Men of Mercy: The Complete Story

by Cross, Lindsay

  Her hand went cold, then flushed hot. Malik gently brushed his thumb over her now super-sensitive skin. And he held her gaze, silently communicating to her just how much he wanted her.

  “I'm going to get us some drinks.” Mandy started out slow, her words building momentum as she spoke. “Malik, would you like something?”

  “No, thank you,” Malik said.

  Hayden reached for Mandy, knowing she meant to give them some forced solitude. “I don't –”

  “Trust me, you want a drink,” Mandy said. “I'll be back. Soon-ish.” Mandy flounced off, her skin-tight skirt swaying with her hips, snagging the attention of every guy she passed, including the stray cat under the shrubs. In pure Mandy fashion, she didn’t even notice.

  Hayden couldn't help but glance down at her own pastel pink sweater and jeans—not only did Hayden pale in comparison, but so did her lackluster clothing.

  “You are stunning. Stop thinking like that.” Malik's quiet voice caught Hayden off guard and made her look up at him.

  “Stop thinking like what?”

  “That you aren't just as beautiful and vibrant as Mandy. As any person here tonight.”

  Hayden denied the instinct to look down and toe the grass. She wasn't weak, and she'd never been shy. “Try working next to her every day and see if your confidence doesn't suffer a little.”

  “Anyone can look at a colorful painting and recognize it for a work of art. But a true connoisseur prefers the subtle grace of perfection.” Malik inched forward, his body heat folding around her like a heavy blanket.

  Her stomach churned with awareness. He wasn’t overpowering or dominating, at least not in an alarming way, but his aura of self-confidence and determination had her pinned in place.

  She had nowhere to go and no one to distract her from the man moving in on her personal space. And she honestly wasn't sure how to feel about him right now.

  He lifted her hand, placed a light kiss on her skin.

  Her heart stuttered.

  And then he lowered her hand gently to her side. The skin tingled where his lips had touched it. Malik took a step closer, forcing her head back, his chocolate eyes were black with intensity. She knew in that instant he wanted more.

  And she didn't know if she had more to give...

  “May I take you out to dinner?”

  “What?”

  “I would like to take you on a date.” Malik gave her a small smile but didn't press forward another inch. He was giving her space, something she appreciated.

  Hayden took a deep breath, trying to come to grip with how she felt about him. He hadn't set off explosions, or fireworks that made her forget herself like Hoyt always had. But maybe that was what she needed. She could control a pragmatic relationship. They could have intelligent conversations, share research. He was attractive and he did at least make her feel something.

  She just had to figure out how to give up on true love. “I think I'd like that.”

  “Next Friday night? La Grenouille?” He said it the right way, she noticed. She and Hoyt had never figured out how to say it quite right, besides, they’d never even come close to affording it. He took her hand again and held it between their bodies, his palms soft and smooth. Cultured, refined.

  “That sounds nice.” She'd have to dig for an outfit nice enough to wear to such a swanky restaurant. No jeans and boots. Maybe she could find something on eBay. His parents probably lived in a castle or something.

  “Hayden, I can't believe you're here.” Chance had appeared right behind Malik.

  Hayden jumped and ripped her hand away from Malik's.

  Mandy was right—the toga enhanced Chance's naturally curly blond hair, tan skin, and blue eyes. He could be a direct descendant of Achilles. Or Brad Pitt.

  “Last-minute decision.” She offered a weak smile and tried to get her heart rate below a hundred beats per second.

  Chance's gaze slid over Malik, starting at his head, moving down to his toes and back up. Hayden tensed, half expecting some sort of testosterone-fueled fight to break out.

  But Chance's face didn't pull tight and he didn't step forward with fists raised. He extended a hand. “Chance Bekham. I transferred here from Berlin early last year.”

  “Malik Hussein, from England. Nice to have a fellow neighbor here.” Malik took Chance's hand, repeating Chance's earlier slow perusal.

  When he turned back to Hayden, Malik’s expression was calm, relaxed. There was an unmistakable I'm-not-worried-about-the-immature-kid smile on his face. “See you Friday?”

  “See you then.” Hayden's reply was weak, shaky. Dammit. Freaking Mandy was either the worst or the best wingman ever.

  Malik melted back into the crowd, leaving Hayden alone with Chance. She inhaled and tried to find her center.

  “I'm so glad you came.” Without any other preliminaries, he scooped her up and spun her around in a circle before promptly setting her back down on her feet, throwing her attempt to focus into a literal tailspin.

  “Are you drunk?” Her voice came out all breathy and excited for some reason, but she pulled her serious face anyway.

  “On you, babe.” He waggled his eyebrows, completely devastating her attempt to remain stoic.

  She burst out laughing. “You're terrible.”

  But maybe she needed that to round out her reentry into dating. Chance wasn’t challenging. He wouldn’t require her to analyze her every single move. He could show her a good time, teach her to relax. If she could just get past the fact that he resembled a younger version of Hoyt...

  Only this version had smile lines around his eyes and an open air of mischief. And a swoon worthy accent she found slightly adorable.

  Malik, she knew, was serious. Intelligent. With him, she might ultimately find a deeper connection. And that scared her more than she could say. But if she tried going out with both of them, maybe she’d get a better idea of what she wanted. Or if she could want someone other than Hoyt.

  And if she didn’t, they’d both be heading back overseas soon enough.

  “What made you cross the big, bad parking lot to my domain?” Chance asked. “Was it because I changed up my order the other day? Had you add whipped cream to my coffee?”

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe it was that new shirt my sister sent me. Everyone said that blue really set off my eyes.” He batted his eyelashes.

  He was so silly and fun, she felt herself melting like butter in his warmth. “How is your sister?”

  Last year, on one of her shifts, Chance had told her about the car wreck that had permanently damaged his sister’s brain.

  He frowned and looked away. “The same. I’ve hired a new lady to come help with her care. She takes her shopping, lets her pick out chocolates and such. I miss her terribly.”

  Hayden immediately regretted pursuing the subject. She got the feeling that Chance felt guilty for leaving his sister behind. “She’s lucky to have a brother who takes such good care of her.”

  “She video chats me every day, we stay close.” Chance turned back to Hayden. “We talk a lot about you. She calls you my American girlfriend.”

  His blue eyes locked with hers and Hayden froze. Remember, you wanted to experiment.

  And then Chance straightened and flexed his biceps, the movement drawing her eyes to his firm muscles. “What do you think of my toga. This is probably the real reason you came tonight? Me—half-naked and wrapped in a sheet—your dream come true.”

  “You need guns like this to impress a girl.” A dark-haired guy about the size of a tree trunk pushed his way over to them. He was wearing a tight toga that did little to cover a thicket of chest hair plentiful enough to cover her living room rug. He lifted both his arms and flexed some of the biggest muscles Hayden had ever seen.

  Chance pouted, poking out his bottom lip and dropping his arms to his side. Looking for all the world like a dejected Wile E. Coyote who'd lost his Road Runner. “We can't all be linebackers, Jeremy.”

  Je
remy laughed and nudged Chance in the shoulder, knocking him forward a step. “It's okay, not everyone can be as blessed as me.”

  Hayden burst out laughing. “It's all about proportion. I think he's perfect.”

  Jeremy frowned and hooked an arm around Chance, physically lifting him off the ground a little. “Why do you always get the hot girls?”

  “Cause I don't throw them over my shoulder and lug them around like a caveman.” Chance grabbed Jeremy's wrist and squeezed.

  The big guy dropped him immediately and shook out his hand. “But some girls like that.” Looking at Hayden, he raised his brows in question.

  She shook her head fast. “Not this girl.”

  “But this one does.” Mandy seemed to appear next to Jeremy out of thin air.

  Hayden leaned back against the fence and pulled Chance over to stand beside her. “Watch.”

  Jeremy glared down at the intruder, glanced back at Hayden, and then immediately snapped his attention back to Mandy. “Who are you?”

  “A girl in need of a drink. Think you can help me with that?” Mandy pulled a classic hip lean and pout. Guaranteed to bag a man in ten seconds flat.

  Jeremy was no exception. “Yes, ma'am.”

  Hayden glared, “What happened to the drinks you just went to get a few minutes ago?”

  “Oh, yeah, mission failure.” Mandy patted Jeremy on the arm, stopped to get in a quick squeeze, and then curled her finger toward the house. “Let's go.”

  “Later, bro.” Jeremy didn't even look back before trailing after Mandy.

  When they were almost to the house, Hayden said, “She'll eat him for supper.”

  “Jeremy? As in that three-hundred pound, six-foot-six guy?”

  Mandy stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to face Jeremy, who was a few steps below her. She put her hands on his shoulders, said something, and disappeared inside. Jeremy stood, transfixed, for a full minute before following.

  “Do you see how he's looking at her? He's done.”

  Chance stepped into her line of vision. “How do I get you to look at me that way? What, are my muscles not big enough for you?”

  When Hayden got her laughter under control and straightened, she said, “I like your muscles just fine.”

  “Listen, in business they teach us to analyze and study what works.” Chance closed the distance between them, dropped his empty beer can to the side, and bracketed his arms on the fence, trapping her between him and his biceps.

  “I need to know what convinced you to come out tonight, whether it was A, B, C, or D. None of the above. So I can make sure to do it again. So I can make sure this isn't the first and last time you agree to see me.”

  Hayden grinned, not bothered in the least by his nearness. Her heart beat just a little bit faster, just a little bit harder, but it still wasn’t reacting in the wild and crazy way that was apparently reserved for Hoyt. But with Chance, she felt safe. At ease to be herself, even more than around Malik, if she could remember what being herself meant.

  “Multiple-choice questions are way too easy,” she said. “Almost as easy as true or false. I prefer essay questions.”

  “You're killing me, Smalls. This poor, simple-minded, international business major can't handle all that psycho analyzing stuff. Have mercy.”

  Hayden tapped her lower lip. “I guess I could do a little true or false for you. Just because you begged so nicely.”

  “Hold that thought. If I'm going to take a test on a Friday night, I’ll need some added brainpower.” Chance turned and sprinted through the open back door of the house, leaving Hayden to shake her head.

  He returned moments later, a beer can tucked beneath his armpit and two plastic cups sloshing in each hand.

  “Are you afraid you're going to run out of alcohol?” Hayden asked.

  “Up until now, our longest conversation was about how strong I want my coffee. I couldn't take the chance of bringing you something you didn't like.” He lifted up his left hand a couple of inches. “I've got the classics here—a screwdriver and a margarita.”

  Brightly colored liquid sloshed in the solo cups. Hayden kept her face carefully blank, waiting to see what else he’d brought. Although she wouldn't mind either of those, a little torture had never hurt anyone.

  Chance lifted his right hand a few inches. “And just in case you’re one of those secretly daring types, I've got a whiskey sour and our newest pledges' version of hunch punch—although I cannot vouch for its contents.”

  Hayden pretended to study the drinks, enjoying this game. “I do have a secretly daring side.” She trailed her hand down the smooth skin of his right arm.

  Chance froze, his gaze locked with hers.

  “This is the first drink I've had in almost a year. Better stick with something light.”

  “You don't have to drink. I'll bring you some water. I’d never want you to feel uncomfortable around me.” Chance's sincerity caught her off guard, and for the first time she saw the real guy beneath the cheerful frat boy.

  He'd all but courted her since last summer when he’d first arrived from Berlin. He'd never been anything but respectful, polite. And his last words had put the nail in the coffin. Chance Bekham didn't just look like a good guy. He was a good guy.

  She reached forward, covering the back of his hand with her own, lingering and learning his feel. He didn't have the same kind of heat or musky spice as Malik. Hayden inhaled, recognizing the classic Polo.

  Hayden stepped closer, curiosity urging her to tilt her head back. Chance kept his arms out, balancing the array of drinks he’d brought to her. She wrapped her hand around his neck and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Firm lips, light spark, not bad.

  And it left her with the lingering feeling of disappointment.

  Chance blinked but didn't move, and uncertainty slammed into her. Had she been too bold? Maybe she'd misread his signals, maybe he was just trying to be friendly to the girl afraid of joining the party. Or maybe he’d read too well into her lack of reaction.

  He didn't move for one full confidence-blasting minute. “Would you say something already?” she finally blurted out.

  “If that's your version of a test, I want to take it every day.”

  Instant relief burst through her chest and spread down her arms. She reached for the margarita, her fingers brushing his. Another bolt of awareness. She lifted a trembling hand and took a sip—the tangy bite of sour lime, reminded her of how good it could feel to wield her sensual power. “If you're a good boy, I might give you that test again.”

  “If I'm a good boy, can we go past the true-false stage and move on to a full-on essay?”

  Chapter 8

  After the crash, Hoyt’s commander pulled him off duty for a rest, but while he was holed up in the back of the ambulance, Hunter had called and asked him to go get Hayden. His baby son, Henry, had been sick and apparently his wife, Evie, caught the bug, too. Ranger, Hayden’s other brother, was busy trying to move his fiancée and her children to Hanks.

  Hoyt could have gotten out of it by telling him about the wreck, but he didn't want to get out of it. He wanted to see her. To touch her and protect her.

  The medics tried to insist on taking him to the hospital, but now that he’d been given permission to see Hayden, he simply couldn’t wait. The thought of her being in danger terrified him.

  But he didn’t want to screw up the mission. He made a quick call to Grey. “Colonel, Hunter needs me to go get Hayden. The medics have cleared me, am I good to go?”

  “What about the head injury?”

  Hoyt touched the butterfly bandages near his left temple, the throb there steady and pounding. “Fine, just a Band-Aid.” Merc staggered over into his line of vision, a big white bandage wrapped around his head. “Merc’s been cleared, too. We both got just a scratch. But the Jeep’s totaled, we’re gonna need a different ride.”

  Grey cursed. “I can’t get you a lift for another thirty minutes. Ethan’s pegged a new suspect
and we’re trying to track down his location.”

  Hoyt’s gaze landed on the bright yellow Hummer. “Got any other leads?”

  “No. You just took out our two main suspects. We’re tracking the third right now, but we’ve got a load of shit to go on.”

  Merc staggered over to sit on the ambulance bumper with Hoyt, cradling his injured head in his huge hands. He groaned. Hoyt elbowed him and held a finger to his lips.

  “Sir, what if me and Merc tried to draw them out?”

  “How so?”

  “With their own ride, the Hummer looks loaded. We can drive it to get Hayden and then head back to base, let Mr. K’s guys inspect for intel, and then drive it around a while, see if anyone sits up and takes notice.”

  The line fell silent and Hoyt held his breath. If Grey didn’t agree with his idea, it would be that much longer before he could reach Hayden and get her to safety.

  “Fine. But you better go straight to Hayden and get your ass here, pronto. I don’t like this idea but I don’t really have a choice.”

  Hoyt resisted the urge to fist pump. “Yes, sir.”

  When Grey disconnected the call, Hoyt nudged Merc. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

  Merc sat up and then groaned, grabbing his head. “I did get hit by a damn truck. What’s this about Hayden?”

  “We’re going to get her, now, in our new ride.” Hoyt gestured to the Hummer with its dented brush guard.

  “That things gotta be way out of alignment.”

  “Yeah, maybe a little, but I bet it can get us across town.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  Hoyt stood, and fought off a bit of dizziness. “Then I’ll walk.”

  He climbed into the Hummer, cranked the engine, and Merc climbed into the passenger seat beside him, laptop clutched in his hand and his bandage sporting a small circle of blood. He looked about as good as Hoyt felt.

  The drive over was a messy haze.

  It wasn't until after he pulled into the lot between the row of frat houses and Hayden’s coffee shop that his world came back into focus with a massive smack. The Java Shop was dark, obviously closed and music boomed from a party going on to his left.