by Sharon Wray
“There’s one more thing.” She went into the foyer and paused at the front door. From the side windows, Zack watched Allison wait near the fountain outside the front door. “Allison is a strong woman, but she’s also fragile. Fragile women fear being broken and run before they shatter. I know you love her. You’ve loved her since you were in college.”
It wasn’t as if it was a big secret. “And?”
“I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”
“I’m a grown man.”
“Who’s in love with a woman who can’t let go of the guilt surrounding her dead husband. She doesn’t feel like she served him well in life. Now that she knows he’d chosen another, she may try to prove to herself and others that she loved him, that she was worthy of being his wife.”
Zack crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you talking about?”
Vivienne touched his wrist, near the eyes of the dragon tattoo she’d been against. “This is my job, dear. I read men. I read women. I know the difference between lust and love. While Allison is attracted to you—of that there’s no doubt—I don’t know if she loves you.”
“Again, Nénaine, I’m a grown man. I’ve spent my adult life in hostile countries getting shot at. I think I can manage a broken heart.”
“How many women have you dated seriously?”
“I brought a girlfriend home for Thanksgiving once.”
“She left the next morning.” When he stepped back, she asked, “How many women have you fucked?”
He exhaled loudly. He didn’t want to discuss this with her, yet she was the closest thing he’d ever had to a parent. He knew she was worried about him. “A lot, actually.”
He just didn’t like to think about all the women he’d given himself to in a desperate attempt to forget Allison.
“Don’t hand your heart to a woman who doesn’t know what to do with it.”
He kissed her on the cheek and, for the hell of it, pulled her into a hug. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m well trained and hard to kill.”
“But I do.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Some wounds are worse than death.”
He let go of her, surprised to see her eyes full of tears. In his entire life, he’d only ever seen her cry twice—the first time at his mother’s funeral, the second time when she and Emilie pinned his Special Forces tab onto his uniform. Vulnerability was not a trait Vivienne fostered. “I’ll see you at the service?”
She nodded and opened the door. “You should know…”
Uh-oh. “Know what?”
“I asked Berlin’s Tailoring to send clothes to Allison’s house.” Vivienne motioned to his jeans and boots. “When I see you next, I expect you’ll be properly dressed.”
* * *
Alex stood in front of the computer terminal in the Charleston Architectural Board building. Apparently, one had to be a member to log in and search the catalog.
The building, as well as being blessed with the world’s strongest AC, had three floors. The first was a bookstore, the second held reading rooms, the third contained the library. Other than the teenager handling the cash register on the first floor, there was no one around to help.
“Nicholas Trott!” Susan’s voice rang out in the hallway. “Wait!”
A moment later, Nicholas Trott ran in and jumped on Alex’s legs. Alex rubbed his scruff. “Whoa, boy.”
Susan appeared, out of breath. “Nicholas Trott! Where—oh. Hi, Mr. Mitchell!”
“Hi, Susan. What are you doing here?”
She grabbed the dog’s leash. “My mom is a member of the board and had to pick up some papers.”
“Susan?” Maddie appeared in the doorframe in a pink A-line dress and flat sandals, her hair pulled back into a braided bun. “Mr. Mitchell. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’m just helping Zack and Allison with…things.”
“Henry Avery’s treasure?” Susan asked.
Alex tilted his head at the little girl. “How could you know that?”
“Remember, Mr. Mitchell”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“I listen.”
“Oh.” He smiled at her. “Right.”
“Actually, Mr. Mitchell…” Maddie paused just beyond the ray of sun that cut across the mahogany table and settled on the polished wood floor. “Vivienne told me about Emilie and how Zack and Allison have to find the treasure.”
So much for operational security. “How does Vivienne know?”
“I’m not sure, but Zack and Allison confirmed it.” Maddie motioned toward the computer while Susan and the dog crawled beneath the table. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you look lost.”
“I am.” He ran his hands over his head. After telling Maddie about the CAB/ILL notation in Stuart’s planner, he said, “Allison thinks Stuart requested a book on interlibrary loan.”
“It’s possible.” She laid her purse on the table and came over next to him. “May I?”
He stepped back. “Please.”
“A few months ago”—Maddie clicked on the login button—“I found Stuart here doing research. Since he couldn’t remember his password, I let him use mine.”
After Maddie logged in, she clicked on the Recent Transactions button. “He didn’t tell me what he was looking for, but at the time I had no reason to ask.”
Alex glanced at her profile. Her long eyelashes made tiny shadows on her cheeks. Her lips were red, but not too red. When she breathed, her breasts rose just enough to show the outline of a lace bra.
And she smelled like fresh air and lilacs.
He wiped his forehead and leaned forward to put his arms on the raised table. He didn’t want her to see his very physical reaction.
She squinted at the screen. “Stuart requested a book titled Notorious Pirates and their Secrets, 1650–1781. According to the log, Stuart checked it out and it hasn’t been returned.”
“Shit.” He looked at Maddie. “Sorry.”
Susan and the dog crawled out from under the table. “Mom, Nicholas Trott needs his bath and his nap.”
Maddie glanced at her watch and nodded. “You’re right.”
“I appreciate your help, Maddie.” Alex swallowed at the realization that that was the first time he’d said her name aloud.
As if realizing that as well, her face reddened. “You’re welcome. I hope you find it.”
“Mom,” Susan said from the doorway, clutching the dog’s leash.
Maddie paused on her way out. “Are you going to Stuart’s service later today?”
“Yes.” He didn’t want to, but Zack had asked him, so he’d agreed.
She took Susan’s hand and said, “I’ll see you there.”
When she left, Alex sank into a chair and covered his eyes with one arm. While he was annoyed at the dead-end, he had another more important concern. His intense attraction to a still-married woman with an almost-eight-year-old daughter.
And if his brother—or Isabel—found out? That wouldn’t be good for any of them.
Chapter 30
Allison stood beneath the shower and let the warm water run over her hair.
Vivienne knows the Prince and owns the private plane that belonged to Hezekiah Usher? And Stuart went to her for help?
Allison closed her eyes and leaned back against the cold tile wall. They were running out of time. To find the treasure. To save Emilie. To love Zack.
She’d learned so much about Zack in the past few days—things he’d hinted at but never shared—and she wasn’t sure which shocked her most: the truth about his parents’ death or what had happened to him and his men. POW camps and daring rescues seemed like something out of a horrible movie, yet it was all true. And it had all happened to Zack.
Zack had shared some of his childhood during college, but Vivienne’s descriptions added
Technicolor to the memories.
Allison heard the glass door move and opened her eyes. Zack stood in front of her completely naked. His long hair hung around his shoulders. This was the first time she’d seen the muscles cut across his chest, the thickness of his arms, the dark hair sprinkled on his legs, the black line that started below his belly button and led down to his…hand holding his full erection.
He reached past her to increase the temp and flow of the water. The movement brought him close enough for her nipples to rub against his pecs. Heat, not from the water or the day, flooded her body. Her lower stomach cramped and her breaths came out in short, choppy bursts.
She was supposed to be getting ready for her dead husband’s service, yet here she was, desperate for another man’s touch. For another man’s taste and smell. For another man’s hardness deep inside her.
Zack reached for her breasts. His warm, wet hands raised them gently, one at a time, to his lips. He kissed and sucked and licked until she was sure his hands on her breasts were the only things holding her up.
“Zack?” Had he even heard her plea? Between his rough breaths and the sound of water hitting their skin, she wasn’t sure.
“Allison.” His voice was just as fractured as hers. “This isn’t the best timing, but I need you. Fuck, how I need you.”
She needed him too, in a way that demanded faith over reason, love over logic. In a way that defied expectations and beliefs and even words. His gaze drew her close, demanding things she wasn’t sure she could give. Last night, in the dark, she’d allowed him to remind her of everything she’d been missing in her life. But now? He clearly wanted more than consent. He wanted more than her body. When he pulled her against his hard chest, when he held her head at just the right angle, when his lips demanded a response, she knew he wanted her heart.
His lips traced her cheek, down her neck, and he murmured, “I can’t lose you again.”
She tangled her hands in his hair and drew his head up so she could kiss him. For the first time, she took the initiative. She set the pace, demanded the speed, and drew herself into his body so the water had to wash over them instead of between them.
His thigh parted her legs, and with his hands on her bottom, she wrapped her legs around his waist. His erection pressed against her sex and she moaned. While she wanted him inside her, she refused to end the kiss. Over and over again, holding his head still, she kissed him the way she’d always dreamed of kissing him—like he was hers, and she was his. As if they belonged to each other. As if they loved each other.
Finally, he broke the kiss by pulling back his head to stare at her with those amazing brown eyes. “I have to know that you need me as much as I need you.”
She pressed her forehead against his and whispered, “Yes.”
“Say it.” He closed his eyes. “Please, say it.”
“I need you too.”
She moved her hips higher, but he held her in place and swallowed hard. “Once I start, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Once you start, I won’t want you to finish.”
“Fuuuck.” He drew back his hips, then drove deep inside her, pushing her back against the tile wall. He began a rhythm that pushed and pulled until she could feel all of him in all of her.
She clenched her legs around his hips. He raised his head, allowing the water to fall over his face, and growled. She tried to adjust the speed, but since he held her entire weight, she was at his mercy.
“Zack? Please. Harder.”
His response came in a powerful pistoning motion. He’d moved his hands to hold her higher, and now his fingers dug into her waist while she clung to his shoulders. With her face buried in his neck, the water spraying over them, and his masculine smell of bay rum and sex, the tightening began in her toes, and by the time she felt the heat in her womb, she was riding wave after wave of pleasure. Her entire body stilled as the intensity took her breath away.
Her climax happened so suddenly she wasn’t sure Zack was even aware. He was in the midst of his own final moment, his movements faster and faster until he closed his eyes, bared his teeth, and whispered her name. “Allison.”
She held on while he continued to press into her, as if emptying every bit of himself inside her was the most important thing he’d ever done in his life. When he stopped, she found herself still up against the shower wall, legs around his waist, his lips against hers.
She had the vague realization that it must’ve taken a huge amount of physical strength for him to have held her up so long, to have made love to her so passionately, and to keep her in place while he found his breath—and she found hers. With their lips—no, their bodies—so intertwined it was hard to figure out whose breath was whose.
“Sweet heaven’s biscuits,” he murmured against her lips. “I’ll never be able to walk again.”
She shut off the shower, not sure when the hot water had turned cold. “I know the feeling.”
He raised his head to look at her. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you.”
“Probably because you never look in the mirror.”
He opened the shower door, swung her around, and dropped her feet to the floor. Thank goodness for the fluffy bath mat because goose bumps were forming on her arms and legs. He found a towel and wrapped her up. Then he found another for her hair. The entire time, not only was he wet and naked, but he didn’t appear cold.
“How do you never get cold?” she asked as he dried her arms with a hand towel.
He tossed the towel into the hamper and then began to dry himself off with a bath towel. “I’m always hot.”
Yes, he is. She pretended to dry her face with the edge of her hair towel while he wiped off his arms and legs. It was like God had chiseled Zack’s muscles and tendons into perfect proportion in order to build the ideal masculine form. Tanned skin over hard muscular curves, wide shoulders centered on top of a narrow waist, thighs and calves Michelangelo’s David would’ve given up his slingshot for. And covering that perfection? A beautiful dusting of dark hair that added the perfect amount of masculinity to an already incredibly virile man.
Then there was his dragon tattoo, long dark hair, and intense brown eyes: the three attributes of her own personal wild man.
When he was dry, and before a sudden attack of shyness could kick in, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He’d already started another fire, pulled down the covers, and now placed her on the bed. His gun lay on the bedside table. The shotgun was propped against the wall.
He sat next to her, on the edge that sagged beneath his weight. “We have a few hours before the service. From there, we’re leaving for the airport.”
With one hand, she traced the hairs on his arm. “We should probably take a nap.”
“Probably.” He leaned his elbows onto his bare thighs and stared at the floor. “I feel so guilty, like all of this is wasted time while my sister is a prisoner.”
Allison touched his shoulder. She didn’t take his frustration the wrong way. The fact was there wasn’t much for them to do until they got on that plane. “We’ll go to New Orleans, find the treasure, and save your sister.”
He stood and leaned an arm on the mantel above the fireplace. He’d also drawn the blinds to close off the room from the midday sun. The only light came from the flickering flames. Shadows danced around, making him appear larger. She’d never known a man so at ease with himself—his body and his physical strength. Just the fact that he stood in front of a fire stark naked amazed her.
“I can’t fail, Allison,” Zack said in a low voice. “Not again.”
She got out of bed and dropped her towels. She found her short silk robe on her dressing chair and slipped it on. Without tying it closed, she went over to him and pressed her front against his back, her breasts against his muscles. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his s
houlder. “We won’t.”
He covered her hands with his and shuddered. “I need to tell you something.”
She stood on her tiptoes to kiss the back of his neck. “What?”
“I love you.”
* * *
I am an idiot.
Zack sat in a wing chair by the fireplace and pulled Allison onto his lap. He stared at the fire because he couldn’t look at her. He’d admitted his feelings and she hadn’t said a word.
What the hell were you thinking?
I wasn’t thinking. I was feeling. That’s the problem.
“Zack?” Allison shifted and he felt her cold, wet hair against his warm skin.
“Yes?” The word burst from his chest on a giant exhale because he had, up until that moment, been holding his breath.
“I’m sorry.”
He swallowed hard. “You have no reason to apologize.” He reached for the comb on the table nearby. “Let me comb your hair before it dries.”
She pulled away to meet his gaze, her green eyes shining in the firelight. Although it was still light outside, he’d drawn the blinds more for the intimacy than the privacy. Here in the shadowed room, they were truly alone. If he could push away all of the outside worries, he could allow himself to imagine what it would be like to live in this room forever—just him, her, the enormous bed, and a crackling fire.
“Did you grow your hair for that rescue mission?” She touched his chin, then his hair that hung around his shoulders. He was so used to wearing it back all the time, it always surprised him to see how long it’d gotten.
“Yes. I started growing it the night our A-teams were ambushed in the Pamir River Valley and sent to the POW camp. I was part of a team that went ahead to gather intel. Because my skin is darker and my hair is black, I blend in better.”
“Do you speak the local languages?”
“Some of them.” He kissed her nose and slid her down to the floor. He tried to ignore her silk lavender robe that barely covered her breasts and framed her beautiful naked body. But his physical reaction was impossible to hide. “Linguistics and history major. Remember?”