by Jean Thomas
“The car needs a fill-up,” he announced, “and I’m hungry.”
They stopped at a gas station with an adjacent fast food restaurant. Mark fed the SUV at one of the pumps. Then he and Clare fed themselves in the restaurant with another quick meal.
“Do you think you could take the wheel for a while?” he asked her when she emerged from the bathroom.
“Your leg is bothering you again, isn’t it?”
“A little,” he admitted. “It was all that stop-and-go in the construction areas.”
“I’m a very good driver. You should have let me take my turn at the wheel back in Alabama.”
They had stopped seriously searching for their pursuer long ago. Nor, now that night had closed in, was there any use in trying to look for signs of him. Still, once they were belted in, Mark felt the need to caution her.
“Keep a sharp watch behind you, huh? Let me know if any vehicle back there gets too close.”
“Will do, Lieutenant.”
* * *
They were only a few minutes on the road again when Clare realized it wasn’t just his leg that had motivated him to surrender the SUV to her. He was clearly exhausted. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let himself doze off as he did.
The glow of the lights on the instrument panel was sufficient enough to allow her glimpses of him. He was slumped down in a corner of the passenger seat as low as his seat belt would permit, his legs stretched out in front of him.
Long and thick with muscles, they were legs to be admired. But that was true of his whole form from head to feet. All of him tantalizingly masculine, even the scent of him. So much so that she found herself aching to touch him.
This isn’t good, Clare. Haven’t we been through this before? You’re tormenting yourself with something you shouldn’t want. Can’t afford to repeat.
Her sharp self-warning was all she needed to rivet her attention back on the highway. She kept it there.
There were few cars now and, mercifully, no more construction zones. But there was no shortage of trucks, many of them massive eighteen-wheelers. She guessed they would travel through the night. Those in the other two lanes headed west probably had big city destinations like New Orleans and Houston.
Their oncoming lights in the darkness had a hypnotic effect. She had to be careful about that, make a concentrated effort to stay awake. Maybe the radio.
Keeping the volume low to avoid disturbing Mark, she found a station with easy listening music. It helped. At least it did until they were approaching the vicinity of Tallahassee.
Clare had no awareness of the drowsiness that crept up on her. The SUV must have started to drift to the right. The next thing she knew the wheels on that side were off the pavement and on the gravel of the shoulder.
Jerked suddenly, fearfully awake by the sensation, her foot instantly tapped the brake, slowing them to a crawl before she eased the SUV fully off the highway and came to a safe stop on the shoulder, sliding the gear into Park. She had just narrowly avoided what could have been a disaster, and the realization of that had her trembling.
Their halt had Mark sitting up on the passenger seat, alert and alarmed. “Why have we stopped out here along the road? What’s happened?”
“I happened.” She explained the situation to him, adding an embarrassed apology.
“You should have called me, had me take back the wheel. We better change places now before someone plows into us. Where are we, anyway?”
“Coming up on Tallahassee. Mark, this driving straight through is no good. We’re both tired, and Muretta is still a long way off. We don’t want to risk what the next time could be a serious accident.”
He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’ll find a motel and check in.”
They proceeded to the next exit, with Mark back at the wheel. There was a motel just off the ramp. Negotiating the frontage road, he swung into the parking lot and drew up before the lighted office.
Clare put a hand on his arm as he started to slide out from behind the wheel. “Mark, when we register, let’s make sure we get a double, huh?”
He turned his head to look at her. “What are you saying? That you don’t want us to share the same bed?”
This was awkward. But necessary she felt. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s sleep we both need, not...well, you know.”
“Sure, no sex. Agreed.”
He was quick about that. But he must have seen it was for the best. That, whatever the temptation, and she couldn’t deny it was there, not after the sexual tension that had thrummed between them all day, giving into it with both of them so tired would be a mistake.
There was an added reason for her resistance. Did Mark perceive it? Understand that she worried about making love with him again? Feared, as she had those other times, it would only lead to an eventual heartache?
She didn’t know, but they didn’t speak of it again. They went into the office, secured the accommodation they asked for and carried their bags toward the room they were assigned.
If she wasn’t conscious of it before, she was now. The night was hot and humid. Not a breath of air stirred. It was the kind of sultry evening that made you think of forbidden things. Not a helpful analogy under the circumstances.
Mark unlocked the door, turned on one of the lights and stepped aside, allowing her to precede him into the room. She lowered her bag and stood there, welcoming the coolness of a droning air-conditioner. She heard Mark behind her relocking the door and fixing the chain. When she turned around, she found him leaning back against the door.
They hadn’t exchanged a word since leaving the office. The silence between them remained uninterrupted. They simply stood there gazing at each other.
How long? Seconds, minutes? Whatever the length, in the end a kind of madness seized both of them at the same time. A recklessness ignoring all reason and which suddenly had them locked in a fierce embrace.
Clare didn’t know who had crossed the room to reach the other, or whether it had been a simultaneous action. Nor had she a memory of any further restraint on her part.
Whatever their fatigue, it was gone now, as if it had never existed. There was nothing but this wild energy driving them. Nothing that mattered but his arms around her, his mouth on hers in an urgent kiss that she answered with a series of little moans from deep inside her.
His tongue plunging inside her mouth stopped those moans as he probed and searched, unwilling to be satisfied until his tongue was mating with her own. She tasted the male flavor of him with pleasure, inhaling it along with his distinctive scent.
How he managed not to break their connection as he backed her toward one of the beds she didn’t bother to question. Only briefly did his mouth lift from hers when she fell across the bed. Fell across it with Mark on top of her, his weight pinning her down, his assertive mouth finding hers again in another deep, searing kiss.
It was at the same time too much and not enough. Because in the end what she wanted was something that demanded the complete removal of their clothes. Squirming underneath him, pushing at him, she finally won his release.
“Wait,” she whispered, fighting for air.
Elevated above her now, his dark eyes smoldered with a desire that was in no mood for any control. “What?” he rasped. “If you want me to stop, I have to warn you you’re going to have one frustrated mess of a guy on your—”
“Never. I don’t want that. Our clothes—”
Understanding her then, he rolled away from her, sat up and began to tear at his shirt. On her own side of the bed, Clare clawed away her shoes, her shorts and T, following them with her bra and panties. Before they were done, the floor was littered with their discarded garments, the spread on the bed ripped off and flung on top of them in their frantic haste.
; When they met again on the bed, it was as naked as they were, the sheets cool, their bodies hot. There was no lingering kiss this time, only Mark’s mouth brushing quickly across hers before descending to her breasts.
She whimpered when his tongue found one of her rigid buds. A whimper that was all the instruction he needed. Complying, his wet tongue swirled around that peak before moving on to the other nipple. Not content, his mouth closed on each breast in turn, suckling them strongly until her whole body was writhing beneath his with a yearning she was too inflamed by then to comprehend on any clear level.
But Mark understood. Deserting her breasts, his mouth traveled downward, feathering kisses like light caresses over the quivering flesh of her belly. When he reached his destination, his attention centered on the mound between her legs, his fingers carefully parting the folds to the core of her womanhood.
His eager tongue was less gentle as it settled on the nub inside those petals. Clare knew then what she wanted. Experienced it with a silent, primal cry for release as, hands steadying her, that marauding tongue worked its magic. In the end her cry was not a silent one. It was torn from her, her hips lifting off the bed in a blinding orgasm.
Easing himself up alongside her, Mark held her until her spasms ceased. During the moment she rested in his arms, she realized they were not finished. He demonstrated that when he swung away from her, reaching for his wallet where he had deposited it on the bedside table.
When had he managed that? All she could recall was their feverish rush to get out of their clothes. She watched him extract a condom from somewhere in the depths of the wallet. “Pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you?” she teased him.
“Hopeful. Only hopeful.”
“Isn’t that what teenage boys do? Carry condoms in their wallets with the hope of scoring?”
“Too far back for me to remember.”
“Uh-huh.”
He grinned and started to slit the foil wrapping. She put a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Not yet. When we’re ready, I’d like to do the honors. In fact...”
“You have something in mind?”
“I do. I want to be on top.”
“Hmm, seems like the last time you were in that position I ended up being handcuffed to a headboard.”
“I promise you a much more satisfying performance this time,” she purred.
He handed her the condom, his grin widening as he lay back down on the bed. “Looks like I’m a willing victim all over again. Perform away then.”
Lifting herself above him on her knees, she straddled his legs. “Just look at you,” she crooned.
And she did, admiring the length of him in his full nudity. Something she hadn’t either enough leisure or enough light to properly enjoy until now. He was a superb sight, all sinewy, powerful male from his shoulders to his chest to his narrow hips.
“Take down your hair for me,” he said, his voice gruff.
She accommodated him, lifting one hand to the back of her head, removing the hair tie there and shaking the strands loose.
He didn’t have to tell her how much the sight of her hair tumbling to her shoulders turned him on. She could see it expressed in the gleam of ardor in his eyes. It was even more evident by the way that ridge of flesh above his thighs swelled to a greater hardness. An arousal that was in no condition to suffer a further delay.
Opening the packet and casting aside the wrapping, Clare leaned over him and began to roll the condom down his rigid shaft.
“If you go on being slow about it like that,” he warned her, “I’m not going to be responsible for any premature result.”
She got the message. He couldn’t wait. Nor did he have to. She quickened the act of sheathing him. Positioning herself over that now pulsing column, she introduced it into the opening of the vessel he was so eager to fill.
Clare took her time, adjusting to that hard length by slow degrees as she sank down onto him. He groaned with relief when he was finally, fully inside her. She rested for a moment, simply enjoying the sensation until Mark stirred with impatience.
“Now,” he pleaded.
“Not yet. First I want to feel—” bending forward, she flattened her hands on his chest “—this.”
There was already a sheen of perspiration there, making it easy for her to slide her palms over the slabs of gleaming muscle. He was hers now, and she liked having him in her possession. Liked this feminine power she’d never exercised before. At least not quite this way.
“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he growled.
“I know,” she murmured.
Taking pity on him, she leaned back and began to rock on him. She was in control of the rhythms, measuring the strokes at her own pace toward the culmination of the journey they shared.
In the end, unable to bear the torture she was inflicting on him any longer, he heaved his hips off the mattress to permit himself one strong, upward thrust. It was all he needed to win climaxes for both of them, his immediately and hers swiftly following.
She didn’t mind in the aftermath of their fulfillment, when she rolled away from him onto her back, letting Mark take back his authority. She had proved herself. That was all that was necessary. And it was sweet having him tuck her close against his side, one of his arms curled around her protectively.
They were quiet then. Clare would have liked nothing better than to prolong that serene stillness. To have that and nothing more lull both of them into a peaceful, deep sleep. She hated it when, instead, the shadows crept into her thoughts.
They were the doubts that had visited her before. The realization that, no matter how much she wanted this man to belong to her in every way that mattered, he would never be hers. It was a foolish longing, because Mark could never be owned by anyone or anything but his revered army.
He had never tried to hide this from her. Had made it clear from the beginning that, when they had achieved the truth that would free Terry, when his leg was fully recovered, he would go back to his rangers. Nor, in all fairness, was Clare ready to risk the loss of another Alan Britten in battle.
The outcome should have been a simple one then. Something that, with resolve, they could both handle when the time came for them to go their separate ways. Except for one thing. No matter how determined she’d been not to recognize it, how much she had fought against it, she could no longer fail to admit the truth to herself.
Clare had made the terrible mistake of falling in love with Lieutenant Mark Griggs. She knew she would pay for that.
* * *
Damn it. Here she was beside him peacefully asleep, leaving him awake and dealing with emotions he’d like to evict from his head. And couldn’t.
Why couldn’t Clare be the kind of woman he was used to going to bed with? The kind who neither asked for, nor wanted, any personal commitment. Who understood he would be gone the morning after. Not only understood this but casually accepted it.
But Clare wasn’t that type of woman. She was the forever sort who expected something more serious out of a relationship than a few nights of sex.
Come on, Griggs, be fair about it. Clare hasn’t asked you for any commitment. Never even approached the subject.
True, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking about it. Which left him with this guilt even worse than the guilt he’d experienced back in New Orleans. Because he was convinced when the time came for them to part, and ultimately that had to happen, he would hurt her.
He couldn’t forget what she had suffered over the loss of her fiancé. Not that this was in any way the same thing. It wasn’t like they were in love with each other. He couldn’t be in love with her. Not after just three days. Nor could she possibly be in love with him.
So, what the hell are you worrying about?
Maybe because there was somet
hing else that haunted him. Something that he’d never been able to shake. Like his mother and the man who had fathered him, was he incapable of any permanent relationship? Could you inherit that kind of thing? Or was it simply a lesson he’d learned when they had deserted both him and each other? That you couldn’t trust love. That in the end it would fail you.
Mark hated to think he was that kind of man, but there it was.
Chapter 16
“What are you doing?”
They were at a diner just down the road from the motel having an early breakfast. Or at least Clare was having breakfast. Mark seemed more interested in fiddling with his cell phone than in the plate of ham and eggs the waitress had just placed on the table in front of him. Given his appetite, she found this puzzling.
Instead of an answer to her question, she got a request.
“Give me the number to your cell phone.”
“Why? Are you planning to call me from your side of the table?”
“Nope. Just want to program your number into my cell phone.”
He was being mysterious again. She knew he wouldn’t explain himself until he had what he wanted. She gave him her number and watched him enter the ten digits.
“Now let me have your cell phone,” he said.
There was no point in objecting. She took her phone from her purse and handed it to him.
“What are you doing with my phone?”
“Same thing I did with mine. Programming it so you have my own number on your list for quick connections. There, I’ve got it.” He passed her phone back to her and began to eat his ham and eggs.
It was Clare’s turn to ignore her own breakfast. “Why?” she asked him.
“I told you. I want us to have each other’s numbers. Figured it was a good idea. You know, in case we should get separated and need to contact each other.”
“No, I don’t know. Why should we get separated?”
“It could happen. Can I have the salt, please?”