Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers

by Piñeiro, Caridad

  Her gaze darted to his face. "I, uh…"

  His grin told her clearly that he'd seen her ogling him. He undid the last button with a flourish and slid the shirt off his shoulders. Slowly. Muscle rippled enticingly under satin flesh. Naked from the waist up, he stepped toward her. He pulled her to her feet, then turned her around by the shoulders. The zipper slid down the length of her back, cool air caressing her exposed skin. When she felt his warm fingers play along the side of the zipper, pulling the opening wider, her heart fluttered. The dress slid down her arms and onto the floor, the whispering rustle of taffeta its farewell address. Frank drew her back against him and the feel of his naked flesh pressed against hers sent a jolt of desire through her. A tiny voice inside screamed at her to move away, but she didn't want to. Along with her dress, he seemed to have divested her of rational thought. At least, so the voice insisted. She glanced nervously to the mirror over the dresser and was met with an erotic sight: she in a strapless, white lace basque and panties, pressed against the length of his half nude body.

  She lurched forward, grabbing her overnight bag and dashing into the bathroom. She glared at herself in the mirror, noting the flush on her cheeks. What kind of fool was she? She had to keep him at a distance. Lord, how was she ever going to get through this evening? Especially now that he knew flashing a bit of naked skin could send her spiraling out of control. He'd take full advantage of that knowledge, she felt sure.

  She splashed water on her face and repaired her makeup, taking time to compose herself before facing him again. When she came out dressed in her white fitted suit, Frank whistled. To her relief, he was fully dressed now.

  "Why don't we take a few minutes before we go back to the throng." He held out a glass of champagne. "The hotel had a complimentary bottle waiting for us," he said, by way of explanation.

  She sat down in the armchair beside him, sipping the bubbly liquid. It tingled on the way down her throat. She liked the feeling so she took another sip. Slumping back in the chair, she ran the tip of her finger around the rim of the flute. The smooth, hard glass beneath her skin felt deliciously sensual. She licked her finger then brought it back to the glass, deciding to make it sing.

  "Angel…"

  The warning note in Frank's voice snapped her attention to his face. A look of hunger simmered in his eyes.

  Her fingers clenched around the crystal stem. Why did the sight of Frank looking at her like that alarm her? They'd just gotten married, hadn't they? Her thoughts stumbled through the foggy haze that clouded her brain. No. This marriage was a lie.

  She focused on his intense expression. Frank had told her he loved her, and she wanted to believe that. But was it really true? Could he really have forgiven her for her betrayal when she hadn't even forgiven herself? And if he had, would he have asked her to marry him for real, if she hadn't held him off? The thought occurred to her that if the wedding had been genuine, she'd have met his family and friends by now. Would they have liked her?

  "Frank, are you sorry your parents couldn't be here?"

  He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "No, of course not. It would be pretty difficult to maintain my cover with my real folks here, wouldn't it?"

  "Of course, I…" What did she want to say? She couldn't tell him that she wished his parents and friends were here because she wished they had really gotten married.

  She put a hand to her forehead. Where were these thoughts coming from? She'd been undercover her whole adult life. She was used to living a lie. Why was she suddenly finding it so hard to separate fantasy from reality?

  This was just part of her job. She had to remember that.

  But Frank said he loved her… and if she were honest with herself—

  She felt Frank's hand on her shoulder. "What is it, Angel? Headache?"

  She dropped her hand away from her face. "Just bridal nerves, I guess."

  He didn't laugh as she'd expected. Instead, he looked at her with sympathy. "I know this evening's been rough on you."

  The warmth in those understanding blue eyes threatened to melt what was left of her composure. She took a gulp of her champagne before answering. "I can manage, Frank." Why did her voice sound so shaky?

  "I know you can." He picked up the champagne bottle and filled her glass. "Finish that and we'll go back down to the party. It's about time for the crowd to say good-bye to the happy couple."

  Everyone applauded as they entered the ballroom. They mingled for a bit, had two more dances, then started doing a circuit of the crowd to say their farewells.

  "It's time to go, Angel," Frank finally whispered in her ear.

  He took her hand and led her out. As they strolled through the lobby to the entrance of the hotel, the huge crowd of wedding guests following on their heels. She looked at Frank walking along beside her and he smiled. They were married now, but that wasn't real. Well, it was real, but it was only a cover. Frank wanted it to be real, though. He'd made that perfectly clear. If only…

  She put a hand to her head and swayed a little. That last glass of champagne had definitely been one too many. Glancing around, she wondered what she'd just been thinking about. Her head felt so fuzzy. Frank squeezed her hand.

  "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

  She looked into his eyes and saw concern. For her. She smiled, seeing in Frank not a partner in law, but a partner in love, and life. "Yes, I'm fine," she answered. They had just been married and she knew that, more than anything, she wanted it to be real—because her love for him was real.

  A doorman, dressed in a burgundy tuxedo and top hat, swung the door open for them and Frank led her outside. A long, white limousine waited for them. Angel felt a little unsteady, but Frank put his arm around her and guided her out to the car.

  "Throw the bouquet, Angel," Frank whispered in her ear.

  She looked at the bundle of white roses and baby's breath wrapped in a spray of lace clutched in her hand and tossed it in the air over the crowd of hopeful women standing in breathless anticipation. Laughing and giggling broke out as one young woman jumped up to grab it while it was still high in the air.

  Someone had opened the limousine door and Frank eased Angel into the seat, then she felt his fingers gliding up her leg and her eyes went wide. "Frank?" she gasped.

  "The garter, sweetheart." Amusement tickled the corners of his mouth.

  She remembered the blue satin garter she wore as her 'something blue'. As Frank's fingers slipped under the hem of her skirt, the tingling excitement shooting through to her lower abdomen made her head spin and she forgot about the crowd around them. She felt quivers travel down her leg as Frank's fingers moved past her knee and then slipped the garter over her foot. Suddenly, a roaring cheer broke out as Frank tossed the lacy item into the crowd of bachelors. One blond, blue-eyed giant, who had practically plucked it out of the air, twirled the scrap of fabric on his index finger in triumph.

  Frank climbed into the car and sat beside Angel on the white leather seat, the door closing behind him.

  "Here's one for the driver, Angel. We want to look like eager newlyweds." Frank pulled her close.

  As Frank's lips touched hers, she forgot where she was and why she had ever resisted him. She couldn't quite breathe properly and wondered abstractly if he held her too tight. If so, it didn't matter, because she didn't want him to stop.

  "Oh, Frank," she murmured against his lips. "I love you so much. I've wanted this for so long. Every night for the past four years I've dreamed of being in your arms."

  It's true. She knew the champagne was affecting her, but only in dropping her self-imposed barriers. She really did love him. She couldn't fight it any longer.

  He pulled back enough to look at her face. He couldn't stop his heart rate from increasing at her words, even though he knew she was acting for the benefit of the driver. Still, she sounded so sincere. What was wrong with imagining this was real, that she really meant these things, at least for as long as it lasted?

 
"I love you , too, Angel," he told her as he brought his lips back to hers.

  She sighed deeply, a sound of complete contentment, and he felt a desperate craving for something he couldn't have. Angel. And a life together. The seeds of longing had blown into his soul by the winds of fate and now he was helpless to the flowering need.

  Her tongue swept out and surprised his lips open, then she thrust deeply into his mouth. He could almost feel his blood accelerating through his veins. Why was she doing this? It had nothing to do with convincing the driver of their passion, since he couldn't see what was going on between them other than the fact that they were kissing. Had she forgotten herself to her role? Was she imagining herself in Don's arms? That thought made him stiffen in uncertainty and barely suppressed anger. He started to pull away, but she mewed a protest.

  "Frank?" Her hands swept up to his cheeks and caressed him gently, her eyes looking at him with sweet, loving warmth. "What's wrong, darling?"

  "Nothing." Absolutely nothing. It was his name she'd murmured. She hadn't been thinking of anyone but him. He pulled her close and encouraged her tongue with his own, the two of them doing a sinuous, sensuous dance together.

  She pressed her body closer to his, thrusting her breasts into his chest, inviting him to touch. When he didn't respond, she drew her hands from around his neck and started fumbling with his shirt buttons. She pulled her lips from his and followed the trail of her fingers with her mouth.

  It was exquisite torture for Frank. He eased her back up and whispered into her ear. "Darling, we're still in the limo. Let's not get too carried away."

  The car slowed down and turned.

  "We've arrived, Mr. O'Connor," the driver's voice drifted back to them. "I'll get the door."

  "Thank you, Jeffrey," Frank said, as he finished rebuttoning his shirt.

  The door opened and Frank got out, then helped Angel out. A bellman waited beside the door. She took a step and her three inch heel tipped out from under her, sending her tumbling into Frank. He swept her into his arms and carried her.

  Jeffrey was all brisk efficiency. "I took the liberty of calling ahead to arrange your check in, so you can go straight up to your suite. Jean-Claude has your key." He gestured toward the bellman.

  "Jeffrey, you've thought of everything."

  "Thank you, sir. I aim to please." With a grin he turned back to the car, pulled out the small overnight bag they'd brought with them, and handed it to Jean-Claude. "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at ten to go to the airport. I'll have your other luggage with me."

  "This way, Mr. O'Connor." Jean-Claude tipped his head, then turned smartly and led the way to the elevator.

  Frank tried to follow, but Angel, who was still in his arms, pulled his face back to hers for a kiss.

  "Angel, as much as I'm enjoying this, I can't see where I'm going. Just wait a few more minutes, okay, honey?" He couldn't believe he was discouraging what he'd been wanting for what seemed like forever.

  She mumbled something unintelligible and dropped her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed. After they stepped into the elevator and the doors had closed, he eased her down until her feet touched the ground. She pressed herself against the front of his body and pushed herself up on tiptoe to reach his lips. A groan escaped his throat. He lost himself in her lips, in the softness of her body, in her delicious scent. This would only last a few more minutes and he wanted to enjoy every second of it. Good Lord, she was a good actress, and well into her role! He could almost believe she was an impatient bride eagerly anticipating being ravished by her husband—or rather, ravishing her husband. She was getting a little too carried away, as her lips found the base of his throat and toyed with his top button in an exquisite torture.

  "Angel, we'll be there in just a few minutes," he whispered into her ear.

  Jean-Claude kept his eyes steadily forward. All too soon—but not soon enough—the elevator stopped and the doors whooshed open. The most expedient thing to do would be to carry her. He scooped her up, intimately aware of her warm, deliciously fragrant body draped over his arms. Jean-Claude led them down the hall and opened the door to their suite.

  "Your suite, monsieur. Would you like me to show you around?" He glanced uncertainly at Angel.

  "No, that'll be fine. Thank you, Jean-Claude. Uh, just a minute, I'll…" Frank started to put Angel down, but the bellman waved his hands.

  "The gratuity has already been taken care of, sir. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call." At that, he left.

  Angel placed a hand on each of Frank's cheeks and turned his head back to face her, then pulled him down to her eager lips. He shifted his arms and eased her down his body until her feet were on the floor and she pressed against the length of him. Her mouth trailed from his lips, down his jaw, to his neck. She ran her tongue around his Adam's apple then down to the pulse point below.

  "Angel, I hate to tell you this, but he's gone. We're alone now."

  He assumed she'd break off her act and go in search of a bed, one she'd insist on having to herself. He'd anticipated that when he'd booked the room, ensuring there would be only one bed available, even going so far as to request that they remove the couch from the sitting room and replace it with two armchairs. That had been tricky to explain, but he was determined not to spend his wedding night sleeping alone. Knowing Angel, though, she'd come up with some scheme to hang a sheet between them or put up some other kind of physical barrier. As if she needed any more than the barrier of ice she already maintained.

  Instead, she murmured, "finally," then started undoing the front of her form-fitting suit jacket. It was apparent that she wore nothing underneath except skin and a frothy white undergarment—not the same as the sexy thing she'd had on under her wedding gown, but equally tempting. The bra held her breasts up as though offering them to him. He couldn't help trailing his fingers along the top of the cups and down into the valley between.

  "Oh, God, Angel. You're so beautiful."

  "Mmm. So are you." She nuzzled his neck. "Make love to me."

  "Angel, I don't understand. All along you've said you don't want this."

  Why the hell was he reminding her of that when she had obviously changed her mind? Something bothered him about her behavior, but he couldn't think straight with the way she was caressing him with her body. He tried to concentrate. Suddenly, his gaze froze on a silver ice bucket on the coffee table and the bottle of champagne peeking out the top. His gaze slid back to Angel's face and he noticed her flushed cheeks.

  "Why, you're absolutely pie-eyed," he exclaimed in sudden understanding. He started to tally the number of times he'd filled her flute glass, but quickly lost count. Then they'd had champagne in the room, and another one—or two—while saying their good-byes.

  Poor Angel! She'd probably been so nervous about today—and tonight—that she had been trying to ease her tension, and over-indulged.

  She said nothing, just looked at him with her dark, sultry eyes and tried to pull his face back to hers. He resisted.

  Was everything she'd said in the car—and here—an act? He doubted she could purposely put on an act of fantasy in her current state. Was this all a fabrication created by too much liquor?

  Or… His heart tangled into a tight knot. Could she be telling him how she really felt? Had the alcohol simply removed the barriers she'd erected between them?

  But… that would mean she really did love him.

  And that totally belied the cold-hearted image he had of her.

  Her gaze fixed on him and her eyes became dewy. "You… you look so serious. Are you remembering… I mean, do you really understand about what I did four years ago? Why I had to do what I did?"

  "Angel…"

  She clutched at his hand, holding it in a fierce grip. "Frank, I… I had to protect you. You don't know what it did to me to turn you over to those animals, but I knew it was the only way. And the way I acted… I had to make you hate me… I had to…"

  "I know, s
weetheart. Shhh. I know," he said, pulling her into his arms, caressing her back and crooning to her.

  "I love you, Frank. I love you so much," she said, almost desperately.

  She reached for his shirt, ignoring the fastenings and yanking the sides apart. White buttons scattered in every direction. When she pressed against him again, he felt her naked breasts against his skin. His gaze jerked to her arm, where her bra hung from one elbow like a long, white flag. She must have freed the front clasp after ripping his shirt open.

  He wanted to reach out and take what she offered, to haul her off to bed, strip away the figure hugging skirt she wore, along with whatever delightful bit of lace she wore as panties, and make mad passionate love to her. She was so beautiful and she was openly expressing her love for him, telling him what he realized he'd been longing to hear. She loved him!

  What could be more natural than making love to his bride on their wedding night?

  But he knew he couldn't take advantage of her vulnerable state.

  She squirmed out of her skirt, sliding it over her hips. As it dropped to the floor, she slid off her panty hose, letting them join the other debris near her feet. As his body hardened in readiness, some sane part of his mind was amazed at her agility and sense of purpose, especially in her befuddled state. She caressed his chest with delicate strokes of her fingers, at the same time nibbling his ear lobe. Her soft warm breath tickled and excited him at the same time. When she plucked at his nipples, he groaned.

  This had to stop right now! He pulled her against his body and stopped the feverish movement of her hands. He picked her up and carried her to the armchair near the bed, sweeping the comforter up and around her before he sat down. Holding her on his lap, he stroked her hair back from her face, pushing strands up over her ears. He crooned to her, speaking soft, whispery words of love, and touched her face with his lips, over her cheeks and around her eyes, until her eyelids eased down and she sighed in contentment. Before long, she relaxed completely against him and when her breathing became slow and even, he knew she was asleep. Not so surprising when he considered how much alcohol she'd consumed. Actually, he was amazed at how long she had lasted. He dropped his head against the back of the chair and sighed. He still couldn't believe he'd refused to make love to his bride on their wedding night.