by Rie Warren
So I decided to go back. Decided . . . as if I really had a choice in the matter.
But not before stocking up the safe house a little bit more.
A safe house would’ve been welcome back in the Helmand. Back when I could’ve made a difference in Helai’s life. In that of her sons’ lives. Maybe I could have gotten them out if I’d tried harder.
If I hadn’t gotten captured.
If her culture hadn’t decreed she marry her deceased husband’s brother because women held little to no rights.
Just like Grace, now.
I didn’t think about Helai when I was with Grace. Maybe what I’d felt for her was a hero complex.
Shit was different with Grace though.
I knew her.
I’d talked to her.
Touched her.
Kissed her.
Man, had I ever kissed her.
And she certainly hadn’t been scared of me. Hadn’t held back.
She’d writhed so goddamn hotly on my hard cock—tongue twisting in and out of my mouth—I’d almost shot my load in my jeans.
I still got a hard-on just thinking about those few intense, intensely hot moments.
Grace had wanted me just as much as I did her.
And I wasn’t about to give up on her yet especially not when there was a baby involved.
When Turkey Day rolled around, I decided to take a gamble.
And I made sure to sneak the fuck out of Thunder Road before dawn, because I knew Sol would be awake at the crack-of, preparing vittles in the kitchen for the holiday.
****
Mistress Bunny didn’t even bat an eyelash when I burst into the brothel.
She didn’t ask for any money either.
She just said, “She’s upstairs. You know the way.” And then, more quietly, “I’m rooting for you, sexy man.”
I rapped impatiently on Grace’s door then plunged straight in when I heard her say, “Just a second.”
And I screeched to a halt, overcome by the sight of her again.
Now I saw it. She absolutely glowed. She blossomed with vitality. The lush curves of her body made riper with pregnancy.
I was glad I hadn’t found her in the same state we’d come across Mercy—broken and overdosing and so near death in her heart-stopping fragility.
Maybe I should be thankful for that.
Aw, who was I kidding? I was still gonna bring Roark Finnegan down, and enjoy doing it.
Grace rose to her feet, hands clasped in front of her. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“Well, I’m nothing if not a persistent son of a bitch.”
And most likely in love with a woman having another man’s child against her will.
Her smile shined as if nothing else in the world mattered except this one moment. “I’d call you ruggedly handsome, absolutely devoted, and impossibly sweet when you let yourself be.”
I frigging goddamn near blushed. “That’s the right way to make sure you get sprung for the day.”
“For the day?”
“It’s Thanksgiving. Fuck it.”
“You do realize you’re almost speaking in full sentences.” Sauntering to me, she laid her hand on my chest.
“Hustle. We got time. Let’s not waste it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Actually, it’s Sergeant.”
****
With Grace once again on the back of my ride, I took a winding route to shake off any potential tails. I wouldn’t put it past that asshole Roark to have her followed if she went out again.
When I finally parked in front of the safe house, I helped Grace off then let her inside.
“What is this place?” she asked, wandering through the first floor. “We’re so close to the bordello.”
“That’s the beauty of it. Nice and close, and no one the wiser.” I snuck up behind her and pulled her into me. “Someplace so fucking safe my handler couldn’t even find me.”
“Handler? You have a handler?”
“Used to.”
“But I thought you were military.”
“Yeah. And ex-CIA.”
She whirled around, and finally I saw the light of hope in her striking hazel eyes. “CIA?”
“I know a lot of people, sweetheart.” Hands framing her face, I dipped down to take light little sips of her lips.
With her head nestled in the crook of my neck, she idled her fingers up and down my chest, spreading chills in her wake. “I thought you’d hate me.”
“Because of the baby.”
She nodded beneath my chin.
Drawing in a deep breath, I towed her with me to the living room, which must’ve once been a formal salon. Huge windows let in softening November sunlight, and the sofas upholstered in fancy fabric heaped with cushions.
I settled her on one of the couches then lit the logs in the giant fireplace. With the flue opened, flames burst upward, dancing flares in bright orange tinged with hottest blue.
I joined Grace, but made sure not to hulk over her like some big foreboding tough guy.
She looked expectantly at me, fingers laced across the just-beginning mound of her belly.
Shrugging, I tried to explain. “About your baby. I don’t know, Grace.”
Face immediately crestfallen, she started to rise.
“Wait. I’m not done. How could I hate you? It’s not your fault. I fucking hate what he did to you. What he makes you do.” My voice lowered, hoarse and raw with anger. “The baby’s part of you, right? And that’s what I keep thinking about. Just you. Always . . . you.”
Instead of getting off the sofa, Grace moved closer.
Her hand brushed mine. “And that makes me wonder, Killian. Why? Why me? Why now?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
“Because”—jagged breaths juddered in and out of my chest—“I let someone go. I let someone die. And I never told her. Never had the chance to tell her . . . to tell Helai.”
“Helai? So this was during the war? In Afghanistan?” Still Grace kept her hand near mine, but encroached no farther.
“Yeah.”
“You loved her.” Her hair curled around her beautiful face when she tried to read my expression.
“I thought so. At the time, it felt like love. But who really knows? You feel things differently during wartime.”
Her eyes shone with understanding.
“But it’s nothing compared to you, and that makes it worse,” I quietly admitted.
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“You know I’m shit with words and talking, right?” I tried to explain. “Not worse because of the way I feel about you, Grace. Just . . .”
“The situation.”
Our fingers inched closer. Touched. Then we were hugging. And I buried my face against her hair.
Everything unsaid didn’t need to be voiced. Not right then.
I pulled away from her, just far enough to study her gorgeous face and her knowing eyes.
“Anyway, it’s Thanksgiving. Didn’t really want to be with anyone but you.”
“It is Thanksgiving, but I don’t smell any turkey roasting, Killian. Don’t tell me you didn’t plan on feeding the pregnant woman.”
“What do you take me for? A total schmuck?”
“Wellll . . .”
I tossed a cushion at her face as I got up, and she batted it away, laughing.
“Did I bring food for the pregnant chick?” I grumbled, pacing out to the kitchen where I’d stored some provisions.
“Need any help?” she called out, more laughter tingeing her voice.
“Not from the likes of you. Keep making fun of my abilities,” I groused some more, returning to her with my arms loaded and lugging a cooler on one shoulder.
I laid out the feast on a coffee table I’d cleaned off and polished up days earlier.
“I still don’t smell turkey.” Leaning forward, Grace began nosing into all the containers.
“Hands o
ff. Sit back. And let me take care of you.”
“Yes, sir. I mean Sergeant.”
“Cranberry sauce. Um . . . some kind of pork stuffing casserole thing I stole from Sol.” As I opened the boxes, I listed off all the items. “For dessert, I found a place that makes special pumpkin beignets. Because Mercy loves the things. Beignets. Not sure if she’s had the pumpkin ones though.”
I was beginning to feel like a tool, but Grace’s smile kept getting bigger and bigger. So I must not have been doing too badly. Then I pulled out the pièce de resistance.
“Sandwiches?” she shrieked.
“They’re turkey.” I pointed a plastic fork at her.
She dissolved into bright giggles, and I’d never heard a more welcome sound.
As we dined on the bountiful but pretty basic vittles, I poured sparkling apple juice for Grace and popped the cap off a beer for me.
She ate with pure gusto, and I enjoyed taking care of her. I’d give everything I had to be the man whose child she carried.
Hell, I was already nurturing her and nesting for her.
Once she was full, she dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin like it was the finest linen in the world.
Then she asked, “Now, where’s the real turkey dinner?”
“Hey, no sassy talk outta you.” I slanted a look at her. “That was better than 4 dicks of death any day of the week.”
“Four what?” Her eyes popped wide.
“Military frank and beans MREs.”
“Well, four dicks is way more than I could handle.”
I sputtered, looking at her incredulously.
“What?” Dimples appeared in her cheeks. “It’s prostitute humor. You either laugh, or you cry.”
“You’re remarkable. But don’t you ever call yourself one of those names again.” Pulling her to me, I cupped her face. “You’re a gorgeous incredible woman. Smart and capable and . . . dignified.”
“I probably wouldn’t be dignified if I did this.” Grace’s lips skimmed over mine then—with a hungry moan—she stroked her tongue across the seam of my mouth.
And, damn me, I let her in.
Chapter Eight
GRACE
WHAT AMAZED ME MOST was how free and uninhibited I felt around Killian.
So unlike the vile apprehension the mere thought of Roark filled me with.
I’d known I would be punished for my impudence that night I defied him in front of Mistress Bunny. When Killian took me out.
I wasn’t wrong.
He’d barely dragged me upstairs before ripping the clothes off my back. “Did he fuck you good, that mongrel?”
I bit my lip.
Turned my head.
He didn’t even notice my reticence.
He never seemed to see my revulsion.
Already hard before he’d unzipped his trousers, he hadn’t even bothered with the requisite blowjob or the ritual of me undressing him.
He simply whipped his penis out of his fly, pushed me back on the bed, and impaled me.
I let him take me dry.
I wanted it to hurt.
The pain with him was the only thing that was real with Roark.
“You like it like this? You like getting fucked by a brute?”
Every word from his mouth was disgusting and humiliating.
Debasing.
“A fucking thug animal? Is that what does it for you, Gracie?”
He hadn’t even noticed I did nothing to urge him to come that time.
I would never admit Killian hadn’t had me—that was my secret.
As Roark had humped away at me, I held a private smirk inside because, with mere kisses and grazing touches, Killian had aroused me as no man ever had. As Roark never had no matter what tricks he tried out to get me interested in sex with him.
Killian knew me intimately even though he’d hardly touched me in all our time together.
That then was my solace as Roark had buried himself deep and unloaded inside me.
“That was some show you put on out there with your Mr. Slade.” Roark had stood, stuffing a limp cock back into his pants.
“I don’t expect him to come back.”
“Damn, Gracie. I thought you were smarter than the average slut. He’s your meal ticket right now.”
Roark repulsed me.
He was the exact opposite of Killian.
Killian who’d returned again despite knowing the full twisted depravity of my situation.
Every tiny nugget of hope had exploded into a full-blown cosmos when I’d seen him step through my door earlier.
I vowed from then on to eke out every ray of happiness I could with him.
Now I wanted to give Killian Slade what I’d never felt for any other man. My true desire.
With a twist of his head, Killian returned the first tentative foray of my tongue. He cleaved deeply inside my mouth, lashing wickedly and pulling a hunger up from unknown recesses in my body.
Clinging, I melted into his sturdy form, and I marveled at such stony hardness and muscular planes.
He tore his mouth off mine with a painful sounding groan. “Fuck. Grace. We gotta stop.”
No less shaken than him, I pressed my breasts against him. “No. We don’t.”
“What if you’re asking for something, and I won’t be able to control myself.”
A slow sensual smile unfurled across my lips. “That’s exactly what I’m asking for.”
Fire lit like braziers in his dark blue eyes.
Then he prowled off the sofa, lifted me into his arms, and stalked from the living room.
We had the entire empty house to ourselves, but he clearly had a distinct destination in mind as he rushed up the staircase.
Being carried so lightly, so easily, made me heady.
Made me giddy.
And his strength made me wet between my legs.
I tugged his earlobe between my teeth, because to get such a hurried reaction from this stern man made molten lava of my insides.
He cursed gruffly then whistled through his teeth as I nibbled the cords of his throat.
“Shit.” He halted, arms cinching me tight. “Fuck. You’ve got me so hard right now, sweetheart.”
I purred at the ultimate compliment. And I wanted to feel his thick stiffness between my hands.
Between my lips.
Between my legs.
He resumed stalking through an upstairs hallway. And I resumed teasing the skin of his neck as chills rose and his breath labored harder.
“Here.” He entered a room. “For you.”
I pulled myself away from licking and kissing him to see a beautiful bedroom.
Setting me on my feet, he spun me then hugged me back against him. Speechless with another round of surprise, I could see he’d taken such care, setting up the bedroom. Everything looked new and white and fluffy from the drapes to the pillows to the bedding covering a huge four-poster.
“Killian,” I breathed out.
“This is what you deserve,” he murmured, taking his turn to bite and nibble at the side of my neck.
The big ridge of his cock rubbed against my lower back hedonistically.
And I rocked into that virile hardness, my voice going smoky with need. “I think that is what I deserve.”
Turning me in his embrace, he nearly melted me to a puddle with the scorching power of his gaze.
One corner of his mouth tilted up, and heat coursed through his voice when he said, “Goddamn. I want to feel you all over me.”
The next kiss spiraled, raw and vital. He wasn’t gentle when he lifted me off my feet so my pelvis cushioned his cock. He wasn’t tender when he plundered my mouth, twisting my head to the right angle until we were absolutely perfectly interlocked.
He wasn’t gentle when he crushed me up against him, hands filled with my bottom to lift me even higher, to grind even harder.
But he was hesitant when he took a last taste of my lips then asked, “Can I take your clothes off?”<
br />
“If you don’t I’ll be very disappointed.” I nipped at his whiskered jaw. “Don’t ask me, Killian. I’m not going to tell you to stop. I want you.”
Big hands climbed to my shirt, and he first cupped my breasts within the material.
I hissed, jutting farther into his touch, which set me on fire.
Fingers sure and swift, he lifted the hem of the soft clingy top. I raised my arms so he could pull the shirt all the way off.
Then he just looked, fingertips dusting across my collarbone then down to the lacy top of my bra.
Every caress sizzled inside me.
The look in his eyes—awestruck—made me want to show him all of me.
He didn’t shy away from my burgeoning belly, but slid his palm down to form a warm calloused bowl over the flesh where my baby grew.
“I need more.” Harsh of voice, he reached behind to unclasp the bra.
He shed that covering quickly.
And his cheeks hollowed on an indrawn breath as my breasts swung free—big and heavy. My dusky-colored nipples beaded beneath his thumbs as he rolled the pads of his fingers across my aroused flesh.
I threw my head back, arching boldly—bodily—toward him.
And I reveled in being a woman for him.
His lips descended and, before I could breathe, he took a swollen bud between his lips.
Liquid heat climbed inside me, spilled out of me, flooded through me.
I held onto his broad shoulders as he licked and laved across one full breast into my cleavage, where his well-groomed whiskers tickled, to the other tip perky and waiting for him.
“Killian,” I gasped out, awash with need I’d never known.
“Mmmm,” he murmured.
His tongue dandled up to my collarbone, along my neck as I whimpered, and settled again on my mouth.
The kiss spread a tide of erotic hunger inside me that grew the longer he devoured my lips.
I tore away, gasping. “I need more.”
“Do you now?” he teased, but a hungry look carved into his face, echoing my need.
Killian guided me to the bed.
He sat me down.
He kneeled to draw off my boots and socks, and pulled one foot then the next to his powerful thigh to massage my insteps, my arches, my ankles as I became liquefied.
I thought I’d combust before I was even completely naked.