Shadows at Midnight (17 page)

DAN’S home was the most secure place he knew of. He had top of the line everything, at cost, courtesy of a Marine buddy who manufactured industrial security systems. He had the level of security of a bank or a defense department tech company. If a person so much as breathed on his perimeter, he knew about it, whether he was home or not.

He disengaged security at the gate, reengaged it and drove into his garage. When he killed the engine, he turned to Claire.

She was the color of ice again, shivering, though she tried to hide it. He’d turned the heat in his BMW on full blast, so much that he was sweating as he drove over the icy streets to Alexandria, but she was still trembling when he killed the engine.

It wasn’t the cold, anyway, it was the shock. She’d seen a dead body and been attacked, in one night. It would be almost too much to bear for the strongest woman, let alone a woman who’d been grievously wounded and was barely back on her feet.

Dan watched her in the silence. He had a neon garage light that cast no shadows and was always on, even though the two security cameras had infrared capability. He was a strong believer in overkill. It was the old military slogan—two is one. One is none.

“How you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet. The only sound in the garage was the ticking of the engine cooling.

“F-fine.” She tried a shaky smile.

She wasn’t fine. She was paler than when she’d had the panic attack.

She looked so lost and alone.

She wasn’t alone, goddammit. As far as he was concerned, she’d never be alone again. He had her covered now and he was going to do his damnedest to make sure nothing bad ever happened to her again. Or at least nothing bad that he could prevent.

He had no idea why someone tried to kill her, which was truly scary shit because sure as anything that guy was going to come back to finish the job.

Fine. Bring it on. Fucker’d have to go over Dan’s dead body, and he was a hard man to kill.

They needed to find out the source of the danger to Claire and neutralize it. But first, he needed to get her safely in the house and some color back in her cheeks.

He put a finger under her chin and turned her face to his, trying not to wince at her expression.

Still, God, she was so fucking beautiful. Shocked and pale and scared, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And by some miracle, she was here with him, where she was going to stay.

She was in his care now and he had to do this right.

First things first. “How about a shower, hot milk with a couple of fingers of whiskey and about ten hours of sleep?”

“Oh, man,” she sighed and sketched a smile that nearly broke his heart. “Sounds wonderful. Are we safe here?”

“Yeah, we are. You can let down your guard.” He hesitated a second, weighing the appearance of paranoia against putting her mind at rest. Reassuring Claire won. “I believe strongly in home security. I’ve got motion sensors, cameras around the property and the house, steel-reinforced doors, bullet-resistant windows.” And, well, voice recognition software, automatic sensor polling and a steel-toothed strip that would rise from the ground at the gate on command. She didn’t have to know all of that. All she had to know was that he was going to keep her safe.

He went around to the passenger side, opened the door, and held out his hands. Claire looked at his hands, then into his eyes.

The world stilled. Everything in Dan stopped—breath, thoughts, heart.

Slowly, Claire leaned forward, placing her hands in his. It was like being in a dream, all in slow motion, just the two of them in all the world. He lifted her out slowly, jaws clenched. She was featherlight between his hands, more like cloud and smoke than a woman.

But her face—that was all woman. Clear, porcelain skin, silver blue eyes, luscious mouth that didn’t need lipstick to make a man think of sinking right in to her. She was finally out of the car but Dan didn’t move, and neither did she. She stood, her hands still in his, that gorgeous face tilted up to his.

What was a man to do? Dan did the only thing he could do, what he’d been aching to do since eleven thirty this morning when she showed up on his office doorstep, this woman he thought was dead, and was instead alive, a fucking miracle.

He lowered his head, slowly, knowing that this was going to be momentous. It would divide his life into a before and an after. So he took it slow and easy. Just a touch of their lips at first. He felt an electric charge down to his toes.

Both of them drew in a breath that sounded loud in the hush of the garage.

The one thing Dan wanted to do right now, more than anything in the world, was to pull Claire right down to his hard, cold cement floor, slide her pants down those long, slender legs and follow her down, unzipping.

Two seconds later he’d be in her, the place he’d wanted to be—goddamned
yearned
to be—for almost two years now.

She’d let him, oh yeah. Her eyes were soft and warm as they looked at him.

Big Man. He was Big Man here, he’d saved her life, now had her in his home. No, she wouldn’t fight him.

He could see it, feel it, taste it. It could happen, right now. Right here.

He’d let her keep her coat on, not even in his feverish state of desire did he want her naked back to be on the chill, rough concrete flooring. No, he’d let her keep the coat, the sweater, even the pants down to her knees. All he needed was a shot at the part of her his dick was weeping to enter.

So down on her back, the puffy coat softening the rough floor, maybe he’d be in time to put his own coat on the floor for her, unzipping as he came down on top of her, pulling himself out of his pants, parting her with his fingers and oh, man, just sliding right in. The image was positively electric.

He hadn’t had sex in a year so he’d probably come in the first five seconds but that was okay, no way he’d lose his hard-on. In fact, he might sport his hard-on forever, the way he was feeling right now.

Maybe be buried in a closed casket because they couldn’t get it to go down.

Once he got into Claire, there’d be no stopping him, because he was as revved as he’d ever been in his life.

Having been in a firefight didn’t help, either. It was a known male reaction to danger—a woodie that lasted until the adrenaline passed through the system, usually through the dick.

Way out in the field, where there were no women to help you get rid of your hard-on, soldiers used their fists. After combat, barracks smelled like goats had died in there.

But he didn’t need to use his fist here, oh no. He had the world’s most beautiful woman right here, right in front of him, looking at him with soft eyes.

Oh man, once he was in her, he’d hold her hips while he did her hard, or pull her knees up and apart to give him more access. Just let it rip, get rid of all that adrenaline and break a year’s abstinence by pounding into her . . .

Christ.

He would hurt her. The way he was feeling right now, he’d hurt her, hurt
Claire
. Fuck, what was he thinking—holding her down with his hands? He had big, strong hands and he could keep her still under him, no question. Though of course he’d probably bruise all that lovely pale skin, hurt her, make her feel trapped under him . . .

He closed his eyes.

This was not good. What he was feeling was not good. He was a man known for his control and he was on the razor’s edge of losing that control right now, with a woman he cared about, a lot.

He opened his eyes again and saw Claire. Really
saw
her. Smart and courageous. An amazingly beautiful woman without an ounce of that power-hungry coyness so many beautiful women developed over the course of a lifetime leading poor males around by their dicks. A one-in-a-million woman.

She’d been blown up a year ago, spent three months in a fucking coma. She’d been shot at only an hour ago, her personal effects viciously destroyed—and he was fantasizing holding her down with all his strength while he fucked her? On the cold concrete of his garage floor?

Shame flooded him. He was better than this.

“Come in,” he said gently and saw her relax slightly. She was smart. She’d picked up on his almost violent vibes, probably wondering what was in store for her. Relaxing a little as he showed a modicum of self-control.

Oh man, what an asshole he was.

The garage gave onto the kitchen and he walked her in, flipping on lights, taking her coat, moving away, giving her space.

She was looking around curiously. What was she seeing? The kitchen was clean, thank God. He wasn’t a slob. Any sloblike tendencies he might have had had been beaten right out of him in the corps. So his spaces were all neat, everything squared away.

On the other hand, he didn’t decorate. Everything was functional, with no personal touches at all. The kitchen was top of the line, as was his security system, home entertainment system and computer system. Everything else was chairs and beds and closets, chosen for being well-constructed and bland.

He pulled out a chair, gestured. “I think I promised you some hot milk.”

“And whiskey.” She turned her head to watch him. “Don’t forget that.”

No, he wouldn’t. They were safe and if he couldn’t dump some of his combat stress through immediate sex, whiskey would have to do.

The microwave pinged and he brought out a bottle from under the sink. He poured a finger into her warm milk and splashed four fingers into a tumbler for himself. He downed it in two gulps and placed the milk in front of her.

She cupped the mug in her hands, closing her eyes and bringing it to her nose and sniffing, a slight smile on her lips.

Oh Jesus
, he thought.
Just look at her.
That long slender neck tipped back as she drank the mug of milk and he was nearly brought to his knees.

Any makeup she might have had on at the start of the evening had disappeared, her short hair stuck out from her head, her clothes were rumpled, the knees of her pants scuffed from when she’d hugged the ground in an effort to evade bullets.

She’d been through the wringer and she looked it.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Claire finished the milk and looked up at him. Like in the garage, it was as if the entire world had hushed. There were no sounds, none at all. His home was tightly built, soundproofed. There weren’t even the small creaks and groans most houses had.

Not even the sound of breathing, because he forgot to breathe as Claire met his eyes. After a minute, his chest expanded and he sucked in air.

She was like a pearl in his kitchen—pale, glowing, perfect.

He’d have to be a saint to resist. He wasn’t a saint.

Touching Claire was a real no-no right this instant because Dan had no idea if he could control the strength in his hands. So he clutched the table’s edge and the back of her chair and bent down slowly to her. She was in his embrace, but . . . not.

Some tiny vestige of sense was jumping up and down inside his head, waving a red flag.

Watch it, or you might hurt her.

How the fuck was this supposed to work?

How was he supposed to slake his lust without scaring her or—God!—hurting her.

His hands were trembling, which was truly scary shit. Dan’s hands never trembled, ever. He’d been a sniper. Snipers’ hands were steady no matter what. Which made the trembling worse because this was way outside his experience.

Their eyes met, held. Her eyes moved left to right and back, as she watched his eyes. Waiting to see what he was going to do.

He was going to kiss her, slowly.

Keeping in control. He hoped.

His mouth touched hers, a swift electric taste of her that went straight to his dick. Oh God.

He pulled away, watched her eyes, carefully.
Give me a sign, honey
. Was this something she wanted or was he constructing this whole scenario out of his own massive lust?

It was gone almost before he noticed it, but he caught it. A smile. A lightening of her features, lips slightly curved upward.

A smile. In reaction to a kiss.

This was good.

Sex was going to happen.

Mentally punching the air while keeping a prudent grasp on her chair and the table, Dan bent down again.

Longer. Sweeter. Even better than before.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

Again. His mouth on hers, opening hers, that first wild taste of her, tongue meeting tongue. Heat prickled through his body. He lifted his mouth again, tilted his head for a better, deeper fit. She tilted, too, pushing up against him.

There were sounds now. His harsh breathing, the wet succulent sounds of kisses and, deep in her throat, a moan.

Oh man, it was too much. Time for action before he exploded in a million pieces.

Dan bent and lifted her in his arms.

IT was like flying, being carried by him.

When she’d come out of the coma, weak, muscles atrophied, she felt as if she’d woken up on Jupiter or some other heavy gravity world. Everything was hard, the whole world conspired to pull her down, down. In the beginning, even lifting her feet had been hard.

This was delicious, the world had loosened its ties and she floated above it.

Dan’s house was big. They crossed a couple of rooms with large open spaces and very little furniture, which was a good thing because Dan was kissing her with his eyes closed. Clearly, though, he could navigate blind because they made it to his bedroom without tripping and falling.

Another big room, very spare. Only this one with a huge bed against the wall, the largest, most visible thing in the room. There was a big wooden headboard and about an acre of mattress with an enormous navy blue comforter on it.

The bed where they were going to make love. In about two seconds, if she was reading him right.

He was so tense she was afraid his muscles would twang if she touched him. His face was even darker, a dull red riding his cheekbones. He was breathing heavily as he let her slide down him by simply removing the arm under her legs.

She was plastered up against him and could feel everything—the ripped muscles, his chest bellowing in and out and, wow, his arousal. Huge and so hot she felt it through her clothes and his.

He reached for the hem of her sweater, eyes on hers. He stopped, waiting for a sign from her. “Do you want this?” His low deep voice seemed to fill the room.

There was no breath in her lungs to answer so she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

There. There was no turning back now.

His hands shook. She put her hands over his and they stilled. She watched his eyes in the darkness. “It’s okay,” she whispered.

Claire had no idea how her body would react to sex, whether she was up to it or not. But she wanted him to know that any problems were hers, not his. If it didn’t work out, it would be her fault, not his.

She was naked in seconds, or at least that’s what it felt like, her clothes drifting off her as if in a dream. Sweater, bra, pants, panties. It seemed like Dan’s large, strong hands just swiped the air and off they flew.

When she was naked, she stood there, so close to him her breasts almost touched him when she breathed in.

He stood, unmoving, for long moments, so still she would have thought him dead if his chest weren’t moving. He reached out a hand to her, moving slowly, as if through something denser than air. When he touched her, she shivered, though his hand was like a furnace.

He placed his open palm on her chest, between her breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” she whispered back. It was a moment for whispers, as if the whole world were holding its breath to see what would happen next.

His large, warm hand traveled slowly down her front, over her belly. He turned his hand and cupped her, the gentle shifting of his hand an invitation to open her legs.

Heat was coursing through her body, centered on where his hand touched her. Every cell in her body felt so
alive
. Hot and swollen.

Sexual desire. This was desire. It had been so long, she had forgotten the feeling, so long it took her a moment or two to even recognize it.

Claire tipped her head back a little because it felt like her neck muscles weren’t strong enough to support her head. Every muscle she had went lax, the heat coursing through her seemingly melting them. She stiffened her knees to keep upright.

And then—oh God—he touched her there, at her most sensitive tissues, a rough finger circling her.

Her vagina clenched in excitement.

He stopped and huffed out a breath. “Oh, Christ,” he breathed.

Another slow circle around her, the rough skin of his fingers adding to the intense pleasure.

He swallowed heavily.

Their only connection was his hand on her sex but Claire felt touched all over, skin prickling with heat.

“I haven’t had sex in a year,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I think I only have one condom and I don’t know if it’s expired or not. And one condom isn’t going to be enough. I don’t know how we’re going to get around this.”

Well, that was easy.

“I haven’t had sex in four, maybe five years,” she said. It had been either a love life or a professional life and she’d opted for the latter. “But you don’t need to worry about condoms. My doctors put me on the pill.”

His face changed, muscles pulling as if in pain. He made a sound deep in his chest and a second later, she was lying on the bed while his clothes flew around the room.

She watched him undress jerkily, a touch of unease entering her mind as she saw exactly what his clothes had kept covered up. It was clear that he was a strong, fit man, nothing could hide that. But naked, he was almost frightening in his power.

Deep, solid muscles, the heavy raised veins of an athlete, so little body fat she could see the striations of muscle in his abdomen. And, oh . . . a penis that was almost frightening. She’d felt his arousal in the garage but nothing prepared her for its appearance. It looked like a club, hard and huge, already weeping at the tip.

Her body closed in on itself a little.
I don’t know if I can do this,
she thought.

But it was too late because his heavy weight was coming down on top of her, one hard thigh separating her legs, his hand separating the lips of her sex and with one hard thrust he was inside.

It hurt.

They froze, both of them. Claire was almost afraid to breathe. Her entire lower body was scrambling to accommodate him, deal with the tight feeling of intrusion.

“Shit.” His voice was ripe with frustration. He lifted himself up on his elbows and looked down at her. “You weren’t ready.”

His head hung down and he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I should have waited but I just couldn’t . . . I’m an idiot. Sorry.” He shook his head in sorrow. “And I don’t think I can pull out, either. Just . . . can’t. What are we going to do?”

“Kiss me,” she said softly.

He looked startled, as if he was expecting her to scream and push at his shoulders. Then his face changed, moved in a smile. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “I can do that.”

He settled on her completely, forearms bracketing her shoulders, and gave her a series of first-date-at-the-prom kisses. Light, tender. The kind of kisses where you’d never imagine that they could be lying in bed together and he was heavily wedged inside her body.

Kisses lighter than air, kisses with a smile. She smiled back and, for the first time, lifted her arms and embraced him.

Wow. He felt as powerful as he looked. Just to test it, she dug her nails into his shoulders and couldn’t make a dent. Like trying to make a dent in steel. She did have one effect, though. His penis swelled inside her, impossibly.

And, impossibly, she contracted around him. He lifted his head at that, staring down at her from an inch away, nose almost touching hers.

“You like that.” The deep voice was rough.

“I—I guess I do.” She was breathless with the excitement that was starting to rise from her groin, but also with his heavy weight. It felt good, though. Actually, everything was starting to feel good.

She moved, experimentally, embracing him more fully, her arms trying to encompass his wide back, the slabs of muscle flowing under her fingers, thighs widening to welcome him and he slid a little farther inside her, the feeling now electric, on the razor’s edge of intense pleasure and pain and he was moving in her more easily, small intense rocking motions that slid her right over onto the pleasure side as she threw her head back and closed her eyes to concentrate on the heat that was exploding between her thighs, pulsing in wild contractions . . .

And Dan stiffened, groaned loudly, swelled even more inside her and started climaxing, shuddering and shaking, large chest bellowing to pull in air.

Claire’s body quieted slowly as she felt warm honey drip through her system. She felt like she was floating on a cloud with a very heavy body on top of her keeping her from drifting way out into space.

Crazily, even after the orgasm, he hadn’t softened inside her, but he was moving more easily now.

He lifted himself up and smiled down at her, a sweaty lock of dark hair falling down on his forehead.

She had the right to do this now. Smiling herself, she smoothed his hair back.

“Well, that was fast.” He looked down at her, eyebrows raised.

“Mmm,” she replied. “Rocket man.”

“Are you comfortable? Any creases in the sheets under your back?”

“No,” she said dreamily. “I’m just fine.

“Great.” He settled his heavy weight back down on her. “Because this is the position we’re going to be in for a while. A long while.”