Nash did.
Once Dillon planted his feet on the ground, Nash whispered something to him and the kid scrammed.
“What’d you say?” Maisey asked Nash.
“Doesn’t matter.” The smile he gave her was the cute one that made her tummy feel funny. “Wanna swing?”
She nodded.
He helped her up, brushed her knees and hands, then got her settled in the black rubber seat.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged. “No biggie.”
She leapt from the seat to give him a hug.
Once she’d returned to the swing, Maisey noticed his cheeks had turned pink and though he was smiling again, he was also doing a lot of looking around. “You okay if I leave?”
“Uh huh, but do you have to?”
He nodded. “I got stuff to do.”
“Okay. Well, thanks.” She smiled up at him, but he was already gone.
Grinning, Maisey swang like forty whole, wonderful times before the bell rang for her class to go inside. Dillon never bothered her again. But Nash’s smile sure did. Every time she thought about him, her tummy felt like butterflies were trapped inside, but then another sharper feeling took hold—like a dull squeeze that hurt.
Maisey had dozed off again, and woke to not only painful cramping, but black water sloshing and swirling around her ankles.
Was the boat sinking?
13
NASH FIGURED THEY would have found civilization by now.
He killed the engine again to bail. This was the third time he’d followed the routine and though it was getting old, it sure beat the hell out of traversing the swamp on foot.
Maisey had been asleep for hours, and he was glad. She’d been through hell and no doubt needed the rest. For a while, he’d bunked with her, but it was impossible to fully relax with one hand on his Glock and both eyes on the water.
Kicking himself for dumping that GPS, he’d gone old school and followed the North Star whenever the tree canopy broke enough to see it. Of course, he’d had swamp survival training, but this closed-in shit was no bueno. He’d spent the last decade either training at Little Creek in Virginia or using that training in a desert.
Leaving all that gear and food had been stupid. Why had he done it?
Sheer panic over the welfare of the girl who’d always held a special place in his heart. Practically their whole childhood, she’d been getting into messes that he’d helped her out of. The thought of her being held captive by Vicente was bad enough, but toss in that other set of random thugs and he’d been out of his freakin’ mind with worry—which he didn’t do.
Had never done before losing his wife and baby.
Which is part of what prompted the beginning of the end of his military career, and even his split with Trident, Inc.
He bailed faster and faster while trying to make peace with the fact that somewhere along the way, his feelings for his family had robbed him of the ability to detach. He no longer saw events unfold with clinical precision. Kill or be killed. Not only had his own mortality come into play—fear for how Hope and his future son would manage without him—but fear for how he’d manage without them. When that worst case scenario had come true, the bottom of his world had fallen out from under him. He’d been left with no true north. Ironic, considering that was the path he had now been literally forced to follow.
“Nash?”
He stopped mid-bail to go to Maisey. “What’s up?”
“Are we sinking?” The moonless night made visibility far less than ideal.
“Not at the moment. I’ve got us parked on a hammock. Our friends shot-up the hull pretty bad, and we’re taking on water. I’ve been stopping to bail.”
“You should have woken me. I would’ve helped.” She hugged herself from the night’s chill, then seemed to fuss with her position.
“Everything okay? You look uncomfortable.”
“I am.” She rubbed her lower back. “I’ve got some cramping, too, but it’s probably no big deal.”
He groaned. “I’ve got to get you out of here. If only I knew where here actually was. Vicente’s place was thirty-six miles as the crow flies from Green Fork, but his land borders the Everglades. I thought we were on a main channel, but it petered out. We’ve passed a couple fishermen, but I’m hesitant to flag anyone down for fear of them having connections to Vicente.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“For what?”
“Everything. If I had done what you said back at Vicente’s compound, we’d have already been safe.”
“True, but don’t blame yourself. These kinds of situations are highly fluid—and I’m not just talking about all the freakin’ water in this boat.”
“Ha ha. I know. But I can’t help feeling responsible. I wish I’d never met Vicente.”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have your baby.” He eased alongside her on the vinyl bench seat, turning her back to him so he could rub her tight shoulders. “No matter what, your little boy is going to be worth it.”
“Vicente was happy for a son.” Her voice barely rose above the frogs and cicadas. “He needs someone to carry on his family name. It’s an obsession.”
That explained a lot.
“At first, I felt sorry for him, but the further along I got in my pregnancy, the more demanding he grew. He isolated me and then locked me in my room. Like that wasn’t bad enough, lately, he’s been even worse. Cuffing me in my bed, and having his private physician examine me at the house.” She bowed her head. “I’ve been so naïve. I honestly believed that as long as I was pregnant, he would never hurt me. That if I did as he said, as soon as I had the baby, I could either get help or make him see reason. His actions didn’t make sense. I loved him. I . . . was a fool.”
“Hey . . .” Nash pulled her back against him, kissing the crown of her head, more determined than ever to see her and her baby safely through. “Love makes everyone do crazy things. I know it did me. Once Hope told me she was carrying our baby, I became a different man. I didn’t know I was capable of loving that hard. I loved those two so much that it became a liability. In the field, my every action was based on the likelihood of whether or not my team and I would make it out alive. No matter what, I had to survive for Hope and our future child. But when I heard they’d died in the fire, I lost it. I wanted to die—to be . . . with them.” His throat was so tight, the admission barely escaped. But at last, his truth had come out. What had he been doing back in Jacksonville all these months? Essentially, trying to die, but being too much of a coward to properly do the job.
“Oh, Nash . . .” Her voice caught.
At some point while they’d talked, Nash had slipped his arms around her, resting his hands on her baby bump. She placed her smaller hands atop his, easing her fingers between his, and suddenly he was no longer alone, but once again part of a team. Like back in high school, Maisey and him against the world.
She raised his hands to her mouth, kissing the backs, and then turning them over to kiss his sensitive palms. She had no idea how much dirt Nash had on them—literally and figuratively. He tried drawing them away. But she held firm, refusing to let him go. “You’re done dying, Nash. I selfishly need you to live. If only I’d accepted your proposal all those years ago, just think of how different—how much better—everything might be now.”
“Yeah . . .” But in the same respect, if that meant never having met Hope, or watching his child grow inside her—virtually erasing them from his memory—that was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d vowed long ago that if he couldn’t die and be with them, at the very least, he’d never be with another woman.
No matter how glad Nash was to be reunited with Maisey, he had no intention of breaking that vow.
14
MAISEY WOKE FROM a deep, dreamless sleep to find herself still cradled in Nash’s strong arms, with the sun peeking over the horizon. They faced a vast sawgrass prairie. After having spent hours breaking free of the tangled j
ungle, so much open space felt exhilarating. It didn’t matter that they still might be miles from civilization. That also meant they were most likely miles from Vicente and those other horrible men.
She held her breath through another cramp, reassuring herself that it was normal. That it hurt less than the ones she’d had last night.
Finding Nash again changed everything. Being with him made her feel like that grinning schoolgirl he’d rescued by the swings. With him by her side, she could soar to impossible heights. Nothing could bring her down.
In the night, he’d wanted to push forward, but she’d fought him. They needed rest, and so he’d let the back down on the bench seat, forming a surprisingly comfortable bed. Nash piled three life jackets atop one another to make himself a pillow, and Maisey used his chest. The air had still been stagnant and hot, and the bugs ridiculous, but secure against him, none of that mattered. She blocked everything but how safe and precious he made her feel.
The night they’d first made love had been the same.
Looking back on it, their union had been such a high school cliché, but she wasn’t complaining.
Stroking the coarse hair on Nash’s forearms, Maisey closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her face, letting memories take hold of the present.
“Sure about this?” Nash cupped her face with his hands, brushing her bottom lip with his thumb.
Maisey nodded. They stood outside their room—lucky 777—at the Holiday Inn where they’d danced the night away at their junior prom. Her mom thought she was spending the night in the suite Maisey had chipped in on with a bunch of her girlfriends from choir. She’d never before lied to her mom and felt terrible about doing it now, but obviously not bad enough to step away from the guy she loved.
He lowered his lips to hers, still holding her face, kissing her as if she were a fragile, precious flower.
She kissed him back harder.
The two of them had been together forever. Officially, since he’d asked her to be his girl on Valentine’s Day when they’d been in eighth grade. They’d fooled around a lot over the years, and honestly Maisey was hungry—starving—for more.
Giggling, high on the vodka her friend, Delia, had snuck into the dance in a pink flask, Maisey took the card key from Nash’s back pocket and slipped it in the lock. The light flashed from red to green. She opened the door with one hand and grabbed Nash’s arm with the other. “You brought the condom, right?”
“Yeah. I got a jumbo pack in case we wanna do it all night long.”
“You’re crazy,” she teased, using his tie to pull him toward her while the door slammed closed. “Oops. I didn’t know it would shut that hard.”
“Doesn’t matter.” They fell back into another kiss.
The hotel was new and according to the manager, they were “still working out the kinks”, which was why the prom committee had been able to afford the ballroom. It was super fancy with swirl-patterned carpet and massive crystal chandeliers. Their private room was equally as nice. They hadn’t turned lights on, but outside their seventh-floor window, all of Jacksonville twinkled.
“How do you want to do this?” Nash asked.
“I don’t know. You’re the guy. I thought you’d figure it out?”
“Duh. Like I know where to stick it, but do you want it on the bed or the sofa or what?” He looked as stressed as he’d been the first time they’d taken their ACTs.
“Could you relax? This is supposed to be fun.”
“I know. Sorry, but the room ended up costing like fifty bucks more than planned, and the front desk guy was all pissy ’cause I didn’t have a credit card.”
“It’s okay. None of that matters. I know you’re saving for college, so I’ll split the money with you. I want tonight to be special. Don’t you?”
“Well, yeah. Why else would we be here?”
“Exactly. So to answer your question, I think we should take a bubble bath together, and then do it on the bed. Sound like a plan?”
“I’m down.”
“Good.” She fumbled in the bathroom to turn on the light.
It was a beautiful space with fancy gold striped wallpaper and a marble countertop with the sink a square bowl that rested on top. The tub was oversized and perfectly white. The house she shared with her mom didn’t have a tub, so the only place she ever got to have a bath was at her grandma’s. Maisey didn’t see her all that often, so this was a big deal. Plus, her grandmother’s tub was pink and not very big and even though she used lots of bubbles, she could always still smell her grandmother’s Bengay.
Nash’s mom had offered to let her use their tub, but Maisey had been too shy.
She turned on the taps, adjusting the water so it was nice and warm.
She reached for the bottle of hotel shampoo to add, but then Nash said, “Wait.”
He left the bathroom, and came back a minute later with a big, pink bottle of bubble bath champagne. “Thought you’d like this.”
“I love it!” Grinning, she practically threw herself against him. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Maisey poured in a bunch of the strawberry-scented pink liquid, then they kissed some more before taking off their clothes.
It was funny, they’d seen parts of each other naked, but never all at the same time. Once Nash stripped down to his boxers and Maisey stood in her pink bra and panties, she wasn’t sure what to do next. Did she go all stripper and gyrate and stuff? Or would he take her stuff off? Was she supposed to remove his underwear? Who knew sex was so confusing?
“You’re, ah, really hot.” While staring at her boobs, Nash’s cheeks turned red.
“Thanks.” She crossed her arms. “So are you.”
The water was getting pretty high. Bubbles toppled over the tub and onto the white marble-tile floor.
“Guess we should turn that off?” he said.
“Probs.”
They both knew the simple task needed to be done, yet neither moved—at least until a huge sheet of bubbles avalanched onto Maisey’s freshly-manicured toes.
Nash bolted into action, cutting off the water, then reaching low to pull up the stopper.
When he stood, and once again faced her, she gasped and covered her gaping mouth with her hands. “Look at your . . .”
His hard thingee had sprung free of his boxers, and stuck out straight.
“Geez . . .” He turned his back to her and she watched in the mirror while he tried shoving it back in. It didn’t want to go.
“Nash, stop.”
“What? It’s not like I can help it.”
“Did I say I wanted you to?”Maisey walked around him, and touched it, curious to finally see what she’d been holding and tugging and caressing all these years. Lots of times she’d felt it in the dark front seat of his old truck, but never seen it out and proud. She cupped her hands around him, surprised by how smooth and hot it was.
She knelt, and out of curiosity, licked the tip. It tasted salty.
“Jesus, Mais . . .” He lurched backwards. “You can’t go doing stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m supposed to do that to you.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Here? In the bathroom.”
“Why not? Chicken?” She smiled, knowing that like her, he never backed down from a challenge. “The whole place is brand new. Just think, we’ll be the first ones who ever do it in here.” She took two thick, white towels and stretched them across the floor before settling onto them. Between her legs felt wetter than the tub. She felt hot and dirty, but didn’t care. All she could think about was how she suddenly wanted his mouth everywhere.
He tugged off his boxers, then leaned over her for another kiss, and that first brush of his bare body against hers was electric. Sure, they’d kissed lots of times in their bathing suits at the neighborhood pool, but this was different. She had goose bumps.
“Cold?”
“Hot. Very hot.” Maisey
had read the line in one of Delia’s Cosmos.
She pulled his head down to her chest, and he kissed the crowns of her boobs that were practically popping out of her bra. Her body sent signals she wasn’t sure how to read. Her downstairs hummed and she pressed her legs together, dying for friction. Delia bragged about how she touched herself all the time, but Maisey never had. The few times she’d tried, the cat jumped on her bed.
The thought made her giggle.
“What’s wrong?” Nash asked. “Doesn’t this feel good?”
Maisey closed her eyes. “It feels great, babe.”
He swept his kisses lower and lower until reaching the apex of her legs.
Excitement bubbled in her throat and she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. She rested them on her belly, but then Nash nudged her thighs apart and was pressing hot, wet open-mouthed kisses to her inner thighs. She felt the oddest, hungry yearning for more, and raised her hips up to meet his mouth. He ran the tip of his tongue along her panty line, and then moved the thin, silky fabric aside, to kiss her lower lips. It wasn’t enough—not nearly enough.
She tried wriggling free of her panties, but they weren’t coming off.
He helped and once they finally passed her ankles, Nash flung them under the sink. Maisey should have gone with the G-string like Delia said. Then, Nash could have ripped them off like guys did in movies.
With him back between her legs, her body quivered with a strange need. She was so wet down there, and she was embarrassed he might see, but then he was pushing her legs apart and kissing her and licking her in places where no one had ever been, and she couldn’t breathe.
The sensation of the tip of his tongue flicking against what could only be her clit was beyond belief good. Like behind her closed eyes, a kaleidoscope of color and light warred with the steadily rising pressure. He’d found her hole and pressed his tongue in deep, establishing a rhythm that made her wild.
Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1) Page 6