Her Master Defender

by Karen Anders

  He moved and tucked his arm under her bottom, holding her tighter, lifting her, pushing deeper—and then he came. He felt the warning signals, felt that first sweet edge of release and was helpless to stop it. He didn’t have the strength. He didn’t have the will. Not this time.

  Oh, God. It was soul wrenching, a melting orgasm that started at the back of his skull and the base of his groin and flowed out of him, taking him deep inside himself, deep inside her. It was timeless sensation, and it lasted forever, and all the while she kissed him, holding him, her mouth on his so hot and sweet.

  “Amber...” he groaned, pushing himself deeper, his body shuddering. He’d needed her for so long—even before he’d met her—only her.

  He buried his face in her throat as the powerful wash of pleasure drowned him in wave after hot wave.

  His breathing ragged, his heart pounding, he collapsed on top of her and she wrapped her arms around him. “Tristan,” she whispered as the room began to lighten with the dawn. A dawn he didn’t want to come. There was more to come in this investigation, but it was winding down and he knew it. She knew it. Looked as though Randall Mayer had killed James in a hunting accident.

  She would be able to write her report and the case would be closed and she would head off to Aruba. He would once again have his house back. He’d eat alone and sleep alone. He’d prove he was fieldworthy again and he’d go back out. More black ops and secret missions. More of serving his country and the corps, because that was what he was all about.

  He would let Rock know that he couldn’t take the job he was offering. He was dedicated, and with dedication came the duty and the oaths he swore to uphold. Getting out left him feeling empty and...scared.

  He closed his eyes as her hand went over his head, her caress so...loving. Damn, he didn’t want to go there. He didn’t want to acknowledge how sweet, how tough, how desirable Amber was to him. It would only make it that much harder to say goodbye.

  “Don’t, Amber,” he whispered, his voice rough and uneven. “Don’t.”

  Turning into his embrace, Amber pressed her face against his neck and took a deep breath. He supported her upper body and he wrapped one arm around her back. “We’ll get through this and it will all be okay. Copy that?”

  “Solid copy,” she said, moving her head and looking him in the eyes. “Can I ask you to hold me? Until the morning? Until whatever happens, happens?”

  Stroking her sweet, flushed face, her hair a tousled beautiful mess, he smiled, then dragged her hard against him, squeezing his eyes shut.

  It was a long time before he let her go, before he was emptied out enough to regain some control, and it was even longer before he was finally able to let the last of it go in a rough, shuddering sigh. He felt so raw inside, it was as if he had been stripped.

  He settled against the mattress, taking her down with him, not even allowing an inch of air between them. She closed her eyes and huddled in the crook of his body, the terrible hollow feeling persisting in his chest.

  He fell asleep again with her snuggled close to him. When he woke up, the shower was going and the clock read six.

  He got out of bed and entered the steamy room. Pushing back the curtain, he met her eyes and, tough cookie that she was, she smiled. “Good morning, handsome.” Reaching out, she pulled him inside.

  They washed each other, and he took great pleasure in shampooing her hair, all those thick blond locks soapy and silky against his hands. He massaged her scalp and she leaned into it.

  “You’ve got some magic hands there, marine.”

  He kissed her neck. “You’re damn beautiful for an NCIS agent, sweetheart.”

  She giggled and he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her against his body. Then he slapped her soapy, wet butt as she jumped forward and punched him on the arm. “Rinse,” he ordered.

  She gave him a watch-out look and complied. As soon as she was done, she picked up the shampoo bottle and squeezed out a dab. She pushed him into the spray and said, “Lean your head back.”

  He dropped his head and she slipped those wonderful fingers of hers into his hair and gently roved over his scalp, giving him as good as she got. He groaned softly and she pressed little kisses against his shoulder blades and to the middle of his back.

  She told him to rinse.

  Once they were done, they stepped out and he enjoyed helping her to dry off with a big fluffy towel, stealing kisses as he went.

  She cupped his face and ran her thumb along his cheekbone. “You’re not so tough, Tris.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t go spreading that around.”

  “Darn those man points.” She laughed and wrapped her towel around her. She leaned in and gave him a long, wet, knee-melting kiss. “I’m making pancakes again.”

  He couldn’t speak, only nodded.

  Then she was gone. As he ran the water for his shave, he ignored that wayward inside voice telling him to stop being an ass. But he was sure about his course of action. He’d been working for eighteen months to get his field-operator position back. He intended to go into Doc Cross’s office and pass his damn test.

  He closed his eyes, remembering those three months he’d been off the grid. After Tony, the other marine in the op, died, Tristan had to constantly move. Any other Recon marine would have cut his losses and given up the mission. But Tristan couldn’t fail. He’d carried Tony’s body back through enemy lines, not once being seen, dropped him at the base, filed his report and gone back out. He’d ignored orders, ignored his common sense. All that he could think about was getting the mission done and done right.

  He looked at himself in the mirror, his blue eyes looking haunted. Doc Cross had tried to tell him it was battle fatigue and that he wasn’t making rational decisions because of the death of Tony. Tristan wouldn’t admit to him that seeing Tony die had brought back all the consulate crap he’d thought he’d put in the past.

  “Maybe you were right about that, Doc,” Tristan said to his reflection. And if Doc Cross was right about that, maybe he’d been right about other things.

  Tristan turned off those thoughts. This kind of thinking wouldn’t get him back in the field.

  He finished shaving his face and headed down to the delicious aroma of pancakes. As he went to the coffeemaker to set it to brew, Amber’s cell phone rang. She answered it in her usual upbeat voice. Then she said, “Where?” After listening for a moment, she looked at Tristan and he knew this was a significant find.

  “Please have it tested ASAP.” Then she hung up.

  “What is it?”

  “That was Garza. He found Mayer’s rifle. He took a chance, he said, and followed along what he surmised would have been Mayer’s trail if he had killed James by mistake. He said he found it buried in the snow. They’re going to run ballistics on it now.”

  He could see it in her face. This was going to be the next-to-last piece of evidence they needed to close this case. The only other piece would be Mayer’s autopsy.

  It was just one step closer to Amber leaving.

  He should be relieved.

  He wasn’t.

  Chapter 11

  “Everything is going to plan. That bitch will be out of here probably tomorrow and it’ll be business as usual.”

  “Pure genius in taking care of the situation the way you did. She doesn’t seem to have a clue.”

  “What do you expect? She’s a woman, and they’re really only good for one thing.”

  “Ha! My wife knows her place. Too bad you couldn’t teach Special Agent Dalton hers. From what I heard, she gave you a good dressing-down.”

  “Shut up! I don’t need the reminder that she had the nerve to take me to task in public.”

  “Carl came through. I wasn’t sure he was going to.”

  “It took some...persuading.
But if he knows what’s good for him, he will do as I told him to do and keep his big trap shut. It’s a piece of cake. No one will ever know.”

  “Good to hear.” His chair squeaked as he shifted and then dropped his voice. “We still have those guys coming in for some weekend fun?”

  “I don’t know. We might want to lie low after this incident for a bit. Mayer really blew it with his need to go against our rules.”

  “He paid for it and the others will fall in line. We won’t have any more problems with anyone.”

  “Yes, we dodged the bullet...” The man laughed.

  “Let’s make this one our last for a while, then. To be safe. So, we’ll make it a good one. Just have to make sure we have what those boys are looking for.”

  “Oh, I think we can manage that.”

  * * *

  Amber was on the phone again, working out her flight arrangements. The coffee was brewing, and Tristan grabbed a plate and loaded it up with her fluffy pancakes. He tried not to stare at her. It was damn hard, but he managed to pull out his laptop and catch up on some paperwork he had to do before his final class. He’d be ready to go back to Doc Cross in six weeks.

  He took a mouthful of pancakes, savored it, chewed and swallowed.

  The coffee finished brewing, and just as he was going to rise to get himself some, her call ended and she automatically reached for his bulldog mug and poured him a cup.

  She walked over to the table and set it down. His heart did a little flip. Okay, over coffee? It was as if they were...cohabitating, as if she didn’t think anything of knowing exactly how he took his coffee.

  She huffed as she went back to the stove and dished up her flapjacks.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They can’t get me into the hotel tonight, so I will have to wait until tomorrow.”

  He intentionally stuffed another mouthful of syrupy goodness into his mouth so he wouldn’t say something and prove to her and himself that he was quite stupid. As soon as he finished the bite and washed it down with a mouthful of coffee, he said, “Ready to get out of the snow and ice?”

  She regarded him silently for a moment, then raised her brows as if he might be a slight bit slow. “Does Mickey Mouse have ears?” She snorted. “As I’ve said before, I might have grown up in Vermont, but I’m not a fan of the cold. Except for skiing and snowboarding, ice-skating, too, but then I want a warm lodge and hot chocolate.”

  “I haven’t had a vacation in a long time.” He finished the last of the pancakes. She pointed at the stove, silently asking if he wanted more. He shook his head.

  “Where was the last place you visited?” Amber took cream in her coffee. A lot. She cut her pancake and he watched as she slipped it in her mouth. He needed to stop looking at her lips.

  Snapping out of his ogling, he said, “My parents back in Unalaska, Alaska, a tiny little city two klicks from Dutch Harbor, the busiest international fishing port in the United States.”

  Her eyes brightened as if his disclosure of where he’d lived during his childhood was a big deal to her. He didn’t usually have these kinds of conversations with people, but it felt easier with Amber.

  “What’s it like to grow up in Alaska?”

  “Cold,” he deadpanned.

  She laughed and pushed his shoulder. “Other than that, Tris.”

  He smiled. His sisters called him Tris. The only females besides his mother that called him by that nickname. Rock called him a pain in the ass, and his brother usually called him jarhead. He rather liked that she used it. “I mentioned my father’s a fisherman and it’s damned hard. Gets harder as the fishing gets tougher. The town is pretty small—about 4,300 people—but it has the distinction of being bombed by the Japanese in World War II, insists on having a separate zip code from Dutch, and is an airliner hub.”

  “Dutch Harbor... Wait, what kind of fishing?”

  “All kinds, and yes, crab, too.”

  Her eyes widened and she set down her fork. “He’s one of those fishermen from that Discovery Channel show?”

  He shook his head. “He’s not on the show, but runs his own boat. He’s pretty disappointed that none of us were interested in continuing on with our family tradition.”

  “That must have been hard for him.”

  It was the most surprised his father had ever been when first Thane, then Tristan, had opted for the military. “It was. I went into the Marines as soon as I got my high school diploma. Thane had already gone into the navy two years before, and my little sisters had wanted nothing to do with crabs, although Nova did the books for my dad. She’s a whiz with numbers. It was the Coast Guard Search and Rescue that was her main interest. She went to the Coast Guard Academy as soon as she graduated, but Neve went directly in. Nova wanted to fly, so she was doing the officer haul.”

  “That’s pretty cool. A swimmer and a flier?”

  “She will be great at it. Are you and your sister close?”

  She looked away, her eyes going immediately pensive, her mouth pulling down a bit. Oh, there was some tension there. “Sort of, but we have our differences.”

  He rose, grabbed his plate and set it in the sink, then poured himself another cup of coffee. She twisted around in her chair.

  “Why is that?”

  Silence. Then she turned back around.

  He brought the carafe with him and topped off her mug. She busied herself with adding the right amount of cream. Amber avoided his gaze, something she’d never done. She was always Ms. Direct.

  He reached over and lifted her chin. “You don’t want to talk about it. I get it. We don’t have to. It’s your business.”

  Amber made a face and then folded her arms, huffing out a breath. “She was popular and beautiful, and I was completely not. I was tall, lanky and athletic. Always the girl boys were after...to be on the basketball team.”

  “They must have been blind and stupid.”

  She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “It all sounds so petty when I say it out loud.”

  “Hey,” he said, covering her hand. He tried not to care that she laced her fingers through his. “You feel the way you feel. Can’t help that, right?”

  She shrugged. “I was so jealous. I had to work twice as hard to get noticed. I guess that made me competitive.”

  “I kinda like that about you.” He squeezed her fingers. “And as for your lanky, athletic body, I’m not seeing any problems there. But, if you want, I could take another look. Might take me some exploration and research, though, to make a final decision.”

  Dancing lights blossomed in her eyes and she nudged him with her knee under the table. “Men, such animals.”

  “Well, you also have something else going for you.”

  “Oh, yeah? What is that?”

  “You make great pancakes.”

  She was laughing when her cell rang, but the amusement faded after she answered, listened for a few seconds, then said, “Thank you.” She hung up the phone. “They have a match on the ballistics. Mayer’s rifle killed James. That is pretty conclusive to me and really no way to dispute it that I can see. No evidence to suggest anything else.”

  “What about the autopsy on Mayer?” Tristan asked.

  “Ready in about an hour. Let’s head over to the colonel’s office and fill him in. As soon as I get word on the death of Mayer, which I suspect was simply hypothermia, I will be briefing my boss and then head out to the Reno airport tomorrow.” She scowled.

  “What’s wrong, Amber?”

  She hesitated, then said, “Nothing.”

  * * *

  Tristan drove in silence over to headquarters, and they briefed a tight-lipped, unhappy Colonel Jacobs, who was disappointed in the terrible tragedy. Mr. and Mrs. Connelly had collected their son’s body and were in the proce
ss of getting it shipped to DC.

  “Why DC?”

  “They’re burying him at Arlington. They debated on it but decided that James deserved a full military funeral and to lie with his comrades in arms instead of in their home state of Kentucky.”

  His eyes stung, and his throat tightened. He rose abruptly. “Sir, may I be excused?”

  The colonel looked at him, then away. “Dismissed.”

  Tristan left the room, and as soon as the door closed behind him, he rubbed at his eyes, feeling both weak and hollow. He walked briskly to the conference room and shut the door. The face of the young marine who had been on guard duty with him the night the consulate had been attacked and overrun flashed in his mind. “Dammit,” he swore softly and under his breath.

  Arms came around his waist and Amber pressed against his back. He wanted to push her away just as much as he wanted her to hold him tighter.

  He was so unaccustomed to being comforted. As alien to him as giving up.

  He tipped his head back and clenched his jaw. It was not a good time for memories. Or for remembering. But that didn’t stop the emotions piling up in his chest.

  Forcing himself to let go of the air jammed in his lungs, Tristan stood there trying to rein in a flood in his chest. It was as if everything just came tumbling at him all at once. Doc Cross warned him about this. He told him there would be a trigger and then he wouldn’t be able to contain it all. He also said it wasn’t a bad thing, that Tristan had to “deal to heal.”

  Doc Cross and his corny sayings.

  Force Recon had been one hell of a ride, all right. One that took him places he’d never expected to go. He wanted the constant distraction that being a Recon marine would give him. There had been times when his aloneness got so big he felt buried by it. And he had figured he would go to the grave with this awful hole in his chest. Then something happened to change that.

  First James had drawn him out against his will. The kid’s enthusiasm, their interests and James’s skill were infectious. Before Tristan knew it, he had let his guard down and allowed himself one of the few friendships he’d had since Rock bulldozed his way in.