Ketcher wanted to reach out. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her close, as she had done for him back then. He wanted to touch her. Taste her. He wanted to watch her body be revealed as he peeled the shirt over her head. Wanted to feel the soft mounds of her breasts in his hands. He wanted to spread her gorgeous legs and sink so deep it would take days for them to surface.
Ketcher didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he nodded once and raised his arm, giving her clear access to the bandage. “Knock yourself out.”
Regan smoothed her hair back and bent to dig into a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed until now. “It’ll just take a second and then I’ll leave you to finish getting dressed.” She laid some items on the nightstand and then pulled surgical-looking gloves onto her hands. “It would be good for you to get out of this room. Roman made lunch. You could eat on the porch. It’s a nice day and the fresh air will do you good.”
“Roman cooked?” Ketcher jolted at the light touch of her gloved fingers against his skin. “Sorry,” he muttered, hoping she would mistake his jumpiness for being ticklish instead of the real reason—that he was hard up and fighting like hell not to touch her.
“Does macaroni and cheese count as cooking?” A smile quirked her lips. “It was either that or tuna out of a can. I’m told supplies were ample, but after several days of feeding six of the deadly seven, plus myself and Natalie, we’re running low.”
“They’re all still here?” Regan peeled off the bandage and Ketcher caught a look at the wound. He’d had worse and he healed fast. The incision looked better than it had the last time he’d seen it and the pain was tolerable, even in his stretched position.
“No. Sully, Noah, and Adam left the first night, once all the security was in place. Roman dropped them off somewhere and said they wouldn’t be back unless ‘shit got real’.” Her impersonation of Roman brought a half-smile to her lips. “Brandon and Nat left earlier this morning. She had to go back to work. She’s something, isn’t she? Tough as nails, but sweet, too. She loaned me some clothes, since I wasn’t given time to come prepared.”
Ah, that explained the sexy shirt.
Regan tilted her head to inspect his incision. A tiny wrinkle appeared between her brows as she poked and prodded the surrounding area. She wet her lips, and fuck him if she didn’t take an extra swipe over the bottom one just to make him crazy.
Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch.
Ketcher was in the middle of a shit storm. Anton Barzaga had threatened him and anyone close to him. If ever there was a time to play at being a monk, now would be it. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Poke. Prod. “Take that up with Brandon.”
Oh, he intended to. Somehow, Ketcher’s idea of laying low hadn’t included Regan and the guys. “How did he get in touch with you?” He wasn’t jealous of his friend, but he was curious as to what kind of relationship the two had these days.
“On the phone.”
“Funny. No, really.”
“Really. He picked up the phone and dialed. You do know how that works, right?”
Yeah, he did. But what had she expected? He would call her and say what? That he was sick and tired of dumping sand out of his boots every night? That the food sucked? He couldn’t tell her where he was, where he went each day, or what he did when he got there. That left personal shit. Stuff better left unsaid. He had nothing good to offer her. Still, he heard himself say, “Lines run both ways, sweetheart.”
Regan’s mouth opened as if she had something to say about that, but apparently she changed her mind because she closed it again without saying a word.
The salve she applied was cold and he jerked again. Damn it. “Sorry.”
“I’m almost done. Whoever preformed your surgery did an excellent job. From what I hear you were lucky.”
“Story of my life, doc. Things can always get worse.”
“Things were well on the way to worse when I arrived. It’s a good thing I wasn’t far away.”
“Why was that? Do you work around here?” He hadn’t considered that. A month after she had left Afghanistan, one of the guys received a care package from her from a place in Oregon. He’d assumed she was still there.
“Not too far. A hospital in Austin.”
It didn’t escape Ketcher’s notice that she neglected to mention which hospital.
“Brandon shouldn’t have involved you.”
She applied a fresh bandage and stepped away. “There’s no need to worry, Ketcher. The guys are on top of things.” She pulled off the gloves and tossed them into the trash. “The chances of me exposing your location are nil.”
“How’s that?” Her exposing him was the least of his worries. Ketcher had a target on his back. The thought of Anton Barzaga anywhere near Regan would keep him up at night.
Dropping her hands to her hips, Regan faced him. “We had a thing once. A very brief thing halfway across the world in a place torn apart by war. No one paid any attention to us. The minute I left, that was that. Over. It’s been years without contact. There’s no reason to believe anyone would make a connection between us.”
“A thing,” he said slowly, not sure why the term bothered him so much. Or why he had such a strong urge to resurrect their thing right here and now. God, what was it about this woman that made him forget everything except the need to get inside her?
Ketcher reached out, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her toward him. He felt Regan stiffen as he curled his other hand around the back of her neck, but the only way he would stop now was if she verbally called a halt. “If there’s no reason to connect us, then there’s no reason I shouldn’t do this.” Actually, there were a hundred reasons why what he was about to do was a bad idea, but none of them came to mind as he leaned down and captured her mouth with his.
Jesus. Her lips were soft and tasted like mint. He should stop, but the very idea seemed criminal without at least one touch of her sweet tongue against his. He’d allow himself this one taste, just one, and then he’d let her go. It wasn’t safe for her to be with him.
Regan pulled her mouth away. “Ketcher? What are you doing?”
If her body hadn’t melted into his, that might’ve been the end of it.
I’m opening Pandora’s box.
“Fuck if I know.” His injury made itself known so he moved back, sat on the bed, and pulled her between his thighs. “Sit down.” He gripped her hips, urging her onto his thigh.
“I don’t understand what you want from me.”
Box. Open.
“I want to strip off that ridiculous shirt and suck your nipples into my mouth. I want to slide my hand into your panties and play with your pretty pussy until you soak my hand. I want to fuck the living tar out of you, Regan, but since I can’t do that in my current condition, I want you to sit on my lap so I can kiss you without aggravating my side.”
Regan’s face flushed.
When she didn’t move Ketcher blew out a breath. “Are you with someone?”
She shook her head. A pretty blush darkened her cheeks. “No, but Ketcher … you and I…it’s been a long time. We can’t—”
“You’re right.” His cock was embarrassingly hard and trying to press its way out of the flannel. “Nothing has changed. My life is as dangerous as it ever was. I can’t be anything to you. I’m a selfish bastard, Regan, because I don’t care. I’m dying to have you.”
She smoothed a hand over his head. He leaned into her touch like a junkie getting his first fix in years. “I want all of those things, too,” she murmured. “But I remember how it felt to watch you walk away from me. No matter what happens here, you’ll do it again, won’t you?”
He knew he would. “I’m being targeted, Regan. Do you really believe I’d put you in the crosshairs of some whack-job—”
She put her fingers over his lips and he resisted the urge to draw them into his mouth. “Still trying to control everything, I see. You don’t have to explain. The reasons don’t matter, only th
e end result. I’m flattered you still want me after all this time, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Ketcher let her go. His gut twisted as she moved away from him and went to the door.
“Are you coming out? You need to eat.”
“Yeah. I’ll be right there.” He and his dick were going to need a minute.
Chapter Seven
It was amazing the kind of perspective a guy could get after a hot shower and a semi-decent meal. Being dressed in his own clothes didn’t hurt, either.
It had been months since Ketcher had been with a woman. Seeing Regan again had thrown him for a loop. Hard up and sick of his own fist, was it any wonder he’d acted like a dog in heat the second he caught a whiff of her fresh scent? Proximity. That’s all it was. He was a red-blooded man. She was a beautiful woman he’d seen naked. She’d been right to pull the brake, even if it meant he’d have balls the size of coconuts for the foreseeable future.
The thing between them had ended a long time ago. His dick didn’t get a vote. By the time he was showered, shaved, and dressed, Ketcher had vowed he would be a model patient for the short time Regan remained at the cottage.
Forking the last bite from his third helping of macaroni and cheese into his mouth, Ketcher shoved the bowl away and collapsed back into the chair.
Roman grinned from across the table. “Feeling better?”
“Mierda,” Booker snorted from the seat at the end. “He damn well should. Two days of sleep and a hot meal? I can’t even remember the last time I had more than four hours of uninterrupted sleep.”
A cool breeze blew in through the screened walls of the porch, bringing with it the musty scent of the lake.
“What’s the matter? Montana not agreeing with you?” Ketcher rolled his eyes at the Spaniard. “I’d take not getting stabbed over sleep any day.”
“Brandon filled us in.” Booker turned serious. He gave Ketcher’s mid-section a meaningful gaze. “How’d the guy get the jump on you?”
Roman leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, his expression tight. “It’s not like you to get sloppy.”
It wasn’t an accusation, but Ketcher felt a spark of resentment at the comment. He had plenty of time to go over what happened while he’d been cooped up in the hospital. Each time he mentally replayed the op he came up with the same answer. He and the Omega Team had done everything right. “I didn’t get sloppy. You both know how things go when on an op. There are always unknown variables and things we can’t predict.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Unpredictable was Ketcher’s least favorite word. Right up there with surprise!
“You took out Manuel Barzaga.”
Leave it to Roman to get straight to the point. With other men Ketcher would plead the fifth. He didn’t need, or want, the credit or fanfare. Roman and Booker were his brothers, same as the rest of the guys. They would feel the same way he did were the situation reversed, so he had no problem admitting the truth. “It was a team effort, but yeah, I pulled the trigger on the money shot.”
As expected, there were no high-fives or fist bumps. They never celebrated the loss of life, even if that life belonged to a worthless piece like Barzaga. There was a fine line between duty and murder. Ketcher was glad the son of a bitch was dead, but if the day ever came where he enjoyed pulling the trigger, it would be his last. If he reached that point, his soul could not be redeemed.
Ketcher did his job and moved on. He focused on the end result. In this case, countless women and children would be safer in a world void of Barzaga.
Roman rapped a knuckle on the table. “A friend of mine who works at the FBI said they’ve frozen all of Manuel’s assets and seized his corporate records. His business is under a microscope, and it’s only a matter of time before they connect the dots to his illegal activities. It looks like you might’ve shut them down for good, Ketch.”
Ketcher shook his head. “Barzaga’s network runs deep. We might’ve cut the head off the snake, but two more will pop up to take his place.” The battle for humanity was never-ending. “Did you happen to hear anything about Carlos Reta?”
Roman frowned. “The name didn’t come up. He gonna be a problem?”
Manuel’s second-in-command hadn’t been at the warehouse the day Ketcher killed his boss. The last he’d heard, Carlos was off the radar. “He’s a potential pain in my ass, yes. As long as he stays quiet, he’s not my immediate issue. Neutralizing the threat that’s been made against me takes priority. Grey wants to wait until I’m one hundred percent to go after the guy. We all know waiting isn’t my strong suit. I want this shit done.”
Roman and Booker spoke at the same time.
“What do you need?”
“So, what’s the play?”
God, Ketcher loved these guys.
“I’ve been thinking about that.” He had to have something to distract him from thoughts of Regan while he’d been in the shower. He was too wound up. One pump of his fist and he would come so hard he’d end up passed out on the shower floor. He’d humiliated himself enough for one week.
When he finished outlining the rough idea for his plan Roman and Booker were both nodding. Forty-five minutes later, the guys had driven off with a tactical to-do list and Ketcher spent the rest of the day avoiding being alone with Regan.
He walked the property, familiarized himself with the land. He memorized the placement of every tree, every rock. He checked the perimeter alarms. One of the trees between the cottage and the lake had a branch that blocked his line of sight to the water, so he found a ladder and took it down using an old hand saw, both from the storage building out back. The physical activity revived him, but he was careful not to overdo. Cutting the limb took twice the time it would have with him at full strength, but it wasn’t as if he was on the clock. When he got winded, he slowed down. If his side protested, he stopped. He couldn’t risk another setback.
Once he was satisfied that he’d done all he could do for the day, Ketcher grabbed the fishing gear he found with the ladder and hand saw. He didn’t particularly like to fish—didn’t even know if he needed to have a license—but the thought of providing a meal for Regan made some genetic caveman bullshit warm his chest. If he couldn’t touch her, he would feed her. By the time the failing light ended his quest for food, he had caught and cleaned a couple of striped bass that would do the trick.
Regan wasn’t in the common area when he finally entered the cottage. He laid the bass on the counter. He went to the kitchen sink and scrubbed the scent of fish from his forearms and hands.
Roman and Booker wouldn’t be back for several days. He and Regan were alone for the time being. They knew how to be lovers, now it was time to see how they’d fare as something else. Friends, perhaps.
Maybe she’d want to help him make dinner. She could fill him in on the last four years of her life and he would listen without wondering how her lips tasted or if she’d spent the day trying not to think about him as he had her.
Grabbing a hand towel, Ketcher dried off as he walked through the living room. A light shone from under Regan’s bedroom door. Ketcher knocked softly. When she didn’t respond, he eased the door open and poked his head inside. “Regan?”
She was stretched out on the bed. She had changed out of the jeans and T-shirt from earlier and had donned shorts and a top with skinny straps. She was on her stomach, unbound hair fanned across the pillow, one leg slightly bent. Her top had ridden up and his dick honed in on the sliver of skin exposed above her perfect heart-shaped ass.
Jesus. She’d fallen asleep with the light on and there he was, ogling her like a teenager with his first pinup calendar.
Not wanting to wake her and feeling like a total creeper, Ketcher grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed and spread it over her. She didn’t stir.
It was probably for the best. If she looked up at him with sleep-heavy lids and those pouty lips, he’d go mad. End up promising things he couldn’t deliver to get inside her.
Time to get
the hell out of there.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispered. He couldn’t resist brushing a stray hair away from her face before he turned to leave the room.
When he reached the doorway he paused for another lingering glance before he turned out the light and closed the door behind him.
The smell of food brought Regan awake. The rich, delicious scent permeated the walls and went straight to her empty stomach. Her mouth watered. She opened her eyes and—”
No.
No. Nonono.
Regan scrambled up, arms and legs flailing. Her back hit the headboard, but her feet kept moving in a pitiful attempt to escape the surrounding darkness.
Oh god. She couldn’t see. A strangled noise bubbled from her throat as she clawed at her face, hoping to remove whatever blocked her sight. There was nothing there.
Why couldn’t she see?
All at once, her chest felt heavy and her skin turned damp.
Where was she? She strained to see something, anything. Shadows taunted her from around the room. Furniture? Or was someone hiding in the dark, waiting to strike?
Sweat broke out all over her skin. Her chest heaved as her lungs worked as hard as they could for much needed oxygen.
Disorientated, Regan fumbled for the nightstand. Where was the lamp? The lamp. The goddamn lamp. Was there even one in this room?
She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t think.
The door flew open and Regan cried out, flattened her back against the headboard in an effort to get as far away from the oncoming threat as she could.
The light flared. Blessed light.
Regan sucked in a breath. Blinked once, twice, as the confusion subsided. She knew this place. She was in her bedroom in the cottage. She was safe.
Breathe. 1…2…3…
Her attempt at breath vanished when Ketcher was suddenly in her face. His palms landed on her shoulders and then he shook her, rattling her teeth.
“Regan,” he barked. “What is it? What’s happening?”
The Omega Team: No Control (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Martin Family Book 3) Page 5