Hard Core (Onyx Group)

by Jennifer Lowery

  She glanced at the slate sofa with its modern design. “You’ll never fit.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve slept on worse.”

  Hurt that he wouldn’t be sleeping with her, but unwilling to show it, she lifted her chin. “Where is your room?”

  “It’s the entire west side of the house.”

  She swallowed hard. It sounded big and lonely. Exactly what she didn’t want. “There?” she asked, pointing to the door on the left.

  “Yes.”

  “I think I’ll shower and turn in too. I’m tired from the trip.”

  Cristian nodded and studied her.

  Swallowing her pride, she said, “I have nothing to wear.” She hated relying on him for everything.

  “You can wear one of my shirts until we get you some clothes.”

  Just what she needed. To be surrounded by his scent all night, but not him. “Fine. Goodnight, Cristian.”

  “Goodnight, Doc.”

  So that’s how he wanted to play this? Fine, so would she. She could be aloof and distant too. No matter how much of a lie it was.

  Giving him one last, haughty look, she walked away, closing the door to his room and putting distance between them.

  She leaned against the door and looked around the gigantic room, her breath catching. “Dear Lord,” she murmured. “Is the man trying to kill me?”

  Atop a gold and black Tibetan area rug stood a king-size, four-post bed draped with sheer white curtains tied back to reveal an onyx trimmed duvet and more pillows than she’d ever seen on a bed. Glancing at the ceiling, she half expected to see a mirror over the bed, but it was vacant.

  Walking slowly past the bed to the walk-in closet, she stepped inside, curious to see if Cristian wore fatigues all the time. Running her hand down the rows of tailored suits and crisp shirts, she tried to imagine him in clothes this elegant, but failed. She didn’t expect Cristian to be the kind of man to wear a suit. So why did he have them? Disguises?

  Continuing on her way, she walked into the bathroom. A walk-in shower with octagonal glass doors and three jets atop dark marble flooring beckoned her. Low, seductive lighting added to the aura of the entire penthouse. Glossy surfaces, chrome fixtures, even a couple candles had her stripping out of her clothes and reaching for the door handle of the shower.

  She stepped inside, turned on all three jets and let out a groan of pure delight as warm water massaged her skin. Never had a shower felt so rejuvenating. Almost as good as the waterfall on the island.

  Sobering, Alana’s head snapped down. Somehow that thought slipped in, dropkicking her back to reality. Not the time to grieve over the past. She needed to get her head on straight and figure out what to do about Gavin. She couldn’t continue to be a victim.

  Time to stop letting Gavin Ross control the situation. Time to take her life back.

  * * * *

  Slade dialed Gallagher’s number, his leg sticky with blood. Surprisingly, Alana hadn’t noticed. She had a nose for the wounded. A shower was out of the question, unless he wanted to disturb her. Just thinking about her naked in his shower made him damned uncomfortable. There were more important things to do right now and getting someone here to fill in for him was top priority.

  His boss answered on the first ring. “Gallagher.”

  “We’re at my penthouse.”

  “Sam already called. I don’t have anyone to send as backup, Slade. We’re a small group.”

  “What about Bodley? Sarver and Fortier can handle Dave. Fortier has four brothers.”

  “Bodley is still abroad.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Not sure yet. My gut tells me yes.”

  Slade rubbed the back of his neck. More complications. Most of the group was tied up in this mess. If Bodley needed assistance, they would have to pull someone from Dave’s protective detail. They sure as hell weren’t pulling him or Mercer off Alana.

  “We’re secure here, but I can’t wait for Ross to make a move. We need to eliminate him first.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “I can find Ross, but you’ll have to replace me here.”

  “I don’t do field work, Slade. Not anymore. You know that. I’m the man behind the curtain. Period. Come up with a new plan.”

  Frustrated, Slade dropped down onto a padded kitchen chair and leaned an elbow on the stone table. He rubbed his gritty eyes. “I can’t be a sitting duck, Gallagher.”

  “There are no alternatives right now. Unless you leave the doctor in Mercer’s care and go after him yourself.”

  Remembering how Alana had reacted when he’d tried to leave her on the helicopter, he said, “Not an option.”

  “Mercer is good at what he does.”

  “We’re all good. That’s not the issue.”

  “Then what is?”

  Too personal to talk about. “I’ll figure it out.”

  Gallagher was silent. “Should I be concerned?”

  “No.”

  “You aren’t usually this involved.”

  Slade remained silent. Gallagher was right. He didn’t get involved. Not in the group’s personal lives, not in a job. Until now, he hadn’t considered these men friends. But acquaintances didn’t put their lives on the line for each other.

  “This is different,” he admitted.

  “Because of the doctor?”

  “Yes.” Alana was the complication. In more ways than one.

  “There’s nothing wrong with saving lives, Slade.”

  “It prevented me from fulfilling a contract.”

  Gallagher paused. “The client isn’t breathing down our necks.”

  “But he paid us to do a job.”

  “And we’ll do it.”

  If he could get his objectives screwed on straight and stop allowing Alana to mess with his head. He’d never had trouble distancing himself before. Why now? Why her?

  “Let me work this on my end, see what I can do to free Sarver.”

  Slade hung up minutes later and set his phone on the table. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath that shot fire through his side. Bullet wound was healing, but still hurt like hell. A reminder of all that had gone wrong. A reminder he needed to focus on the job and not the incredibly sexy woman sleeping in his bed tonight.

  Without him.

  He would be where he should be. On the couch, protecting her. Not making love to her until neither of them could remember their names.

  Muttering a curse, Slade tried to push those thoughts out of his mind. Gallagher was right. Things were different. He was different. Because of Alana. She’d made him change his pattern. Experience taught him that changing patterns, straying from the plan, could be deadly. This time, it wasn’t his life in danger. It was hers.

  And his promise chained him to her for eternity.

  “You’re bleeding again.”

  Cristian’s lips twisted. He opened his eyes to find Alana striding toward him, wearing nothing except one of his shirts. It reached mid-thigh, showcasing long, shapely legs that carried her with the grace of a queen. The top buttons were undone and he admitted the shirt looked better on her than it did him. Dammit, she’d get them all killed if she kept walking around half-naked. But there was also something different about her. Something…stronger, more determined. He could see it in the stubborn set to her chin and the confidence in her stride. Whatever it was, it looked good on her. It made him think he was getting another glimpse of the woman she’d once been.

  “And don’t say it’s nothing,” she chided, coming to stand in front of him. It was all he could do not to tear the shirt off her and see if she wore anything underneath. To feel her silky smooth skin beneath his fingertips.

  “Go take a shower and wash the blood off,” she ordered in her doctor-knows-best tone. “Then I’ll take a look.”

  Just one more step and she would be standing between his thighs. Instead, she backed up to give him room to stand. Rising to his feet, he headed for his bedr
oom, silently berating himself for what he’d been about to do. Jesus, what a mess.

  Over his shoulder he said, “No need, Doc, it’s fine.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  At the door, Slade turned to her. “No.” Then disappeared inside. He was too explosive for her to touch him so intimately. It would lead to the wrong things. And places he’d banned himself from. As her protector, he had to stay away from her. That was how it worked. This, he could not stray from. Not again.

  Even if it killed him.

  Chapter 19

  Alana bolted upright in bed, reaching into the darkness for people who weren’t there. Disoriented, she looked around the room. Not her hut, but Cristian’s bedroom. His bed. And she was alone.

  She bit back a sob and rubbed a hand over her aching chest. The pain couldn’t be rubbed away. It was in her soul.

  Emptiness washed over her. She threw the covers back and swung her legs to the floor. Cristian’s bed was big and lonely. Too big. Too lonely.

  Nightmare lingering, Alana crept out of the room and through the living room where Cristian slept. She longed to wake him up, join him on the sofa since it was close in size to the cot in her hut, but she moved on through to the kitchen and searched the cupboards for liquor. Anything to take away the ache in her chest.

  Finding a bottle of aged scotch, she broke the seal and poured two fingers. She downed it in one swallow, coughed into her hand while her eyes watered, and poured another. This one she carried into the living room, past Cristian where he lay unmoving, and to the wall of windows overlooking the city. Lights twinkled, reminding her of home in Boston. It didn’t offer comfort like it once had.

  Pressing her forehead against the cool glass, she closed her eyes, willing the ache to go away. So many regrets in her life. She missed her father. She missed her mother. And Leya. All of them. God, how she wanted that life back.

  “Alana? What are you doing up?”

  Cristian’s soft question floated through the darkness, tinged with uncustomary concern. She didn’t turn for fear she would run to him and throw herself in his arms, begging him to erase her memories. But he couldn’t erase them. Make her forget for a while, but not wipe them away. In fact, the nightmares would worsen when she heard his answers.

  Answers she needed to know.

  “Tell me how my father died,” she said quietly.

  Silence. “It won’t change anything.”

  Except her nightmares would be more cohesive and less fearful of the unknown. “Please. You promised.”

  “Dammit, Alana.”

  “Tell me.”

  And he did. Telling her with soft menace in the darkness how Gavin’s men had slaughtered her family with bullets and torched the village afterward. With each word, images formed in her mind and tore her apart. She didn’t have to witness it to know exactly what kind of massacre Gavin had left behind. She had seen it first-hand when he came to the island and murdered the other tribe that lived there. There had been no one left to save that day.

  When Cristian finished, she downed the rest of her scotch. “My father? Did he suffer?”

  He cursed behind her, still on the sofa. “Yes.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “For very long?”

  “Alana--”

  “Did he suffer long?” she demanded, cutting him off.

  “Dammit, yes. For almost twelve hours. Only one thing kept him alive.”

  “What?” she whispered as her heart ripped out of her chest.

  “You. You kept him alive.”

  A tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t understand.”

  “He stayed alive until he knew you were taken care of. He thought you had been kidnapped. That’s not it, is it? You weren’t kidnapped.”

  “No,” she said quietly, staring out at the twinkling lights of the city. “I knew Gavin would come for me. I just didn’t know it would be so soon.”

  “Keep going.”

  After a deep breath, she began her own story. “When Gavin moved to the island, he slaughtered the other tribe that lived there. Fate had it that he found them before us. I…I tried to save them, but it was too late. He had all of them killed. And I knew he would come for us too, so I went to his home and pleaded with him to spare us. He took a liking to me and agreed under one condition.”

  “Go on,” Cristian growled.

  “He made me promise to become his after six months. He granted me the time so I could spend it with my father. He was dying of cancer and didn’t have long, so I agreed, knowing my father would never live to see what I had done.”

  “You sacrificed yourself for them.”

  “Yes.”

  “But Ross changed the rules.”

  “Yes. He slaughtered my family when he gave his word not to. I should have known he couldn’t be trusted.”

  Cristian cursed behind her.

  “No one knew what I had done. They knew Gavin was a monster. They saw what he did to the other tribe. They died because of me, and for that I will never forgive myself.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for something Ross did,” Cristian said roughly.

  She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It was my fault Ross did it.”

  “Do you also blame yourself for the hurricanes that eradicate people all over the world and the tornadoes that destroy trailer parks?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Case in point.”

  “Is everything so black and white to you?”

  “No. I live in shades of gray. Mercenaries often do.”

  She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. He wasn’t the type of man to blow smoke. He believed what he said, that she wasn’t to blame for her father’s death. But she knew better.

  She twisted the glass in her hands. “I thought saying it out loud would make it easier.”

  “You did nothing wrong. You tried to save them from a madman. You did your best.”

  It wasn’t good enough. “But they died anyway. Brutally. And I live.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I should be burning in that village with them.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Cristian said viciously. “You don’t have a death wish. Not you.”

  Alana whirled around to face him where he sat in the shadows. “Why not me? What have I got, Cristian? What is there for me now? I have no home, no money, no friends or family. I walked away from a promising career years ago and you don’t get a second chance at something like that. So where do I go from here? Everything I loved was on that island.”

  Suddenly in front of her, Cristian gripped her arms painfully. “I won’t hear you talk like that. You’re all that’s right and good in the world. You save people, help people, selflessly, and I won’t let you give up. I won’t let Ross take that from you.”

  Breathing hard, Alana stared at him, unable to speak. Cristian didn’t say such things. Even though he said them with no small amount of conviction, she knew he meant every word. That was how he saw her.

  “You’re a fool,” she whispered.

  He pressed her against the windows, the glass cool against her bare legs, his body hot and unyielding. His gaze bore down into hers and her breath caught. This was the dark, unpredictable man she’d treated in jungle.

  “I am a fool,” he agreed, his voice low and guttural and encircled her neck with a hand, thumb resting on the pulse beating frantically there. “I put bruises on you.”

  At first she started to disagree, but the distance in his eyes told her he was in the past too. Remembering when he had fought her so she wouldn’t stick him with a needle.

  “You didn’t hurt me.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I’m tougher than I look. Don’t blame yourself.”

  His eyes lifted to meet hers. “It seems we both share the same burden. Guilt.”

  “I guess we do.”

  She wanted him to kiss her. His lips were a mere few inches from her own. His body hot, hard agai
nst hers.

  “So you understand why I can’t let mine go?”

  He scowled. “I do.”

  That drew a sad smile from her. “Did you mean what you said about me? Do you think I’m those things?”

  “Yes.”

  She melted a little inside. “I got into your scotch.”

  He glanced down at the empty glass in her hand. “I see that. That bottle has been on my shelf for twelve years.”

  “Sorry.”

  He shrugged, his hand resting lightly on her collarbone.

  “Were you saving it?”

  “No.”

  “I needed it.”

  He nodded.

  She pressed a kiss to his neck. “I don’t want to drink to forget my nightmares.”

  His hand tightened on her waist. “Alana...”

  “Please, Cristian. Make love to me.” Wrapping her legs around his waist, she circled her arms behind his neck, holding the glass against his back.

  He growled and all that intensity rolled into her. The air crackled with tension. In one swift move, he kicked his pants off and plunged inside her. She gasped as he filled her, pressing her against the window.

  “Yes,” she groaned when he nipped her neck and began moving inside her, thrusting deep, touching her where she needed it most. Her body matched his tempo, building, screaming for release. Digging her heels into his buttocks, she urged him on.

  “Now.” Cristian groaned and she let go. He pushed her over the edge, following with a primal grunt of possession that only heightened her climax. The glass slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor as she came apart in his arms.

  When the waves subsided, she laid her head back against the window and closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Sex with Cristian was demanding, exhilarating. He unlocked something inside her. Something primal. It scared her as much as it excited her.

  He pressed his lips against her throat, tonguing the pulse still pounding there. It leapt beneath his touch.

  Without pulling out, he lifted her away from the window and carried her toward the bedroom. Kicking the door closed, he walked to the bed and lay down with her in the center, still joined.

  “Kiss me,” she said and he did. All night long. She didn’t have any more nightmares that night.