Red-Hot Santa

by Tori Carrington

  He blinked.

  She was glad, because it meant he was considering her words.

  “Look,” she continued. “I’ve never backed out of an obligation in my life. And I’m not going to start now. So you might as well get it through your thick head I’m not going anywhere. And if you feel you can’t trust me…”

  Her voice caught slightly on the last two words, startling her. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

  “If you feel you can’t trust me, well, then I suggest you stay away from me.”

  He searched her face. “Hell, Max, you’re probably the only one here I do trust. That is the reason I’d prefer you weren’t here.”

  “Yes, well, I am. Get used to it.”

  He dropped his hand.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some arrangements I need to make. I’m sure the same applies to you. I’d just as soon be as prepared as possible for this trip.”

  He nodded.

  “Catch up with you later,” she said.

  “Yeah. Later.”

  She began to turn when she caught a glint in his eyes.

  “What?” she demanded.

  His sexy grin provided air under the bird wings in her belly. “Did I say anything?”

  She couldn’t help smiling back at him. “Nope. That’s just as well. Because if you tried to stop me again, I would have been forced to coldcock your stubborn ass.”

  She turned and stalked down the corridor, his chuckle sending tiny bumps running up and down her arms.

  Why did she get the feeling this assignment wasn’t going to resemble anything she’d ever encountered before? Oh, boy…

  7

  JACKSON ATTEMPTED TO relax against the straight-backed seat positioned against the inside of the transport. While it was reassuring they were being taken to their assignment destination in a military plane, he still didn’t feel all that comfortable with his team members…or the team leader.

  After Max left Pegasus’s premises following the meeting earlier in the day, presumably to drive out to her aunt’s and make arrangements to be gone for what was expected to be at least a five-day trip, he’d stayed behind, his intention to insert himself into more of a position of authority. Whether it was due to his solid resume, or the urgency of the operation, or the two combined, he’d easily accomplished his goal.

  So going in, he and Lenny Storehouse would be co–team leaders, with Storehouse taking the ultimate lead. Then Jackson had gone about getting to know as much about his team as he could.

  THE MOB. That was the acronym he’d assigned the members he’d chosen: Taylor-Hershey-Evans-Max-O’Selznick-Bachman, with the O being added by the recruit when he’d introduced himself. “David O. Selznick,” he’d said. With his close-cropped red hair it would be easy to remember him as an O’ something.

  Taylor was a single mother of two and former Army Infantry. Hershey was a Hispanic male, Navy. Evans was a farm-fed cowboy with a country accent and was a former Ranger, while Bachman had longish hair and looked like he played in a rock band…which, Jackson had discovered, he did: bass. Something his Marine superiors hadn’t much liked.

  Max, of course, was easy to remember and was an automatic: her name made up the M in the acronym.

  He’d chosen the five because of their solid military backgrounds and dispositions, not because of their initials. The additional eight team members reminded him of guys he’d seen in Marine boot camp, when he’d pretty much guessed which of his fellow recruits would make it through, and which would be going home.

  He couldn’t be sure what the other members’ military backgrounds were, though he hoped they had at least minimal experience in the service. Still, he was pretty much convinced most of the eight would have gone home within the first week of boot camp. That didn’t bode well for him and Max when it came to backup. Hell, he didn’t plan on depending on THE MOB unless it was absolutely necessary when it came to that.

  But these others…

  He glanced at where one of the younger guys had just barfed into the helmet Pegasus had provided, apparently airsick, then looked beyond him to where four more played poker, their shouts over the loud drone of the engines grating. The other three stayed apart from the rest, one sleeping, the other two attached to their cell phones either madly texting or browsing Facebook; he didn’t know, didn’t care.

  He glanced at where Max sat next to him, watching as she took in their teammates with the same professional detachment. She grimaced. He nodded.

  They’d been in the air for about two hours. He estimated they had at least ten more to go, allowing for a stop for refueling. That would make it roughly the middle of the night to these guys; middle of the day for where they were heading. And given the hostile environment, he suspected they would have to hit the ground running.

  He glanced at Lenny Storehouse, their fearless operations leader, where he lay back with his cap tilted down over his eyes. He had the right idea, at least. It was important to get as much shut-eye as possible now, because nobody knew how much they were going to see later.

  He reached up for his own cap and worked it down to shield his eyes. After a few moments, he cracked his eyes open to look at Max. She’d either already followed suit or beaten him to it. Hell, given the way her full mouth was slightly open, he suspected she was already asleep.

  Of course, they really hadn’t gotten a whole hell of a lot of it the night before, had they?

  “What you looking at, Marine?” she said just loud enough for him to hear.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Good. Go to sleep.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She kicked his boot without opening her eyes.

  “I mean, sir.”

  She laughed at that and then settled in more comfortably, crossing her arms under her full breasts.

  Jackson’s mouth watered with the desire to taste one of the pert nipples that lay under that nondescript cotton.

  If he wasn’t mistaken, her breathing had grown shallower. He looked up to find her watching him from beneath the thick fringe of her lashes.

  “Done?” she asked, arching a brow.

  He grinned. “Not nearly.”

  She smiled and then closed her eyes again.

  He did the same, allowing himself to entertain ideas of what he’d like to do with her when they were back home and he had her alone again…

  MAX SWALLOWED HARD. As far as signs of life went, the one Jax had just given her sent the needle soaring off the charts.

  Okay, maybe not quite to that degree, but given the cool detachment he’d demonstrated toward her earlier…well, his naughty grin and the way he’d visually inhaled her breasts was enough to make her blood hum.

  So he wanted her. That was good, right? She twisted her lips and readjusted the bill of her cap. Considering the alternative, it was definitely good.

  Then why did she want him so much she ached on the one hand, yet, on the other, she was scared to death that he was only interested in sex?

  Made no sense, did it?

  She quietly cleared her throat and tried to clear her mind along with it.

  Earlier she’d called her mom and aunt and made arrangements for them to bring her gear halfway, then for her mom to drive her back into town. She hadn’t told Cindy exactly what her new job entailed, just that she’d be out of touch for a few days.

  “But why do you need so many…guns?”

  There weren’t that many, she’d pointed out. Just three: one 9mm Beretta, one 10mm Colt and a fully automatic M-16.

  But to someone who had no interest in firearms except for the shotgun they always kept around the farmhouse, she supposed the three represented an entire arsenal.

  Cindy had hugged her so hard she couldn’t breathe after they’d pulled up in Pegasus’s parking lot. “You’ve just now come home. I don’t want to lose you again.”

  Max had been surprised and touched by the words, which surprised and touched her, since it hadn’t
been all that long ago that she’d have given an eye roll at such sentiments.

  She couldn’t quite figure out what made this visit home different than previous ones. She was still the same person. Nothing significant had happened to make her view her surroundings or her family any differently.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true…

  Still, she found herself needing to reassure her mother in a way she never had before. So she’d returned the tight hug, waiting it out until its natural conclusion instead of eagerly ending it, afraid of what others might think if they saw her, wary that the moment might be viewed as weakness by her team members.

  In that one moment, the only thing that mattered was her mother…and Max’s need to soothe her fears.

  “You’re not losing me,” she said. “I’ll be back next week.”

  She only hoped she was right. She’d never worried much about how her assignments and the possible outcomes—her being injured or worse—might affect her family. Now, though…

  Well, now she shifted uncomfortably and squashed the desire to take in her team members again. They weren’t going to inspire any more confidence than they had five minutes ago.

  But it was more than that. For reasons she wasn’t presently equipped to understand, somehow the value of her life had increased. Not only in terms of awareness of what her loss might mean to her mother and aunt, but…

  She held her breath briefly, realizing she wanted to see where this—the bubbling newfound emotions she felt for Jax—were going.

  She wanted to live to know more than his touch and his friendship.

  She felt his knee brush against hers ever so slightly and looked to see if he was sleeping. She couldn’t tell. Was the physical move unconscious? Or had it been made to help ease her mind?

  Little did he know that his mere presence did that. Jackson Savage was as good as it got when it came to combat situations.

  What was she talking about? Jackson Savage was as good as it got when it came to anything.

  She could almost imagine herself lying naked across his bed, cradling him between her thighs, her stomach quivering, his hot breath against her neck, his hard, long length filling her to overflowing. How long had they gone at it? Three hours? Four? And she easily believed they could have gone hours longer if not for the thought of her aunt and mom waking to find her bedroom empty.

  Her nipples hardened and the crotch of her panties dampened at the thought of what lay ahead.

  And what did lie ahead? A series of one-night stands? Hot ones? Or was it possible they could mold their newfound physical desire for each other with their longstanding friendship and…

  What?

  She wasn’t thinking marriage, was she? Kids? White picket fence?

  In her meandering thoughts on the matter, she hadn’t allowed any of them to travel quite that far down the road. At this point, she was having problems seeing beyond the next five seconds, much less years.

  Still, she couldn’t ignore the deep thrumming of her heart at the idea of happily-ever-after with Jax.

  Just think of all the red-hot sex they could spend the next fifty years having.

  Damn…

  She readjusted her cap again, a thousand hot and erotics thoughts coming to her at once. She fought them off one by one, concentrating instead on the hum of the engines, the cadence of her heartbeat, the thrum of her pulse…

  Finally, her mind surrendered to what her body needed most: sleep.

  And to her dreams…

  8

  HERE WE GO…

  As Jackson predicted, nearly ten hours later the plane was positioned over the landing site and the team was lined up to jump out the back lip that had been opened. Max stood in front of him, three back from the lead. He stifled the desire to tuck her behind him and ground his back teeth together. He really needed to get over this new need of his to protect her.

  “Go! Go! Go!” the team leader shouted.

  The first member seemed frozen to the spot. The second member didn’t so much urge him forward, as shove him out.

  Great…

  Within moments, Jackson was freefalling, homing in on the target zone outlined an hour before on a map by Lenny. It was a small clearing near an easily identifiable waterfall. Protective goggles in place, he glanced to his right to find Max pulling her ripcord. He followed suit. The plane had dropped them at a lower altitude so their descent would be quick and not so easily tracked. Within moments, he released the chute and hit the ground rolling to prevent injury, relieved when Max landed twenty feet away, doing the same. They quickly gathered their chutes and stashed them under some brush along the tree line even as team members hit the ground behind them. He watched as Max snatched one of the younger guys out of the way of another coming even as one of the other guys got caught in the higher branches of a tree. He released the chute and fell to the ground. Jackson winced. That had to hurt.

  He helped the man to his feet. “Got it?”

  He nodded.

  To his satisfaction, the team he’d put together immediately assembled. The others hung back and walked around as Storehouse consulted his GPS. The chute on top of the tree was camo but it would still be easily identifiable by air. Which made it that much more important for them to hightail it out of there now.

  “This way. Go! Go! Go!”

  As planned, Max took the lead and Jackson brought up the rear, with their team closely intertwined with the other. The guy who fell hard was limping and slowing things up, as was the one who’d suffered airsickness. He shouted them on.

  They had seven klicks to go before they reached the designated area where they would stop to establish base camp. And in this hot, tropical environment, it was already destined to be a long seven klicks. With these guys, it was going to be even harder…

  MAX SET A DRIVING, even speed, sweat covering her face. Hard to believe it wasn’t all that long ago she could make a fifty-mile hike with over a hundred pounds of gear on her back and never blink an eye.

  They said civilian life made you soft. She hadn’t believed that until now. She was laboring harder than she should have been. After two years out of the service, it was almost like she’d never been in it.

  She was almost relieved when the radio crackled and Lenny told her to cut her pace in half.

  She readily agreed, turning to see only two others had kept pace with her.

  Well, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t kept active. She made it to the gym at least four times a week for a grueling workout that was at least equivalent to what she’d done in the service. And her jobs had been ones that required she stay in shape (body-guard, high-end security for visiting diplomats), but it had been a few years since she’d seen this kind of action…and her body was letting her know it.

  Maybe it was the tropical environment. She was used to the desert. Heat she could take, but this humidity seemed to weigh on her more heavily than her gear. She knew they were heading closer to the coast. Hopefully the sea winds would help negate the humidity levels. She could hope, anyway.

  She swiped at her brow with her wristband and glanced over her shoulder to find the rest of them had almost caught up. Good. She caught sight of Jackson’s grin. She turned back to the front, her grin spreading across the whole of her face. His approval gave her a pair of fresh feet. She easily made it the seven klicks without seeming winded.

  She drew to a halt and turned, waiting as everyone caught up.

  “Christ, McGuire, you training for the Olympics?” Lenny asked. “Okay, everyone. Take five and let’s get this done…”

  JACKSON WASN’T SURPRISED when he and Max were two of the four chosen to walk the perimeter when night fell. After the fast-paced hike, most of the team had collapsed where they stood, trying to catch their breath. Hours later, they’d barely moved.

  So here he was, facing four hours of perimeter duty in the dark in unfamiliar territory. Which is exactly the way he liked it.

  There were few things that got the blood p
umping like being on the front line. His senses seemed more aware, more alert. He’d come to understand that you never felt more alive than when you were in the path of possible death.

  He’d walked his stretch of the perimeter three times, taking notice of particular landmarks and most likely approach paths, more comfortable with his surroundings. He heard a quiet voice on his radio.

  Max.

  He picked it up.

  “Fallujah,” she said.

  “Roger, that.”

  He switched to channel 69, the one they’d designated back when they’d served in Iraq to talking privately. He hesitated before speaking, the number just now registering to him. He smiled and lifted the radio to his mouth.

  “What took you so long?” she asked, her voice quiet.

  “Was just noticing the number…”

  There was a pause then, “Yeah. Made me stop for a minute, too. Funny, huh? We used it so long without really thinking about it…”

  He leaned against a tree, his gaze alert as he kept an eye out. They’d had a good laugh about it in the beginning, choosing the number because of its ease in remembering.

  Now…

  Jackson’s mouth watered as he recalled the way she tasted, hardened as he practically felt her tongue against his erection…

  Damn. The last thing he should be thinking about right now was oral sex…

  “You still there?” he asked.

  “Yeah. All quiet.”

  “Here, too.” He put the radio to his chest then lifted it again. “You remember the first time we did this?”

  She indicated she did.

  He smiled.

  “We were in separate transports on the Highway of Death. Fifty miles of a whole lot of nothing except for people wanting to kill us…”

  “And everyone else was asleep.”

  He watched a moth-sized mosquito land on his forearm. He let it, then flexed his muscles, watching it get stuck and pop.

  “That’s the first time you told me about your dad,” he said.

  Silence. He knew she was remembering the conversation just as he was.

  Claude McGuire had been an asshole of a man. A wife beater and deadbeat who couldn’t keep a job to save his life. How her mother had handled it for all those years was beyond either of them. Thankfully, the first time he raised his hand to six-year-old Max, Cindy was out of there.