, in combat mostly from the surge of adrenaline. But he wasn’t sure he could pretend in this situation his erection had anything to do with his adrenal glands.
“Can you sit up?” he said, his voice rough.
“In just a minute. I thought while I was down here, I’d make snow angels.” He closed his eyes against the way his chest filled at her attempt at humor. But he couldn’t laugh, not this time. His fear had been so acute; he swallowed hard against the thought of this bright and beautiful woman no longer here.
“Did the car hit you, for Pete’s sake?” he growled.
“No. I threw myself out of its path, just hit my shoulder in the fall. I’m fine.”
“Jackass didn’t even stop.”
“Did you get a look at the car?”
“Yes, silver sedan, late-model Honda. Got a partial plate. Most of it was covered up with mud. I’m turning that madman in.”
He slipped his hands under her, not asking permission. He deadlifted her up out of the snow, holding her securely around her lower back and under her knees, pressing her to his chest. She felt good in his arms and he realized the barrier that he needed to protect himself against her just wasn’t there. She’d disarmed him and charmed him from the moment he walked into Jacobs’s office. Yet, he was stubborn.
He didn’t look at her as he carried her back to the town house. Ignored her protests that she could walk. She was fine. Well, he wasn’t fine and he needed to hold her in his arms, carry her against his body to prove to himself that she was okay.
When he got to the door, he let her feet drop to the ground, kept her close as she slid down the length of him. Steadied her with his hand on the small of her back as he retrieved the key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pushing it open.
She stepped inside and she moved easily, just rubbed at her shoulder.
He closed the door behind him. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, thank you, but I’m fine.”
“You don’t need medical assistance?”
“No, just a bump and a close call. Scary.”
He couldn’t stop himself. He reached up and ran the backs of his fingers against her cheek. She closed her eyes and melted into his touch, and he stood there, frozen by his need and his desire to touch her more, kiss her. As if she read his mind, her mouth parted and a little gasp escaped.
Without another word, he walked to his room and carefully closed the door behind him before he did something he’d live to regret. This was the right thing to do. He knew it and he bet she knew it, even if she was pissed off at him. Inside he leaned his back against the door and closed his eyes. Caught his breath and shored up his badly damaged defenses. He rubbed at his forehead, running his hand over his thick flattop, and discovered a whole new shade of meaning for the word yearn.
She was something more. Something special. Not a carnal opportunity, not a quick lay. This was a woman he could talk to, get lost in. This was a woman to savor, to sink into, to go slow with, to promise things to. Those were the best reasons for him to keep himself in check.
Because he was damaged, had scars and pain that he’d buried, still hadn’t dealt with, and he wasn’t going to dump his baggage on her. His life was so entwined with the corps that he couldn’t see clearly. His duty and honor were twisted up inside him, tied to a common ground and a common fight. Something that filled him up. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he put anything else in his life first. If who he was would drain away and leave him nothing but a hollow husk.
It was the corps. First and foremost. He still owed his fealty, his duty and honor to them.
Semper Fi.
Chapter 5
Tristan nursed the third glass of Scotch and, even though his body was reacting to Amber’s warmth, his head was going around and around about James. However he was killed, it wasn’t a fitting death for a kid...man like him. He still felt sick about it and he wondered if it would have been easier to take if it had been a warrior’s death.
Yeah, he was a marine through and through. It would have been easier to take.
He did the same thing he’d done when the ambassador had been killed. Went over everything he said or did the days leading up to the attack in Banyan, looking for a weakness, a missed opportunity, insight.
But in James’s case, it was more about how the kid had got under Tristan’s defense, just as Rock had.
Just as Amber was doing, and she was sleeping, all warm and sweet-smelling in her room, the door closed.
He swore he could smell that sweetness in the room. He took a deep breath and decided that getting drunk alone in the middle of the night was completely irresponsible, especially when he needed every wit he possessed sharp enough to keep from doing what he’d been thinking about doing yesterday.
He closed his eyes, remembering the scent of her hair, how silky it had been against his rough chin. How perfectly her body had felt against him, how much he wanted to sink into her softness and stay there for a long time.
She was a reminder that he might have miss
ed something with James. Her very presence at the base called into question his ability to do this job and it reminded him too much of Banyan. He took a swallow of the Scotch and it burned in his mouth and in his throat, going down smooth as the amber liquid appeared in the heavy cut of the glass.
Unbidden, Doc Cross’s words penetrated his inebriated brain. I think you’re harboring pain about that consulate incident and you’ve closed yourself off, so you never have to feel it again. The corps has become your crutch and you use it like a goad to punish yourself. It’s not just your relationships in the corps. It’s all relationships.
He closed his eyes again. Damn him. It wasn’t true. He’d spent fifteen years with the corps. It just wasn’t true!
He’d dedicated his life to the corps, but he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be free of the strict rules and regulations and come home to a woman like Amber every day. He distracted himself with her. Desperately needed something to erase Doc Cross’s words. He thought about this morning and the way she’d bent herself into those provocative poses, limber and slender. He clamped his jaw.
Even with the alcohol, he hardened in his pajama pants at the thought of that sweet, smiling mouth beneath his. And the minute he thought about kissing her was when it was all over. Time for lights-out. He went to rise and his hand slipped on the edge of the table where some of the Scotch had spilled. His out-of-control hand then clipped the glass and it careened off the table, hitting the floor with a loud popping sound.
He groaned when Amber’s door slammed open and she pelted down the stairs. She arrived in something too skimpy for his libido at this moment. Then it registered—she had a gun.
“Tristan?” she whispered. “Are you all right?”
“It’s in the middle of the night and you’re locked and loaded?”
She dropped the gun. “It sounds like you’re just loaded.”
“Yeah, I’ve been drinking. Mind your own business. You’re not my mother or my commanding officer.”
“I didn’t... I wasn’t reprimanding you, just mad because you didn’t offer me one.”
Goddamn, he didn’t want to like her.
He swore at his clumsiness, bent down to pick up the visible shards and hissed, dropping the broken pieces in a tinkling storm as pain sliced into his palm and blood welled.
She took a few more steps closer and he lunged at her, catching her around the waist and lifting her off her feet. “Stop! There’s glass on the floor. You’ll get cut.”
And just like that he found himself in the one position he didn’t want to be in—anywhere close to her soft skin. It was customary for him to sleep without a T-shirt, but he wasn’t even sure the cotton between them would have helped. He hefted her easily and took a few steps away from the possibility of glass and set her down.
Her eyes narrowed in on his hand and she set her gun down on the coffee table. “You’re bleeding.”
“Be careful. You’ll cut your feet.” He was trying to ignore how soft and creamy her skin looked.
“My God, you are so bad tempered. I’m just trying to help.”
“It’s not helping.”
She made an exasperated noise and grabbed his wrist and dragged all six feet four inches, two hundred and sixty pounds of his reluctant ass into the small downstairs bathroom, talking the whole time.
“I swear, Tristan. I have never seen a man who is so damn contrary all the time.”
She opened the door to the medicine cabinet, still talking. “All I’m trying to do is help, but you have this chip on your shoulder about NCIS agents. Don’t even give me the benefit of the doubt, just jump to all kinds of conclusions...”
“Amber,” he said, desperately trying to get her to stop, using up his last ounce of willpower to ignore the roar of chemistry between them, which was as difficult as hitting the tail end of a flea from a thousand yards. But she just kept talking, her soft lips dragging him closer to her. He thought about begging her.
“...and getting your Semper Fi skivvies all in a twist when this is my job—”
“Amber, for Christ’s sake.” He grabbed her wrist, trying to hustle her out of the bathroom and back to bed. Ah, damn, why did he have to go and do that? Think about a bed? He swore under his breath as he tried to propel her backward from the small room and away from him, but the opposite occurred. Instead of him pushing against her, he pulled, as if Newton’s law of universal gravitation had taken over and he was powerless. He now had her undivided attention as she turned right into him, her breasts pressing flush against his bare chest.
Tangling themselves up any further than they already had was just begging for trouble. He couldn’t stay focused on the job if he was focused on getting her naked. And he would be. Hell, he already was. And the little tugs he was experiencing inside his chest whenever he looked at her were downright terrifying. He’d only just met her and there wasn’t any way she should have this effect on him. But there was no denying she was affecting the hell out of him. And it was more than sexual need fanning those flames.
And that was bad. And good. All at the same damn time.
He almost...almost had it under control. Was almost able to step back, but she did the damnedest thing. She met his eyes and he’d never been so...looked at, connected as if she saw him behind his eyes right into his mind and knew what he needed. Her huffiness faded, melted away, and her features softened. His stomach tightened hard, his gut telling him what his heart didn’t want to hear. There was a reason he was grumpy around her, a reason he didn’t want to show any interest in her, and something must have changed in his face because she opened even more. But he was stubbornly ready to pull back until—his breath caught—either by accident or design, she shifted her hips and brushed against his aching erection.
Passion came to life inside him like a fire that had been smoldering beneath cold ash. And it was a different kind of passion, something he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t about getting off or taking her because she was a woman and he needed the feel of her or physical release.
He wanted her. Amber. Her body, her mouth, her hands all over him.
Something that had been held so tightly inside snapped, snapped and whipped back at him, lashed him with his own needs and desires as if all of it had been trapped behind a dam of his own making and with these realizations that dam burst and flooded him with more than he could handle. The sensory goads of her smooth, soft skin, the scent of her an intoxicating mix of floral and heat and just plain Amber, disarmed him completely.
The combination of tough-cookie, give-as-good-as-she-got attitude, smart mouth and even smarter mind took him down without mercy.
He crowded her back a little, until her backside was against the sink and everything about her melted. And he caved in. The surrender felt so good, giving in to this...whatever it was...wrapped around him in a soft, aching vise.
Tristan growled low in his throat as his lips brushed against hers, feeling weak in the knees when she made a soft gasp and her mouth toyed with his, retreating just enough to make him go after her, on the offensive until he captured hers, dropping down to her lips like a man in need of salvation.
Her mouth relaxed beneath his, and her hand slid up his chest wall, over his collarbone, to wrap around his nape, her hot palm sending rippling pleasure down his spine, over his skin. Her other hand wrapped around his waist, her thumb stroking, dipping in and caressing the skin just below the waistband of his sweats.
His mouth got more demanding and she matched his intensity and need. Her hunger was apparent with the way she moved over his mouth, frantic and fierce. Her reaction stripped him, demolished his defenses like a fluffy, pink bulldozer.
He wanted her, had wanted her from the first moment, this angel with her alluring combination of grace and take-no-prisoners attitude. He wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted a
woman in a long time—possessively, obsessively. He wanted her to be his in a way she had never been any other man’s. He would have seen it as dangerous thinking if he had been able to think at all.
Without breaking the kiss, he guided her hands to his chest and down to his waist and abandoned them there. Heat poured through him, molten, liquid heat, searing his veins, pooling in his already-hard dick. He gasped a little at the feel of her hands, so cool and soft, gliding back up his chest.
His breath hitched and he sent his hands down her back, caressing, exploring, interpreting every graceful curve, every plane and hollow. Lifting her into him, he pressed her hips to his, pressed her into his arousal, letting her know how badly, how urgently, he wanted her. She wrapped her arms around him and hung on, mirroring his actions as he kissed her throat, her shoulder. He felt her tongue dip into the hollow at the base of his throat, and the flames of desire leaped, licking at his sanity.
How had she got to him so fast? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything and that made him remember, and making him remember brought back the confusion and the fact that if he let this happen now, he would regret it. Not because he didn’t want it to happen. Damn, he was crazy for her to do everything she was doing and more.
It was about her in a deep, more fundamental way than he could ever have imagined, and if it had been any other woman, he’d already be inside her. Doing her. Taking her.
But that was not what he wanted with Amber. He wanted something more, and that was what made him bury his face in her neck and why the soft sound of despair came out of him so involuntarily.
“Tristan.”
He stilled, hearing his name whispered so intimately. It threatened to pull him back in, but he resisted, clenched his hands in the silky garment she was wearing.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t. I’m screwed up and I can’t do something with you until I get my head straight about it. I would regret it and I so don’t want to do that.”