Her Sanctuary

by Toni Anderson

“Get some coffee before you fall over and some food into you too.” Dancer took over, clearly enjoying turning the tables for once. “If I have to get into that chopper with you, you’d better be one-hundred-percent fit.” Dancer shuddered. “Man, I hate those things.”

  Marsh grunted, leaned forward eagerly as a beep sounded in the room. Dancer turned down the volume on the laptop and angled it toward him.

  “Got her, she’s moving across Pennsylvania at a rate of approximately 300 mph. I guess it’s safe to assume that even though she stole your car...” Dancer grinned as Marsh winced. “She’s airborne.” Dancer pointed to a second, stationary signal. “Car’s at Logan Airport. I can get Dora to pick it up for you.”

  Marsh shook his head. “Leave it. The bomb squad better check it out before anybody goes near it.” Just in case the mob had made Josephine.

  Wearily, he moved away from the beeping noise, put on the coffee and broke out the eggs for an omelet. He had a jet and a helicopter waiting at an air force base twenty miles away. They had time for breakfast and he needed food.

  “Keep on her,” he ordered over his shoulder. “You get anything on that cell phone she called?”

  Dancer shook his head, fiddling with the laptop.

  “But you traced the original signal to the Midwest or the southern Canadian Rockies right?”

  “Yep, and it looks like that’s where our little bird is heading right now, doesn’t it?” Steve nodded to the steadily blinking light.

  “Josephine can’t cross the border. She doesn’t have a passport with her.” Marsh rubbed at the day’s growth of stubble on his chin, “But she could have set up a locker at the airport with spare ID.” Shit, that’s what he’d have done.

  Elizabeth would have done the same.

  “Doesn’t matter where she goes, boss, we’ve got her.” Steve glanced at his watch. “We’ve got a break in transmission coming up in a few minutes when we switch to the Centaurii satellite.”

  Looking smug, Dancer grinned at his boss. “So how much is that photo worth, boss? And where the hell is my coffee?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was dark by the time Eliza and Nat got back. Cal was waiting for them by the stable door, anxious, despite the call Nat had put through over the radio.

  “Tiger came back over an hour ago,” Cal said. “He’s fine.” The cowboy eyed Eliza critically, blew out a thin stream of cigarette smoke. “Should never have let you go out on your own.”

  “Like she ever does what she’s told.” Nat spoke with a grin to ease the other man. No need to tell Cal what a close call it had been. He already had enough dead souls on his conscience

  Eliza placed a hand on Cal’s arm. “Sorry I worried you.”

  Cal looked down at the ground, eyed his boots and kicked the dirt. “Shit, Eliza.”

  Without another word, he took charge of the horses, led them away into the horse barn.

  Nat took Eliza’s hand and pulled her toward the cabin.

  “We’re not going to see the others?” she questioned. She sounded weary. Her voice wrung out from too much drama.

  Nat shook his head, kept on walking. There was only one place he wanted to be right now and it didn’t involve his mother.

  He took the steps in one long stride, held the door and let her pass. She kept her head down, feet dragging. Inside was pitch black, the light of the moon slicing through the curtains in thick wedges.

  Nat watched Eliza turn around to face him. She was wrapped up in her lumberjack coat, huddled into it, hands pushed deep into the wide pockets, her chin buried deep into the collar and still she shivered.

  Finely winged brows lowered over green eyes and her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip. Bad memories seemed to simmer just below the surface, and she looked as skittish as a colt, but not scared, he realized, just tired and nervous.

  Well hell, he was nervous. His rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth tense. Talk about putting pressure on a guy not to screw up.

  He walked over to where she stood, and slowly undid the buttons of her coat, one at a time, while she watched each single movement. They weren’t on solid ground here. Neither of them knew how it was going to play out, or where it would lead. He’d never felt this strongly before and his hands damn near shook with the effort to take it slow. All the while she watched him with those feline eyes of hers, solemn and silent. He didn’t want to scare her; he didn’t want to screw up. He removed the coat from her shoulders, hung it up on the peg on the back of the door and took her hand in his.

  “Come sit with me.” He tugged her over to the couch.

  “Nat...” Eliza began.

  Ah hell. His heart sank. Rejection curdled in his gut. Not that he couldn’t wait, not that he didn’t understand, but hell, he didn’t want to leave her alone tonight. Who was he kidding? He didn’t want to leave her alone—period.

  She squeezed his fingers. Whispered. “Come, make love with me.”

  Surprise held him still. Nat took a breath—then another, as he tangled his fingers with hers, palm to palm, and pulled her close. Desire mingled with a gentler emotion that he couldn’t name, didn’t want to examine.

  She was stubborn and reckless. And hurt. And he wanted her. Didn’t matter that she wasn’t right for him and wouldn’t stay, didn’t matter that they might lose the ranch next week. He wanted to be inside her, to replace all those bad memories with good. He kissed her, gently at first and then took it deeper, tasted, explored with his lips, his tongue. Passion flared like a flame, spreading wildly, branding them both with heat.

  They were linked hands and mouth, bodies close but not touching. Nat needed her to know this was her decision. No one was forcing her this time.

  “I wanted you from that first moment I saw you,” he admitted and kissed the freckles that marched across her nose, her temple.

  She moaned, sought his mouth with her own.

  Her hands begged for release from his hold, but he held them lightly in his own as he nuzzled the soft white skin below her ear. Her hands strained, but he didn’t let go.

  “You’re so goddamned beautiful. Exactly what I don’t need.”

  She arched her head back. Sighed. Her body moved into him, closed the gap and fused with his.

  “You prefer ugly?” she asked. Her voice cracked between words.

  Nat felt her melt, felt her reserve crumble to dust. He wanted that. He cupped her cheek with his hand, slid the other slowly over her body, over her narrow ribcage, around the underside of her breast—teasing touches that made her sigh into his mouth, as she began to touch him too. He palmed her breast, marveled at the weight, the softness. Gently, he rubbed his thumb across her shirt, raising her nipples like pebbles through the soft white cotton. She didn’t object. Instead she burrowed deeper into his embrace and returned his kisses—nibbled at his bottom lip.

  A growl worked its way loose of his throat and rumbled through his chest. Nat raised his head, looked down at the passion fed turbulence that stormed through Eliza’s eyes. He wanted to lose control and sink himself into this woman without rational thought or feeling. But he had to be careful. He had to take it slowly.

  “Tell me if I do something you don’t like.” He worked hard to keep his voice even. “Tell me if I scare you.”

  Eliza looked up at him with eyes so dark they glinted black. “You won’t.”

  ****

  Something hard loosened inside her, shifted and melted away. The nerves were gone, her pain nothing but a distant echo. Tears welled up at the beauty of the moment, but she forced them back. Tears weren’t what she wanted to show Nat Sullivan tonight. She concentrated on her growing hunger, hunger and urgency. Elizabeth reached up and smoothed a lock of hair back from Nat’s forehead, surprised at how softly it stroked her fingers.

  Subtle traces of lemon soap clung to his skin, overlaid by the warm scent of working man. She nuzzled the thick cord of his neck, absorbed his essence like a balm. His cheeks were rough like sandpaper beneath her lips. She g
roaned, wanted to feel more of him, but hesitated...afraid. She wrapped her fingers around strong biceps. He felt so right, so perfect. He was taking everything slowly, being incredibly gentle with her—touching her like she might shatter into a thousand tiny pieces if he pressed too hard.

  Her heart hammered too fast. Elizabeth didn’t want gentleness now. It touched her too deeply and she didn’t think she could stand it much longer. She bit her bottom lip, swallowed her uncertainty. Pulling him closer, she tugged at his shirt until it was loose and she could slide her hands beneath it and over firm flesh. His body felt so incredibly hard and yet his skin was as smooth as satin.

  She put a hand to his cheek, loved the feel of rough stubble against her palm. Despite shaking hands, she took a step back, pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. Standing immobile and trembling, she undid the tiny buttons on his shirt. He shrugged out of it. Let it join hers on the floor.

  Moonlight brushed his body, carved by constant labor into planes of hard muscle and sinew, the soft light gilding the broad shoulders with silver. Crisp blond hair covered his chest and upper body, ran down his stomach in a straight, thin line. Unconsciously her fingers balled into tight fists at her side.

  She’d always appreciated beauty and Nat’s was flawless. Strong and rugged like the mountains that had bred him.

  She forced her hands to relax, reached out and danced one fingertip across his skin, fascinated as his muscles contracted. Elizabeth looked up. Found he was watching her with an unblinking gaze. Eyes of midnight blue drilled into her, but he held back patiently, let her take what she wanted at her own pace.

  She blinked back tears, along with memories of another man’s eyes.

  He held her loosely as if he thought she might turn and run. Scared to let go and scared to hold on too tight. Fears she hadn’t realized she still harbored washed away with the gentle pressure of his hands. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him, and reveled in the feel of his bare flesh against her own. Raw silk gliding against raw silk. Hot, where she touched him—like a fever. She gasped as he undid the clasp on her bra, slid his fingers beneath the white silk.

  Shock waves rippled through her body as his touch became more demanding. Her knees buckled, urgency clawing through her and making her oblivious to everything but the heat building between them. She forgot the past, the grief, forgot to worry about the future, and instead let him fill her with sensation. The room spun as he picked her up and carried her through to the bedroom. She laughed.

  ****

  Nat tried. Really he tried. But her fingers raced over him, defeated his resolve, stole his balance with dark touches and sharp nails. Then the sound of her laughter, like warm sunshine, touched him on the inside.

  He was lost. Crazy about her—completely captivated. He drank in the sight of her bare flesh and lush curves. Full breasts that his hands itched to touch. Dark nipples that begged his mouth to taste. Soft, resilient, strong.

  A bruise darkened her ribs, but she’d made no mention of it. Nat stopped still for a second, tightened his grip and closed his eyes, realizing he’d nearly lost her today. With a quick prayer of thanks he eased his grip but didn’t let go.

  Her scent enveloped him, calmed his fears with the solid thrum of her heart beneath his fingers. Walking to the edge of the bed, he was glad that the moonlight flooded in from the open curtains so that he could see her. He sat down, careful not to jar her side, cradled her in his arms, and kissed her again. Deep narcotic kisses that thickened the blood and quickened the pulse. He seduced her with his mouth until she whimpered with need and then he laid her on the bed to undress her.

  Pulling off her boots, he slowly drew her jeans down her long legs and placed them on the floor.

  She lay silent. Watching him. Her eyes glowed like a warm ocean, her lips slick and wet from his kisses. And her body...full breasts, softly curved hips and legs that went on and on and on.

  Grazes marred both knees.

  Christ. He ground his teeth, his mouth tight against the fear. If he hadn’t been there...If he’d missed...

  “Don’t stop,” Eliza whispered. Her hands sank into his hair, anchored him to her. Determined. Urgent. Her breath taunted his lips.

  He shifted his weight onto his elbows, kissed her again, his mouth moving lower as he grazed her breasts, teased her nipples. An exploration that begged for thoroughness and speed—contrasting needs that pushed and pulled him.

  He moved lower to kiss her stomach, the sensitive area at the crease of her thighs before returning to her mouth like a bee to a flower. Her body arched beneath his, quivered with each touch. Tension strained within her muscles—answered the need growing within him.

  She pressed toward him. Her eyes gleaming with desire, her mouth breathing his name like a litany. Her hands streaked over his body; pointblank lust driving him to the brink. He gasped, gripped her hands once again in his own, holding them gently above her head. He trailed a finger down the delicate skin on the underside of her arm, followed the shiver with his lips. Their breathing was labored and quick. She looked at him with wild eyes that urged him on.

  He slid to one side so he could see her better and slow things down. He felt like he’d waited forever for this moment and he intended to savor each instant.

  He ran a single finger down her body as he watched her watching him. His hand moved lower, slipping beneath her panties and into her hot wet core. She tightened against his fingers, eyes blanking as he rubbed them against her. But she didn’t freak. She didn’t shoot off the bed and run for the hills.

  Thank. God.

  The rhythm built higher and higher; he could feel it, see it on her face and hear it in her breath. This was where he wanted to send her. This was where he wanted to go. He gritted his teeth against his own desire and the need to join her there.

  She plunged her hands into his hair and pulled him closer, kissed him, ran hungry hands over his hot flesh. Sensation built upon sensation, careened out of control. She shuddered, body bowed as she cried out. It was too much and it still wasn’t enough.

  She tugged at the catch of his jeans, helped him to scramble out of them, all without letting go of his mouth. They removed their clothes in a tangle of arms and legs, and sank back onto the bed, rolling and groping, their breath shallow pants of pleasure.

  He came into her in one powerful thrust, filled her hard and deep. The intense shudder of pleasure rocked them both. He held himself still for one long drawn-out moment as he looked deep into her eyes. She stared back at him, wide-eyed. Blinked.

  “Damn.” Nat said, “Condom.”

  Nat closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and withdrew. Snatching his pants off the floor, he grabbed a square packet and tore into the foil. He needed to be inside her.

  The second time was just as incredible as the first. She was hot, tight and wet. And when he began to move, slowly, firmly, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him deeper inside. His mind blanked as he was enveloped in hot wet heat that flowed around him like lava, tightening the noose around his emotions.

  He held onto his control with a single iron neuron.

  The rhythm built, changed pace, and then blasted him like an inferno. Their gazes caught and locked, drowning each other in need. Eliza’s nails dug sharply into his back, but Nat didn’t care. Her body tightened powerfully around him, pulsed exquisitely, drove him towards that velvety edge. He hung onto his control with every ounce of willpower, slowed everything down to a lazy caress that held back more than it delivered. Her breath hitched, muscles clenched demanding more.

  Raw dark feelings tore at his gut as he buried himself into her one last time, and felt her explode around him as he came in a rush that seared his mind with white-hot flames.

  They fell hard together, unseeing into the darkness.

  ****

  New York City, April 14th

  Nerves strung tighter than clock springs, DeLat
tio paced the plush blue carpet in his hotel suite. He took a drag of a cigarette, noticed the nicotine stains on his fingers were getting deeper, creeping around his knuckles and working their way down each digit.

  Like rot.

  He rubbed at the mustard colored skin, but it made no difference. The stain remained.

  He ground his jaw and started to swear. The discoloration irritated him, nagged at his temper. Snorting, he gave up. Sucked the smoke from his cigarette deeper into his lungs and laughed it out. His uncle, John-Paul Mallena, had put a seven-figure contract out on his life. If Charlie Corelli was to be believed he was already a dead man. The color of his fingers wouldn’t bother his corpse.

  No reason not to believe Charlie. He’d been Andrew’s bodyguard-cum-personal-assistant for the last eight years. Charlie had been a present from his uncle the day he’d graduated Harvard. Probably the most useful gift a man could get.

  But Charlie was also a made-man, a sgarrista, on the Bilotti family books. He was one of John-Paul Mallena’s original work-crew, who’d taken a blood oath to work for the good of the family. A blood oath Andrew hadn’t been allowed take because his father hadn’t been Italian.

  Andrew stubbed out one cigarette and lit another. He hid the tremors in his fingers by giving his hand a shake. His father had been a French/Slavic cross whom J.P. had gotten rid of years ago. His mother had never suspected, but Andrew had known—known and been grateful not to have been disposed of the same way.

  He glanced towards the two Federal Agents who had been assigned guard duty that night. Neither man liked him; not that Andrew gave a fuck. They were typical feebs—smarmy, arrogant.

  He’d always known he’d have to run one day—Christ, he’d been scamming the mob since tenth grade. And he’d prepared. But he hadn’t expected to be screwed over by some sniveling bitch.

  He inhaled deeply, held the smoke in his lungs until it filled every space and he couldn’t hold it any longer. Exhaled slowly, brooding. He’d shared the profits with Charlie, but Andrew didn’t know where Charlie’s loyalty would lie when push came to shove. Andrew loved the guy, but chances were Charlie would be the hit man.