by Lori Wilde
By diverting her mind from the truth with shopping sprees and spending binges, she’d never given herself permission to heal. She’d frittered away money to lift her spirits, to stuff up the holes in her heart. But there was no stuffing up the holes with pretty clothes and designer shoes. No easing of her sorrow, just a numbing of her soul.
“Tish,” he whispered and she felt his body tense. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Johnny,” she whispered. “All these mistakes were from losing Johnny.”
She cried then, fully, completely grieving for the lost child who’d vanished before he’d ever really been theirs.
Shane held Tish tight and just let her cry, being strong for her now in a way he hadn’t been before. Not trying to soothe her, just letting her go with it. Letting her feel the grief.
The next thing he knew, he was crying, too. His body shook with great, silent sobs.
They held on to each other in exquisite agony. In their pain, they came together.
United.
“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I failed you.”
She clung to him and he to her. He rocked her in his lap, her bare breasts against his chest.
Through the glaze of his sorrow-soaked heart, Shane began to feel something more. Something beyond the anguish stirred. Something primal and rich, life at its most organic.
Their chances of getting out of this alive were slim. Death lay so very close by. But if he had to die, at least he was with Tish.
Paradoxically, in these last moments of impending annihilation, Shane had never felt more alive. He realized that before now the very thing that had most appealed to him about Tish was also the thing he had feared most. Her passion.
If he succumbed to passionate love, along with its acceptance he must give up the notion of free will and self-control.
He’d tried to avoid losing control when they were married. Encouraging her to clamp down on her feelings, to sweep under the rug any emotions he found too disturbing. He’d been wrong about that.
Shane found her lips by sliding his mouth from the top of her head downward, kissing everything he found along the way. Her forehead, an eyebrow, the bridge of her nose.
Intensity rose off her like heat from a radiator. Her skin quivered beneath his fingertips. He fumbled out of his clothes and she shimmied from hers—both panting, both aware of every nuance, every sound, every scent in the darkness.
Once they were totally, gloriously naked and lying side by side on a bed of their piled clothing, he draped his wounded hand across the dip of her waist and tugged her against him.
“We shouldn’t be doing this, Shane. It would kill Elysee if she knew.”
“Didn’t I mention Elysee and I broke up?”
“You did not.”
“I meant to the minute I found you. I guess I got distracted.”
“Who broke it off? You or Elysee?”
“We both did. We realized what we had was nothing more than a strong friendship. And I realized something else.”
“What was that?”
“I never stopped loving you.”
“I never stopped loving you.”
Joy saturated his bones, pumped through his heart, hummed in his veins. He had her back!
She kissed his chin. He relished the sweet caress of her tongue. Her touch went straight to his brain, spun magic.
“I haven’t made love to another woman since the last time I made love to you,” he whispered, breathing in the scent of her silky hair.
“Not with Elysee?”
“We haven’t shared anything more than kisses. It’s like being in some damned Regency romance novel,” he said.
“Good, because I haven’t been with anyone else either,” she confessed. “No one else could measure up to you.”
“Oh, Tish.” He squeezed her tight, buried his face in her hair.
He kissed her again because he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to help himself. She was all around him. His nose filled with her spicy scent. The sound of her quickened breathing was in his ears. The feel of her smooth, high breasts pressed against his. He had to have her or die.
Desire ignited, surged through his blood, snatching him up on a swell of love.
This felt too right. Too good. Too damn vital to be the wrong thing.
She kept kissing him, doing incredible things with her devilish tongue. God, how he’d missed kissing her. He groaned loudly and plunged his fingers through her hair.
His penis ached, hard and taut, surging in anticipation. Hungry for the caress of her fingertips. If they were going to die, he wanted to die with Tish embedded in his brain while he was embedded inside of her.
She licked a heated trail down his throat to his chest and playfully nibbled at a nipple. Shane sucked in a deep breath and forgot all about dying. Every cell, every nerve fiber in his body was attuned to what was happening between them.
His balls pulled up hard against his shaft, crying out for her attention. His breathing shortened, quickened. As if reading his mind, she reached down to gently stroke the head of him, her whisper-soft fingertips gliding over his skin.
Helplessly, he thrust his pelvis forward, pushing his penis against her palm.
Tish murmured a sound of feminine power. It was hard for him to let her take the lead, but he knew they both needed it this way. Her, so she could feel strong again. Him, so he could let his needs be met rather than having to be the one to always meet her needs. She needed to be needed. It was finally dawning on him how much power he’d denied her by insisting on taking care of her. He was just now learning that it was okay to be helpless once in a while. To let someone else take the wheel.
Her lips engulfed his erection, her tongue performing magic against his aroused flesh. He groaned aloud. All this time without her. God, he’d been such a damnable, proud fool.
His heart pounded, his excitement intensified. He suddenly felt shy and unsure. What was the protocol here? There were no rules for this. No code of behavior to follow.
“Shh,” she murmured, briefly breaking contact. “Let go, relax. For once just let me take care of you.”
Reeling from the rush of it all, Shane surrendered his need for control and let Tish have her way.
Soon, he felt his climax rising, pushing up through him. Tish must have sensed it, too, because she broke contact, dragging her moist warm lips from his engorged penis.
She straddled him, her soft inner thighs rubbing against his hips. He gasped, but she dropped her mouth on his, silencing him in a rush of red-hot kisses.
His Tish, just as daring and passionate as always. Damn, he wished he could see her.
Chuckling deep in her throat, she rocked back on her knees, took him in the palm of her hand, guiding his throbbing head into her slippery crease. His hands went to her waist. His right hand couldn’t grip her tightly, but he was holding her nonetheless. That little miracle was all he’d really needed.
He raised his trembling hand and curved it around her breast. The weight of it felt glorious against his savaged palm. “Such breasts,” he murmured. “Such beautiful, beautiful breasts.”
Tish cupped her hand around his hand cradling her breast and slowly, she began to move. “My wounded warrior,” she whispered. “My big, strong, wounded man.”
She moved up and down in a languid rhythm, halting her upward momentum only when it seemed he would fall from her velvet clutches. Down and up. Down and up again.
Her tempo increased. Shane stiffened. He was close. On the edge of explosion. He felt the current of it start deep inside him, rising up on a torrent of release.
He felt her tense as her internal muscles began their rhythmic squeeze. She hugged him inside her, held him close as the clutching spasms of her orgasm gripped him, too.
And in one hot, spectacular gush they came together. The simultaneous release rippled through them like ocean waves against rocky shores.
Tish collapsed against his chest
, their bodies slick with the aftersheen of great lovemaking. He wrapped his arms around her as their hearts slammed against their chests and their breathing came in hungry gasps.
He buried his face in her hair, inhaled the sweet, honest scent of her. He’d never felt as vulnerable as he did in this moment of reunion, and yet he’d never felt more invincible.
This wasn’t mere lust he felt. It wasn’t just love. They were bonded for life. Even if stupidity and blind grief over losing their son had separated them for two long years, they’d never really been apart. He knew it now. They were connected on an eternal level that mistakes and heartaches could not destroy. They were two parts of a single beating heart.
Now and forever.
Then he realized something profound. Their separation had been necessary for them both to grow to this point. They’d had to be apart in order to learn the lessons they were supposed to learn. They’d rushed their relationship before, letting chemistry and passion sweep them past the getting to know you stage.
If Tish hadn’t become pregnant, they wouldn’t have married as quickly as they had. Shane had never regretted marrying her, not even in those bleak days after the baby’s death. What he did regret was letting his pride and guilt get in the way of what had been truly important. He’d been so ashamed that he hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed him most, that he’d let her down in the most fundamental way; he’d turned away from her emotionally. In doing so, he’d pushed her to desperate measures.
It was difficult for him to admit his weakness, but he needed Tish. Without her, he was out of balance, as she was without him. He felt the message sear into his soul.
In that moment, he realized something else. He’d become involved with Elysee because of that deep longing to be connected again. But he’d never been connected with her. He’d picked Elysee because she was safe. With her he would never have to feel the kind of pain he’d felt with Tish. But the absence of pain also meant the absence of pure joy. Caring passionately about someone meant you might get singed a little. Nor could you get hurt without caring passionately.
But they were together again. Newly minted and starting over. The joy of it was almost more than he could believe.
And then he remembered Larkin.
Chapter 22
Elysee sat in her bedroom, replaying the engagement party video, knowing she’d done the right thing by ending her engagement to Shane, but feeling embarrassed that she’d now gone through four fiancés. What was the matter with her? Why did she keep picking the wrong men? She stared at the video as if it held the answer to her questions. Why couldn’t she find the kind of love that had bonded Shane and Tish together so tightly in spite of all their troubles?
What did she want out of life?
What was her heart’s deepest desire?
Elysee realized she did not know. Until now, her life had been dictated, first by romantic notions engendered by her mother, then by her father’s expectations. She didn’t blame her parents. They’d done what they thought best. She blamed herself, for not questioning her values and beliefs before now.
She’d just let everyone tell her what she was supposed to believe, whether it was her parents or her friends, or the men she took up with or even America’s perception of her.
The engagement party played on—the participants laughing, talking, and celebrating. She was so caught up in her own identity crisis she barely noticed that she was caught on screen passing Rana the money meant to ensure Alma Reddy’s safe passage into the United States.
This was pointless. Reviewing the evidence of yet another failed engagement was not going to solve anything. Elysee sighed and got to her feet.
Hindi. Beneath the noise of the party, Tish’s tape had caught someone speaking in the language taught to Elysee as a child by her nanny. Someone was speaking words she could not believe she was hearing.
Ambassador Kumar was ordering someone to take out a hit on Alma Reddy. Her murder was to take place the minute she set foot on American soil.
With dawning horror, Elysee realized Alma was arriving tonight.
Shane and Tish dozed in each other’s arms and woke sometime later to the sound of a freighter ship docking nearby. In the darkness, they scrambled to their feet, fumbled for their clothes, and got dressed.
Several minutes later, the door to the pod opened with a metallic groan. The beam from an ultra-bright flashlight blinded them.
“Change of plans,” Larkin called out. “Alma Reddy isn’t on this ship the way she was supposed to be. So I’m killing you two first, but before we get to that, I need to know how many copies you made of the disk and exactly where they are. And in case you need a little incentive, sister,” he said to Tish, “I’m going to smash every bone in your hubby’s fucked-up hand with this nifty little silver hammer I brought along with me until you tell me everything you know.”
It had taken some doing, but in the hubbub of her father arriving at the ranch and with Lola’s help, she’d managed to give her Secret Service detail the slip. Elysee had never been to the docks before. She’d tried frantically to reach Rana on her cell phone, but had had no luck.
She’d lied to Lola and told the secretary she was sneaking off for a rendezvous with Shane. Lola let Elysee use her car and provided a distraction for the checkpoint security. Elysee had no idea who she could trust besides Shane, and she hadn’t been able to find him. She didn’t want to take the chance of leading a killer to Alma Reddy.
Alma was due to arrive on a freighter at midnight and Elysee had to be there to warn her. Once she knew both Alma and Rana were secreted away someplace safe, she’d call Cal Ackerman to come pick her up.
She arrived at the docks just in time to see the freighter come pulling into the shipping channel. It was awfully dark down there and pretty scary with all those big containers stacked everywhere. Plenty of places for a hired assassin to hide.
Up ahead, along the waterfront, she saw a flashlight beam bobbing, a beacon in the darkness.
“Rana,” she whispered. She had to get to Rana and warn her. She rushed ahead into a little clearing amid the containers, but stopped short in the shadows when she saw Shane and Tish, their hands bound in front of them with duct tape, being held at gunpoint by Pete Larkin only a few feet away from where she stood.
Her heart slammed into her chest. What to do? What to do?
Call 9-1-1.
She reached into her pocket for her cell phone, flipped it open, and pressed the 9.
In the quiet darkness that single soft beep was deafening.
Larkin’s head came up.
Their eyes met.
Elysee whirled.
Larkin dove.
She dropped the phone.
He grabbed her ankle, pulled her down on the dock.
She shrieked.
He yanked her by the front of her shirt with one hand and pulled her to her feet, while simultaneously spinning toward Shane, his gun outstretched. He caught Elysee’s neck in the crook of his arm, then pressed the gun against her temple.
“Don’t move, hero,” Larkin threatened.
Elysee held her breath.
Shane’s eyes met hers.
Larkin began backing up, dragging Elysee with him.
Shane launched himself at Larkin.
Instinctively, instantaneously, Larkin swung the gun around and fired without aiming in Shane’s direction.
Elysee heard a gasp of pain. “Shane?”
Her eyes widened. Shane hadn’t been hit. Tish had been standing right behind him.
With a soft “Oh,” Tish crumpled to the dock.
Shane whirled around just in time to see her collapse. He made a guttural sound of despair and dropped to his knees beside his ex-wife.
“You bastard!” Elysee cried.
Using a self-defense technique Shane had taught her, she reached up and pressed in just the right spot on Larkin’s carotid artery. Two seconds later he lay incapacitated on the ground.
; “Secret Service,” Cal Ackerman’s voice rang out from behind them all. “Don’t anybody move.”
The pain in her shoulder burned like liquid fire. Tish opened her eyes to find herself in a hospital bed.
Where was she? How had she gotten here?
She blinked and glanced around. Shane was perched in a chair at her bedside looking weary and sad, gazing down at his wounded hand. Elysee stood at the window, arms crossed over her chest, staring at something on the street below. Lola was kicked back in a recliner across the room, tapping something into her laptop. And Cal Ackerman was leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb.
She reached over and touched the thick bandage at her collarbone. Ouch!
Her head felt muzzy, her memory vague. The last thing she remembered was making love with Shane in the shipping pod. She smiled. They were a couple again.
“Hey, you guys?” she croaked, pushing the words past her dry lips.
“Tish!” everyone said in unison.
Lola closed her laptop. Elysee moved away from the window. Cal stood up straight. And Shane, an exhilarated smile on his face, took her hand.
“How are you feeling?” Shane asked. “You okay?”
“Fine, fine, just confused. How’d I get here? How long have I been here? I’m starving.”
“You’ve been unconscious for two days,” Lola said.
“Two days!” Her gaze flew to Shane’s. He nodded, confirming what Lola had said. “What happened to my shoulder?”
“Larkin shot you,” Shane said through gritted teeth, “but the bullet was a clean through-and-through. When you fell you hit your head, and that’s why you’ve been out. If it hadn’t been for Elysee’s quick thinking, Larkin would have killed all three of us.”
“Only because none of you trusted me enough to let me know what was going on.” Cal glowered. “If Elysee hadn’t been wearing her tracking device…”
“Elysee saved us?” Tish laughed, feeling giddy and happy to be alive.
“What’s so funny?” Elysee asked. “You don’t think I’m capable of saving someone?”