Hart's Last Stand

by Cheryl Biggs

  “Hart, why did they have to—”

  His lips captured hers, stopping her words. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and what little sanity Suzanne had left vanished.

  It was exactly what she needed.

  “Hart,” Suzanne whispered, slipping her arms around his neck, instantly forgetting his anger, his accusations, and feeling nothing but safe in his arms.

  His name on her lips was Hart’s undoing, like a caress of seduction, whispering to him, stoking the fires of his desire and banishing all doubt and reason from his thoughts. Only one thing remained in his mind—that he had to have her, love her, meld her passion with his own.

  The heat of his body enveloped her. He had kissed her before, but never with such demand, such savage virility, that it robbed the breath from her lungs and the strength from her body.

  She clung to him, longing burning within her, need gripping her within a delirium of desire. Whatever else happened in her life, good or bad, she knew that being here now in Hart’s arms and loving him was right. He was what she wanted.

  His arms around her were suddenly the only reason she remained standing, the pounding of his heart against her breast a cadence that matched the beat of her own.

  Her tongue dueled instinctively, wantonly, with his, and a moan of pleasure was torn from Hart’s throat, the sound deepening the passion building within Suzanne.

  How could she have ever denied what she felt for him, had felt since the moment they’d first met?

  Her arms tightened around his neck, her fingers entwined in the golden hair at his nape. Fire erupted in her veins, longing moved through her breasts, and an aching hunger burned deep inside of her.

  This was meant to be. Whatever else happened to her, she knew this moment, this feeling, this love and need for him, was meant to be.

  “I want you, Suzanne,” Hart breathed against her lips, his voice ragged and husky with need.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  His lips burned through her skin, touching her very soul as they moved down the line of her neck, over the curve of her shoulders, then returned to capture her lips again.

  His hand moved to cup her breast, his fingers kneading the tight flesh, his thumb flicking gently over the pebbled nipple, stoking her hunger, heightening her pleasure until she arched against him, aching to be touched everywhere by him, needing him as much as he needed her.

  She had never felt such fire.

  His lips never left hers as he slid the robe from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, a soft, billowing cloud of fabric that settled around her ankles. One by one, Hart released the thin silk ribbons that held the front of her gown closed, and then it, too, fluttered silently to the floor.

  Hart sank to his knees and pulled her with him, then pushed her gently down so that she lay on the carpet. He knelt over her; his gaze swept her face, over the length of her body, then returned to meet her eyes.

  She had never lain naked to a man’s assessing gaze before, not even Rick’s, and a blush swept over her from head to foot.

  “You’re more beautiful than all my dreams,” Hart said softly.

  She knew he meant every word. Her embarrassment instantly disappeared, and she met his gaze boldly. As if all the darkness of his soul, all the pain and hurt, the loneliness and yearning, the joys and dreams of Hart Branson were reaching out to her, she suddenly knew the depth of what it was she’d been feeling for him since that first moment they’d met. And she knew it would never release her. No matter what happened between them now or in a thousand tomorrows to come, it would never let her go.

  His lips reclaimed hers, moved down her throat, then pressed against the sensitive flesh between her breasts.

  Suzanne moaned as a wave of pleasure gripped her.

  Hot currents of gnawing, demanding need ripped through Hart, but as his hands moved to caress her body, she pulled away from him.

  Everything in Hart silently screamed a denial of the desertion.

  Suzanne pushed herself to a sitting position and smiled. “My turn now, Captain.”

  Surprise and pleasure rippled through him.

  With a teasing light in her eyes she began to slowly free each button on his shirt, then released the buckle of his belt, the catch on his slacks.

  Her hands moved beneath his shirt and pushed it ever so slowly from his shoulders. Hart felt an ache of desire seize him, like a burning rope, cutting off his air, squeezing his body and scorching his loins.

  It was almost more than he could stand.

  She caressed the ropy length of his arms as she urged the shirt over them and away.

  He reached for her, needing to feel her in his arms again, but she smiled and pushed at his chest, holding him off. “Not yet,” she said softly.

  He dragged a deep breath of air into his lungs to calm the need raging almost out of control inside him.

  Suzanne stood, then held out her hands to him and silently urged him to do the same.

  She pressed her lips to his chest, feeling the soft, golden hairs that curled there tickle her cheeks. “Mmm, delicious.” Her fingers slowly slid the zipper of his slacks down, then urged them and his briefs, inch by teasingly slow and agonizing inch, from his hips.

  A jolt of physical need pierced him. Hart nearly groaned at the touch of her hands on his bare legs, at the feel of his jutting arousal brushing lightly against one of her breasts as she bent to free him of his pants, then urged him to kick off his shoes.

  The need to drag her into his arms and wrap himself around her, to push himself into her, was a torment he knew he would gladly suffer, if it meant she would always be at its end.

  Suzanne stepped back, keeping him at arm’s length, and stared at him, a slight smile pulling at her lips.

  Moonlight touched his body, turning the sun-kissed golden hue of his skin to burnished bronze, dark shadow edging each muscle and curve, intensifying the aura of strength and steely hardness. Caesar would have put him in charge of his army, she thought. Cleopatra would have taken him to her bed. And Aphrodite would have stolen him into the heavens.

  “Like what you see?” Hart said, unable to help himself. His voice was rough with desire and harsh from the self-restraint he was imposing on himself. But it was a question of need, rather than conceit.

  His words cut into her fantasies and played with them tauntingly. “Well…” She cocked her head and her gaze raked him, as if assessing every inch for a response to his question.

  His body was a long length of solid muscle, and hard with anticipation and the need to be satisfied. He had shoulders that reminded her of mountain ranges, broad and rippled, while his arms were well-honed cords of sinew. A light matting of silky, blond hair covered his chest, thinning and darkening as they came together in a V just above his stomach, then plunged downward and thickened again at the juncture of his thighs.

  There was no denying he wanted her, yet even as her gaze was unabashedly drawn to his arousal, she felt an involuntarily shiver of nervousness at the evidence of it jutting so fiercely toward her.

  Hart smiled. “I think you’ve seen enough,” he growled, unable to resist pulling her into his arms any longer. His mouth trapped hers, effectively cutting off any protest she might have uttered.

  But protest was as far from Suzanne’s mind as anything, other than Hart Branson. Her senses spun wildly out of control at his assault. She writhed against him, lost in the euphoria of being in his arms. Her composure was gone, shattered into a thousand splinters as the longing he aroused within her continued to build and deepen, and consume her.

  Everything about him was dark and dangerous, even deadly. Everything about him was what she’d sworn never to want again. But it didn’t matter anymore. She could no longer deny that he was exactly what she did want. Forbidden or not, she wanted him. Desperately, wholly and forever.

  The feather-light exploration of his hands on her body set off flames of need wherever they touched. His thumb rhythmically stroked her nipple, tea
sing, then deserting it to move slowly, tauntingly, tormentingly downward, gliding seductively past her waist and over her hip.

  Reality slipped away as she gave herself up to the world of his kisses and caresses, a world she had tried so desperately not to want. Now the only thought left her, the only desire, was to be possessed by him.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice heavy with the emotion that had conquered him. The world had disappeared, and Hart couldn’t have cared less. Holding her tightly to him, he lowered them both to the lushly carpeted floor, and while his lips sensuously explored her mouth once again, his hands began a slow, hungry exploration of her body.

  Joy filled Suzanne’s heart and brought tears to her eyes. She wrapped a leg around one of his, needing him closer. Never in her life had she desired a man so completely.

  Each caress was an intoxicating sensation. When his hand slipped between her thighs, a jolt of raw desire swept through Suzanne that threatened to rob her of every shred of sanity she possessed. She cried out his name, and his mouth covered hers, swallowing the sound. His fingers were like fire against her flesh, increasing the gnawing ache of anticipation that had invaded her blood.

  His lips moved over her face, her neck, her breasts, kissing her and whispering her name, as if, even as he made love to her, he couldn’t believe it was really her, that it was really, finally happening.

  Until this moment Hart hadn’t realized the depth of loneliness into which his soul had fallen, how intense the darkness in which he existed had become.

  But with her there was sunlight again. And hope. If only for a little while.

  His body trembled with the force of the emotions her touch unleashed, and he moved to cover her body with his, to take, to share at last what he’d never hoped to have. If he’d had any doubts that Suzanne was capable of arousing feelings and needs in him like nothing he’d ever felt before, like no other woman had ever stirred within him, they were gone now.

  Suzanne felt him fill her, then slowly begin to move inside her, and she wrapped her arms around him and began to move with him in the ancient, euphoric rhythm of love.

  Suzanne exulted in his possession of her, each caress of his hands, the hot fusing of their bodies, melding, loving, becoming one. The soft, silky hairs on his chest brushed her breasts and teased her nipples.

  She looked up and into the dark-blue depths of his eyes and, for a brief moment, saw all the pain and loneliness he had endured, the love he had always craved and the love he had to give. The sight filled her heart.

  A moan escaped her lips as pleasure surged through her and became so intense, so mind-numbing that all she could do was surrender herself to it. Nothing in life had prepared her for the intensity of feeling his lovemaking aroused within her. Heat rushed through her, overtaking every muscle. Fulfillment replaced need, ecstasy replaced hunger. She cried out his name, over and over, never wanting him to leave her, never wanting this feeling to end.

  For the briefest of moments her soul touched his, and Suzanne knew nothing in life would ever be the same for her again unless he was with her.

  Pleasure beyond comprehension seized Hart, gripped his body, paused the beat of his heart and wiped his mind clear of every thought but of Suzanne. In that moment Hart suddenly knew he was as close as he’d ever been to wanting from her what he’d been afraid of wanting from anyone all of his life.

  He wanted to love her and wanted her to love him. He wanted to spend an eternity of days with her and lie with her beside him in his bed every night. He wanted to know she would be there when he came home, would always be waiting for him when he left on a mission, that her arms would welcome him home and her love would warm his soul forever and keep the cold, cruel darkness away.

  He held her tightly to him, whispering her name like a chant of love.

  Tears of joy and fear, pleasure and anxiety, filled her eyes.

  As the rapture of their lovemaking faded to a warm glow, they lay on the floor, entwined in each other’s arms, and slept. Moonlight bathed their bodies, turned planes to gold, and curves to midnight shadows.

  Suzanne woke, momentarily disoriented, then sighed in contentment and relaxed against Hart. She stared past the glass doors at the night, her gaze drinking in the star-strewn sky, the sliver of moon, the black ragged silhouette of the mountains in the distance.

  Unanswered questions filled her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. She wanted the euphoria of their lovemaking to last forever. Instead, she found herself starting to struggle against the doubts and suspicions that were slowly creeping back into her mind.

  What if his outrage earlier had been nothing more than an act? His indignation a ruse to lure her further into his trap? His lovemaking the lock that would keep her there?

  He had made love to her, made her feel complete and alive in ways she’d never imagined she could feel, yet her fears and loneliness seemed almost intensified, and there was a part of her, a part she wished didn’t exist, that still suspected him of murder and betrayal.

  A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, followed by another and another, and she suddenly wished she could fall asleep in his arms and never wake up.

  Hart felt the moisture of her tears on his chest and wondered at them, but he didn’t move. He was still struggling with wonder at the depth of passion and feeling she’d incited in him.

  He drew in a long, deep breath and closed his eyes. Every emotion imaginable had burst to life within him while he’d made love to her.

  When this thing was over, she would be gone from his life again. He had no doubt of that. Innocence would take her back to her life in California; guilt would take her to prison forever. Either way, all the old feelings of loneliness, anger and resentment would return to him twofold. It was inevitable, but this time he wasn’t sure that he had the strength or will to survive living like that again.

  A few minutes later he noticed that her tears had stopped, her breathing had quieted, and he knew she’d fallen asleep. He slipped his arm from beneath her and, pushing to his feet, walked to the window and looked out. How in hell had his life turned into such a mess?

  Maybe there was no way out of this espionage thing. Maybe his career was already over. He glanced back at Suzanne. Two hours ago he’d drawn her into his arms and said to hell with the world, his suspicions, his doubts and everything else. But now the real world and all its cold, ugly realities and possibilities was back, along with his suspicions and doubts, and though he hated himself for them, he couldn’t rid himself of them. At least not until he had proof of the truth.

  Gut feeling just wasn’t enough anymore.

  He turned and stared out at the moon-touched night. What had just happened between them shouldn’t have, and it was all his fault. The feelings between them were physical, and if there were any others, they were based on fear, need and maybe nothing more than lies or memories. Guilt hammered at him.

  Hart stretched his arms wide, then rolled his shoulders and stretched again.

  He heard Suzanne stir and glanced back at her. Her dark hair was splayed out on the rug, and moonlight touched her skin, caressing it with warmth and light. Desire surged anew through him, as hot and fierce as if he’d never touched her. Hart steeled himself against the temptation to lie back down beside her, pull her into his arms again, make love to her again.

  How well did he really know Suzanne Cassidy? Maybe as well as he needed. Maybe not at all.

  He’d come here to batter down her defenses. Instead, it had been his defenses that had crumbled. Cursing himself for a fool and Suzanne for making him want her to the point of throwing caution to the wind, he turned back to the window. His moment of weakness could end up getting him killed. Maybe getting them both killed, if she truly was innocent.

  Or it could just leave him tormented for the rest of his life, if she was guilty.

  Grabbing his clothes, he hurriedly pulled them on. He had to go. Now. His gaze moved over her again as he pulled on his boots, everything in
him appreciating the curve of her hip, the svelte line of her legs…

  Go now, he reminded himself, before the urge to make love to her again became too strong to resist.

  DeBraggo drew his jacket more tightly around his chest, crossed his arms over it, tucked his hands into his armpits in an attempt to keep them warm and tried to bury his chin deeper in his open collar. What remained of his coffee had long ago gotten cold, his stomach was growling because he was hungry as hell, and no one had told him that the desert, which was so friggin’ hot during the day, could be so bone-chilling cold at night.

  He glanced at the bungalow. They were together in there, Captain Branson and Suzanne Cassidy, and they were most likely sound asleep. DeBraggo’s gaze swept over the quiet neighborhood, shrouded in darkness. Except for a few stray dogs and prowling cats, no one else was around, and he hadn’t seen anyone else watching them.

  But if someone wanted Hart Branson and Suzanne Cassidy dead, this was probably the perfect time to do it—unless it was supposed to look like an accident.

  The .38 revolver tucked into DeBraggo’s shoulder holster pushed into his rib cage as he shifted position on the car seat. Someone else might have found that hard bulge in his side uncomfortable. DeBraggo found it snugly comforting, knowing the piece was there, loaded, ready and deadly, if he needed it.

  He sighed. How long had it been since he’d slept in a nice, comfortable, warm bed?

  Since he got put on this case, he answered himself, cursing his bad luck.

  The deep roar of a car engine broke into the night’s silence.

  Startled, DeBraggo bolted upright in his seat, banging his elbow on the doorknob and swearing at the teeth-rattling pain that shot through his arm.

  The headlights on Hart’s Corvette suddenly flared, cutting through the darkness and lighting the street.

  Branson was leaving? DeBraggo glanced at his watch. At five in the morning? His thoughts spun as he tried to decide what to do. Why would Branson leave now—unless he’d been wrong and they’d argued?