by Karen Anders
“I’m going to need some help,” he said. His shoulder wound was still radiating pain while he was mobile; raising his arm over his head wasn’t happening, and doing it one-handed would only cause him to struggle.
She reached down to his waist, and the brush of her fingertips tightened him up in good and bad ways.
Instead of grabbing the Henley at the edge, she slipped her hand under the material and ran the palm of her hand up over his stomach and chest to his shoulder. He sucked in a surprised breath as everything went hot inside him. Around the pleasure of her touching his skin, he saw what she was doing. She was going to help him out of the sleeve. Less movement.
He closed his eyes and took a hard breath, partly in pleasure and partly in pain. It was a helluva way to feel.
“Pull your arm out,” she instructed, leaning over him, smelling so damn good and only adding to his arousal. He wanted to bury his face in her hair.
She met his eyes, suddenly aware that he was turned on. She swallowed, her delicate throat working.
“Vin...your arm.”
He pulled at the same time she held the sleeve immobile so that he could extricate his arm. Reaching down with her free hand, she grasped the edge of the shirt and pulled it over his head. When the material moved over his wound, he twisted his head and swore softly, his breathing going ragged. His stomach heaved with the piercing pain. He inhaled deeply through the worst of it.
She was upset. It was written all over her face, but instead of moving or taking the next step, she was staring. At him. At his chest. Her eyes going over him as if she couldn’t believe this was what he looked like without his shirt.
He willed her to stop looking at him with that shell-shocked expression on her face.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly.
Her eyes met his and she blushed. She couldn’t hide her appreciative gaze, what the sight of his nakedness did to her. He was a red-blooded American male, and he was so okay with that. But trying to hold on to his sanity was getting so damn hard.
She dropped the shirt and turned away, fumbling with the med kit, and he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He loved that he flustered her enough to make her clumsy. How would she react when she saw the rest of him?
He wanted to see that.
She turned back to him and noticed the grin. Her lips tightened as if she thought he was making fun of her. When she bent to his injury, her hair flowed over her shoulder and brushed against the exposed skin of his chest. Even as she probed the wound, he focused on the feel of her warm silky hair instead of the sting.
He gritted his teeth against both.
His head went back, and he groaned against the agony when she tugged something out of the bullet hole. His vision went gray, and he started to slide.
“Vin!” she croaked, catching him against her.
He grabbed the edge of the tank and pulled himself back up. “I’m okay,” he said, the dullness receding.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her eyes moist.
He nodded, reaching out and squeezing her arm. “Go ahead and finish.”
“I need you to stand over the sink so I can wash it out with peroxide. I’m afraid it’s going to hurt, and I’m so sorry about that.” Her voice trembled. Pushing himself up, he did as she asked.
“Ready,” she said, biting her lip.
“Go ahead.” Before she poured, she set her arm around his waist. It was a good thing she did. When the liquid hit his open skin, his knees buckled, and he gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. His hands shook as he hung on to the edge of the sink.
She helped him to sit back down. Then dabbed at both sides of the through-and-through. She pulled out the needle and the topical anesthesia and applied it, stitched up the front bullet hole, then the back one. She was aware that the topical couldn’t totally alleviate the pain from the needle, but Vin had stoically endured the procedure.
“Almost there,” she said, rubbing in antiseptic ointment. “Hold this,” she instructed as she placed a gauze pad against the front part of the wound, then grabbed another to place at the back. Then she wrapped a gauze bandage around his upper chest and his shoulder, covering and binding the two pads against the bullet holes, securing it with medical tape.
He leaned back, catching his breath.
“Vin,” she said softly, “are you okay? Did you pass out?”
“No. I’m still conscious,” he said and opened his eyes.
“Good. Can I have that nervous breakdown now?” she said, her voice cracking and tears welling to overflowing. Covering her face, she burst into tears.
He came up off the commode and dragged her into his arms without hesitation. He wasn’t one of those guys who went all stupid when a woman cried. He’d had a buddy tell him once that a guy didn’t have much to offer in this kind of situation. Vin disagreed wholeheartedly. He had two strong arms, even though one of them was throbbing. Comfort. That was all a woman wanted at a time like this.
Okay, she wasn’t technically crying. She was sobbing, which was so much worse. But he was an ex-marine. Uncle Sam had trained him for anything. He could handle it.
She shifted and wrapped her arms around his neck, choking on her tears, and he wanted to soothe her, help her get control.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You did real good. Real good,” he murmured. Carefully, he moved her over to the sink and wet a washcloth with one hand, as she sniffed and made those soft, little distressed sounds. He stepped back and carefully smoothed the cloth down one of her cheeks and over her bottom lip.
Her gaze lifted to his, and he thought, How could I have gotten so lost, so fast? I barely know her.
He pulled her closer. She took a hard, shaky breath, and he felt her tears slide down his chest as her hand cupped his nape.
Closer to all her soft, warm skin. Closer to her body. Closer to her mouth.
He leaned in, kissed her temple, and her hand tightened, sliding into his hair. He trailed his mouth down her face to her mouth, brushing his mouth against her lips. “So, so good,” he whispered and wasn’t sure if he was talking about the sensation of her skin beneath his lips or her toughness. He lowered his mouth to hers and gave himself up to the second biggest mistake in his career and in his life.
“I was so scared for you...Vin.”
He nodded. He gently moved his mouth over hers, breathing her in—and she sighed in his mouth.
Hooyah. That was it. He cupped the side of her face with his hand and tilted her face up while opening his mouth over hers and pressing her back against the wall.
Her breasts pushed against his bare chest, the cloth a thin barrier between what he knew lay underneath. He was aware of what she might have on because he’d touched her lacy things, and it only jacked him up more. Her hips settled into the cradle of his hips, one of her hands sliding down over his good shoulder, pulling him closer. He loved the hot sweetness of it, the way she softened against him.
He slid his tongue into her mouth and felt the sharp need of desire take hold, the taste of her, the delicacy of her tongue sliding against his, teasing him.
Yeah, this was good. Damn good. Really good.
Her palm was soft and hot against him, sliding over him and pulling him even closer.
Closer and closer. He felt the edge of her desperation, could taste her tears, the salty dampness of them where they flowed over her luscious mouth.
He should stop.
But he was powerless.
He needed a guardian angel to save him.
But his guardian angel was the one turning him on, ratcheting him up and taking him down.
There was no rescue coming.
* * *
Oh, God. Oh, dear God. She was drowning. He was...so beautiful, so courageous, so badly hurt. He scared her at th
e same time he thrilled her beyond any man she’d ever met. It was the hottest thing she’d ever done—to sink into his kiss, to hold him close. She’d wanted to touch him so many times since he’d gotten her off that roof. The smell of him was like a balm to her soul, soft skin over hard-packed muscle. He was ripped beneath his shirt. She’d had no idea he was hiding that body beneath his suit.
She pulled him close, loving the hard-ridged feel of him, the life of him.
She needed it, even as she chastised herself for letting go. Just a taste, she vowed. But a taste had a way of leading to devouring, consuming.
How was she supposed to come to her senses when he just simply blew them away? She’d never considered herself particularly sensual or sexual. She was used to men who were cerebral, not hot and toned. She worked in a sterile, cold environment with men who were more interested in research than in getting it on. As focused as she’d been. Her personal life was barren, closed and solitary. Just as she had striven to make it. Not full of heat and color, touch and taste.
He was doing it again like he’d done at the loft, just inhaling her and enjoying kissing. She wasn’t sure about males, but what she was certain of was that something came after the kissing. She’d had that miserable, embarrassing, messed-up “wham bam, thank you, Dr. Baang” sex. It had been awful.
But this...what he was doing with his mouth...was heavenly. What would it be like with him? She shouldn’t want to find out, but she did. She so wanted to see what it would be like to be with him. She had an inkling it wouldn’t be awful.
So new, so forbidden.
He scared her more than anything on this planet, even the kidnappers.
But he was sagging against her now, and her concern for him won out over the sensual torment of his mouth.
She broke the kiss, and he leaned his forehead against hers. Now that she wasn’t buffeted by his sensual assault, she felt that familiar guilt spread out until she squirmed against the shame of easily giving in to him. Her work should be her focus, and she wanted nothing more than to get back to it, back to that sterile environment.
She closed her eyes. Trying to forget the color and the warmth. “Is that your way of kissing it all better?”
“Um, is it better?” he said, his words slurring a bit.
“Yes. Thank you, Vin. For...”
He sent his thumb over her mouth, effectively shushing her. “I keep telling myself this is such a bad idea.”
“I agree.”
“Yet you still participate. And you’re welcome. I was doing my...”
This time it was her turn to cover his mouth. “Don’t say ‘job’ because I know that’s not all you were doing out there.”
His lips curved beneath her fingers, his eyes lighting up.
“Did you mention there was some food in this place?” Sky asked.
“Yes, food. Good idea. I’ll get some wood and get the fire going.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. You’re going to sit down and rest. I’ll get the wood and make the food,” she ordered.
She dipped down and pulled out a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt. “Let me help you into this.” She slipped the sleeve of the shirt up his arm and carefully over the bandage, over his head. He put his arm into the other sleeve.
She curled her arm around his waist, trying to tamp down her feelings for Vin. Feelings that would only cause both of them heartbreak. This was not going to go anywhere. It was a temporary thing. A crazy, out-of-control, temporary thing.
She settled him on the couch and turned away. Keeping busy would help. Wood and food. It gave her something to focus on.
Even as her mouth tingled and her hands ached for the touch of his skin, she turned away and headed out into the cold.
* * *
He looked like a battle-scarred and dangerous warrior with the white bandage against his shoulder. Fresh from the fight and hurt, vulnerable. Her heart just melted. She trembled inside, trying to look at him all at once. Breathe him in like the most delicious scent.
The way he had held her when she’d broken down humanized him from that untouchable warrior to the hot, tantalizing male sprawled out on the bed.
The dark stubble on his face, the way he looked down into her eyes with that open compassion was fixed in her brain.
She was sitting in a chair close to the bed. He’d felt a bit warm when she’d insisted he get some sleep after she’d fed him vegetable soup and a PB&J. She was eating and he was sleeping. He needed it so badly.
She was worried with the way he seemed restless. An infection would be a complication. She wouldn’t hesitate to get him the needed medical help if that was the case, but the bullet wound would mean she’d have to explain and get NCIS involved. Vin wouldn’t want that, but she wasn’t going to jeopardize his life if it came down to that.
He rolled slightly onto his stomach, with one of his legs drawn up, and he was so beautiful that even though she was hungry, she found herself forgetting to eat.
He was particularly gorgeous, more powerfully built under his clothes than she would have guessed. He carried himself with such fluid, unconscious grace. The way he had moved across that roof, so sure-footed... If she hadn’t lost her balance and fallen, he wouldn’t have even slipped.
His shirt had ridden up, revealing the rippled muscles of his abdomen, and a sigh lifted her chest.
She finished eating and walked over to the bed. It was a king and had plenty of space. She didn’t think she could rest if she wasn’t close, to be there if he needed her. He had been there for her last night, and she wasn’t going to let her guilt keep her from offering him help if he needed it.
She put her knee on the bed and crawled up next to him and lay down.
Holy God.
Everything came rushing back, and she wondered if it was some way for her brain to make sense of the night’s events. She couldn’t believe what she had seen, what he’d done. Her heart had stopped when he’d pulled his gun and pointed it straight at her, right after her heart had damn near jumped out of her chest when he’d...
Vin, his knee planted in the man’s back, the fierce, violent twist that had broken the man’s neck. Vin drawing his gun. The booming dual blasts. Vin using the dead man’s shirt to clean the bloody knife, folding it back and slipping it into his pocket even as he rose to his feet, his other hand still holding the gun steady and aimed.
The complete and total focus of Vin’s gaze, every move precise, everything fluid, a lethal dance.
They had somehow found her in spite of NCIS taking such precautions with three agents guarding her. Miller and Strong... Oh, God, she was going to hyperventilate if she thought about them. She’d been in her room and she’d wanted some coffee. She was going to ask if one of them wouldn’t mind running down to the coffee shop to get her a cup. As soon as she’d opened the door, Vin had been in the shadowed hall, slamming an automatic-gun-toting kidnapper against the wall and...
Vin, attacking hard and fast, sinking his knife in the man’s stomach, wrenching the blade upward.
Blood everywhere.
She had no idea. Not really. Sure, she’d experienced kidnapping terror when she’d been young, but she’d been shielded from the savagery of the world. Shielded from everything, it seemed. It was part of her sacrifice. It didn’t just isolate her from relationships and a normal, balanced life, but it shielded her from the ugliness, too.
She’d been touched by it. It had marked her and not just from the blood on her clothes. There was no going back to that complete isolation. She wasn’t even sure if she could manage it. Especially after the way Vin had kissed her.
God help her, she wanted more.
She got up and slipped her CD into the player on the dresser. As rain and intermittent gong reverberations filled the room, she lay back down. The peaceful sounds calmed her.
/> He twitched in his sleep and turned over so that he was facing her. She reached out and felt his forehead. He was warm, but not overly so. She stared at his face until her eyes drifted closed.
She felt safe.
So safe.
* * *
Beau stood in front of Chris’s desk, and there was a look on his face that made him sit up straighter.
“We got a hit on one of those dead Russians.”
“I haven’t got all damn day, Beau.”
“He’s part of The Red Sickle.”
Alarm rang in every nerve ending of Chris’s body. The Red Sickle was a band of mercs linked with political kidnappings, assassination and small wars across Europe. They were brutal, notorious and relentless. NCIS had them at the top of their Most Wanted list.
Vin was up against a band of international killers. Out there somewhere on his own.
“Find them,” Chris said softly and then pushed back from his desk. He headed to the director’s office.
He had to report what he’d learned to his boss.
This was an all-out manhunt.
NCIS had to get to those mercs before they got to Vin and Dr. Baang.
Chapter 7
Sky’s cry jerked him out of a deep sleep. She was next to him flailing, and when she hit his shoulder, he doubled over.
“Sky. Sky.” He grabbed her hands and pulled her close, trying to keep any more damage to a minimum. She was wild-eyed, her body stiff and unyielding. “Sky, shh. It’s okay.”
“Vin.” Her breathing was ragged, and she sent her hands over him to make sure he was here and whole.
“Oh, God. It was just a nightmare.” She breathed out a sigh, and before he could open his arms to let her go, she snuggled against him.
Now he was in even more trouble. He was on a bed, warm and too damn cozy with Sky after just telling himself he wanted her. Hot, wet and naked. On top of him, underneath him, all over him. Yeah. Damn.
“Do you want to talk about it?”