The Defiant Hero (52 page)
She was impossibly sexy, riding him the way she was, with her head thrown back, her breasts tightly peaked with desire. She was killing him, completely killing him.
He reached between them, desperate to take her with him. She was soft and slick and touching her was nearly enough to take him over the edge.
He lifted her up, turning her so that he was on top, so he could be in complete control.
She smiled up at him and spread her legs even wider, and he knew it was hopeless. She was sexy as hell on her back, too. Sexier, looking up at him like that.
She moved her hips up to meet him, faster now, still holding his gaze. He was supposed to be in control now, but he wasn’t. It wasn’t even close. He was completely under her spell, completely unable to slow her down, to do anything but give her all she wanted.
And right now, she wanted him hard and fast.
Nils kissed her, taking her mouth possessively, claiming it, claiming her as his own.
Or maybe—and far more likely—claiming himself as hers.
He belonged to her. Completely. He had since the day they’d first met.
“I’m going to come inside you now,” he breathed. “Are you ready for me to do that?”
Meg nodded. “Yes. Yes.”
She wanted that as much as he did. And she was with him.
His release was like being hit by a train. It slammed into him, through him, not slowing down but instead building in intensity as he crashed into her. And she was right there, with him, beneath him. Part of him. Crying out his name as she exploded around him.
It was beyond pleasure—and knowing she was feeling this, too, transcended anything he’d ever experienced in his life.
He lay on top of her, completely spent as the motel room began to reappear around him. He realized he was crushing her and he would have rolled off, but she stopped him. She clung to him, holding him tightly in place.
He would have spoken, would have told her that he loved her, but she must have felt him take a breath.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Not yet. Please, let’s not talk yet. Let’s just stay right here a little bit longer.”
He was still inside of her and content to stay right there until the end of time, if she wanted.
There was no reason for him to withdraw, no need to worry about a condom leaking—there was no condom.
Disbelief shot through him. But it wasn’t followed by fear. It was followed by warmth. By certainty. By an intense surge of pleasure. Right now, maybe right this very second, a miracle could well be occurring.
Another miracle.
Nils breathed in the sweet scent of Meg’s hair as he closed his eyes and let himself drift, giving thanks for the miracle he’d already been given, and putting his list of requests for additional miracles right out on the table, for whoever might be up there to see.
In the past, he’d used a lot of different tactics when facing potential no-win scenarios. He wasn’t afraid to ask for outside help if the situation called for it.
And this situation called for all the help he could get—including divine intervention.
He wasn’t asking much—just that Meg’s little girl be kept alive until he could get there. That’s all he wanted.
He and his team would take it from there.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twenty-three
ALYSSA KEPT THE chain on as she opened the door to her hotel room. She didn’t speak, she just looked at Sam, her face expressionless.
She was wrapped in a terry cloth robe, her hair still wet. He’d caught her coming out of the shower. Which meant that she was probably naked under that robe.
And Sam no longer had to fantasize about what she might look like naked. After last night, he knew.
He had to clear his throat before his vocal cords would function. “Sorry to bother you. I know I’m probably the last person you want knocking on your door.”
She didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, somehow managing to do it without ever quite meeting his eyes.
He cleared his throat again. “Yeah, well, I just . . .” Shit, Starrett, just say it. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. I saw you limping, and—”
“I’m fine. I twisted my ankle. It’s no big deal. Nothing a little ice and rest won’t fix.”
She started to shut the door, but he leaned against it. “How about your elbow?”
She met his gaze at that, but only briefly. Just a flash, and then she quickly looked away. “Scraped. I’ve done way worse.”
“Did you get it cleaned out okay?”
“Yes.”
“It’s hard to do that yourself. I mean, a knee, sure, no problem. But an elbow . . . If you want I could—”
“It’s clean.” Impatiently, she pulled back her sleeve and showed him.
“Shit.” She’d taken off nearly the entire top layer of skin. It wasn’t deep. It was just raw. And Sam knew from experience that it had to hurt like hell. Someone in the team was usually always scraped up like that and whining about it far more than Alyssa ever would. It was really no big deal, but seeing it on her otherwise perfect arm somehow made it seem worse.
“I’ll put peroxide on it,” she told him. “It’ll be fine.”
Yeah, and that was going to make it sting like a bastard. Wisely, Sam didn’t volunteer to come in and hold her hand. He suspected that would get the door shut in his face, fast.
“How’s your sister and the baby?” he asked, wishing she would take that chain off the door and let him in. Knowing she wasn’t going to.
That question actually surprised her, and she looked at him again. She even almost smiled. “Fine. They’re both doing fine. Thanks.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad.” Quick, think of something else before she made her excuses and closed the door. “Are your ribs okay?” he asked. “You got hit pretty hard and—”
“Did I miss something here?” That almost smile disappeared fast. “Like the part where you suddenly got your medical degree?”
“No,” he said. “I’m just . . . I’m . . .”
“Feeling nervous?” she asked. “Don’t be. I just got my period. I already sent you an email about it. Pressure’s off.”
She wasn’t pregnant. “Oh,” Sam said. “Wow.” He waited for the relief to hit, but it didn’t come. Instead, he felt . . . wistful?
“So now if you don’t mind, I’m exhausted and I really—”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” he told her. “About last night.”
She finally met his gaze and held it. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. I was . . . I wasn’t expecting that. I thought . . .” She shook her head. “Thank you.”
Despite his reassurances back in DC, she’d actually thought he was going tell everyone on the team what he’d done last night. She’d probably even expected him to give some kind of locker room account, maybe even a blow-by-blow replay.
Christ.
“You know, Locke, I’m a decent man,” he told her, anger making his voice tight and louder. “Some people even consider me to be an exceptional man. I made it through BUD/S—which is more than most men—and any woman—can say. I passed all the moral and psychological requirements, too, and I got my ass assigned to Team Sixteen. I’m not this spawn of Satan that you seem to think I am.”
“Look, I said thank you.” Her voice got louder, too. “But that’s all I’m going to say—or do—so you might as well—”
He laughed in outraged disbelief. “Fucking perfect! What, do you really think I expect you to go down on me in gratitude or something? Jesus!”
Now she was thoroughly pissed, too. “I think you expected me to let you in, that’s what I think. Coming up here, pretending to give a damn about my ankle . . . ? Get real. You’re here because you want a replay of last night.”
Okay, so maybe she was right about that. Shit, he’d wanted a replay four minutes after she drove out of that parking garage in DC this morning. But that comment about pretending to give a damn was going too goddamn far. “I came up here because I wanted to make sure you were okay. I came up here because I fucking care, all right?”
Her laughter was decidedly derisive. “Yeah, right. You’re a real prince. Give it up, Roger. I’m not letting you in. I’m not too drunk tonight to know that you are nothing but one big, dumb, rednecked mistake.”
Dumb? No one called him dumb. He may have gone to college late, but once he got there, he was Phi Beta Fucking Kappa.
“Fuck you,” he shot back at her. “No, wait a sec, I’ve already done that, haven’t I?”
She slammed the door in his face.
Sam kicked it, hard.
Shit.
He limped away, cursing her, cursing himself.
That hadn’t gone quite as well as he’d hoped, but about as well as he’d expected.
Considering he was a fucking idiot and she hated his guts.
Impending death was a freeing thing.
Meg lay naked in John’s arms, gazing up at the ceiling as he ran his fingers from her shoulder down to the curve of her hip and back. It was soothing and hypnotic.
It would have been easy to fall asleep. He was probably hoping she’d do just that. But her life had come down to hours, and sleep seemed a waste of precious time.
“Do you trust me?” she asked John.
His hand stilled for a moment before continuing its endless journey up and down her back. “Yes, but I know you don’t think I do.”
Navy SEALs were known for their high levels of intelligence. There were no stupid men in the teams. John had to know what was coming next.
Meg wanted to know who he really was, where he really came from—she’d made that clear to him before.
And now they were almost out of time. If he didn’t tell her now . . .
“How bad was it really?” she asked, surprising herself a little by her ability to be so direct. But that was one of the pluses of impending death. It was now or never, so damn it, she had to ask—now.
He pretended not to know what she was talking about. “How bad was what?”
“Okay,” Meg said. “I’ll tell you, and you can just kind of nod if I get it right, okay?”
He laughed. “Meg—”
“Your father drank and when he drank he beat the crap out of you—”
“No,” John said. “Not true. My father wasn’t that kind of drunk, not like—” He shut his mouth fast, as if he realized he’d just given too much away.
“Not like your uncle?” she finished for him. She lifted her head to look at him, her heart in her throat. “Oh, John.” She hadn’t really believed it. She hadn’t actually thought . . .
“Shit.” He closed his eyes.
He had a beautiful face, all clean lines and strong jaw. A perfect nose, and eyes that would have made him a fortune had he gone to Hollywood instead of Coronado.
She waited for him to open those eyes and look at her, but he didn’t. He tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Shit,” he said again, this time on a sigh of air.
And he still wasn’t going to tell her. Meg fought the urge to cry. “I’ve trusted you as much as any human being can trust another,” she told him, her voice sounding very, very small to her own ears. “I’ve put Amy’s life into your hands. And we just made love. That implies a certain amount of trust, too. Can’t you trust me enough in return to let me inside of you? Just this little bit?”
He was silent, and her heart broke for him. How badly had he been hurt, how bad had it been that he’d had to create an entirely different version of his life?
“I’ve already guessed a lot of it,” she told him. “I figured you grew up poor. Not just middle class, but hand-to-mouth poor. Food stamps. Evictions?”
He nodded, still not looking at her.
“You’re really from Amagansett,” she continued. If you’re going to lie, he’d told her once, use as much of the real truth as possible. “Just not the wealthy part of town.”
Another nod.
“You said your father was in the food industry.” That had to be another part of the truth. “Where did he work—in a restaurant?”
John nodded again and finally spoke. “He was a short-order cook for a while. Before that, before he went to ’Nam, he and my uncle Al owned a fishing boat.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure if he drank because he couldn’t keep up the payments on the boat, or if he lost the boat because he drank. All I know is that he loved that boat, loved that life, and he lost it. He lost everything—our house, everything. You name it, it was gone.”
He looked at her as if he were angry she was making him talk about this, as if he didn’t want to remember. As if by not talking about it all these years, it had somehow disappeared or ceased to be. As if her need to know was resurrecting his pain.
“We moved into a shitty apartment with my uncle and his wife, my aunt Debbie. She drank too much, too. It was pretty much up to me to take care of them. I was seven the first time a neighbor called to say that my father had passed out in the parking lot. It was oh-two-thirty, and I had to go out there and find him and bring him inside.”
Other books
The Marriage of Mary Russell by Laurie R. King
In My Stepbrother's Hands by Tara Lynn
Fatal Beauty by Andrews, Nazarea
Run To You by Stein, Charlotte
Wolf's Haven by Ambrielle Kirk
Gilead: A Novel by Marilynne Robinson
Fire Bound by Sherrilyn Kenyon
Beauty in Disguise by Mary Moore
Targeted by Carolyn McCray
The Year of Chasing Dreams by McDaniel, Lurlene
