Awareness hit him with the force of a call to general quarters. Warning. Danger. Abort mission.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. Please, Marcus. Now.
The please nearly wrecked him, but he pulled back from the edge in time. There was fantasy, and then there was sheer stupidity. He wasnt going to screw up by losing control now. Hang on. We need a condom.
No.
Its okay. Birth control was as much a part of any sailors kit as razors or dental floss. Ill only be a second, he promised.
She pushed her hips upward. He sucked in his breath. You dont need to, she said. You told me you had all your shots.
I do, but He couldnt think. He could only feel her, wet and ready andyeah, babyright there. You could still get pregnant.
No, I cant.
Cant? Was she on the pill? Or
Her hands skimmed his back to his butt and squeezed. Please.
It was like a green flag at the start of a race. Like a go ahead from mission control. He was hot and throbbing and raring to go, and she was sending him all the signals to proceed. He had to be inside her. Now. Nearly violent with need, he held her down and thrust home.
The shock of it hit him like a bullet. The pleasure of it melted his bones. She was so hot and tight, pulsing around him, part of him, his. Their fingers laced. Their eyes locked. Their bodies linked, and it was beyond great, better than a fantasy, more powerful than any dream.
She was real and warm and under him, driving his body like a well-tuned machine, pumping, racing. Mouths met and devoured. Hands streaked and possessed. Every time he thought he should slow down, be cool, play nice, every time he tried to show her a little finesse, exercise a little control, she moved or moaned, gasped or bit him, and he shuddered and fell into her again, into the heat and the heart of her, into the blinding race for release.
They were way past games and a million years beyond high school. It was hot and fast and sweaty and a little rough.
Harder, she said, her voice breaking.
His blood pumped. His breath labored. She clutched at him, tearing apart his control.
He took her harder, took her deeper, felt her clench and arch under him, felt her coil and come apart. And the explosions that rocked her blew him apart like a fuel fire detonating a load of TNT.
Racked, thankful, spent, he rested his forehead on hers and collapsed against her.
His brain didnt operate, his tongue didnt function and his body flat out refused to budge.
There was no way Marcus could manage suave or smooth right now. He would have to go with droolingly grateful and hope Samantha didnt deduct style points.
Thank you, he mumbled fervently.
Her fingers combed the back of his head. He closed his eyes, loving the delicate tug of her touch against his scalp.
What for? she asked.
What for? Several brain cells sparked reluctantly to life and considered the question. Marcus didnt have a clue what he was supposed to say, so he went with the truth.
For having sex with me. For wanting to have sex with me.
For climaxing before he finished without her and totally humiliated himself.
Her lips curved against his cheek. He raised his head so he could see her smile. He loved her smile.
Since I wanted to have sex with you, you hardly need to thank me. Maybe I should be thanking you.
Fortunately, he didnt need working brain cells to respond to that one. Nope. God, no. I owe you.
Her brows arched. What is it you think you owe me?
WellIf you wont accept thanks, how about an apology?
Unnecessary.
I was rough.
Her dimples deepened. So was I.
Her obvious satisfaction made him grin. But he persisted stubbornly, I didnt mean to take advantage. After your accident and everything.
She raised her chin, a gesture that kind of lost its effectiveness when she was lying naked under him. Marcus, I am not going to let you cast me as the victim here.
Not a victim, he agreed. But
Oh, man, he was such a loser. What was he doing, looking for a fight after the best sex of his life?
Except Samantha wasnt fighting. She didnt ask questions, either. She just lay there, waiting, watching him with warm concern.
So of course he opened his big fat mouth and made things worse.
Look, we had to study hostage psychology in our antiterrorist training, okay? And theres this thing called Stockholm Syndrome, after this Swedish bank robbery that happened, like, thirty years ago, where
Im familiar with the Stockholm Syndrome, she interrupted gently.
Yeah. Okay. Anyway, the instructor told us that the hostages in that case were totally dependent on their kidnappers to supply their basic needs. Food. Information. Human contact. And after three, four days of that, they began to identify with their kidnappers as a method of survival.
Samantha stiffened under him. But her voice was still mild. Are you suggesting that Im dependent on you for sex? Or that I slept with you as a means of ensuring my survival?
He was sweating again, and not from the heat of their two bodies pressed together under the quilt.
No, I just meant
He didnt know what he meant. He felt like he was in eleventh grade again and being grilled by Mrs. Crane, the English teacher, after volunteering some stupid answer in class. Except unlike Mrs. Crane, Samantha had mercy on him.
You left something out, she said. The robbery hostages were afraid their captors would kill them. The threat of death is one of the four defining characteristics of the syndrome. She wriggled her hand from under his arm and began to count them off on her fingers. Isolation, dependence, arbitrary kindness and fear of death.
He loved it. Ambassador Barnes, naked and glowing from sex, lecturing him on hostage psychology. He was impressed, amused and touched.
She held up all four fingers and waggled them in his face. So unless you believe that you threatened me and I slept with you simply to appease you, youll have to accept that I wanted you.
Okay, touched and turned on. Call him a pervert, but the contrast between the bad-girl body rubbing intimately against his and her earnest teachers tone was beginning to have an unexpected effect.
Thats a relief, he said. Because I want you, too.
Her dark lashes dropped. She smiled, a secret, feminine smile that made him want to conquer worlds for her. I noticed.
He nuzzled the side of her face. So what do you think we should do?
She inhaled as he nibbled her earlobe. We could change the subject.
Nah. I think you should lecture me some more.
She pulled her head back against the pillow. Confused, she repeated, I should lecture you?
He smiled down into her eyes. Yeah. It makes me hot.
As hed hoped, her dimples reappeared. Really?
I swear.
I could discuss nonproliferation and arms control
in Eastern Europe.
He rocked against her suggestively. I love it when you use big words.
She laughed, but he felt her breathing quicken. She raised one hand and touched his cheek. Unless youd rather hear my proposed incentives for the creation of a broad-based, market-oriented democracy in Rebelia.
Oh, baby. He turned his head and bit her fingers gently.
She lifted herself to meet his mouth.
And for a long time after that, they said everything they needed to without any words at all.
Samantha hiked her towel under her arms and tucked it between her breasts. In Delmonico, she lived with seventy-four staffers, an army of housekeepers, a team of gardeners and a small detachment of marines. She certainly shouldnt feel shy about sharing quarters with one Navy SEAL.
Especially since hed already seen her naked.
But something about sharing the small domestic routines of the farmhouse felt almost more intimate than sharing a bed. She thought of Marcus, hard on top of her, moving quick and thick inside of her, and flushed.
All right, not more intimate, she acknowledged. Different intimate. Unfamiliar. Scary.
She anchored the towel more firmly around her and called down the stairs. I found a hair dryer in the bathroom. Is it okay to plug it in?
Marcus strode from the direction of the kitchen, carrying some kind of gadget and looking hot and distracted.
Yeah, I ran a wire up there this He caught sight of her standing above him and stopped dead on the faded carpet. Well, hello, Ambassador Babe. Am I too late to scrub your back?
She laughed, which he probably intended, and eased her death grip on the towel. Yet even as she relaxed in response to his teasing, she was trembling, tense, weak with wanting him. It was amazingembarrassing, reallyto be thirty-six years old and suddenly giddy with lust.
Did he intend that, too? Did he know? Could he guess?
It was the result of proximity, she told herself. The novelty of sex after a year of drought. Her reactions were probably heightened by the thrill or the danger or the chance finally to feel alive again after so many months of living cocooned by work and grief.
He grinned at her, his blue eyes bright in his tanned face, and she realized she was lying to herself.
It was him. Marcus. He did this to her.
Youre overthinking, he said. Yes or no?
She blinked. Yes to?
Did you shower already?
Oh. Yes. Thank you.
He nodded. Later on the water conservation thing, then. Ive got to get these cameras set up anyway.
She resisted the urge to tug on her towel. Cameras?
Digital surveillance cameras. He held up a black device scarcely bigger than a matchbox. I dont want any more close calls.
She felt a chill that had nothing to do with standing in the drafty hallway wrapped in a towel. They were accidents.
Probably. The camera will tell us for sure.
How?
This camera responds to changes in the picture. When anything new sneaks into its viewfinder, it takes a shot and stores it on its memory card. I can download and inspect the images on my computer. If I see anything suspicious, I can send photos to DS as e-mail attachments.
Thats very she struggled for a word that would encompass both her admiration for his expertise and her dismay that he felt it was necessary ingenious of you.
He shrugged. Its my job.
It was his job, she realized.
She didnt doubt for a minute that the sex was genuine. She even believed the affection was real. But first and foremost, above all else, she was a job to him. While she was weak-kneed and breathless at the prospect of playing house with Superman, he was already out saving Metropolis.
She straightened her spine. Where did you get the cameras?
I gave Garciahes in my squada supplies list. Marcus stopped fiddling with the device in his hands long enough to give her a crooked smile. Kind of hoped Id never need them, though.
Her heart beat faster. Was she really in danger? Or could he simply not accept that he had forgotten to cover the well? You may not need them now. I was careless. I fell. It was an accident.
Maybe. But it wasnt your fault. I was the one who was careless.
Marcus, youre only human. People make mistakes.
I dont.
She didnt question his commitment to his job. She was sure he would lay down his life to protect her. And equally certain it would kill her to see him die. But he was overreacting.
Moving a well cover seems a pretty inefficient way for some unknown assassin to try to kill me, she said.
You wouldnt say that if it had worked.
Frustrated, she pulled the towel tighter. I wouldnt say anything if it had worked. Id be dead.
He turned red under his tan. Do you want to go back to D.C.?
No, she didnt. The realization shook her. For over a year, the provisions and ramifications of the Delmonico Accord had consumed her, waking and sleeping. She ought to be fretting over the time and opportunities being lost in Washington while she tumbled down wells and into
Oh, no. Not love.
She was not falling into the female trap of equating sex with love. Although the sex had been wonderful. Forget the big macho stud good looks. Forget that he was honorable and kind, with a devotion to duty and a practical intelligence that made every other man she knew seem like an ineffectual wimp. Forget that when she was with him, the knots in her stomach eased and the burden on her shoulders lightened and the whole world seemed a brighter, more hopeful place.
None of that was enough to make her disregard her purpose in coming to Washington. It wasnt enough to make her fall in love.
Was it?
I said, do you want to go back to D.C.? he repeated.
Her throat tightened. Do you? she countered.
He met her gaze somberly. We have to, dont we? Eventually.
At least he didnt sound too happy about it. She wasnt the only one suffering from unrequitedWell, anyway, she wasnt the only one suffering.
She drew a deep breath and felt the towel strain across her breasts. He noticed. She watched a muscle in his jaw bunch before he dragged his gaze back to her face, letting her see the heat and the need that burned in his eyes.
Suffering was highly overrated, she decided.
Why shouldnt they take this time theyd been given? Why shouldnt she treasure it as the precious gift it was? And when the time came for her to return to her work in Delmonico and for him to go on saving the world, maybe she would find the strength to let him go.
Eventually. Not today. Not yet.
Do you think it will be soon? she asked.
He shrugged. As soon as its safe.
She stood above him in the drafty hall, trembling with cold and the force of longing and the certainty of loss, and looked him straight in the eyes.
Then lets not waste any time, she said, and dropped the towel.
He was running out of time.
In the shadows of the barn, he made a pouch of yellow newspaper and poured his mix of chemical fertilizer and diesel fuel inside.
She was leaving, the bitch. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And he couldnt let that happen. His instructions were clear. The target must not return to Washington. Must never return to Delmonico.
He snipped the insulation from the end of a wire. For three dollars, he could have purchased a highly effective and lightweight contact bomb like the Italian TS-50 or a U.S. M14. Something plastic that would require very little pressure to set off. But most APMsantipersonnel mineswere designed to maim, not kill. Take a life, and you neutralized one enemy. Take a limb, and you neutralized twothe victim and the buddy whose job it was to drag the guy to safety.
He was a professional. He rigged his bomb to kill. But only one target, only one victim.
Presumably the SEAL was still of some use to somebody.
Thirteen
A ll his life, hed wanted to be accepted.
Which was pretty pathetic, if you thought about it, but Marcus wasnt a thinking man, so he was generally okay with it. Most of the time.
Even now that he was thinking about it he was still okay, because Samantha was on the other side of his best friends kitchen table, wearing his kid sisters skimpy shirt and eating the peaches Marcus had picked for her.
Im Yours, her breasts proclaimed in bright-gold letters on bright-blue cloth, and every time he looked across the kitchen table, he thought, Damn straight.
That was wonderful. She smiled at him, licking peach juice from her fingers, and his lower body tightened.
Youre wonderful, he told her honestly.
So are you. Her smile turned rueful. But Im sure youve been told that before.
Family Secrets: Books 5-8 Page 16