At Close Range

by Laura Griffin

  But he couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d looked in his truck last night. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her in that motel room. He kept picturing her reaching for the latch on the door and then turning to face him. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the look on her face—a combination of lust and determination that had made it almost impossible to say no. Almost. He might still have had a chance, but when she’d leaned close and pressed her hot, wet mouth against his chest, he’d been completely blown away.

  Everything about her blew him away, including that she’d let him inside her without a condom. Forget that she was on the pill—it was a bad idea. He hadn’t had sex without a condom since he was a stupid teenager, but she didn’t know that. So where did she get this ridiculous trust she placed in him? It was totally reckless, and yet she’d seemed so sure about it. Was she like that with all men, or just him?

  Either scenario brought up problems he didn’t want to think about. But he couldn’t help it, he was thinking about it, and the idea of her doing the things they’d done with someone else made him crazy. The idea of her doing them with Sean Byrne made him want to kill the guy.

  The living room light switched off. She was going to bed now. He should let her, but instead he walked up her sidewalk and rapped on the door. He stood under the porch light waiting for her to answer, feeling like some high school kid picking up a prom date.

  Footsteps inside, and he felt her watching him through the peephole. After an endless wait, she unlocked the door and opened it.

  “Hi,” she said blandly.

  “Hi.”

  She wore cutoff jean shorts and another of those tank tops with the thin little straps, and her hair was back in a loose ponytail. The blank expression on her face didn’t inspire much confidence.

  “Can I come in?”

  She pulled the door open, and he stepped inside and glanced around. Something was different tonight, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He turned to look at her as she closed the door.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “You’re avoiding me.”

  “No I’m not.”

  He stared at her, daring her to argue with him.

  She turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen. “You want a beer?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “No.”

  She leaned back against her sink and folded her arms over her chest. He leaned against the counter beside her and looked her over.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me I look tired. I know. I was on my way to bed when you showed up.”

  He didn’t say anything. The nervous look in her eyes bothered him. She’d never acted nervous around him before, and he knew his botched attempt to handle this thing was to blame.

  She sighed. “It’s late, Scott. What is it you want?”

  What did he want? Did she really want to know? If he told her honestly, it would freak her out.

  He eased closer. Slowly, he reached up and tugged the rubber band from her hair. It fell around her shoulders, and she looked startled as he combed his fingers through it. Then he kissed her, as gently as he could so she wouldn’t push him away. She tensed at first, but after a few seconds she relaxed into him.

  She tasted so damn good, and when he pulled her hips against him, everything ignited. Her hands slid up around his neck, and she made a soft little moan. He lifted her off her feet and set her on the counter, positioning himself between her thighs—which was fast becoming his favorite place to be.

  “Scott?”

  “What?” He kissed her to cut her off because whatever it was, he didn’t want to hear it. He just wanted her to keep digging her nails into his scalp and kissing him with that hot urgency, like she’d never get enough. He glided his hand under her shirt and slid his fingers over that smooth, warm skin he’d been thinking about for days. He wanted her naked.

  “Scott.” She pulled back, stiff-arming him even as her legs stayed wrapped around his waist. He saw some kind of battle going on in her eyes, and he prayed she wasn’t going to make him leave. “We said this was a onetime thing.”

  “You said that, not me.”

  • • •

  She gazed up at him, heart racing as she tried to focus on the words coming out of his mouth. Was he right? Had she said that? She couldn’t even think right now because every cell in her body was tingling with excitement and pleading with her to just shut up and kiss him.

  She didn’t want to analyze it. Instead, she pulled him closer, twining her legs around him and raking her fingers through the thick softness of his hair. She didn’t know what this meant or what she was doing, but she knew that she didn’t want to ruin it by thinking too much—she just wanted it to happen.

  Suddenly he pulled back and gazed down at her, and the look in his blue eyes was more intense than she’d ever seen. He slid his hand from under her shirt and laced his fingers through hers, then tugged her off the counter. He led her down the hallway, and her nerves did an anxious little dance as he neared her bedroom. She hadn’t expected him to show up like this. She wasn’t prepared. She didn’t have time to think about it, though, because he dragged her onto the bed and came down on top of her, sending her breath whooshing out of her lungs.

  “I’ve been dying to get you in here,” he said against her neck.

  He had? Since when? The only time he’d ever been back here was when he’d helped her haul boxes on moving day.

  He was making his way down her neck now, and his hands were busy with her shirt, pushing it up around her armpits so that he could go after her breasts. His mouth closed over her nipple and gave a sharp pull, and she shot forward with a yelp.

  He moved up. “Sorry,” he said, crushing his mouth over hers.

  But she knew he wasn’t sorry at all. She yanked his T-shirt up, scraping his sides with her fingernails just to get back at him, but he didn’t seem to mind as he pulled his shirt over his head and flung it away. Then he dragged hers off, too, and tossed it on the nightstand beside her, and she glanced at her alarm clock and it suddenly hit her that they were doing this in her room. In her home. This wasn’t some sleazy motel where they could walk away and forget about everything tomorrow.

  He stopped kissing her and got rid of his boots. She heard them thunk against the floor. Then he was back over her, sliding his hands over her body and kissing her breasts again. Suddenly he stopped and looked at her.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered, dragging him back down to kiss her. She didn’t want to think about the implications. She just wanted him to kiss her and touch her and rock her world like her own personal earthquake. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him tight against her. She felt the hard bulge of him through his jeans, and the tremors were already starting, and he wasn’t even inside her yet. How did he do this to her? How was it possible?

  “Scott.” She reached for him, squeezing him through his jeans, and he muttered a curse against her neck. “Scott, please.”

  She undid the button of her shorts, and he pulled them down her legs, taking her panties, too. Then his knuckles scraped against her body as he fumbled with his zipper.

  “Hurry,” she said, frantically trying to help him. She was already close. So close. “Hurry.”

  “I am.”

  The instant he had the zipper down, she grabbed him and guided him to her, and he pushed inside her with a hard thrust that made her vision blur.

  “Oh my God.” She wrapped her legs around him, squeezing him to her even as he tried to move back. “Yes.”

  He fought against her grip, pulling back and then pushing into her again, rougher this time.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes.” She clamped down around him as she started shaking and coming, and again he tried to pull back, but she gripped his hips, curling her nails into his skin as she tried to hold on for that last second she so desperately needed. “No, don’t—”


  He reared back and crashed into her with so much force the bed frame smacked back against the wall. Lights exploded behind her eyelids as she shattered and blew apart. She held on to him, clutching him against her as his body moved over her with a relentless rhythm that pounded pleasure into her and made the bed squeak and squeal. He kept going and going. And when every last nerve in her body was on fire, he gave a powerful thrust and a groan tore from his throat as he came inside her.

  His weight crushed down on her. She let her limbs go lax. For an endless moment she lay beneath him, waiting for him to roll off her so she could breathe again.

  He pushed up on his elbows and stared down at her. She was surprised to see the sheen of sweat on his face.

  “Holy shit, Daniele.”

  She laughed and smacked his side. “Get off me. I can’t breathe.”

  He moved onto his back and pulled her against his chest, and she let her head rest against his skin. He was warm and slick, and she could hear his heart hammering against her ear.

  They lay there without talking, holding each other and trying to catch their breath. He shifted to his side so she was nestled against his body. She loved it here. In her bed, in her room, with Scott’s strong arms around her and the humid cloud of sweat and sex surrounding them.

  He wasn’t talking. Which was fine. He was still winded, and so was she.

  But then the silence stretched out, and she felt a niggle of worry. She looked up and traced her fingertip over his stubble-covered jaw. He closed his eyes and murmured a curse.

  She sat up and leaned over him. “How come you’re half-dressed and I’m naked?”

  He opened his eyes. “I’m more skilled than you are.”

  She eased herself on top of him and gazed down at his beautiful chest as he rested his big palms on her butt.

  “You’re going to kill me,” he said with a sigh.

  “Hey, this is your doing. I was on my way to bed when you got here.”

  He closed his eyes and smiled.

  He seemed totally relaxed. Hope flickered inside her, because she hadn’t seen him this way since their awkward morning in New Mexico.

  She sat up and reached for her shirt, but he caught her hand.

  “Don’t. I like to look at you.”

  Her heart melted as she gazed down at him. The lamp was off and the light from the hallway cast his face in shadows, but the look in his eyes . . . If she hadn’t already been half in love with him, she would have tripped right over the cliff in that moment.

  He rested his hands on her hips in a possessive way that was totally new for them.

  “Is this why you came over?” she asked. “You thought I’d just let you in and take you to bed?”

  “No. But I was hoping.”

  She watched him a moment, trying to read the meaning behind his words, but she couldn’t.

  What did this mean? If they’d kept it to one night, they could have come home and picked up where they’d left off. But now . . .

  Now he was in her bed, and she was sitting astride him, wondering where this was going. Did he think they were going to drift into some kind of friends-with-benefits thing? Because she couldn’t do that. Not with him. No way. The simple fact was she’d get her heart broken.

  “Come here,” he whispered, sliding his hand behind her back and pulling her forward.

  He kissed her, and it was hot and sweet at the same time, and she traced her fingertips over his bristly jaw. It went on and on until he eased back.

  She smiled down at him as he ran his hands over her ribs and her hips. He closed his eyes and sighed, and it gave her a giddy rush to see him so content. She gazed down at his muscular chest, at his wide shoulders, at the long purple welt on the skin where the bullet had grazed him. She moved her fingertip in a circle around the wound, lightly touching the skin.

  “Is it healing okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said, not opening his eyes.

  She leaned forward and planted a kiss under the spot, then sat back. She traced her fingers over his well-formed pecs, over his abs, then up his sides. A jagged patch of raised skin marred the right side of his rib cage.

  “What’s this from?” She brushed her fingertip over the scar, and he stiffened.

  “Shrapnel.”

  She settled her hands on his waist as he opened his eyes.

  “What happened?”

  “Long story.”

  She waited. His blue eyes chilled a few degrees, and his jaw hardened. He was trying to intimidate her, but she wasn’t going to let him.

  “This was in Afghanistan.”

  “The day you injured your knee?”

  “Yeah.”

  She didn’t say anything, just watched him.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “You really want to hear this?”

  “Yes.”

  He slid her off his lap and she felt a jab of disappointment as he rolled onto his side. He lay facing her with his weight propped on his elbow.

  “We were in a convoy. Our team, plus a platoon of marines.” He waited a beat, watching her. “It was end-of-the-summer fighting season. Everything was hot and dry, and this layer of dust covered everything, so it was hard to see. The Humvee in front of us hit an IED. Thing blew up and flipped over like a toy.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Things were on fire, burning. People were screaming, smoke was everywhere. Couple teammates and I jumped out and tried to load casualties. Then another IED went off and killed two more guys.”

  She wondered about the “things” on fire. She had the sickening feeling he meant people. “These casualties were your teammates?”

  “One of them, yeah.”

  “What about you?”

  “I took some shrapnel in my side, some in my knee. It was chaos for a while, and then an MRAP raced up and got us the hell out of there.”

  She watched his eyes, but she couldn’t read them. He sounded so matter-of-fact, yet he was talking about people he knew being killed right in front of him.

  “What was his name? Your teammate who died?”

  He cleared his throat. “Dylan Scaff.”

  “You were close?”

  He nodded.

  She watched him for a long moment. His face was hard now. She reached up to touch his cheek and he caught her wrist.

  For a moment she didn’t move. He rolled onto his back and she lay beside him, resting her palm on his flat stomach.

  “I’m sorry that happened.”

  “Me, too.”

  He was tense now, and she almost regretted bringing it up. But not quite. What happened had changed the course of his life. For years she’d been wondering about it, and now she knew.

  The whole thing had some parallels to New Mexico, and she couldn’t believe now that he’d reacted so calmly. But maybe the calm was on the surface.

  “Do you ever talk about it with anyone?”

  “What’s the point?”

  The bitterness in his voice made her chest hurt. She sat up and leaned on her elbow. “You lost a friend you loved and a job you loved in the same day.” She tried not to shrink under his icy gaze. “Maybe it would help to talk to someone.”

  His jaw twitched. “Don’t do that, Daniele.”

  “What?”

  “Try to fix me. I don’t need it.”

  Her throat tightened.

  She slid out of bed and picked up her clothes, slipping them on as she avoided his gaze. She walked into the bathroom and closed the door, then turned the water on and stared down at the sink. She felt sick. Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry because she was mad, too.

  She stared at the water circling down the drain. Right now, this moment, she knew him more intimately than she ever had. Yet in many ways she felt like she still didn’t know him at all.

  And his eyes were brutal. With only a look he could make her heart race or he could cut her to the bone. She hated that he had this kind of power over her. It wasn’t fair. It made them unequal.
But what she hated more was that she couldn’t hide her reaction to him, so everything she felt, all her vulnerabilities, were right there in the open for him to see. She’d never had that kind of intimacy with anyone before. And it scared her.

  CHAPTER 24

  Scott stared up at the ceiling, trying to tamp down his anger. He was pissed off at her, but mostly at himself. He’d screwed this up again. He should go before he made it worse. He shouldn’t have come in the first place, but he couldn’t stay away. One night with her and he was hooked. Freaking addicted. Even now, after a round of wall-banging sex, he still wanted her.

  He glanced at the door. She was clattering around in the kitchen now, shutting cabinets with a bit too much force. She was pissed off, too, but it was her own fault for picking at his scabs.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that and see where it gets you.

  He rubbed his hand over his face.

  “Fuck.”

  He got out of bed and zipped up.

  He found her at the stove, and the sight of her standing there in only that black tank top and panties made his pulse start thrumming all over again. He leaned against the doorframe and watched her melt butter in a pan.

  “Sorry. I’m being a prick.”

  She glanced up but didn’t argue.

  “You want me to leave?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No. I want you to stop being a prick.”

  She jerked open a drawer and took out a fork. Then she opened the fridge and grabbed a jar of jalapeños.

  “What are you making?”

  “An omelet.”

  “I didn’t know you cooked.”

  She shot him a look. “Is this you not being a prick?”

  “Sorry.” He watched as she cracked an egg into a bowl one-handed. She broke a second egg the same way, then whisked them together with the fork and poured the mixture over the butter. Everything crackled and sizzled, and Scott’s mouth started to water.

  He eased up behind her and rested his hands on her hips. He wanted to tug up her shirt, but the knife block was within easy reach, so he settled for pressing a kiss against the back of her neck.