Highly Charged! (10 page)

She sank to her knees, her beautiful body backlit by the glowing moon, sea foam rushing around her. He descended with her, pulling her onto his lap to shield her from the rolling waves. Her thighs straddled him as she rocked back and forth against his near-bursting hardness.
He cupped her bottom, kneading the firm flesh. He used the leverage to press her core against him, making her gasp once more.

“Don't move,” he commanded, leaning close enough to the shoreline to retrieve his shorts half-floating in the surf. His wallet was soaked, but thanks to the wonders of foil packaging, the condom he had in there would be fine. He could replace the money. But this moment—never.

He couldn't get enough of her. Her body was a marvel he wanted to explore at leisure, if only he had the patience. As it was, he was barely able to contain himself once they'd rolled the condom in place. He traced the delicate flare of her hips, the inward turn of her waist and the slender rib cage—stopping at the soft underside of her breasts. He palmed them, groaning at their satisfying weight, delighting in the way they spilled from his hands. He lifted one to his mouth, eliciting another cry from Nikki. Her pleasure was his greatest turn-on.

And he couldn't hold back another minute.

In one swift move, he twisted her beneath him and entered her in a smooth, long stroke.

His hips thrust powerfully, feeling her tighten around him with every stroke. Her hips arched up to meet each possessive push, her hands gripping his taut backside, pulling him in deeper. The urgent noises she made set his male instincts into overdrive.

He tried to slow down, to make the pleasure last for both of them. But he hadn't been kidding when he said she'd been playing with fire. It had been a long time for him and he needed this. Needed her.

Their synchronized motion increased to a frenzied, heart-stopping tempo. Her breath came in fast pants
which intensified to soft cries that were music to his ears. Her tight spasms and the surf pounding the beach in unison with his thrusts were too much. His release exploded in a tidal wave that left him drained and utterly sated.

He held her for a long moment. Then he rolled over and stared at the twinkling stars overhead. His pulse still pounded hard as he turned to look at her delicate profile. She was more adventurous than he'd imagined with her impromptu striptease and rollicking around in the surf. Hell, she'd been more than a match for him.

A star shot across the sky. Nikki gasped, his first indication she'd regained her wits.

“Quick, wish on it!” she urged. Her hand snaked out and caught his as they tracked the blazing trail against the midnight sky.

The sighting had been fast and vivid. He would have missed it if he'd blinked. But it had been there, brightening the sky until it burned into nothing. Would his relationship with Nikki be the same? A flash of hot color and joy in his life for two short weeks before he had to return to the reality of his job overseas? He hated to think about it like that. But with Nikki quietly contemplating the darkness alongside him, Brad guessed they might be thinking the very same thing.

Tightening his hold on her in the water, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He'd drag them to the shore in a minute. But if this was all the time they had together, he planned to drink in every second and make the most of this affair while it still burned hot and bright.

N
IKKI SLOWLY SWAM TO
consciousness, anchored in Brad's arms. A rough military blanket enveloped them, keeping the damp, morning sea air out and their fiery body heat in.

He'd retrieved the blanket from the roll that contained his beach towel after they'd returned to dry land farther up the beach late last night. He'd built a fire out of driftwood using little more than a Bic lighter and ingenuity, providing them with a bonfire of their own until just a couple of hours ago. Apparently Brad had come more prepared for their walk last night than she had, although she congratulated herself on the bottle of water in her purse.

Nestled against Brad's steely contours, Nikki couldn't help but replay last night's sensational sex. She squirmed backward, fitting her bottom snugly into the curve of his muscular flanks. Rock-hard arms tightened around her reflexively.

Returning to sleep was definitely out of the question.

She blushed, recollecting her uninhibited behavior
last night. What had come over her? A few weeks in Chloe's house and she'd become a wanton woman.

Chloe would approve. Did she?

A long, low ship horn reverberated across the sea. Nikki cracked open her eyes, hoping the day hadn't yet dawned. She wasn't ready to face last night's impulsive actions.

She took a fortifying breath of the briny ocean air and peered about. The world was gray and shadowed. Darn. Sunrise, and reality, were only moments away.

She thought about waking Brad, wanting to share their first sunrise together, then stopped. She was getting way ahead of herself. They had less than two weeks together.

How foolish to imagine a future with him full of “firsts.”

The deep rumbling of Brad's wide chest vibrated against her back. She hated to wake him from such a peaceful sleep. After his nightmarish evening the other night, he deserved the rest.

Hopefully, he'd keep sleeping so she could sort out her feelings. She inhaled his musky, masculine scent. The longer she lingered, the less clearly she could think.

She carefully eased out of his arms. A lonely rush of chilled air buffeted her as she emerged. Quickly, she tightened the blanket around him. He stirred slightly, his arms reaching out into her now-empty space. He sighed deeply, but didn't wake.

A short stroll brought her to the ocean's edge. Her beach dress billowed behind her in the brisk, morning breeze. She inhaled the scent of salt, fish and seaweed. Overhead, fishing birds floated like feathered kites.

Two brown pelicans squabbled over a catch, their long bills clicking and snapping.

Someone always wanted what someone else had. Like her situation with Chloe's family. They'd inherited most of Chloe's estate. Why was there so much animosity over her ramshackle house and personal diaries? It just didn't add up.

As if on cue, her cell phone trilled. She rushed to her beach bag and flipped it open. A text message icon popped up.

In eleven days, you'll be alone again, unprotected. We'll be waiting.

Anger surged. Did they think she was a frightened child to be scared by poisonous texts and a broken window? She could take care of herself.

Besides, Brad was more than her protector; he was now her lover—for nearly two glorious weeks. Nikki smiled, recalling the way his insistent hands had lit her on fire. She'd never felt so uninhibited, a thought that thrilled and frightened her.

What if her heart opened up to him as easily as her body? Her feet burrowed in the wet sand as she crossed her arms against a chilly ocean gust.

She glanced back at Brad, the hard planes of his face relaxed into an impossibly handsome visage.

Was a highly charged, two-week affair possible without putting her heart on the line?

The text message got it right in one sense. When Brad's leave ended, she would be unprotected. But it wasn't her physical safety she worried about. If she got too attached, she'd be devastated when he left. She was all too familiar with that feeling.

Nikki's stomach churned with uncertainty as she turned back to the rough sea. For now, she needed to keep her guard up.

Feet padded behind her. Nikki's back stiffened as she was engulfed in Brad's powerful embrace. He rested his head atop hers, pulling her close.

“Morning, beautiful,” he murmured huskily in her ear. Heavy black clouds gathered on the horizon.

Nikki's traitorous heart drummed, nearly drowning out the rising waves.

“Looks like rain,” she replied. Lightning forked in the distance. An ominous rumble confirmed her prediction.

“‘Red sky at night, sailors' delight, red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.'” He tossed out the old adage as he trailed a molten flow of kisses down her neck, wreaking havoc with her senses and her willpower.

It would be so difficult to keep things light between them.

“Then we should both be warned,” Nikki managed, breathless from his touch. “We'd better get going before the downpour arrives.”

Brad's eyebrows slashed downward, his inscrutable eyes narrowing. But the whole concept of “no guarantees” was his rule. So why did he appear more frustrated than relieved?

“Sure thing” came the clipped reply. He shook out the blanket and slid on his shorts before she'd even picked up her beach bag.

He strode up the beach, away from the shore and their night together.

Nikki jogged to keep up. What was his deal? Good thing she'd kept her distance after all. Her bare toes tangled in something, slowing her down. She prepared to pull seaweed from her foot and discovered she'd tripped on a half-buried metal chain. She squatted for a closer look. Lt. Frank Peterson's dog tags. Nate must have lost them in the roughhousing yesterday.

Her fingers traced the embossed letters for a moment before she tucked them into her dress pocket. The tags felt so small compared to the hero they represented. How could an entire life be reduced to a piece of metal and a loyal woman's memories?

What would it be like to be that woman?

The first raindrops fell as she reached Brad scrambling to gather the rest of their belongings by the volleyball net—their strained silence as charged as the electrified air.

They raced up the path to the open field that had served as a parking lot yesterday, trees swaying wildly overhead. The wind howled, whipping the leafy canopy into a frenzy. Just as the downpour hit, they clambered into the Jeep.

Nikki sighed. That was close.

Strangely, the deluge had kept things from getting too heavy. She'd survived one morning after without falling hopelessly in love with Brad Riddock. Only eleven more to go.

 

A
T
N
IKKI'S HOUSE
, B
RAD HANDED
over her beach bag after walking her to the door. He didn't know what to make of the cool distance she'd opted for this morning, but a gentleman walked a woman to the door and he'd
damn well honor the code even if she didn't seem to want him there.

Nikki pushed back her dark hair, the curls soft and abundant after she'd fallen asleep with it wet the night before. “I didn't mean to be standoffish this morning, Brad. But I thought maybe we needed a break after how intense things were last night.”

Okay. Way to address the issue head-on. He appreciated that. Nodding, he wished his chest weren't so damn tight. Wasn't this what he'd wanted?

“I figured as much.” But that didn't take away how much it sucked to be shot down when he'd already been planning how to get her naked again.

“I'd still be grateful if you'd like to sleep here tonight,” she continued, setting her beach bag on the patio table. “I just need some time to think before then.”

Relief flooded through him. She hadn't shut him out.

Killer barked from the porch, interrupting their onesided conversation.

“Come here, boy,” Brad called. Killer looked from Brad to Nikki, whined, but refused to leave the porch. “You like her better now, huh?” He reached up and rubbed the dog's belly through the peeling porch spindles. “Can't say I blame you.”

The blue jay squawked and the chipmunk squealed as Nikki ascended the steps. She gave them a quick once-over, then turned to pet Killer, as well.

“Brad, you're okay with that, right?” Her green eyes peered down at him anxiously. “I'm sure you don't want to complicate things either.”

Brad took the porch steps in one bound and backed
her up against a newel post. He kissed her long and hard. Palming her ass, he hauled her up against him. When he released her, she grabbed hold of the post and gasped for breath.

Ego appeased, he grinned.

“Darlin',” Brad said as he backed down the steps, “this can be as simple as we want to make it.”

He hopped in his Jeep and roared out of her driveway. If she needed time to mull things over, let her think about that.

He drove to the VA facility with the windows down. The air had lost its oppressive humidity and blew in the smell of freshly cut grass. The lighter weather matched his optimistic mood. He'd gone all night without playing host to the recurring dream. That meant he was straightening out, right? He couldn't wait to tell the shrink as much, except—oh, yeah, he'd only copped to a couple of nightmares in the first place.

But first came rehab. He rode the exercise bike then went through his prescribed routine of leg pumps, curls and extensions. The large, airy space was filled with dozens of bikes, elliptical machines, weight benches and other work-out equipment. Grunts accompanied the clanging of metal on metal. The stench of sweat and iron made Brad's nose curl. Not that he should talk. He reeked as bad as the other ten servicemen in the gym, but figured he'd hold off on a shower until after he'd worked out. One, Brad noticed, had lost an arm.

“Hey.” The guy lifted his chin at him as he handcurled forty pounds.

“Impressive.” Brad gestured to the oversize dumbbell while he worked on a military press with the barbell.

The soldier grinned and finished another set of ten before lightly placing the weight in its slot and grabbing the fifty pounder.

“James,” grunted the wounded warrior. He worked through another impossible set.

“Brad.” He mopped his brow, amazed the guy had barely broken a sweat. It felt like a hundred degrees.

“Navy?” James asked, finishing his last set at the same time Brad ended a round of squats.

“Unit 12—Norfolk.”

“Unit 4.”

An assault unit. That explained the guy's Hulk-like strength.

“You with the explosive division?” James asked, flipping a towel over one shoulder as they headed toward the locker room.

“Yeah.” Brad thought about that missing arm, wary about where the conversation could land.

“IED specialist?”

“That would be me.”

“Bad-ass, dude.” James grinned then expertly disrobed and disappeared into the steaming showers. Brad followed suit two stalls down, and when he emerged, he found James twirling his locker combination onehanded, a towel securely tucked around his waist. The exposed amputation must have been healing for a while, the rounded, puckered flesh no longer red.

“You never seen one?” James asked, catching his stare.

“I've seen them.” He grimaced, his mind flashing to the Iraqi farmer's grisly wound. “But they're usually fresh.”

James's locker clicked open and he efficiently donned his clothes, even buttoning his shirt with ease. Seeing how well he'd adapted made Brad wonder if the Iraqi farmer could recover some degree of normalcy after his injury.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends.”

“You get that from a bomb or gun?”

“IED.” He shrugged casually, shouldering his gym bag. “But what's the difference? Life's gonna bite you in the ass whenever it wants. It's not like we got any say about it, right?”

“I hear that,” Brad echoed, knowing it with one hundred percent freaking certainty.

He dressed quickly and headed to a private psych facility a few blocks away; the base counselor had had too many patients to take him on. Just as well since it sort of sucked running into guys you knew while traipsing in and out of the shrink's office. Not that there was a stigma attached to the whole ordeal…far from it. If you did combat time, chances were good you'd be in there for one thing or another eventually. But the anonymity here, away from the base, was just fine with him.

The assistant at the front desk waved him in and he put on his game face.

“Come in, Lieutenant,” boomed his doctor, Sean Leonard. He came out from behind his desk to gesture toward the informal seating nearby. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Brad dropped into a straight-backed solid-oak chair that must have predated WWII. He glanced at the clock. The large white hand ticked. Only fifty-nine more minutes to go.

Dr. Leonard took out a file, flipped it open and rapidly perused its contents. He glanced up, his eyes keen. He had the clean-cut appearance of someone who'd taken care of himself his whole life—from the fit runner's physique to the brown eyes that broadcast simple sincerity. Under any other circumstances, Brad would have probably liked him.

“The last time we spoke you said your most recent nightmare was the one witnessed by Lieutenant Staley a week ago.”

“That's correct.” Ashley's fiancé had borrowed his car and walked in on the nightly horror show. Brad didn't know who'd been more freaked out—him to know someone else had witnessed his demons, or Joe who sure as hell hadn't wanted a backstage pass to another guy's private hell.

“Any more since then?”

“No, sir,” he lied.

The doc made a note in the chart.

“How often do you think of the incident in Mosul?”

“How often?” Brad stalled, unsure what the normal response would be.

“How frequently do you picture the events that precipitated your leave?” the doctor asked again patiently.