Mackenzie's Pleasure (23 page)

she was nauseated, a condition directly related to her condition, so to speak, he'd shown nothing but

tender concern and demonstrated once again his ability to make snap decisions in urgent situations.

His tap on the window startled her, because in her sleepy state she hadn't thought he'd

been gone nearly long enough to accomplish his mission. But a green can, frosty with

condensation, was in his hand, and suddenly she ferociously wanted that drink. She unlocked the

door and all but snatched the can from him before he could slide into the seat. She had it popped

open and was drinking greedily by the time he closed the door.

When the can was empty, she leaned back with a sigh of contentment. She heard a low,

strained laugh and turned her head to find Zane looking at her with both amusement and

something hot and feral mingled in his gaze. "That's the first time watching a woman drink a

soft drink has made me hard. Do you want another? I'll try to control myself, but a second one might

be more than I can stand."

Barrie's eyes widened. A blush warmed her cheeks, but that didn't stop her from looking

at his lap. He was telling the truth. Good heavens, was he ever telling the truth! Her hand

clenched with the sudden need to reach out and stroke him. "I'm not thirsty now," she said,

her voice huskier than usual. "But I'm willing to go for a second one if you are."

The amusement faded out of his eyes, leaving only the heat behind. He was reaching

out for her when his head suddenly snapped around, his attention caught by an approaching

vehicle. "Here's our ride," he said, and once again his voice was cool and emotionless.

She was marrying him because she wanted his protection. The thought gnawed at

Zane during the long flight to Las Vegas. She sat quietly beside him, sometimes dozing, talking

only if he asked her a question. She had the drained look of someone who had been under a

lot of pressure, and now that it had eased, her body was giving in to fatigue. Finally she fell

soundly asleep, her head resting against his shoulder.

The pregnancy would be taking a toll on her, too. He couldn't see any physical change in

her yet, but his three older brothers had produced enough children that he knew how tired

women always got the first few months— at least, how tired Shea and Loren had been. Nothing

ever slowed Caroline down, not even five sons.

At the thought of the baby, fierce possessiveness jolted through him again. His baby

was inside her. He wanted to scoop her onto his lap and hold her, but a crowded plane wasn't

the place for what he had in mind. That would have to wait until after the marriage

ceremony, when they were in a private hotel room. He wanted her even more than he had

before. When she had opened the door and he'd looked down into her stunned green eyes, his

arousal had been so strong and immediate that he'd had to restrain himself from reaching for

her. Only the sight of her father bearing down on them had held him back.

He shouldn't have waited as long as he had. As soon as he'd been able to get around

okay, he should have come after her. She had been living in fear, and handling it the same way

she had in Benghazi, with calm determination. He didn't want her ever to be afraid again.

Bunny's and Spooky's arrival at the parking deck, in Bunny's personally customized 1969

Oldsmobile 442, had been like a reunion. Barrie had tumbled out of the rental car with a

happy cry and been enthusiastically hugged and twirled around by both SEALs. They were

both discreetly armed, he'd noticed approvingly. They were wearing civilian clothes, with

their shirts left loose outside their pants to conceal the firepower tucked under their arms

and in the smalls of their backs. Normally, when they were off-duty, they didn't carry

firearms, but Zane had explained the situation to them and left their preparations to their own

discretion, since he wasn't their commanding officer any longer. In typical fashion, they had

prepared for anything. His own weapon was still resting in a holster under his left armpit,

covered by a lightweight summer jacket.

"Don't you worry none, ma'am," Spooky had reassuringly told Barrie. "We'll get you

and the boss to the airport safe and sound. There's nothing outside of NASCAR that can keep

up with Bunny's wheels."

"I'm sure there isn't," she'd replied, eyeing the car. It looked unremarkable enough;

Bunny had painted it a light gray, and there wasn't any more chrome than would be on a

factory job. But the deep-throated rumble from the idling engine didn't sound like any sound

a factory engine would make, and the tires were wide, with a soft-looking tread.

"Bulletproof glass, reinforced metal," Bunny said proudly as he helped Zane transfer

her luggage to the trunk of his car. "Plate steel would be too heavy for the speed I want, so I

went with the new generation of body armor material, lighter and stronger than Kevlar. I'm

still working on the fireproofing."

"I'll feel perfectly safe," she assured him.

As she and Zane crawled into the back seat of the two-door car, she whispered to him,

"Where's Nascar?"

Spooky could hear a pin drop at forty paces. Slowly he turned around in the front seat,

his face mirroring his incredulity. "Not where, ma'am," he said, struggling with shock.

"What.
NASCAR. Stock car racing." A good Southerner, he'd grown up with stock car racing

and was always stunned when he encountered someone who hadn't enjoyed the same contact

with the sport.

"Oh," Barrie said, giving him an apologetic smile. "I've spent a lot of time in Europe. I

don't know anything about racing except for the Grand Prix races."

Bunny snorted in derision. "Play cars," he said dismissively. "You can't run them on the

streets. Stock car racing, now that's real racing." As he was speaking, he was wheeling his

deceptive monster out of the parking deck, his restless gaze touching on every surrounding detail.

"I've been to horse races," Barrie offered, evidently in an attempt to redeem herself.

Zane controlled a smile at the earnestness of her tone. "Do you ride?" he asked.

Her attention swung to him. "Why, yes. I love horses."

"You'll make a good Mackenzie, then," Spooky drawled. "Boss raises horses in his

spare time." There was a bit of irony in his tone, because SEALs had about as much spare

time as albinos had color.

"Do you really?" Barrie asked, her eyes shining.

"I own a few. Thirty or so."

"Thirty!" She sat back, a slight look of confusion on her face. He knew what she was

thinking: one horse was expensive to own and keep, let alone thirty. Horses needed a lot of land

and care, not something she associated with an ex-Naval officer who had been a member of

an elite antiterrorism group.

"It's a family business," he explained, swiveling his head to examine the traffic around

them.

"Everything's clear, boss," Bunny said. "Unless they've tagged us with a relay, but I

don't see how that's possible."

Zane didn't, either, so he relaxed. A moving relay surveillance took a lot of time and

coordination to set up, and the route had to be known. Bunny was taking such a circuitous

route to the airport that any tail would long since have been revealed or shaken. Things were

under control—for now.

They made it to National without incident, though to be on the safe side Bunny and

Spooky had escorted them as far as the security check. While Zane quietly handled his own

armed passage through security, his two former team members had taken themselves off to

collect the rental car and turn it in, though to the agency office at Dulles, not National,

where he had rented it. Just another little twist to delay anyone who was looking for them.

Now that they were safely on the plane, he began planning what he would do to put an

end to the situation.

The first part of it was easy. He would put Chance on the job of finding out what kind

of mess her father was involved in; for her sake, he hoped it wasn't anything treasonous, but

whatever was going on, he intended to put a stop to it. Chance had access to information that put

national security agencies to shame. If William Lovejoy was selling out his country, then he

would go down. There was no other option. Zane had spent his adult years offering his life in

protection of his country, and now he was a peace officer sworn to uphold the law; it was

impossible for him to look the other way, even for Barrie. He didn't want her to be hurt, but

he damn sure wanted her to be safe.

Barrie slept until the airliner's wheels bounced on the pavement. She sat upright,

pushing her hair away from her face, looking about with a slight sense of disorientation. She

had never before been able to sleep on a plane; this sleepiness was just one more of the many

changes her pregnancy was making in her body, and her lack of control over the process was

disconcerting, even frightening.

On the other hand, the rest had given her additional energy, something she needed to

face the immense change she was about to make in her life. This change was deliberate, but no

less frightening.

"I want to shower and change clothes first," she said firmly. This marriage might be

hasty, without any resemblance to the type of wedding ceremony she had always

envisioned for herself, but while she was willing to forgo the pomp and expensive trappings,

she wasn't willing — outside of a life-and-death situation — to get married wearing wrinkled

clothes and still blinking sleep from her eyes.

"Okay. We'll check in to a hotel first." He rubbed his jaw, his callused fingers rasping

over his beard stubble. "I need to have a shave anyway."

He had needed to shave that day in Benghazi, too. In a flash of memory she felt again

the scrape of his rough chin against her naked breasts, and a wave of heat washed over her,

leaving her weak and flushed. The cool air blowing from the tiny vent overhead was suddenly

not cool enough.

She hoped he wouldn't notice, but it was a faint hope, because he was trained to take

note of every detail around him. She imagined he could describe every passenger within ten

rows of them in either direction, and when she'd been awake she had noticed that he'd

shown an uncanny awareness of anyone approaching them from the rear on the way to the

lavatories.

"Are you feeling sick?" he asked, eyeing the color in her cheeks.

"No, I'm just a little warm," she said with perfect truth, while her blush deepened.

He continued to watch her, and the concern in his eyes changed to a heated awareness.

She couldn't even hide that from him, damn it. From the beginning it had been as if he

could see beneath her skin; he sensed her reactions almost as soon as she felt them.

Slowly his heavy-lidded gaze moved down to her breasts, studying the slope and

thrust of them. She inhaled sharply as her nipples tightened in response to his blatant interest,

a response that shot all the way to her loins.

"Are they more sensitive?" he murmured.

Oh, God, he shouldn't do this to her, she thought wildly. They were in the middle of a

plane full of people, taxiing toward an empty gate, and he was asking questions about her

breasts and looking as if he would start undressing her any minute now.

"Are they?"

"Yes," she whispered. Her entire body felt more sensitive, from both her pregnancy

and her acute awareness of him. Soon he would be her husband, and once again she would be

lying in his arms.

"Ceremony first," he said, his thoughts echoing hers in that eerie way he had.

"Otherwise we won't get out of the hotel until tomorrow."

"Are you psychic?" she accused under her breath.

A slow smile curved his beautiful mouth. "It doesn't take a psychic to know what

those puckered nipples mean."

She glanced down and saw her nipples plainly beaded under the lace and silk of her bra

and blouse. Her face red, she hastily drew her shirt over the betraying little nubs, and he

gave a low laugh. At least no one else was likely to have heard him, she thought with scant

comfort. He'd pitched his voice low, and the noise on board made it difficult to overhear

conversations, anyway.

The flight attendants were telling them to remain in their seats until the plane was

secured and the doors opened, and as usual the instructions were ignored as passengers

surged into the aisles, opening the overhead bins and dragging down their carry-on luggage or

hauling it out from under the seats. Zane stepped deftly into the aisle, and the movement

briefly pulled his jacket open. She saw the holster under his left arm and the polished metal

butt of the pistol tucked snugly inside it. Then he automatically shrugged one shoulder, and

the jacket fell into place, a movement he'd performed so many times he didn't have to think

about it.

She'd known he was armed, of course, because he'd informed the airport and airline

security before they'd boarded the plane. During the boredom and enforced inactivity of the