Defender (20 page)

“Is Chloe Nelson in there?” Jimmy asked just to be sure.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll stick around for a while if you need to take a break.”

“That would be nice, sir. Thanks. I can hit the cafeteria, then hang in the commons area at the end of the hall. Call when you need me.”

“Take your time, Sergeant.”

Jimmy opened the door quietly and stole a moment just to watch her at the grand piano. Bent over the keyboard, she swayed with the runs of her fingers up and down the Steinway’s keyboard. Intent on her song, she didn’t even notice his arrival.

Her damp hair spiraled down her back in locks heavy with water. An image of the first time he’d met her flashed to mind. So much intensity had been packed into the few days they’d known each other. He understood that sensation well from other edgy missions. The senses increased, soaking up life at an accelerated pace.

She swayed in synch with her fingers dancing along the keyboard. Like a few days ago when she’d joined the villagers, she merged with the music. Her body rocked in a fluid accent to the sounds. Hell yes, this woman stirred things inside him he would rather not face, her unflinching grit challenging him to dig deep.

But turning away was no longer an option.

Chloe poured herself into the emotionally passionate swell of notes and hoped the pain and fear of the evening would empty out as well.

Caressing the final echoes from the Brahms ballade, she found her frustration level only increased. She segued to pounding the keyboard with Rachmaninoff. Her fingers burned with intensity. The strength of the piece flexed her muscles and infused her with a sense of power she desperately needed after the helplessness of her kidnapping, the anger over not being told help was so close.

She pounded harder, her feet on the pedals and the sway of her body squeezing every ounce of emotion from the piece. She couldn’t ignore the glaring reality that Jimmy did more than just fly airplanes. He put his life on the line, and she’d made things worse for him by landing in the car with Livia. She could have made things worse for others, because surely whatever he and the undercover man had in the works had been compromised by her presence.

She nailed the last chords, waiting for the final notes to fade before placing her hands in her lap and slumping with the release of energy. Slow, deliberate applause snapped her upright again. Jimmy lounged in the doorway, and she didn’t even recall hearing the door open.

Her emotions still too close to the surface from her music, she couldn’t miss the raw magnetism radiating from him as tangibly as any tone plucked from the keyboard. Her fingers itched to test the soft texture of his well-washed polo shirt over defined muscles, explore the rasp of crisp denim hugging his lean hips. After a night like this, she’d witnessed firsthand how that strength and vitality weren’t just for show.

“I didn’t see you there.” She picked at the wrinkles on her pants, boring khaki at a time when she wanted to be bold. “I must have been pretty zoned out.”

“I don’t know much about classical music, but even I can tell that’s amazing. It’s the sort of playing that sucks in whoever’s listening until you’re really in the moment. Kinda like how flying works for me, if you get what I mean.”

“I totally understand what you are saying, and thank you.” His praise meant more to her than it should. She wanted to be mad at him for keeping her in the dark about help being in reach, but she couldn’t deny her own culpability.

And bottom line, everything else seemed small in comparison to how close they’d come to dying.

“Do you want me to step back outside so you can keep playing?”

She shook her head, battling with the need to hold his warm, alive body—or kick him in the shin for letting her think the faux Spanish guy really intended to shoot him. “I want you to stay.”

“I sent your guard for a break, because I need to talk to you, too.” He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “You really held your own tonight and more. No one would have thought less of you for just stepping out of the way when the guns came out, but instead you stayed brave. You even kicked some serious ass in a way that put Street-Smart Barbie in the shade.”

She snorted. “I almost chewed up a secret agent on our side.”

“You had no way of knowing, and before you say anything more, I couldn’t risk letting you know about Nunez—uh, the guy calling himself Miguel. We couldn’t take the chance you might telegraph that information with your body language. We did it for your protection. I won’t apologize for that.” Jimmy folded his arms over his chest, arms bulging tight against the short sleeves on his polo shirt.

Well, hell. She couldn’t tout her need for independence now without sounding petty. “I’m sorry for putting you in greater danger, and I’m sorry I messed up whatever you were working on.”

“Apology accepted.”

She couldn’t stop from asking him the question burning a hole in her brain. “Can you share
anything
about what happened?”

“We’re looking for a missing military friend.” His clipped answer iced the air.

Guilt piled on top of the already huge pile of shame filling her gut. “He must be an important friend for so many people to risk their lives.”

“Every one of our brothers- and sisters-in-arms is important. But yes, this friend carries secrets that could endanger a lot of lives.”

“Thank you for letting me know that much. Can you tell me what you really do?”

“I’m a test pilot,” he said simply.

She could see in his eyes there was more but sensed she couldn’t push. Chloe feather-brushed her fingers over the keyboard, the glassy smooth ivory a familiar comfort in a world suddenly turned on its axis. If only she could bring colors to her life the way she milked rainbows from the keyboard. She’d hoped with this tour . . . “What about the tour?”

“I believe it’s in everyone’s best interest for the troupe to leave.” Jimmy braced his elbows on the edge of the piano, leaning closer.

“What if I want to stay anyway?” To see him. She couldn’t imagine leaving things like this between them. Everything felt unfinished, like a symphony missing the final movement.

He skimmed his callused fingers over the top of her hand, comforting, arousing. “Unless something radically changes in the next twenty-four hours, I don’t believe you’re going to have a choice.”

She resisted the urge to bang out her frustration on the piano again and instead forced herself to focus on the real source of her agitation. “Will we see each other again? I’ve never even thought to ask where you live. I imagine you can tell me that much.”

“I’m stationed at Nellis Air Force Base outside of Las Vegas.”

Not what she’d hoped to hear. And why couldn’t he show some disappointment on that too-appealing face of his? “That’s quite a commute from Atlanta.”

“I’m occasionally TDY in your area.”

Some of her anger melted away so fast at even the possibility of seeing him again it almost scared her into bolting out the door. “TDY?”

“Temporary duty, like a business trip.”

Keeping in touch, re-creating this surprise bond they’d formed, wouldn’t be easy back in the U.S. The fear and adrenaline from earlier started up a depressing requiem in her head, reminding her of the reasons she needed to live in the moment. She was tired of being safe. Too often others had made decisions for her, were
still
making decisions for her. But this one decision she was taking control of right here, right now.

Chloe stood, closed the last few inches between them, and flattened her palms against his chest, the cotton every bit as soft as she’d imagined, the skin beneath even hotter. Just feeling him this close again reminded her of the horrifying time in the back of the van when he’d comforted her and confided secrets about his past just to keep her calm. He’d made himself vulnerable for her, and that spoke of strength she totally couldn’t resist. “Jimmy?”

“Yeah, maestra?” His gaze fell to her mouth as he formed the word, inciting hunger.

“Lock the door.”

Jimmy slid the bolt shut. “I hope you’re not planning to leave anytime soon.”

TWENTY

The clicking lock and Jimmy’s bold promise of a lengthy stay echoed in Chloe’s ears, committing her to the moment.

Jimmy made a slow but purposeful turn back toward her. His heavy-lidded eyes cruising her body broadcast loud and clear how much he wanted her, too. He pulled her flush against him, the clean scent of his soap and something essentially
him
sending her senses on overload.

And she hadn’t even kissed him. Yet.

He lowered his head to hers as she arched up on her toes. No restraints. No more holding back. Later she would worry about his overprotective urges when it came to her transplant. Later she would wade through his issues with his sister’s death.

For now, she deserved to explore the attraction that had snapped between them from the moment his head broke through the waves that day in the Mediterranean.

Jimmy slid his hand up into her hair and palmed the back of her head. He slanted his mouth over hers, no hesitation, fully demanding, and she demanded right back. She wriggled against him, aching to get closer, skin to skin. He scrunched her white cotton blouse up and over her head, pitching it to the side. His fingers fell to the front clasp of her bra, and with a single flick from him and a shrug from her, a cool breeze from the air conditioner gusted over her bare breasts. Her nipples tightened from anticipation more than the cold.

Then his warm mouth fell to her shoulder, lower, lower, until she went wobbly, and he slid his thigh between hers to help her balance, bringing the delicious bonus of muscled heat nudging between her legs. She threw her head back, her spine bowing her closer to his intent tongue.

She wanted, ached to feel him. She tore at his polo shirt, his mouth leaving her for the second it took her to tug the finger-bunched cotton over his head. Warm flesh against flesh sent a humming along her nerve endings. Chloe sighed against his neck, sipping away a bead of water dripping from his freshly washed hair. Her fingers teased frenetic runs over him, greedy to learn everything she could about him in case they didn’t get another chance.

He toed off his shoes as she kicked away her sandals, and somehow she managed to peel off his pants while he helped her shimmy out of her own, the rasp of fabric against her skin teasing her with the promise of better touches yet to come.

Jimmy clamped her against him, both of them finally fully naked. His hands stayed blessedly clear of her scar, something they would have to deal with, but not now. Her hands shook as she explored him, unable to remember the last time a man had touched her this way, as if she was the only woman in the world.

She urged him to the floor with her, side by side. She savored every sensation: the rasp of the industrial carpet, the
shoosh
of the air conditioner overhead, the feel of his strong hands over her body. Her own warmth ratcheted up the scent of her lavender perfume to mingle with his scent. Much longer, and she would lose control, forget about practical concerns like . . .

“Jimmy,” she took the hot length of him in her trembling hand and stroked, continuing, wresting a groan from him, “we need a time-out for birth control.”

His lips and teeth teasing her earlobe stilled. He tipped his face to look at her, his eyes slowly focusing back in on her. Then his eyes slammed closed as her meaning must have finally penetrated his brain.

“Ah hell,” he rolled off her, his forearm over his face.

“What’s wrong?” She teased her fingers along his chest, circling one flat nipple, then the other.

His arm fell away, his breathing hitching with a rasp that flattered her. Clearly he didn’t want to stop any more than she did. “Nothing. Condoms are always wise these days. We just have to relocate to my quarters. I didn’t intend for things to go this far here.”

“I have some.” She took in his surprised expression. “What? I’m not allowed to carry condoms?”

His eyes darkened in a way that said he would be all over her again. Soon. Her body shivered in anticipation, her skin humming with need of his touch.

“Of course you are. I simply didn’t expect that you would.”

“Not to put a damper on things, but they’re not a testament to any girls-gone-wild leanings. I keep them on hand because it’s wise. Pregnancy would be a big and risky deal for me.” She grabbed her purse from beside the piano bench and whipped out a tiny pink zipper pouch. “You owe me for being prepared.”

He filched the pink bag from between her fingers as he lowered his body over hers again, making his intent known. “Yes, ma’am.”

She teasingly reached to snatch it back. He held it farther from her grasp while taking her mouth with his. They rolled along the carpet, again and again, until he stopped with her beside him.

Under the piano.

She plucked a condom from his hand. His eyes turned from brown to a molten black as he stared back at her. She tore into the packet and rolled the protection inch by tantalizing inch over him, watching his eyes slide to half-mast.

He gripped her hips, shifting the balance of control his way again. He positioned her against him, the carpet a tantalizing abrasion against skin suddenly supersensitive. Carpet, for crying out loud. This man had her twisted in knots.

The thick nudge against her core sent delicious shivers over her that beat any shower. His hold eased on her hips as he left the next move up to her. Without hesitation, she hooked her knee on his hip, urging their bodies closer until he filled her, stretching, adjusting, settling in place.

His smile echoed hers. Ah, she’d definitely chosen the right path to forgetfulness.

She rocked against him, and he met her stroke for stroke, his eyes intent on her the whole time. He caressed her shoulders, arms, along her side, dodging her scar in favor of reclaiming her breasts. She writhed against him, her back arching. He cupped her head and brought her closer to him, safe under the confines of the piano. Would she ever be able to play again without thinking of this? Of him?

Pleasure swelled inside her to a near-painful crescendo, fuller, until her skin felt too tight for her body. He slowed, delaying her release, until she nipped his shoulder, demanding, rolling her hips against his harder, harder still, until . . .

Release shuddered through her. Again and again. She squeezed her eyes closed to draw in all the colors sparking behind her eyes. She glided along the after-echoes while his raspy shout of completion rumbled in her ears.

She sagged against him, and he gathered her closer. The forgetfulness she’d wanted, the escape, was fading. Reality seeped back through her mind in whispery bursts much like the air conditioner puffing away overhead. Her fingers played along his back, forcing her to process what she’d shied away from when she’d touched him during sex.

She felt the knotted skin, reason insisting on a dawning horror she desperately wanted to deny, but couldn’t. The pads of her fingers registered dime-sized scars. Jimmy had been burned by cigarettes or cigars. More than once.

What the hell had happened to him? Here she’d been concerned about how he would deal with her transplant, little knowing he still held deep secrets of his own.

She wanted to cry, except he wouldn’t want that any more than she would want sympathetic tears for herself. She ached to ask him, though, but she understood how scars had a way of going deeper into a person’s soul. Sometimes it helped hearing others share their own vulnerabilities. But still, his secrets were his to spill when he was ready.

Would she even be in his life long enough to find out?

Jimmy tugged on his pants, the rustle of Chloe sliding into her panties and bra echoing in the small rehearsal room. He didn’t consider himself Captain Sensitive, but even he could feel the weight of her unasked questions hanging in the air.

He should have thought about the fallout from her finding the scars on his back. He’d dealt with the issue over the past three years when he’d slept with other women. Of course he’d lied to
them
and attributed the marks to an aircraft fire, a camping trip gone awry, anything he could think of except the truth.

With Chloe, he couldn’t bring himself to tell the casual lie.

Where were his shoes? He needed air, space, an escape from too much past shit in his head.

Chloe tugged her cotton shirt over her head, a sexy siren in just her underwear and top offering a distraction he wanted back. How many condoms did she have in the pretty pink pouch? And how often could they have sex before he should mention,
Hey, I’m disease-free and shooting blanks, so how about we ditch the rubbers?

She retrieved her khakis from the corner and returned with one of his shoes as well. “I didn’t have many friends growing up. Practices gobbled free time, and my health problems kept me out of school a lot. But I had this one particular music teacher, an artistic eccentric, who became a mentor-friend.”

Where the hell had that come from? He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but having her fill the silence was easier than digging around inside himself for something to contribute. Like,
Hey, I had this mentor once, but I couldn’t save him any more than I could save my sister
.

Jimmy took the shoe from her and unearthed the other from beneath the piano bench.

“Mrs. Crenshaw taught piano and music history at the local college. I started taking lessons from her shortly after my mother died.” She tugged on her khakis with a wriggle that sent his pulse pumping when he should have been an hour away from ready for another round. “Nobody can replace a parent, but Mrs. Crenshaw helped fill a void.”

“That sounds nice.” Wow, way to go, pal, with holding up your end of the conversation.

“She performed at Carnegie Hall in her youth.”

“With the piano?”

“Actually, she sang.” Chloe dropped to sit on the piano bench, her bare toes curling against the carpet. “Eventually, smoking took a toll on her voice. Man, she loved to smoke, but she was a frugal lady. She always told me how much she resented the rising prices of cigarettes, so she started rolling her own.”

The woman rolled her own
cigarettes
? Doobies more like it.

Could Chloe’s sheltered life have left her that naïve? Jimmy sat beside her on the bench, his feet crossed at the ankles next to hers, almost brushing. He couldn’t decide if touching her would offer more distraction or flay him raw.

“I would stay after lessons sometimes and help her roll them while we watched
I Love Lucy
reruns.” She snagged a hair band from beside the keyboard and gathered her tangled hair into a haywire ponytail. “Then she would make the most amazing cheeseburgers.”

If you had to get the munchies . . .
“She sounds like a real character.”

“Oh, she was a character all right.” Chloe clasped his hand and sketched a lone finger along his palm. “Around the time I was fourteen I showed up early for my lesson and found her prepping her stash of
tobacco
. Except it wasn’t tobacco. She had a marijuana garden in her back-yard.”

“You must have been surprised.” He settled into the soothing sound of her voice. They’d come a long way from sniping each other’s head off a few short days ago.

She leaned back against the keyboard with a light tinkle of the higher notes. “To this day, cheeseburgers give me a buzz.”

“For someone who vows to have led a sequestered life, you sure have packed in some strange situations.”

“I tend to stumble into unique experiences.” She dismissed her life-or-death brushes with a half shrug. “After I walked in on her that time and figured out what was really going on with the ‘cigarettes,’ I never went back. I convinced my dad to find me a new teacher without mentioning her weed garden.”

“That was probably for the best. There’s no telling what might have happened to you if you’d lived with that kind of easy access to drugs as a teenager.”

“If only life were that simple when it comes to right and wrong decisions.” Her other hand fell over their clasped ones and she started tracing again with a cool touch. “Turns out that was only half the story. Six months after I found Mrs. Crenshaw’s plants, I learned from one of her other students that she smoked the marijuana for her glaucoma.”

Ah hell. “Why didn’t she tell you?”

“I don’t know.” Her thumb massaged back and forth over his wrist. “I never asked, and now she’s in a nursing home totally out it. I still feel guilty. I think maybe I was taking out an unreasonable anger at my mother for dying on the one woman who was still around trying to give me a semblance of maternal love.”

He couldn’t get away with a bullshit auto-response for this one. “You were just a kid. You deserve to cut yourself some slack.”

“Thanks for trying to let me off the hook, but . . .”

“But forgiving yourself is tougher.”

“You’re perceptive for a card-carrying member of the testosterone club.”

She squeezed his fingers, and damn, what a time to realize she hadn’t been sketching absent patterns over his hand. She’d been tracing the thin ridge of scar tissue along his wrist from when it had been stomped back in Afghanistan. And the marks on his back? Astute Chloe wouldn’t have missed those either, a fact echoed by the glint of tears in her green eyes. He may have managed a bit of Captain Sensitive after all, but talking about his POW time, tonight, with the reality of having failed Chuck pouring salt on unhealed parts of his soul . . . Forgiving himself wasn’t on the agenda tonight.

His BlackBerry buzzed, the sound louder than normal from vibrating against the piano.

Jimmy shot up from his seat beside her and snagged the messaging device like a much-needed lifeline in shark-infested waters. “Sorry. I have to check this.”

Chloe’s eyes damn near bored new holes in his back. Was he using work to avoid a confrontation? Hell, yeah. He might be Hotwire when it came to bar fights and strapping his ass into a risky new piece of equipment for the DOD, but when it came to the touchy-feely emotional stuff? His Hotwire ways short-circuited.