Lucky in Love

by Brockmeyer, Kristen

  Chance settled on the edge of the bed. Was it really only a couple of days ago that we'd had mind-blowing sex and I'd started getting sweet visions of happily ever after? Right now, he looked like my hotel room was the last place he wanted to be.

  "Agent Wilkinson told me you might want to talk to me."

  Huh? "About what?"

  "She didn't say," he said shortly. "Just that it was about something you'd talked about during the interview with her."

  Crap. Really? She orchestrated this whole thing because I told her I in a fit of verbal diarrhea that was worried I might have gotten knocked up? Unconsciously, I pressed my hand to my belly. Chance's eyes followed my hand and his eyes widened and flew up to mine. The green of them was like a bolt of lightning.

  "Nuh-uh," I said, dropping my hand and shaking my head firmly. "Don't even go there. I was a little freaked out right after we'd, you know, spent the night together, and with the exhaustion and trauma and whatever, I blabbered something about it to her when she was questioning me. I told her I liked iced mochas from Starbucks, too, and that I had a one-eyed cat named Louie, so don't read anything into it."

  He stood up, and walked toward me. "No," said, backing away a step. "It was idiotic. Even if I—no one could possibly tell after just —"

  I couldn't read his expression, and it was making me nervous. He stopped, just a foot shy from me.

  "You weren't on the pill?" he asked softly, his tone and his battered face giving nothing away, but his eyes holding mine steadily.

  I swallowed. "No, I hadn't really… had a need for it lately. I'm sorry I didn't mention it, but it's fine. I'm sure I'm not, and I wouldn't trap you like that if I was."

  He closed the final few inches between us and grasped my elbows lightly. I had to tilt my head to look up at him. And then he bent his head and kissed me hungrily, delving his tongue deeply in my mouth. His kiss was hot, a little angry maybe, but mostly blatantly possessive, and if he hadn't been holding me up I would have most definitely puddled at his feet in a messy pool of want.

  When Chance pulled his head away, he leaned his forehead against mine and breathed, "Is it completely messed up that I hope you are pregnant?"

  My jaw dropped and I took a step back. I wanted to feel his forehead and see if he was feverish, but with all the bruises, I was afraid it would hurt him. "What are you talking about?"

  He grinned, but it was a sad, too. "It's selfish as hell, but I'd have an excuse to stay close to you."

  He closed the distance between us again, and ran his hands lightly up my arms. "Lucky, I—" Even though his touch was gentle, I flinched when he grazed my shoulder.

  "What is it? Are you hurt?"

  "It's not a big deal," I said, trying to shift away, but he was already pushing my hair aside. He blew a breath out between clenched teeth.

  "This shouldn't have happened to you."

  "It's fine, Chance." But it was too late. Whatever he'd started to reveal was shuttered up again and his face was as emotionless as it had been right after he'd gone Chuck Norris on Dominick's harem guard.

  He'd retreated across the room, back rigid, staring out the window, so I reached out to him in the surest way I knew how. I lifted both arms and untied the straps behind my neck. With a silky hiss, the $250 vintage dress fell to my feet.

  Chapter 33

  I stepped out of it and moved toward him hesitantly, not sure what I'd do if he shot me down. All of my cards—and a whole lot more, I thought, looking down at myself—were on the table now.

  "Chance," I said softly. He didn't turn around. Frustrated and embarrassed, I poked him in the back, and not gently.

  "Dammit, Lucky—" He spun around, jaw clenched. All he said when he saw me standing there in my black strapless bra and bikini cut briefs was, "Put your clothes back on."

  "Really?" My eyes narrowed. "Wrong thing to say, Chance." Embarrassment immediately evaporated in the heat of temper.

  Reaching my good arm back up between my shoulder blades, I flicked the clasp, and sent the bra slithering down my front. When it reached my foot, I kicked it upward. The bra hit him dead center in the chest and he grabbed it automatically, fingers clamping into the lacy material.

  "I thought you liked me naked." Feeling incredibly naughty with Chance standing in front of me fully clothed, I cupped my hands under my breasts and lifted them slightly. The air conditioning had turned my nipples diamond hard, and to my satisfaction, his heated gaze dropped and fastened on them hungrily.

  I moved closer.

  "Don't you like these?" I whispered, knowing he did, and quivered at the memory of him burying his face in them. I tightened my thighs a little at the sudden, spearing ache between them. I wasn't the femme fatale type, but I was suddenly very determined to seduce him. To see that icy control break again.

  Running on an erotic instinct I didn't know I had, I lifted one hand to my lips and licked my forefinger slowly, pointing my tongue and swirling it around the tip, before sucking it deep into my mouth.

  Playing with my own fingers didn't do a lot for me but Chance was a visual creature. His eyes darkened dangerously and it looked like he was having a hard time taking a deep breath. His face was a currently a mess, but I loved every square inch of it, especially the telltale flush of arousal that was creeping up his neck.

  "Stop it, Lucky," he said roughly. "We're not doing this again. It was a bad idea the first time—"

  "The first two times," I corrected in a throaty purr. Upping the ante, I lowered my panties slowly. Watching him watch me was incredibly arousing, and I could tell he was bothered too by the raging hard-on behind his zipper.

  "Mmm," I murmured, moving in. "Looks like you've got a problem there." He grabbed my hands tight as I was reaching for the snap of his jeans.

  "Lucky, I mean it," he growled. "I'm no good for you. Look at everything that's happened. I brought you into this shitstorm and it's not over. I can't let this happen again."

  I lost my patience then. "Seriously, Chance?" I whipped out, my cravings cooling quickly as I yanked my wrists out of his grasp. "Will you drop the martyr act, please? You're in this because of some bad luck, and, trust me, I know a lot more about bad luck than you. Now you're trying to do the same damned thing you did years ago—save me from you. Either quit using circumstances as some bullshit excuse to dodge a commitment with me or give me credit for having an IQ and the ability to judge a risk on my own, will you?" My voice was rising in volume and I couldn't stop it or the tears that were burning at the backs of my eyes.

  "Stop trying to make all the freaking decisions for me! I know what's best for me, and it's you, you idiot!" I finished with a sharp shove to the solid wall of his chest, as hard as I could make it.

  He didn't even wince or shift backward.

  Completely incensed, I snatched the bra out of his hand, where it was still dangling from one of his fingers. I turned around, half-blinded by tears I swore I would not let fall in front of him, looking for my underwear. They were behind me. I bent to scoop them up from the floor and Chance grabbed my hips, yanking me roughly backward. My ass slammed into his front, and his hardness pressed demandingly between my cheeks. Just like that, I wanted him again with a vengeance. I shifted back against him, still bent over, the ends of my hair brushing the carpet.

  Still holding my hip firmly, he slid his other hand gently up my spine, chills following in its wake. Goosebumps pebbled on my arms. Then he was cupping one heavy breast in his palm and pulling me upright against his chest. In front of us was the mirror. The tan of his hands played contrast against my pale flesh. Against my shoulder blades, I could feel the solid muscles of his chest, heat radiating through his soft cotton tee shirt.

  I met his eyes in the mirror, his deep and burning green, my own an angry, electric blue. "This," I bit out, "is not a mistake. You and me? It's supposed to be like this. I've known it for a long time, but you took this away from us by 'doing what was best for me.'"

  He spun me around fiercel
y. "You don't know—"

  Seeing the naked longing on his face battle with grim determination, I relented. "I do, Chance," I said softly, lifting a hand to his cheek. "I do know. Your dad is a wife-beater. You ran off and joined the Marines, where you probably killed people for a living. Hell, you killed one in front of me yesterday and from where I was standing, it looked like you were pretty damned good at it. So I got a little squeamish and blacked out. That doesn't change the fact that I know you," I thumped his chest hard. "And everything you do is motivated by protectiveness—for me, for your country, for your friends, for those girls in that warehouse—not some deep-down violent nature. Even if I didn't know that, I'd take the risks anyway because I love you."

  His eyes searched mine intensely. "I believe you," he finally said.

  "And I know you love me, too."

  "Don't push it, Lucky." The old sense of humor was faint, but it was still in there somewhere, and a smile quirked at one corner of his mouth. "I hope you don't regret this," he breathed, and then took my mouth again in a searing kiss that let loose every feeling he'd been struggling to hold in check, which were considerable, apparently. My bones liquefied and I sagged against him as he showed me how much he loved me without words.

  One arm banded strongly around my waist and without breaking contact, he lowered me back on the bed. His lips blazed a burning path to my uninjured shoulder, and he nipped it, hard, before working his way down to my hand, outflung on the bright tropical bedspread. Lifting it, he watched me as he took the same finger I'd suckled myself deep into his mouth, tongue swirling around it, only to pull it back out by slow degrees, finally scraping his teeth along the pad of my fingertip.

  "So," I gasped, "That's how it's done."

  Chance smiled. "I can show you how a lot of things are done." He knelt between my legs and grabbed my hips, pulling me down the slippery coverlet towards him. He grinned wickedly before lowering his head and tasting me in one long, slow lick. I lurched up and grabbed his head in both hands.

  "You can't do that," I panted, muscles tight and aching deeply inside for him.

  He lifted his head long enough to smile again. "Trust me," he said. "I know exactly what's best for you right now."

  The next stroke of his tongue had me falling back on the bed, boneless again, and once he brought those long, clever fingers to play in tandem with his wicked tongue, I lost complete control. Mindless in the glory of it all, I hardly noticed when he stood to strip off his clothes. I was still coming down from a second mind-blowing climax when he yanked a couple of pillows from the head of the bed to wedge beneath my hips. But I was back to full alertness when he pressed against me, throbbing, sliding against my core.

  "Last chance," he ground out, holding back with incredible effort. He would have covered it up if he'd have known, but his face was vulnerable in the bright, early afternoon light, self-doubt still etched deep.

  I stared him down and struggled to find the right words so he'd know I wasn't just speaking from a place of passion. "I love you. Not because you're so freaking good at this, even though you really, really are, because I'll also love you when you're 95 years old and too saggy and wrinkled up to do this anymore."

  He laughed. And then he slowly slid home, stretching, filling, and completing me.

  Chapter 34

  Later that afternoon, I was ignoring Angela's smug smile as we drove to her mom's house. The decision had been made to attend a family barbecue, with me as her aforementioned white cousin, in order to keep our cover. Chance had been left behind at the hotel with his own FBI babysitter, but before I left, he gave me a long and thorough goodbye kiss that let me and anyone else fortunate enough to be standing within singeing distance that he'd be waiting for me when we got back to the hotel that evening.

  "I still don't think that little stunt fell within the jurisdiction of the FBI investigation," I said primly.

  Angela just smiled cheerfully. "You can't tell me you didn't appreciate it."

  "I won't tell you that, but I'm not admitting anything, either."

  "I thought you'd like to know," Angela said, finally changing the subject, "I've gotten word on the condition of our rescued band of misfits."

  "How is Fisher doing? And Tamara?"

  "Fisher's still touch and go, but the doctors do expect him to recover. Dominick's men worked him over pretty well. He had some internal injuries. A ruptured spleen, some broken ribs."

  I winced, picturing how easy it must've been for them—Fisher was so skinny and gangly. Unless he had a black belt in Tai Kwan Do I didn't know about, it would have been a cakewalk for Dominick's goons. I pictured the last time I'd seen him, and hoped that they had gotten him some new glasses. For some reason, those damaged frames hanging crookedly from his savagely beaten face was an image that haunted me almost worse than anything else that had happened.

  "Tamara is doing better," Angela continued. "She's going to have some recovery ahead of her, too, but it'll be mostly mental. They don't think there's been any permanent damage, physically. She's been tucked away, too, along with the rest of the girls in different locations. Kristy is home with her parents—she says she never told Dominick or any of them where she was from, so it was determined she'd be safe enough there."

  "Was she a runaway?" I guessed.

  "Yeah, but from what I heard, her parents were overwhelmed to have her returned to them. She originally ran away because they refused to let her date until she was sixteen, and she had a crush on a boy at school. She's only fifteen," Her lips tightened in disgust, as she flicked on the turn signal of the rented Camry and turned down a residential street. It looked pretty blue-collar, but most of the houses were well-kept. Children played in the yards, their parents on front porches, in lawn chairs, or hovering over grills nearby, all of them oblivious to the evil that walked the world right beside to them. "My boss is thrilled that she'll be another deep nail in Dominick's coffin, but I'm just sickened."

  That same combination of disgust and loathing were churning in my own gut. "What about Julian? Nate?"

  "They're fine," she said. "Julian is a pistol and plays poker like a shark, according to his assigned agent, and Nate actually had a broken leg. If we'd have had any idea, he'd have been treated much sooner, but he was too busy playing tough guy to mention the excruciating pain he was in. Lucky for him it was a simple fracture. He's apparently been driving Agent Faulkner nuts with questions on Tamara's condition—I still can't believe he carried her like that on a broken leg."

  "Jeeze, you guys have quite a network," I said, consciously pulling my thoughts away from Tanya, whose fate Nate most likely was torturing himself over. "You've got enough gossip at your fingertips to fill up a Young and the Restless episode."

  "Well, it all stays internal," she said righteously. "Not sure who you'd go running off to tell, except your boyfriend, and he can't really go tattling either."

  Angela pulled the car up to the curb in front of a little brown bungalow, where several other cars were already parked. Through the rolled-down windows, I could hear voices and laughter in the backyard. The smoky smell from the grill perfumed the humid air.

  "Hey, I told my mom that I had a visitor with me, and if anyone asked, she was to say that you were a cousin on Dad's side, his late sister's niece that she found recently through Ancestry.com."

  I climbed out of the Camry, stepped down on the curb wrong and fell down in the grass, sliding partially under the car. I was still dragging myself out from underneath when Angela came around to help me up and a horde of children screaming, "Aunt Angela!" came pouring out of the back yard. They all stopped, staring at the crazy lady sitting in their front yard, dress hiked up around her thighs, big floppy hat askew, laughing like a loon. Bad luck was the one constant in my life and it was nice to know that some things didn't change. Shaking her head, Angela pulled me to my feet.

  "You weren't kidding about that nickname, huh." She hooked her arm through mine. "I feel like I might be taking my life i
nto my hands here, but I'll say it anyway. Welcome to the family, Cousin Lucky."

  Chapter 35

  Angela dropped me off at the door of my room at around midnight. It had been an exhausting day. The Wilkinsons were noisy and boisterous and friendly, and had pulled me into their tight-knit circle without question. After a few hours in their company, and a huge parting hug given to me by Angela's petite but formidable Mama Rose, I was officially family, Witness Protection or not, and I already had an invite for the next family get-together.

  I let myself into the room, smiling when I remembered Angela's youngest brother Luther's wistful comment that he wished we weren't related. He was tall and handsome, with darker skin than Angela, and his dad's startling blue eyes. Once he hit high school, he was going to break all the ladies' hearts.

  I stopped unsteadily when I saw the TV was on, and my heart leapt into my throat, but the flickering light showed Chance, sprawled out on my bed, asleep. He had been watching an old western. John Wayne swaggered across the TV in black and white next to me as I passed in front of it, but the sound was muted.

  I stood at the side of the bed for a moment, studying the thick column of his throat, the dark, thick lashes that rested on his cheeks. His lips were parted slightly, but unlike me, he didn't drool in his sleep or snore unless he'd taken muscle relaxers apparently. Quietly, I grabbed the extra blanket from the tiny closet area and slipped off my sandals. Climbing carefully into bed next to him, so I didn't jostle and wake him, I eased the blanket over both of us and curled into his side. Just before I fell asleep, I felt his arm come around my back and nestle me in closer to him.

  The next morning dawned dark and grey. The sky was a solid shade of pewter, and a warm drizzle fell sullenly, soaking everything. I didn't care, though. I woke cradled in Chance's arms, his lips nuzzling my hair.

  "Mornin,'" he mumbled sleepily.

  Discreetly, I checked for morning breath in my cupped hand, and I felt his chest rumble with a laugh. "Good morning," I said, keeping my mouth closed as much as I could. The crumpled dress that I'd worn the day before was hiked up around my waist, and I slipped a hand between us to tug it down. Chance's hand, large and warm, stilled it and slipped around back to curve around my ass.