by Misty Evans
The last time she had been here, she had been with Miles. Now she was back and he was with her. They couldn’t climb the mountain and explore the cave until daylight. Thank God the cabin was still here so they had a place to warm up and sleep.
And maybe do a few other things.
She edged around to look in the kitchen window and saw the same tableau as the living room. Everything frozen in time. Mugs she’d washed out and left to drain on a dishtowel on the counter. A couple pieces of dried kindling piled on the floor near the wood-burning stove. It looked exactly the way it had when she left it.
The best part of this scenario was that she was almost done with this mission. Maybe, just maybe, unlike last time, she and Miles actually had a chance at a future together.
Charlotte jimmied the lock on the back door and let herself in. A quick survey of the rooms revealed no hidden cameras or bugs.
She grabbed her two-way radio and hit the button. “All clear, Miles.”
She hoped that after this mission their future was all clear too.
ALL CLEAR.
Miles heard the words but for him nothing was clear. The snow, the cold, the mountain towering over him…
He couldn’t breathe. Memories flashed through his mind. The screams, the explosion, the fire. Men he knew and loved gone in a ball of flames.
SEALs didn’t refer to each other as brothers for no reason.
His memories of that night were sketchy. He’d been positioned to lead his team, first man out of the helicopter. When the warning came from the pilot that a missile was headed their way, he hadn’t had time to react before the helo tilted.
He was tossed out, his next memory that of falling, the snow below and the sky above becoming a single blur of white and gray. He remembered hitting the ground, bouncing, hitting again and rolling, eating snow as he went. Before he came to a stop, the helicopter exploded. Shock and pain roared through him, his vision blinded by the explosion, the sudden loss.
The memories continued in full blown high-def. Debris rained down, screams bouncing off the side of the mountain. His world had turned upside down.
“Miles?” Charlotte’s voice woke him from his reverie, concern lacing her tone. “Are you there?”
The memories were still thick as the fog rising from the trees as he clicked on his radio. “Copy that,” he said, his voice ragged. “On my way.”
“There’s a tree down across the lane that leads to the cabin. You’ll have to leave the truck there and walk the rest of the way.”
Nothing could be easy with this trip. Shaking off the memories of the past, he drove the truck to the spot, eyed the tree intersecting the lane. It wasn’t your normal sized pine. This thing was an ancient behemoth that appeared to have toppled down the mountain. There was no moving it.
He grabbed his backpack and started hiking the last quarter mile to the cabin. Physical movement helped keep the memories at bay, but the sucking black hole in his chest burned with every breath. His ankle—the one he’d broken in his fall that day—ached with every step up the mountainside. At least his route to the cabin was more direct than Charlotte’s had been since he didn’t have to worry about avoiding surveillance.
She opened the cabin’s front door upon his approach. She was smiling from ear to ear, like a 1950’s housewife greeting her husband after he’d had a long day at work. “Everything is just as we left it. We can sleep in an actual bed tonight.”
He nodded, following her inside.
She’d lit an oil lamp that gave off a soft glow, chattering about how much she loved the cabin. When he didn’t respond, she turned to face him. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Dropping his backpack next to the fireplace, he glanced around. The place seemed like it had been stuck in a time warp. It was smaller than he remembered, smelled less like Charlotte and more like musty linens and old wood.
His hands shook as he removed his gloves. “I’ll get a fire going.”
Which was the last thing he wanted to do. The cabin was freezing, so they needed heat, but the flashbacks had left him jittery. Starting a fire would only trigger the memories again.
He had to fight them. Had to remember the breathing techniques Beatrice, of all people, had taught him to calm his mind and his emotions.
Long inhale, hold it for three counts, long exhale.
Repeat.
Charlotte disappeared into the tiny kitchen in the back. “No humans have been in here since we left,” she called, “but the mice have had a merry time of it.”
The wood chunks were as dry as the cold air outside. All he needed was some kindling to get things started. A stack of old magazines sat on the floor next to the bed. He grabbed one and started ripping out pages, crushing them in his hands and stuffing them under the logs still sitting in the grate. When he had enough, he opened the flue, lit the kindling, and watched the glossy magazine pages curl in on themselves. Flames inched higher, catching the logs that hadn’t finished burning the last time he’d been here.
He still remembered dousing them, Emit Petit waiting patiently for him outside. It was the second worst night of his life. Leaving Charlotte behind. Not understanding why she’d abandoned him.
The note.
He whirled around, gaze locking on the bookshelf near the window. He’d left a note stuck in her favorite book, Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets, knowing she would find it after he was gone. But she’d never read it because she hadn’t returned to the cabin.
The book was tattered, well-worn from Charlotte’s readings. She’d rarely let a day go by without reading something from it. He fumbled it open, searching for his note. Pages flipped under his fingers.
Where was it?
He turned the book upside down and shook it.
Nothing. The note was gone.
“There should be oil for the generator outside,” she said. “Do you think it will still work?”
He looked up. “What?”
“The generator. Do you think it will still work if we prime it? I’ve got soup heating on the wood stove but I’d love some actual light and running water.”
The generator. Right. He thumbed through the book one more time. Why did his brain feel like he was moving through quicksand? One wrong move and he’d be sucked into a pit of shit he’d never be able to climb out of. He’d left a note. Where was it? Had he placed it in a different book by mistake?
Charlotte touched his arm. He hadn’t even noticed she’d moved to stand beside him. “Harry Potter. I’ve missed these stories.”
He handed the book to her and watched her slender fingers flip through the pages. Maybe his note was in a different book.
No. I put it in that one. I know I did.
“Miles?” Charlotte was staring up at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” He shook off the brain freeze, ran his gaze over the bookcase. He was losing it. It had been nine months and he’d been through a traumatic experience. Hell, he still couldn’t remember everything that had happened when the helo was blown from the sky and he’d passed out afterward. His memory was simply faulty, no way around it. The note had to be in one of the other books. “I’ll go check on that generator.”
Escaping outside, he took a deep breath. He needed closure, resolution. He couldn’t go through the rest of his life with this guilt hanging over his head.
The only way to find resolution in what had happened was to hunt down the bastard who’d killed his teammates.
He would. He would find the man and bring justice to his friends. First light, they’d get to the caves and retrieve the USB. He’d get a copy of that video, figure out who the terrorist was. Beatrice and Rory could run face recognition on him. Something. Miles would find him before MI6. He had to.
This was personal.
For now, he needed to compartmentalize. The physical work required to prime the generator and get it running helped. He noticed Charlotte’s portable satellite nearby and considered rigging it
up and seeing if he could connect to the outside world. But that would send a signal out and he couldn’t risk the wrong person seeing it. So he left the satellite alone and gathered wood from the pile stacked near the back door.
Stomping the snow off his boots inside, he heard Charlotte humming from the living room. His mind flashed back to another memory…this one a good one. One that made his body ache with longing.
He stood in the archway between the rooms, listening to her clear, soft voice and a low throbbing set up shop in his groin. She sat facing the fire, a heavy mug in her hand. The same mug she’d fed him from dozens of times until he could sit up and hold the damn thing himself.
The song she hummed haunted his dreams. The flickering light from the fire played across her features. She’d removed her coat and sweatshirt, the thin material of the cotton shirt she wore outlining her heavy breasts and flat stomach.
He remembered waking one cold night when he was still half immobile and in pain from his numerous contusions and broken ankle. Charlotte was bathing herself by the firelight, the tiny bathroom so cold she probably couldn’t stand to undress in there. She’d thought he was sleeping, and as she hummed that tune, she peeled off one section of clothes at a time and washed from the hot water in a pot over the fire.
The luscious skin of her neck and shoulders came first, the washcloth rubbing, circling, running over her body like the hand of a lover. Then her breasts, her rosy nipples tightening in the cool air.
The scent of her soap mixed with the smell of the burning wood and the salve she had spread on his bruised ribs and hips. She’d moved delicately down her ribs, over her stomach, back up. Once finished, she’d drawn on a soft flannel pajama top, then went to work taking off her pants, socks, underwear.
He shouldn’t have watched. He barely new her then, barely understood why he was in her cabin and his teammates were all dead.
Her skin, her movements, her sheer beauty mesmerized him. He couldn’t look away as she’d run the washcloth down her long legs, between the juncture of her thighs…
“Miles?”
Once again, Charlotte was close to him and he didn’t know how. He hadn’t seen her move.
She held out the mug. “Are you ready for some soup?”
Dropping the logs, he knew he was ready for more than that. “Smells good,” he said, taking the mug. For half a second, his mind tried to derail again and get lost in flashbacks. He shoved them away. He was here, with Charlotte, now. Their past didn’t matter. Only tonight did.
So he set down the mug and reached for her.
Chapter Fourteen
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CHARLOTTE WASN’T EXPECTING Miles to grab her.
He reached out, wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged her to him. “I don’t really want soup,” he said.
She let out a little “oh”, and fell forward into his chest.
He smelled like fresh air, pine tree sap, and Miles. His lips came down on hers, demanding, needy, like a man who’d been trapped in the desert for too long without water and had suddenly found a well full.
She relished it, sighing into his mouth as she parted her lips and granted him access. She wrapped her arms around his neck, dug her fingers into his hair, gently tugging.
He growled low in his throat, just the way she remembered from their last stint in the cabin. That sound made everything in her sit up and give a cheer. This was what she’d been waiting for, dreaming of, not realizing it would ever actually come true.
She’d worshipped his injured body the last time they’d been alone here. Took her time—what else did they have, being snowed in?—and enjoyed the equal amount of attentiveness he’d given her. Those memories had helped her survive Nico, but had left her oh-so-hungry for more.
Heat and desire rushing through her veins, she couldn’t wait a second longer. She wanted Miles, needed him. Every. Last. Drop.
Tugging at the buttons on his coat, she worked them loose and shoved the coat off his shoulders, never breaking their kiss. His hands were busy, too, massaging her breasts through her shirt, lifting the hem and touching her bare stomach with his fingers.
“I’m not really interested in soup right now, either,” she said on a fast exhale.
His return grin was wolfish, possessive. “How about a little dessert first?”
They took turns undressing each other. She had to release his lips when he pulled her shirt up and over her head. She did the same to his.
Pants went next, then underwear, all the while their hands, lips, tongues, touching, stroking, teasing. Charlotte was panting like a runner when Miles backed her up against a low buffet—an antique mahogany piece that held quilts and pillows. The only article of clothing she still had on was her socks, refusing to put her bare feet on the cold wooden floor.
Miles, on the other hand, didn’t seem to feel the cold. He stood before her completely naked, that feral, wolfish look darkening his eyes as he let his gaze travel over her. The cross necklace hung between his pectorals and his arousal left no doubt in her mind of his need. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said.
He stepped between her legs, hooked his hands behind her thighs and lifted her onto the top of the buffet in one fluid motion. Candleholders and a bowl of pinecones went flying.
Charlotte laughed, wrapping her legs around his hips as she gripped the edge of the buffet. “Your patience is about to be rewarded.”
But instead of plunging into her, he slid a finger down her throat and placed his hand on her heart. “I barely know you, but I’ve never wanted any woman the way I want you.”
Her skin warmed under his hand, her heart beating solid and sure in her chest. “I’m sorry to bring you back to this place. I know it must call up memories you’d rather not think about. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to come alone. Not just to keep you out of danger, but to keep you from having flashbacks about the crash.”
He closed his eyes, his hand falling from her heart, and the shadow she’d seen earlier passed once more over his features. For a moment, she was afraid she’d lost him again. That he was reliving what had happened to him and his SEAL team.
But then he opened his eyes, the haunted look disappearing. “I will find the terrorist who ordered the helo blown out of the sky, and I will take justice for my men.”
She should tell him she knew the terrorist’s name, that Madeena was the man’s daughter and knew his hiding places. But putting Madeena in danger, making her give up the goods on her father, wasn’t fair to the girl. “When I take down Nico’s crime ring, we’ll get the info from him.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Miles said. “For now, I don’t want to think about the past or the future. I want to focus on you, right here, right now.”
Charlotte didn’t want to wait any longer. She gripped the hair at the back of his head and drew him to her. His erection pressed against her wet folds, parting them slowly, inch by inch.
Groaning, she widened her thighs and arched her back, her nipples brushing against his chest. “God, stop teasing me,” she said, barely able to find her breath. “We’ve waited too damn long already.”
He grinned and then thrust into her in one, long, singular motion.
Finally! She gasped, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation, his hands on her hips holding her still.
When he didn’t move, she opened her eyes. His head was tipped back slightly, eyes closed, as if he, too, were enjoying the perfection of their joined bodies.
She smiled to herself. His head came back to center, eyes half-lidded as he met hers. He drew back slightly and drove into her again, building a rhythm as she clutched the buffet.
His rapid fire thrusts rocked the furniture, scooting the feet backward on the floor until it was pinned up against the wall. She met him thrust for fierce thrust, reveling as he pushed deeper and deeper. He reached back and gripped her ankles, raising them higher and tippin
g her upper back against the wall.
Leaning over, he brought his mouth down and kissed the scar that crossed her collarbone, let his tongue trace the line. His thumb found the sensitive spot between her folds and she jumped at the dual sensations. He was attacking all her vulnerable spots at once, making her feel beautiful, wanted.
Safe.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take it a moment longer, he slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her hips another inch. At the same time he pushed into her, pleasure ripping through her veins as everything in her cried out. “Oh, God, Miles. Yesyesyes!”
He drove inside her one more time, and she sank her nails into his back, arching into the mind-blowing explosion of her orgasm. As her body pulsed and quaked around him, he froze for a moment, every inch of him hard as stone.
He threw his head back and cursed as he came in a rush, her name spilling from his lips.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, squeezing her legs around him and tightened her core, milking him and drawing out the aftermath of their furniture-moving sex.
He pinned her to the buffet with his last thrust, then dropped his head onto her shoulder.
“And I’ve got you,” he said, holding her tight.
MILES SLEPT LATE again.
He didn’t mean to. The plan was to get up with the sun and take off for the caves. After a night of nonstop sex, though, he was exhausted.
Charlotte murmured next to him, curling into his chest. Sunlight shone through the window, spotlighting their abandoned clothes on the floor. The fire had gone out and the cabin was chilly.
Miles pulled Charlotte closer, tucking his arm around her and kissing the top of her head. He wished he could stay there with one of her legs thrown across his, the real world kept at bay.
They were good together. Had been from the start. A part of him wished Charlotte didn’t care about her mission. That he didn’t feel the driving need to hunt down a terrorist. The two of them could stay at the cabin, tucked into the mountainside and live unencumbered lives.