by Kaylea Cross
Kiyomi wasn’t squeamish and wouldn’t be put off by his scars, but the sight of the wreckage was just another reminder that he would never again be the warrior he’d once been. Another reminder that even though he’d kept his shooting and CQB skills sharp, his physical disability could have dangerous consequences for the team if shite went sideways.
His erection deflated. He got out of the shower, got ready for bed and strode naked from the en suite into the bedroom.
He’d lit the fire when he’d first come in. It warmed up the room, which could be cold and drafty this time of year, and he liked the ambiance of it while he fell asleep. Karas was curled up in front of it on her bed, her foreleg sporting the fresh bandage he’d put on before coming upstairs.
He slid between the cozy flannel sheets and pulled the covers up to his waist, letting the hush of the room settle around him as he tried to clear his mind. But the moment he closed his eyes, the ghosts appeared.
Alone in the shadowy room that served as his prison, he shook from cold and pain. They’d stripped him naked to increase the sense of vulnerability and humiliation. His training had prepared him to withstand this, but the reality of his ordeal had pushed him to his breaking point.
Every breath was agony. His left thigh was busted, the flesh lying open so deep that the bone showed in the center of the wound. All around it his skin was blackened and melted, the same on his neck and face. As bad as the physical pain was, it didn’t touch the level of suffering on the inside.
Seven of his troopers were dead, on his watch.
He didn’t remember how they’d taken him. The only thing he could recall was being out on patrol with his men, and the blinding flash of the IED going off. Then fire. Searing pain. Men screaming in agony all around him.
He’d lost consciousness, only awakening when someone threw icy water in his face and found himself tied to this chair, his hands and feet bound. Two of his soldiers were already dead, lying in the corner off to the right.
Knowing they were there was the worst kind of psychological torture he could have been subjected to. His captors had left them there as a reminder of what would happen to him once they were finished torturing him.
He didn’t know how long he’d been like this. Days, maybe. Sometimes he got lucky and the pain pulled him under. But when he woke, there was always more, and always someone there to add to his suffering.
I won’t break. I won’t let them break me. He’d die with his dignity intact, would never surrender, fueled by the memory of his men.
Oh, Jesus, his men…
They were his responsibility. He’d failed them. That agony was far worse than the physical pain.
He opened his eyes and thought he must be hallucinating. Instead of one of his captors, a young woman was bending over him. She was cutting the bindings on his wrists, speaking rapid, hushed English. “I’m getting you out of here, soldier.”
Confusion clouded his pain-hazed brain. He didn’t know who she was or how she’d got in here, but her accent was American. And she wasn’t wearing a uniform.
When she cut his wrists free, his arms fell limply to his sides. Pain stabbed through them like knives.
He couldn’t go with her. He was too weak to make it, and couldn’t walk. He was a liability to her. She had to leave right now. She’d never make it out of here if she tried to help him. And he didn’t deserve to live anyway.
“Go,” he croaked out. He was reserving all his remaining strength to take out one of his captors before they killed him. It would be his last act of defiance, of vengeance for his men.
She ignored him, quickly kneeling to slice through the bindings on his feet. He sucked back a scream as it jostled his broken thigh. “I know, I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to do this any other way,” she muttered, sawing through the plastic zip ties.
He struggled to bring his head up and focus on her through eyes almost swollen shut. He tasted fresh blood in his mouth. “No. Go,” he insisted. He would stay, and kill at least one of the sadistic bastards who’d done this to him.
She ignored him, sheathed her knife and put her hands on his aching shoulders to stare into his face. “I’m not leaving here without you. If you stay, we both stay, and then we’ll both die.”
He opened his mouth to argue but she was already leaning forward and grabbing him to hoist him out of the chair. He swallowed a bellow of agony, would have crumpled to the floor from the unbearable pain, but somehow she had him.
He struggled weakly, trying to pull free. He was already responsible for too many deaths. He didn’t want hers added to his conscience. “Just leave me. Leave me, for Christ’s sake!”
“No. And we only have six minutes to make it out of the compound before the guards come. Now help me get you out of here, or we’re both going to die.”
Yanking himself out of the past, Marcus rolled to his back and let out a slow breath to stare at the ceiling where the firelight flickered over the centuries-old plaster and beams. To this day he wasn’t sure how they’d made it out of there. Megan had mostly dragged him, ignoring his protests and pleas to let him die.
He hadn’t wanted to live, but she hadn’t listened, had refused to let him wallow in self-loathing and pity. He’d managed to shoot two guards dead on their way out, but she’d done the rest. Somehow she’d got them out through the gates and made contact with a nearby British army unit to extract them.
On the helicopter, he’d raged and cursed and hated her for saving him. Now he was grateful for what she’d done, the extreme risks she’d taken to help him. If not for her he would have died in that hellhole. He would never have had this time with her here at Laidlaw Hall, or met any of the others.
Including Kiyomi, the woman who had snuck past all his defenses and left him tied in knots.
What the hell was he supposed to do about her? Like Megan, she’d always treated him as a whole man, as an equal. She didn’t look at him like he was a cripple or a victim. She looked at him with admiration and desire.
Arousal stirred again, even as he tried to suppress it. Before his injuries he’d never been short of female company if he’d wanted it, but he’d never wanted anyone as badly as Kiyomi. Except with her he couldn’t follow the instincts that had never led him wrong before.
All the men before him had used and traumatized her. He couldn’t take the lead like he was accustomed to doing, he had to take things slow, and she would be leaving soon, probably after they returned from Damascus. While he and the others went on the coming op, the remaining team members were already dispersing to rented properties around Coventry, about an hour away.
Time was running out for them. In a few short hours they would be on a plane to Damascus, and once they finished with Rahman, Kiyomi and the others would be gone. He’d be left alone here with only his dog, Mrs. Biddington, the stableman and gardener for company.
He couldn’t ask Kiyomi to stay, it would be selfish and unsafe. She and the other Valkyries had been here a while now, and after the Bonfire Night incident there might be more interest about him and his property from curious locals. It was for the best that she and the others leave. But he couldn’t stop hoping that she would come back to him when this was all over.
He turned his head toward the door when the old wood floors creaked down the hall outside his room. Eden and Zack, heading into their room.
Letting out a deep breath, he glanced around, listening to the crackle of the flames in the hearth while the wind gusted against the windowpanes. This old place had seemed like a millstone around his neck when he’d first inherited it, but he’d become attached to it over the years.
Whenever he’d stayed here as a lad growing up, he’d dreamed about owning something so grand one day, never knowing his great-uncle would bequeath it to him upon his death.
Turned out the reality of owning an estate like this was far less romantic than what he’d imagined. It was a mountain of never-ending bills and work to keep it in good repair.
&
nbsp; And yet…it was part of him now, in his bones and blood. He couldn’t imagine selling it. It had belonged to his family for ten generations. He had a duty to his forebears to be Laidlaw Hall’s custodian. This was his home. He had to stay.
Just as Kiyomi had no choice but to leave.
Giving up on sleep, he sat up against the headboard and reached for the half-finished paperback on his nightstand. The fire gave him plenty of light to read, and maybe it would keep his mind off losing Kiyomi.
You never had her to begin with.
Aye. Hard enough to let her go as it was. If they crossed the line they’d been flirting with, losing her might break him.
He struggled to focus on the words on the page, his mind stubbornly refusing to get into the story he’d found so absorbing just last night. The floor creaked in the hall. He stopped, listening. Another creak, softer this time. Closer.
The door handle began to turn slowly.
Marcus tossed the book aside and yanked the covers up to make sure he was decent. Who the hell would barge into his room in the middle of the night?
The breath stuck in his lungs when Kiyomi stepped inside and shut the door, her legs bare to mid-thigh beneath the hem of a kimono-style, satin robe.
Chapter Eleven
Kiyomi straightened as she released the doorknob, then faced Marcus. Her pulse skipped, then quickened. What a view.
He was sitting up in bed, naked from the waist up, his dark eyes searing her where she stood. The raw power of his body was finally revealed to her in the flickering firelight.
His chest, arms and shoulders were sculpted with muscle, the swirling burn marks scattered down the left side of his neck and chest stopping part way down his ribs. He was beautiful, even more so because of the scars.
A mix of anticipation and nerves danced in her belly as she met his gaze once more. She could read most men easily. Could figure out within a matter of minutes what role she needed to play in order to get their attention and keep it. How to be their fantasy.
Except with Marcus. She still wasn’t sure what he liked sexually, but she was guessing someone strong. Confident. Bold. That was why she was standing here in his room in her robe in the middle of the night.
Her time with him was running out fast. She couldn’t leave without fully exploring what was between them. No matter what happened after tonight, no matter what fate threw at her next, she would always have this one beautiful memory of him to hold close.
She wanted to feel. Just once, she wanted to feel with a man who wasn’t using her. A man she felt safe with and was attracted to. She might never get another chance. There was no way she would let this opportunity pass her by.
Marcus hadn’t moved, watching her with a closed expression.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked softly, and started toward the bed. Karas watched her from the doggy bed in front of the fire, ears perked.
Marcus shook his head, his eyes now glowing with an unmistakable heat that made her heart pound. “You?”
“Not alone.” Stopping two feet from the edge of his bed, she reached for the sash of her robe. One tug and the floral-print, plum satin slid away, parting the two halves of the robe to reveal a strip of naked skin from her throat to the smooth mound between her thighs.
A surge of power and arousal shot through her at the way Marcus’s eyes darkened as they slowly dragged down the length of bare skin she’d revealed, stopping between her legs. She felt his gaze like a caress, increasing the throb of desire there.
Encouraged, combatting the nerves that had her pulse hammering in her throat, she closed the remaining distance between them and perched a hip on the edge of his bed, inches from where the sheets ended at his waist.
She could see the outline of his erection pressed against the covers, and the thought of pleasuring this man sent another wave of heat through her. Lifting a hand, she reached out to stroke her fingertips down his bearded cheek.
Marcus caught her wrist and held it, his eyes searching hers. “Why?” he asked quietly. “Tell me why.”
So honorable. Most men would have seized the opportunity she’d given him and pounced. Not Marcus.
She drew a steadying breath, then whispered the words that made her tremble inside. “I want to feel with you.”
A leap of emotion flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by a mixture of heat and tenderness that made her heart trip. He kissed the backs of her fingers, then leaned forward to curl a thick arm around her waist and slide her toward him. One big hand slid into the back of her hair as he pulled her in for a kiss.
The moment their lips met, the nervousness fell away. Everything disappeared except for Marcus. She splayed her hands on his sculpted chest, exploring and mapping the muscular terrain with her fingers and palms as they kissed. Touching a man intimately because she wanted to was heady. Addictive.
But then he stopped. She blinked, coming out of her trance to find him cupping her face in his hands, his eyes earnest. “Are you sure?”
She’d never been surer of anything in her life. “Yes.”
He didn’t let go. “No acting. I don’t want some pretend version you think you need to be. I just want you.”
He didn’t want her to pretend. Didn’t want her to fake anything. He wanted the real her, or nothing at all.
Nerves fluttered back to life in the pit of her belly. She’d never done this—been herself in an intimate situation. Didn’t know if it was even possible. But she wanted to try, for both of them. So she nodded and leaned in to kiss him again, eager to get out of her head and lose herself in the magic Marcus wielded.
He didn’t disappoint. He took his time as he kissed her again, skimming the fingertips of his free hand down the side of her neck, over the front of her throat to the notch between her collarbones.
It was such a revelation. She was always the one who seduced. Now Marcus had reversed the roles. He was taking the lead, awakening her entire body inch by inch.
His mouth was warm on her neck, nibbling and kissing, the caress of his tongue and slight abrasion of his beard sending a rush of heat straight between her legs. It was so incredibly freeing to not have to do anything but hold on to his broad shoulders and enjoy.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. His deft fingers stroked along the valley between her breasts, turning her nipples into tight points that throbbed for his touch. Then down the centerline of her stomach to her navel, and lower to pause on her smooth mound.
Her heart drummed against her ribs, her body suffused with heat and need. By the time he finally reversed course with his fingers, his mouth was at her collarbone.
She sighed as he eased the satin halves of her robe apart slowly, allowing the fabric to caress her sensitized skin. It slid off her shoulders to pool around her waist. He eased back a bit, a low, masculine sound of awe coming from his throat as he took her in.
At this point she normally would have withdrawn into her head and escaped more into the role she was playing. Now there was only anticipation and enjoyment of the way he looked at her.
Then his hands closed around her waist, his dark head bending to nuzzle the valley between her breasts. Kiyomi’s heart squeezed as he kissed her there, right over her pounding heart, his beard prickling her skin, and slid her hands into his hair.
The connection she felt with him was overwhelming. She’d never imagined feeling this way, had never imagined being able to truly give herself to someone.
Those big hands cupped her breasts, pushing them up slightly as he nuzzled first one, then the other. She squirmed restlessly, sucked in a breath at the first brush of his lips across a straining nipple, the anticipation nearly painful.
Then warmth, followed by a streak of sensual fire as he took it into his mouth. A soft moan escaped when he sucked gently, his tongue caressing, sending streamers of pleasure through her.
The sensation triggered an automatic reaction to withdraw physically, shut off the sensations, but she fought it back, desperately
craving this experience with him. The pleasure he offered.
Releasing one breast, he stroked his hand up and down her ribcage while he tended to her other nipple. She arched her back and pulled him closer, the pulse in her core making her hotter, wetter.
The moment he lifted his head she dove in for a deep, urgent kiss, her tongue sliding along his while her hands roamed his back. She wanted to touch all of him, couldn’t get close enough as he turned them and laid her on her back beside him.
Her arms wound around his neck and she rolled into him, only to have him still her with a firm hand on her hip. He abandoned her mouth to nip at her chin, her jaw, one hand trailing down the plane of her belly.
Kiyomi shut her eyes and fought to stay present rather than retreat mentally, focused on the sensation as his fingers neared where she needed them so badly. His kisses gentled, trailing across her cheek, then his hand settled over her mound, warm and solid.
She pulled in a shaky breath and forced her body to relax. She’d fantasized about this for so long, she didn’t want to ruin it. Her thighs trembled slightly as she parted them, the warmth of his hand reassuring and arousing at the same time.
Restraint. Marcus was all about restraint, and it was driving her deliciously crazy.
She bit down on her lower lip to stifle a whimper when he at last moved his hand, his fingers sliding along her wet folds. It felt so good, yet it wasn’t nearly enough.
She tried to grab his hand and move it to where she wanted it, but he evaded her, nipped her bottom lip softly while his fingers traced a torturously slow path up to her throbbing clit. Her entire body tensed when he finally made contact where she needed it most. He caught her mouth with his, eased his tongue inside to play with hers while his fingers caressed gently.
An incoherent sound of pleasure and need came from her. She could barely breathe, her heart pounding out of control at the knowledge that she was giving him complete access to her body, that he would be the one giving her the orgasm she craved.