Mackenzie's Pleasure (24 page)

flight, however, she had managed to push the recent events from her mind, but the sight of

that big automatic brought them all back.

He extended his hand to steady her as she stepped into the aisle ahead of him.

Standing pressed like sardines in the line, she felt him like a warm and solid wall at her back,

his arms slightly extended so that his hands rested on the seat backs, enveloping her in security.

His breath stirred the hair on top of her head, making her realize anew exactly how big he

was. She was of average height, but if she leaned back, her head would fit perfectly into the

curve of his shoulder.

The man in front of her shifted, forcing her backward, and Zane curved one arm around

her as he gathered her against his body, his big hand settling protectively over her lower belly.

Barrie bit her lip as her mind bounced from worry to the pleasure of his touch. This

couldn't go on much longer—either this exquisite frustration or the sharp darts of terror—or she

would lose her mind.

The line of passengers began to shuffle forward as the doors were opened and they were

released from the plane. Zane's hand dropped from her belly. As she began to move forward,

Barrie caught the eye of an older woman who had chosen to remain in her seat until the

stampede was over, and the woman gave her a knowing smile, her gaze flicking to Zane.

"Ma'am," Zane said smoothly in acknowledgment, and Barrie knew he'd caught the

little byplay. His acute awareness of his surroundings was beginning to spook her.

What if she didn't want him to notice everything? Most women would be thrilled to

death with a husband who actually took note of details, but probably not to the extent that

Zane Mackenzie did.

On the other hand, if the alternative was living without him, she would learn how to

cope, she thought wryly. She'd spent over two months pining for him, and now that she had him,

she wasn't about to get cold feet because he was alert. He was a trained warrior—an assassin,

her father had called him. He wouldn't have survived if he hadn't been aware of everything

going on around him, and neither would she.

That alertness was evident as they followed the signs to the baggage claim area. The

airport was a shifting, flowing beehive, and Zane's cool gaze was constantly assessing the

people around them. As he had more than once before, he kept himself between her and

everybody else, steering her close to the wall and protecting her other side with his body.

He'd already taken one bullet while doing that, she thought, and had to fight the sudden

terrified impulse to grab him and shove
him
against the wall.

Before they reached the baggage claim, however, he pulled her to a halt. "Let's wait here

a minute," he said.

She strove for calm, for mastery over the butterflies that suddenly took flight in her

stomach. "Did you see anything suspicious?" she asked.

"No, we're waiting for someone." He looked at her, his cool gaze warming as he

studied her face. "You're a gutsy little broad, Miss Lovejoy. No matter what, you hold it

together and try to do the best you can. Not bad for a pampered society babe."

Barrie was taken aback. She'd never been called a broad before, or a society babe. If it

hadn't been for the teasing glint in his eyes, she might have taken exception to the terms.

Instead, she considered them for a moment, then gave a brief nod of agreement. "You're

right," she said serenely. "I
am
gutsy for a pampered society babe."

He was surprised into a chuckle, a deliriously rich sound that was cut short when they

were approached by a middle-aged man who wore a suit and carried a radio set in his hand.

"Sheriff Mackenzie?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Travis Hulsey, airport security." Mr. Hulsey flashed his identification. "We have your

luggage waiting for you in a secure area, as requested. This way, please."

So he'd even thought of that, Barrie marveled as they followed Mr. Hulsey through an

unmarked door. An attempt to grab her inside the airport would be tricky, given the security, so

the most logical thing to do would be to wait at the ground transportation area, where

everyone went after collecting luggage, then follow them to their destination and wait for a

better opportunity. Zane had thwarted that; he must have made the arrangements when he'd

gone forward to the lavatory.

The dry desert heat slapped them in the face as soon as they stepped through the door.

Her three suitcases and his one garment bag, which he had collected from a locker at

National, were waiting for them at a discreet entrance well away from the main ground

transportation area. Also waiting for them was a car, beside which stood a young man with the

distinctive austere military haircut, even though he wore civilian clothes.

The young man all but snapped to attention. "Sir," he said. "Airman Zaharias at your

service, sir."

Zane's dark face lit with amusement. "At ease," he said. "I'm not my brother."

Airman Zaharias relaxed with a grin. "When I first saw you, sir, I wasn't sure."

"If he pulled rank and this is messing up your leave time, I'll get other transport."

"I volunteered, sir. The general did me a personal favor when I was fresh out of basic.

Giving bis brother a ride downtown is the least I can do."

Brother?
General?
Barrie raised some mental eyebrows. First horses, now this. She

realized she didn't know anything about her soon-to-be husband's background, but the details

she'd gleaned so far were startling, to say the least.

Zane introduced her with grave courtesy. "Barrie, Airman Zaharias is our safe

transport, and he has donated his personal vehicle and time off for the service. Airman

Zaharias, my fiancee, Barrie Lovejoy."

She solemnly shook hands with the young airman, who was almost beside himself in

his eagerness to please.

"Glad to meet you, ma'am." He unlocked the trunk and swiftly began loading their

luggage, protesting when Zane lifted two of the bags and stowed them himself. "Let me do that,

sir!"

"I'm a civilian now," Zane said, amusement still bright in his eyes. "And I was Navy,

anyway."

Airman Zaharias shrugged. "Yes, sir, but you're still the general's brother." He paused,

then asked, "Were you really a SEAL?"

"Guilty."

"Damn," Airman Zaharias breathed.

They climbed into the air-conditioned relief of the airman's Chevrolet and were off. Their

young driver evidently knew Las Vegas well, and without asking for instructions he

ignored the main routes. Instead he circled around and took Paradise Road north out of the air-port. He chattered cheerfully the entire time, but Barrie noticed that he didn't mention the

exact nature of the favor Zane's general brother had done for him, nor did he venture into

personal realms. He talked about the weather, the traffic, the tourists, the hotels. Zane directed him to a hotel off the main drag, and soon Airman Zaharias was on his way and they

were checking in to the hotel.

Barrie bided her time, standing quietly to one side while Zane arranged for them to be

listed in the hotel's computer as Glen and Alice Temple—how he arrived at those names she

had no idea—and ignoring the clerk's knowing smirk. He probably thought they were

adulterous lovers on a tryst, which suited her just fine; it would keep him from being curious

about them.

They weren't alone in the elevator, so she held her tongue then, too. She held it until

they were in the suite Zane had booked, and the bellman had been properly tipped and

dismissed. The suite was as luxurious as any she had stayed in in Europe. A few hours

before, she might have worried that the cost was more than Zane could afford, that he'd

chosen it because he thought she would expect it. Now, however, she had no such illusion. As

soon as he had closed and locked the door behind the bellman, she crossed her arms and stared

levelly at him. "Horses?" she inquired politely. "Family business? A brother who happens to

be an Air Force general?"

He shrugged out of his jacket, then his shoulder holster. "All of that," he said.

"I don't know you at all, do I?" She was calm, even a little bemused, as she watched

him wrap the straps around the holster and deposit the weapon on the bedside table.

He unzipped his garment bag and removed a suit from it, then began unpacking other

items. His pale glance flashed briefly at her. "You know
me,"
he said. "You just don't know all

the details of my family yet, but we haven't had much time for casual chatting. I'm not

deliberately hiding anything from you. Ask any question you want."

"I don't want to conduct a catechism," she said, though she needed to do exactly that.

"It's just..." She spread her hands in frustration, because she was marrying him and she didn't

already know all this.

He began unbuttoning his shirt. "I promise I'll give you a complete briefing when we

have time. Right now, sweetheart, I'd rather you got your sweet little butt in one shower

while I get in the other, so we can get married and into this bed as fast as possible. About an

hour after
that,
we'll talk."

She looked at the bed, a bigger-than-king-size. Priorities, priorities, she mused. "Are we

safe here?"

"Safe enough for me to concentrate on other things."

She didn't have to ask what those other things were. She looked at the bed again and

took a deep breath. "We could rearrange the order of these things," she proposed. "What do

you think about bed, talk and then wedding? Say, tomorrow morning?"

He froze in the act of removing his shirt. She saw his eyes darken, saw the sexual

tension harden his face. After a moment he pulled the garment free and dropped it to the

floor, his movements deliberate. "I haven't kissed you yet," he said.

She swallowed. "I noticed. I've wondered—"

"Don't," he said harshly. "Don't wonder. The reason I haven't kissed you is that, once I

start, I won't stop. I know we're doing things out of order—hell, everything's been out of

order from the beginning, when you were naked the first time I saw you. I wanted you then,

sweetheart, and I want you now, so damn bad I'm aching with it. But trouble is still following

you around, and my job is to make damn sure it doesn't get close to you and our baby. I

might get killed—"

She made a choked sound of protest, but he cut her off. "It's a possibility, one I accept.

I've accepted it for years. I want us married as soon as possible, because I don't know what

might happen tomorrow. In case I miscalculate or get unlucky, I want our baby to be

legitimate, to be born with the Mackenzie name. A certain amount of protection goes with

that name, and I want you to have it. Now."

Tears swam in her eyes as she stared at him, at this man who had akeady taken one

bullet for her and was prepared to take another. He was right—she knew
him,
knew the man

he was, even if she didn't know what his favorite color was or what kind of grades he'd made

in school. She knew the basics, and it was the basics she had so swiftly and fiercely learned to

love. So he wasn't as forthcoming as she might have wished; she would deal with it. So

what if he was so controlled it was scary, and so what if those uncanny eyes noticed everything,

which would make it difficult to surprise him on Christmas and his birthday? She would deal

with that, too, very happily.

If he was willing to die for her, the least she could do was be completely honest with

him.

"There's another reason I agreed to marry you," she said.

His dark brows lifted in silent question.

"I love you."

He wore a dark gray suit with black boots and a black hat. Barrie wore white. It was a

simple dress, ankle length and sleeveless, classic in its lines and lack of adornment. She

loosely twisted up her dark auburn hair, leaving a few wisps hanging about her face to soften the

effect. Her only jewelry was a pair of pearl studs in her ears. She got ready in the bath off the

bedroom, he showered in the bath off the parlor. They met at the door between the two rooms,

ready to take the step that would make them husband and wife.

At her blunt declaration of love, an equally blunt expression of satisfaction had crossed

his face, and for once he didn't hide anything he was feeling. "I don't know about love," he'd

said, his voice so even she wanted to shake him. "But I do know I've never wanted another

woman the way I want you. I know this marriage is forever. I'll take care of you and our

children, I'll come home to you every night, and I'll try my damnedest to make you happy."

It wasn't a declaration of love, but it was certainly one of devotion, and the tears that

came so easily to her these days swam in her eyes. Her self-contained warrior
would
love

her, when he lowered his guard enough to let himself. He had spent years with his emotions

locked down, while he operated in tense, life-and-death situations that demanded cool, precise