Elle felt anger shoot through her whole system. “That would be me, I suppose?”
Nick nodded. “That would definitely be you, Dr. Connolly. No wonder I couldn’t find you. You’d changed your name.” His jaw muscles visibly moved. “I imagine that there’s a mister Connolly somewhere. Or, knowing you, another Dr. Connolly.”
Elle’s own jaw tightened. Nick sounded angry. As if she’d done something without asking permission. How dare he! She narrowed her eyes. “No mister, no doctor. Connolly was my mother’s name. I took it after—after.”
“What? What?” Nick’s eyes widened and he got in her face, jaws working. She could actually hear his teeth grinding. “You changed your name? You fucking changed your fucking name? Do you have any idea how fucking hard I—”
“Nick.” Dr. Young’s husband landed a very heavy hand on Nick’s shoulder and dug his fingers in. Nick’s face showed nothing, but those hands looked extremely strong. It was entirely possible that he was doing some damage to Nick’s shoulder. The man shook his head. “We don’t talk to women like that in Haven, Nick. We don’t talk to anyone like that. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Nick shrugged his shoulder and the man lifted his hand. Nick was glaring at her and she glared right back. Of all things, she hadn’t expected this. He was mad! At her. The nerve!
Anger, red hot and painful, boiled in her chest. Elle turned to the other woman in the room. Dr. Catherine Young could be trusted to be rational. “Dr. Young, please tell Nick—”
Dr. Young lifted her hand. “Please, Dr. Connolly, call me Catherine.”
One big breath. Two. Manners, she told herself. “And you must call me Elle, of course.”
Catherine nodded and smiled. They could have been in a drawing room over tea instead of some hidden location with three frightening men and one world-class scientist. “Well, Elle. We should make some other introductions. You’ve met Jon.”
Jon gave an ironic smile and a two-fingered salute off his forehead. “Ma’am.”
Elle inclined her head. “We’ve met. As a matter of fact he rescued me.”
“He rescued you!” Nick said heatedly. “He didn’t do anything but fly the helo! So how the hell does he come off as the big rescuer? I’m the one who—”
“And this is my husband, Mac.” Catherine’s voice was soft, but she managed to run right over Nick’s rant.
“Ma’am.” Mac had the deepest voice she’d ever heard. It was a rumble she felt in her diaphragm rather than heard. He reached over, engulfed her hand in his, squeezed gently for a second, then let her hand go. Which was nice because he could have crushed it easily and Elle needed that hand.
Catherine hadn’t mentioned last names at all. Interesting. Well, if she couldn’t know names, could she get some info on other things? “Nice to meet you all. So. Where am I?” she asked.
Silence. Utter silence. That was interesting too.
“I’m sure Nick will bring you up to speed eventually, Elle.” Catherine smiled at her. “But in the meantime, you must be exhausted and you must be hungry. So before we show you to your room . . .”
“My room,” Nick interrupted angrily. “My room. She’s staying with me. In my room.”
Another moment of perfect silence.
“Elle?” Catherine asked softly. “Are you okay with that?”
She had no idea what to say. None. All of a sudden she was aware of her immense exhaustion, like a living thing weighing down on her. A huge boulder that weakened her knees and seemed to dim the lights in the room.
This was Nick, the man she’d loved almost her whole life. And this was Nick, who’d abandoned her the day after she buried her father. And this was also Nick who by some crazy tangled reasoning in his mind had decided he was angry at her.
That was enough to make up her mind.
“No,” she said decisively. “Could I have a separate room?”
How she was going to deal with Nick from here on in was something she was going to have to face in the future, but right now, she was at the end of her physical and mental resources. Having a fight with Nick was utterly beyond her.
Nick’s eyes bugged. “What?” His deep voice rose an octave. “What? What the fuck? Of course—”
“Nick. Stop that right now.” Catherine Young seemed to be about half the weight of Nick and she had a soft voice, but that voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
His mouth closed with a snap, lips pressed together as if he had to work to not talk. But his eyes were still wide and a little wild. He huffed out a big breath like a bull.
He wasn’t liking this. Not one bit.
Good.
“Well, first things first. I’m not letting you go to your room before getting a bite to eat.” Catherine gently steered her toward a cart, pulled a chair from a desk and sat her down. Mac pulled something down from the wall, detached it, pushed a button, and it magically unfolded into a table that connected to some hidden seam in the service cart with a distinct click. It was a cue for everyone to grab a chair and place it around the table.
“Guests first,” Mac said in his deep bass. Which was kind but also served to remind everyone that she was the outsider here. Mac and Catherine started lifting covers off the serving plates and the room filled with the scent of delicious food.
Nick sat his chair right next to hers, so closely his shoulder brushed hers as he piled food on a plate and set it in front of her. “Eat,” he commanded.
Everyone was looking at her expectantly, as if they’d never seen a person eat before. Elle waited a second, fork poised above her plate, watching them watching her.
Nick nudged her plate closer. “Eat,” he repeated.
She ate.
All it took was a bite or two for her eyes to open wide with astonishment. As a scientific experiment she took a bite from everything on her plate and confirmed her first hypothesis.
“This is the best food I’ve ever eaten,” she blurted. They’d been watching to see her reaction to the food. Catherine sat back and looked at her husband and Jon with a smile. Both men nodded. Nick didn’t meet their eyes because his were fixed on her in an unblinking stare.
Everyone but Nick was transferring food to their plates. Nick’s plate remained empty as he continued watching her. It didn’t intimidate her, though. She’d suffered worse things than having someone watch her eat. Not to mention the fact that eating this amazing food was no hardship.
Huge ricotta raviolis with a wild mushroom and cream sauce, the most succulent tagliata in the history of the world, dusted with arugula and parmesan flakes. The lightest possible fried artichoke slices. Sautéed escarole with plump raisins. Frisèe salad with hot bacon. Steamed broccoli with garlic and a balsamic vinegar reduction. A freshly baked ciabatta to soak everything up.
Simple fare, done absolutely perfectly.
Nobody talked. Nobody should. The food was a religious experience and required proper worship. Elle had eaten a couple of times at Chez Panisse before Alice Waters retired, and this food was arguably better.
There was tiramisu—what looked like the platonic ideal of tiramisu, frothy and creamy and chocolatey—in a big glass bowl in the corner. Just for encouragement.
When she was stuffed, Elle sat back. “Is this a secret five-star restaurant? The kind that never advertises and you have to be a foodie and pass a test to find? Though”—this with a slanted glance at Jon—“hooding clients is taking it a bit far.”
“Good old Stella.” Jon had eaten with unswerving fervor and wasn’t finished. He heaped a third helping of everything onto his plate. “I love her experiments, but when she does the basics . . . man. No one does it better.”
“Stella?” This Stella person was obviously the chef.
Jon grinned. “Yeah, you wouldn’t believe who the cook is. She’s—”
“Jon!” Mac’s deep voi
ce was like a whip lash. Jon’s blond eyebrows shot up.
“We might want to discuss this, and other things, tomorrow.” Catherine placed a hand on her husband’s huge one and gave Elle a smile.
There was another painful silence.
Secrets. Deep secrets that weren’t going to be shared with her.
O-kay.
Nick had spooned some of the tiramisu onto a dessert plate and put it in front of her. “Eat.”
Elle set her teeth. “Is that all you can say? Eat?”
“Oh no.” Nick gave a smile that showed his own teeth, but wasn’t friendly. “I’ve got a lot of other things to say, but not right now. Later. When we’re alone.”
Curse her fair skin. Heat rose from her chest and she knew she was turning pink. Because it was very clear what he meant.
And curse her obsession, because instead of making her angry that he was assuming she’d just sweep aside ten years of abandonment to go to bed with him, her body reacted to his words and to the images his words conjured up with enthusiasm, completely out of her control.
Right now, with Nick so close to her, his shoulder rubbing hers, his body heat like a force field around him, his fierce eyes locked on hers—her body remembered what it had been like to make love to him.
She’d spent the entire night with him in a state of arousal, just like now. A flush of heat prickled through her body as if she’d suddenly stepped out into the blazing sun. Her breath grew shallow, her breasts felt heavy, swollen.
Her sex . . . wept with pleasure. Incredibly, it suddenly felt as if Nick’s penis were in her and her sex clenched around it, stomach and groin muscles pulling hard. Her heart was knocking against her ribs so hard she was sure someone could hear it.
Certainly Nick could. Or he could hear something because his gaze narrowed and tightened, his nostrils flared, and two white lines of stress appeared around his mouth. His eyes were focused on her face then abruptly dropped to her chest. It would be pointless to cover her breasts with her arms, he’d seen her hard nipples.
Oh God, this was so humiliating. It was like being stripped bare of all defenses, rendered down to bedrock, open and vulnerable when she’d worked so very hard all these years to make herself strong and protected.
All it took was Nick’s presence and she morphed back to that helpless, grieving girl who’d been full of hopes and dreams for one night.
What a triumph it must be for Nick. That he could disappear for ten years and she’d still be so lovesick his mere physical presence turned her on more than any number of courters ever could.
Nick didn’t look triumphant and cocky, though. He looked stressed, almost in pain.
“Goddamn it,” he said suddenly, grabbing her hand and standing up. He walked fast to the door, pulling her stumbling behind him.
Elle looked back and saw Catherine half rise and her husband reach out to her and shake his head. She sat back down, looking troubled, and then the door opened and Nick pulled her into the corridor as the door slid closed behind them.
Elle stopped, frozen. The first thing to strike her was the smell. The smell of a vast garden, of lush vegetation, sweet and fresh. The corridor was curved, one of many circling a huge central space filled with plants. Trees, bushes, flowering plants, leaves thick and glossy, thriving. The space was . . . amazing. Huge, like a city square, rising up to a ceiling. Or—a roof? A transparent roof studded with bright lights against the black night sky.
Down on the ground level someone walking on a path looked up and waved at Nick, who paid no attention to anything but getting them to the elevator at the end of the corridor.
She stumbled again, but instead of stopping, Nick put his arm around her waist and speeded up.
Elle didn’t know where they were going but wherever it was, they were going there fast.
Nick barely made it to the quarters Red and Bridget had just vacated because they had a brand-new baby. The first Haven citizen.
He felt like any minute now something would explode. His head. His skin. His cock. Something. Just itching to go up in flames. Something inside him that couldn’t be contained and was ready to blow.
He had to draw in a deep breath to be able to function even on the most basic level.
He tapped on the wall beside the door and a keyboard lit up. He turned to Elle and tried to keep the rasp of strong emotions—anger and relief and, well, horniness—from his voice. “For the moment, this is where you’ll stay, if you don’t want to stay with me.” He ignored the huge pump of his heart that those words and the very idea created in him—that Elle, finally with him again, wouldn’t want to stay with him, be with him. He punched in a four-digit code. “I’m putting in a temporary code. 1993, your birth year. You can change it later if you want.”
He looked at her, the implication a dark cloud between them. She might change it and not give him the new code.
The door whooshed open and he held his hand out. She ignored it. She crossed the threshold and he marched in right behind her.
That lovely face turned indignant. “I don’t know if I made myself clear, Nick, but I do not want to sleep with you.”
As soon as the door slid shut, he backed Elle up until her back hit the door with a thud, then moved in close. He was behaving like a real dick but he couldn’t help himself. No way he could have stayed in the war room eating and talking with Elle right beside him even one second more.
Right now she was here, with him. So close he could touch her if he dared.
Nick slammed his hands on the door right beside her head. She was caged in by him, though he wasn’t touching her anywhere. If she really wanted to get away from him, he’d let her. It would kill him, but he could do it.
He hoped.
He wasn’t touching her anywhere, but it was as if his skin had developed some other sense or was able to reach out to her. He dipped his head, his nose shifting her hair away from her ear. “You don’t have to sleep with me, but damned if I’m going to leave you alone in here. You were comatose when I found you. You’ve been through hell. If you need something in the night, you don’t know how this place works. You won’t know how to call for help. And I’d just stay awake worrying about you. So if you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t. But I’ll be goddamned if I leave you alone here.” He pulled away and looked down at her.
Jesus, why did she have to be so fucking beautiful? She was even more beautiful than the last time he saw her. Over-the-top gorgeous, supersmart. A doctor no less. Someone Catherine admired, and Catherine was one of the smartest people Nick knew.
Nick had thought of Elle almost every day since Lawrence. He’d memorized her. The last image of her sleeping in bed was one he’d carried inside him for ten years.
The supersoft pale blond hair like a cloud around her head, the light blue eyes that looked like shards of summer sky, the high cheekbones, the shape of her head, that narrow torso, the puff of pale hair between those long, slender legs . . . every inch of her was in his head.
But there was a new Elle now, all grown up; and if anything, she was even more perfect than the young girl. He eagerly drank in all the new details of this new Elle because though she was never leaving his sight again, if he could help it, life had this funny way of whacking you in the head.
He would have sworn he would live the rest of his life in Ghost Ops. When his past had been wiped out and he’d taken the oath, with Lucius Ward and Mac McEnroe as his commanding officers, he knew this was to be his life forever more. And then Ghost Ops died, its forces scattered, accused of treason. What he thought would be an undying commitment proved to be short-lived.
So, yeah, you never knew.
So he drank in every detail of Elle because life being what it was, she could disappear on him in a heartbeat.
Her skin was still ivory perfection. The few lines around her eyes did nothing to detract from
her beauty. She’d filled out so she no longer had that lost-waif look. She looked strong and capable and held herself with authority.
God, he loved that.
He was just barely keeping himself from touching her. He had to keep his hips pulled back because his dick was pressing against his pants. It wanted to be inside her. Smart dick.
He could barely remember his last hard-on. Some waitress down in Bakersville. She’d been nice enough. Lonely, like him. The signs had been unmistakable. Nick had become the world’s greatest expert on lonely and could sniff lonely people out in a crowd. They’d gone to a nearby motel and she’d been older and more used up than he thought, and his cock had gone a little limp. She noticed, had smiled sadly, and started buttoning her blouse back up.
Nick had willed his cock back up and forced himself to give her an extra good time and afterward, when she’d left at dawn, he’d stared at the ceiling until the sun rose over the windowsill, thinking of absolutely nothing at all.
That had been six months ago and he hadn’t had wood since. Hadn’t seen a woman who even vaguely interested him, and hadn’t jerked off.
Right now, it felt like his cock would never go down, ever again.
He bent again, his lips almost but not quite touching that long, pale slender neck. “So like it or not, Elle, I’m staying here. I’ll sleep on the couch, I’ll sleep on the fucking floor, I don’t care. But you’re not leaving my sight.”
Elle gave a long exhale.
“You bastard.” Elle’s voice was the barest whisper.
“Yeah. No argument there.” There wasn’t. He was literally a bastard. He doubted his mother even knew who his father was. Apparently there’d been plenty of candidates. But over and above that, in Ghost Ops you lied and cheated if that’s what it took to get the job done. He’d been undercover and lied about himself so much it was hard to remember what was the truth. He and his teammates fought for survival not for goodness. There had been very little of that in his life. The judge and Elle herself had been the only good people he’d ever met.
I Dream of Danger Page 20