Striking Distance (10 page)

If he’d been alone, he’d have gotten out his guitar and worked the dream out of his system with music, but he hadn’t wanted to risk waking her up. Instead, he’d watched her sleep, grateful she was safe and alive.

She lay curled against him now, her face pressed against his chest, her left leg tucked between his, her hair tangled. She looked serene, untroubled, her sweet face relaxed, her eyelashes dark against the pale skin of her cheeks, her breathing deep and even. Even though she was taller than most women, she felt delicate in his arms, her body soft and slender compared to his, her hands fine-boned, her nails neatly manicured with just a touch of clear polish.

For some time now, a part of him had wondered whether everything that had happened—their weekend in Dubai, her abduction, the false news of her death, his role in rescuing her—had made him see her in some kind of ridiculous, rosy light, exaggerating his feelings for her, leaving him confused. But holding her like this, he knew that nothing he’d felt had been exaggerated.

And what exactly do you feel for her?

Okay, so maybe he
was
confused.

His gaze traveled over the soft curve of her cheek to her jaw and along the silky skin of her neck. He’d once kissed her there, nipped and tasted her there, raising goose bumps on her skin, making her gasp and shiver, the heat inside him like a fever. He’d nibbled his way across her collarbone to the valley between her breasts, then taken her soft pink nipples into his mouth and suckled her, feeling her arch beneath . . .

Blood surged to his groin at the memory, making him hard—not typical morning wood, but a full-blown boner. Pretty certain Laura wouldn’t like waking up to find herself being jabbed by his junk, even if it was still encased inside his jeans, he shifted his hips.

Time to think about something else,
chacho
.

But the moment he moved, Laura stirred, stretched, pressing her belly against his erection. Her eyes opened, her gaze unfocused. She blinked, gave a little gasp, went rigid. Her gaze fixed on his chest, then slid slowly upward until their gazes met.

¡Coño!
Damn!

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Play it cool, man.

“Sleep well,
bella
?”

She nodded, her gaze flicking southward toward his erection, then up to his face again, her cheeks turning pink. “You?”

“Yeah. Like a rock.”

Not the best choice of words right now, Corbray.

“I’m glad.” Her gaze flicked southward again, and she drew away from him.

“Don’t worry about the . . . uh . . . hard-on.” He shoved aside the covers, his dick catching awkwardly against the seam in his jeans as he slid out of bed and stood, leaving him a choice between adjusting himself or risking accidental circumcision. “It’s just what happens to guys, you know . . . Morning wood.”

She sat up, looked straight at his crotch, then looked quickly away again, her face flushed. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“Oh, I’m not. I just didn’t want to you to think . . .”

To think what,
pendejo
? That you got hard thinking about having sex with her? Because that’s what happened. No, you’re not embarrassed. You’re guilty!

She stood, looking hotter than any woman had a right to at seven in the morning, her hair hanging in tangles, the buttery softness of her robe and nightgown clinging to her curves. “There’s a bathroom through there.”

“Thanks.” He walked in the direction she’d pointed, locking the door behind him.

He lifted the toilet seat, unzipped his fly, and looked down at his dick, which was giving him the one-eyed stare from behind the waistband of his black boxer briefs. Of course, there was
no way
he was going to be able to take a piss with a full-on rocky.

It was time for a shower.

CHAPTER

8

LAURA HEARD JAVIER
step into her shower and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, not sure what to think of what had just happened. She remembered putting her head in his lap, waking up in her bed, asking him to stay. She remembered, too, what his answer had been.

I am more than happy to be your teddy bear.

She’d woken up in his arms. Somehow, she’d curled up against him in her sleep, had known even before she’d opened her eyes that she was with him. It had startled her, but at the same time, she’d felt an unexpected trill of . . .
excitement
.

She found her handbag on the counter, took out her comb, and ran it through her tangles, then walked into the main bathroom, where she kept a spare toothbrush, and brushed her teeth. She found herself smiling at her reflection, amused by Javier’s embarrassment over an everyday average morning erection.

Well, maybe not average. From what Laura remembered—and from what she’d felt pressing against her—nothing about Javier was average.

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t feel it coming. Grief stole up on her quietly, seeping under her skin, sliding over her like a shadow. Her smile faded. She rinsed her mouth, set the toothbrush aside, overwhelmed by a sense of emptiness.

Oh. God.

She missed it. She missed all of it. She missed that entire part of herself—the part that had loved sex, that had reveled in intimacy, that had known how to tease, laugh, and play with a man. Al-Nassar had crushed it, stolen it, beaten it out of her, and she hadn’t realized until this moment how much she longed for it, not just the physical pleasure of sex, but the sense of closeness that came from joining with a man, giving her most private self to him, accepting what he gave her.

She inhaled, Javier’s scent on her skin, images of that weekend in Dubai sliding through her mind. Endless slow kisses, deep kisses, fierce kisses that stole her breath. Lips, hands, and skin moving over soft skin. The scent and taste of him mingling with her own scent and taste. The hard feel of him moving inside her as he took her against the wall, on the floor, in the sunken tub. The warmth of his muscular body as he lay in her bed, held her, slept beside her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fought to stop the bittersweet barrage of memories, her life now so empty by comparison. That wasn’t how she wanted it to be. She’d never intended to live a sexless, lonely life. Yet she wasn’t sure she was capable of enjoying sex right now—with anything other than her vibrator, of course. But seeing Javier again, being close to him, waking up to find his arms around her . . .

No. She couldn’t. Especially not with Javier.

The time she’d spent with him in Dubai had been special. If she got into bed with him now, she would tarnish that precious memory for both of them. She didn’t want to risk hurting or humiliating him. And then, of course, there were her stretch marks—and the fact that someone out there wanted to kill her.

She closed her eyes, drew a few deep breaths to quash the emotions she was feeling, then turned away from her mirror, walked into the kitchen, and started a pot of coffee. Fairly certain Javier wouldn’t care much for the traditional Swedish breakfast of hard-boiled egg, cucumber, and cod roe on
knäckebröd
, she opened her fridge and took out some eggs, then began to search for anything she could use to make omelets.

There wasn’t much—green onions, some slightly wilted spinach, mushrooms, a handful of cooked baby potatoes.

She needed to go grocery shopping.

“Don’t go to any trouble for my sake.”

She gasped and turned to find Javier standing behind her. His hair was still damp, his jaw smooth and clean shaven. He’d put on a pair of jeans and a dark gray long-sleeved T-shirt that fit over the muscles of his chest like a second skin, its sleeves pushed up his corded forearms to just below his elbows. A heavy watch was bound to his left wrist by a black leather band. He looked masculine—and devastatingly hot.

Laura almost forgot what she’d been about to say. “I . . . I’m just making breakfast. Are omelets okay?”

“As long as there’s hot coffee, I’m good.” He turned, and she saw the gun holstered on his right side—a cold reminder of her reality.

She ignored it, shut the refrigerator, and retrieved two mugs from the cupboard. “Let me guess—you take your coffee black.”

“Only if I have to.” He grinned. “Why don’t you focus on the omelets, and I’ll make you coffee the way we drink it in Puerto Rico? Got milk?”

While he heated milk on the stove, she went to work on the omelets, willing herself to control her thoughts and emotions and focus on this moment instead, the two of them talking about little things. His summers visiting his grandmother and cousins in Humacao. How she’d been born in the U.S. while her father had finished his doctorate at Princeton and therefore had dual citizenship. Why she’d left Sweden when she’d turned eighteen to return to the U.S. Neither of them mentioned yesterday’s bombing, her abduction, their time together in Dubai—or the fact that they’d slept side by side last night.

Soon breakfast was ready.

Laura sat and took a sip of her coffee. “Mmm.”

“Good?”

“Yes. Mmm. Very good.” It was sweet, but not too sweet, the strong coffee aroma rich and satisfying. “Thank you.”

“De nada.”

Then Laura asked him the question she’d wanted to ask the men who’d rescued her, the question she’d wanted to ask him since she’d found out what he did for a living. What drove some men to put their lives on the line for others, to risk
everything
, when most risked nothing? “Why did you decide to become a SEAL?”

* * *

JAVIER TOOK A
bite of his omelet, wondering how to answer. There were things about his past few people knew, things he wished he could forget, things he didn’t want Laura to know. She was polished, classy, smart. She’d come from a different world. How could she possibly understand?

He told her what he told most people. “I’ve always been stronger than other guys, faster, had better endurance. After I graduated from high school, I got an associate’s degree in sports medicine and landed a job as a certified personal trainer at a gym in L.A. At first, I thought it was the life. My clients were upscale. I was making good money. I had my own apartment, a shiny new Mustang. I always had a date. Life was good.”

It was the truth—or part of it.

Laura took another sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of her cup. “I can see you as a personal trainer. Why did you choose to do something different?”

Between bites of his breakfast, Javier told her how he’d slowly come to feel that what he was doing was meaningless. He’d gotten tired of listening to people’s bullshit excuses for missing workouts, of bored Hollywood wives trying to get into his pants during sessions their wealthy husbands had paid for, of people saying they wanted to improve their health and change their lives and then giving up without really trying.

“I was twenty-four and going nowhere, doing nothing. I felt restless, like I was wasting my life. I wanted to
do
something, be a part of something that mattered.”

Something that would make his parents and
abuela
forget the teenage gangbanger who’d gotten his younger brother killed and see him as a man.

“So you enlisted.”

He nodded. “One of the other trainers had a client who’d lost a leg serving with Delta Force in the Battle of Mogadishu in ’93. He was in the gym six days a week, working hard, doing his best to stay fit. He never made excuses, never missed a workout, never complained. I was watching him one day when I realized there was a way I could do something meaningful with my physical strength. I talked with a few recruiters, then signed on for the toughest challenge I could find.”

She was watching him still, a soft smile on her face. “I think that’s noble.”

She thinks you’re noble,
pendejo
. Way to pull the wool over her eyes.

“Did your family support you?”

Even as a part of him hated himself for hiding the truth from her, another part savored how it felt to sit here talking with her like this, still damp from his shower, Laura still in her nightgown and bathrobe. They’d had a couple of mornings like this in Dubai—except that neither of them had been wearing anything then.

Don’t go there, man.

“Once they got over the surprise, yeah, they were okay with it, though my mother and poor
abuelita
were afraid for me. They still are.”

“I can’t blame them. What you do—it’s incredibly dangerous. I’ve seen a team in action, remember? The men who rescued me almost got shot down.”

Ah, hell.

Javier wanted so much to tell her that he’d been on that helo beside her, that he was the one who’d tried to reassure her when the RPG explosions had scared her. He wanted to tell her, but couldn’t. “It’s a helluva way to make a living, I’ll give you that.”

“How long have you been a SEAL?”

“Fourteen years. I enlisted in 1998, and earned my Trident in ’99 before—”

A knock at the door made Laura jump.

He stood, hating to see fear on her face. “Expecting company?”

They’d buzzed no one in, and neither the DPD nor Agent Killeen had called to say they were coming up.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Stay here.” Javier walked quickly and silently across the room, positioning himself off to the side of the entrance so he wouldn’t be hit if someone fired rounds through the closed door. He drew his SIG. “Who is it?”

“It’s Kathleen Parker. I’m Laura’s neighbor.”

Relief on her face, Laura got to her feet and walked toward the door. “I recognize her voice.”

Javier looked out the peephole just to be certain no one was holding a gun to Kathleen’s head, then holstered his weapon and opened the door to find a woman—late thirties, maybe five six—standing there in brown yoga pants and a light green fleece jacket, her dark blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her gaze shifted nervously from Javier to Laura. “May I come in?”

Laura motioned for her to step inside. “Yes. Of course.”

Kathleen eyed Javier’s gun. “Are you a police officer?”

Laura opened her mouth as if to answer, but Javier beat her to it. “I’m part of Ms. Nilsson’s protection detail.”

So this Kathleen is the nosy type.

“Oh.” Kathleen turned to face Laura, looking nervous. “First, I just want to say I’m glad you weren’t hurt. What happened yesterday was terrible.”

She had that part right.

“I appreciate your support. Thank you.”

Kathleen’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Some of us in the building have been talking. We’re concerned that you’re endangering all of us by staying here. We think it would be better for everyone if you stayed somewhere else until this was over or maybe even sold your loft and found a more secure place to live.”

What the hell?

Javier felt his temper spike, saw the hurt and anger on Laura’s face as Kathleen’s words struck home.

“You want me to sell my home and move so you can feel safer?”

“That’s not what I said.” Kathleen shook her head in protest.

Javier crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, that’s exactly what you said.”

“Kathleen, I understand it must make you nervous, but everything that can be done to keep me safe—to keep us all safe—is being done. The FBI and—”

“Yesterday, this building was crawling with armed men. SWAT was even here.” Kathleen lowered her voice. “My children saw men
with guns
!”

¡Hay que joderse!
Holy shit!
Good guys with guns?

How could these people be so lacking in courage that the sight of men sent to protect them freaked them out? What a bunch of limp-dick cowards!

Laura’s expression had gone sympathetic. “I understand how that might be upsetting, and I’m sorry, but I am not going to be driven out of my home.”

But Javier had had enough of Kathleen Parker.

He opened the door. “Visiting hours are over.”

Kathleen gaped at him for a moment, seeming to realize that she was being told to leave. She glanced back at Laura, her expression hard. “You’re bringing trouble to our doorsteps, and we don’t want—”

“Later.” Javier shut the door, locked it.

Laura met Javier’s gaze, a stunned look on her face. “My neighbors want me to leave, to sell my loft and move out? I can understand why they’re anxious, but . . . This is my home.”

Javier shook his head in disgust. “It’s like my sweet
abuelita
always said—the world is full of assholes.”

Of course, a time or two when she’d said that, she’d been talking about him.

* * *

LAURA OPENED HER
office door, almost shaking from frustration, her head throbbing. She walked into the kitchen, got herself a glass of water, and set it down on the counter, not really thirsty.

Javier stood. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” She picked up the glass and drank every drop, then set it down again. “The paper’s publisher and board of trustees don’t want me to come back to work.”

Dark brows bent in a frown. “What?”

She turned, paced the length of the kitchen. “They told me they’re afraid for my safety and the safety of the rest of the staff. They want me to take the rest of the week off to recover, but they don’t want me back in the office on Monday. They think it would be best for everyone if I worked from home for the time being. They’re probably right.”

“Sounds to me like they’re afraid of being sued.”

“They’re not brave enough to say that, so they pretend it’s all out of concern for me.” She pressed her fingers against her throbbing temple. “First my neighbors want me to move out, and now the paper doesn’t want me around. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me, but I can’t just run and hide.”

She stiffened in surprise to feel Javier’s big hands on her shoulders.

He turned her toward him, took her into his arms. “I don’t blame you for being angry. But that headache—you need to take it easy. Some time off might not be a bad thing.”