Too Hot to Hold (21 page)

Her sex rubbed his cock—she was so wet for him,
so fucking wet
—and he grabbed her hips and pushed her down without finesse.

For that moment, when she was first sheathed around him, there was total silence, almost reverence as she looked into his eyes. And she was making love to him as Nick and Cutter and all at once the two worlds melded and for just that moment, the burden lifted.

All that was left to do was give up and give in. This wasn’t about power anymore. This was about them, that undeniable heat that rose up between them every single time they were together.

“Go, Kaylee,” he murmured, and she did, rocked back and forth, her palms flat against his chest, eyes never leaving his. Her breasts rose and fell with the exertion and he wanted them in his mouth, wanted his face between her legs. Wanted to come deep inside of her. Mark her.

The primal urge rose up inside him in a hot rush as he grabbed her hips and thrust up into her so hard all she could do was hold on to him.

All he could do was breathe and pretend nothing else mattered.

———

Are you sure they’re okay?” Sarah asked when Clutch came back to the car. She’d opened the back where they’d been sitting together—both had wanted to talk, but had been unable to do more than simply kiss.

It was only Nick yelling for Kaylee to stop that had broken them apart.

Now Clutch slid next to her, gathered her into his arms. “They’re safe. I don’t know if they’re okay.”

She nodded, pushed herself more tightly against him.

She and Clutch didn’t even have the safe part and she hated having to think about that now. She just wanted to tangle her body around his until neither of them could stand straight.

“I didn’t want to leave you behind. It nearly killed me,” he whispered into her neck. His warm breath fanned her skin as she sat with her back to his chest, one of his hands between hers. She ran a thumb inside his palm, felt the calluses that she knew came from firing a weapon and thought about that last night they’d been together.

“I got a job offer,” she said finally. “For an American newspaper. Full time.”

She felt his body tense, but he didn’t say anything, and so she continued. “They wanted me to leave Africa, wanted to send me all over the world so I can take pictures for them.”

Still, nothing. She moved from his grasp and turned so she could look at him.

His expression was hard—the one she remembered all too well from the first time they’d met. “Why didn’t you take it?”

“How can you ask that?”

“The whole time we were apart… one of my biggest fears was that, when I was finally able to be with you again, you’d be gone.” He paused. “It was also something I was hoping would happen—for your sake. I knew it would’ve broken me, but I wanted it for you as badly as I wanted you for myself.”

It took so much for him to tell her that—even more for him to actually mean it, to wish that freedom for her, and she wondered why the anger still ran so deeply inside of her. “You should’ve taken me with you.”

“You know I couldn’t do that. And look, I’m in the same exact place I was anyway—putting your life in danger again.”

“If you try to leave me—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was equally fierce. “Do you understand? We’re in it together now. You’ve always told me how tough you are—you’ve shown me too. Now it’s time to stick together.”

It was okay for him to say it now, okay to talk about what they wished and wanted because they’d found their way back to each other. Whatever happened, she wasn’t letting go.

“I wanted to take the job, Bobby. And I felt like I was betraying you because of that.”

“You weren’t.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment and then her cell phone was ringing, disrupting the quiet. She stared at the number that came up on the screen before clicking the button to send it to voice mail.

“Who is it?” Clutch asked.

“It’s just Vince. He’s the man—the reporter I was working for on the last job.”

Clutch tried to look uninterested and failed miserably. “The one you want to work for. He obviously won’t take no for an answer.”

“Bobby, please, there’s nothing going on between us.”

“He wants you—”

“For his paper.”

“Don’t be naive, Sarah—you never were before this and I can’t believe you’d start now.”

“So you’re saying I couldn’t get the job because of my talent?” She pushed away from him.

“No, I’m not…” He ran a hand across his mouth in frustration, held it there for a second, as if gaining patience by doing so. When he pulled it away, he reached for her hand. “You know I think you’re an amazing photographer. It’s just that you have no idea how badly I wanted to be there for you these past months. How much I fucking worried that they wouldn’t keep their promise and leave you alone…”

“But they did. And I’m here. And we have to put all of this behind us—we start doing that now.”

Vince’s offer was the road less traveled, the path she would’ve taken if Clutch hadn’t been around to screw things up for her.

But Clutch—no, Bobby, they were so close to him being Bobby again—pulled her close to him again. “I’m sorry—after all that’s happened I have no right to be a jealous bastard.”

“But you are.”

“Yeah, I am.” He wrapped his arms around her protectively, even as her phone began to ring again. “Are you going to get that now?”

Vince. Again. She switched the phone off. “No. There’s no reason to answer.”

Her future was right here, where it had always been. In Africa and in Bobby’s arms.

Kaylee lay on top of Nick—both of them half-naked out in the open, the need still pulsing between them even though they were spent.

She moved her cheek so she could rest it on his heartbeat—steady and strong against her skin. One of them would have to speak soon, to figure out where they went from here.

It would have to be her. “I’m going to keep you safe, Nick. I know that sounds ridiculous, considering where we are. But I will.”

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded rough and weary. “I don’t want you to know this, Kaylee.”

She lifted her head to look into his eyes, into the perfect, handsome face that held so much pain. She was responsible for some of it. “If I hadn’t brought Aaron’s secrets into your life—”

“My burden would still be exactly the same.” He shifted to free himself from under her and he stood. It was so quiet out here—made the energy vibrating off Nick even more intense. “What the hell were you thinking? Why did you wait to tell me?”

Her own anger was there, deep, dark and unresolved, and pushing Nick Devane was the stupidest thing she could do. But she was through being rational, done with being poor Kaylee the juvenile delinquent or K. Darcy the journalist. All she wanted was to figure out who Kaylee Smith really was, deep down. What that woman wanted.

The problem was, she knew what—who—she wanted. He stood right in front of her. But every second had him slipping through her fingers.

“I was waiting for you to tell me,” she said honestly. “I wanted you to tell me, I wanted to be the first woman you ever shared that secret with.”

He didn’t say anything right away, a Herculean effort, she was sure. When he finally did speak, they were words she hadn’t wanted to hear. “I wouldn’t have told you. Ever. If it wasn’t for our connection with Aaron, I wouldn’t have been with you for longer than a night.”

And then he walked away from her.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered to his back.

If he heard her, he didn’t turn around. She had no choice but to follow him out of the brush and into the car.

16

Chris had remained conscious during the crash—Jamie hadn’t, but she was coming around quickly.

Both seats—all the seats—had been ripped away from the sides of the plane, and they’d both been ripped out of their seats. Chris had ended up shoved in a corner and Jamie was stretched out on the other side of the plane, seemingly unharmed—he’d carefully threaded his legs around the debris in the dark to get to her and now remained over her, checking her pulse and gently stroking her cheek to facilitate waking her.

All the while, her last words to him echoed in his head.

You’re so free—I envy that part of you—but I know itcovers something. I’m betting a lot of people don’t get that about you, at least not right away. Maybe never
.

She saw right fucking through him, and here he thought he was the one with all the insight.

As much as he didn’t like it, he knew he wanted that—needed it. He’d learned a long time ago that letting people inside wasn’t always the easiest thing for him. But fuck it, he sure as hell wasn’t going to help her climb inside. If she wanted that, she’d have to fight for it.

Jamie opened her eyes and saw Chris’s face hovering above hers. She wanted to move but the heaviness of her body told her that wasn’t a good idea.

“What happened?” she asked.

“We crashed.”

“Yeah, thanks—I got that.”

“Are your ears ringing?”

“No.”

“All right, that’s good. Stay still—let me check you out first.” He moved so he hovered over her, beginning with her legs, asking her to move her toes and limbs, and finally he touched the knot on her head lightly.

“That hurts.”

“It should—but I don’t think you’ve got a concussion.” He helped her sit up. She winced when she got completely vertical and let her back rest on the side of a broken seat. “The pilot?”

“He’s dead, ejected on impact. His body’s on the ground below.”

“The plane?”

“Same.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

She checked her watch. “We’re late.”

“No one’s ever late in this country. Besides, we’re not going anywhere fast now,” he said.

“Maybe we landed in a populated area?”

“No such luck.”

“Check again. Wait, I’ll go check.” She found herself actually trying to claw her way off the plane.

Chris was easing her back down to the floor. “Jamie, listen to me—we’re not leaving until this rain stops, understand?”

“By then it might be too late to get out of here.”

“Walking around here with no visibility isn’t a good idea—you and I both know that. For now, we stay put, we’re safe.”

It looked like midnight out, thanks to the rain and the jungle they’d landed in the middle of, which blocked out any source of light in the hot metal box of a plane. “But I can’t stop now—don’t you understand?” She pushed at him, knowing he was one hundred percent right and still seeing her chances of finding Sophie slip through her hands like tiny sand grains.

“You’re damned straight I understand. I’ve got as much at stake as you do. And we’re still staying put.”

“You’re not in charge here, Chief Petty Officer.”

She’d reverted back to the familiar form of comfort and she waited for him to buck that order—to push back, to tell her that she couldn’t be in charge all the time.

Instead, he stood there watching her, that same quiet strength emanating from him. “I hate being helpless too. I don’t do it well.”

Shit. Maybe she could be less selfish about all of this. “You’re doing a much better job of hiding it than I am.”

“Smoke, mirrors and years of training.” He turned and was rummaging around in the ruined back of the plane.

She looked out the window and saw nothing—it was as pitch black outside as it was in here, save for the thin beam of Chris’s penlight. Rain sleeted hard against the small windows and it was still hot as anything. She hoped the inside of this crushed tin can would cool down soon. “What are you doing back there?”

He emerged, holding a bottle in his hands, looking victorious. “Here we go.”

“What’s that?”

“Our bottle of patience.” He shined the light so she could read the label.

“I’m sure bourbon’s not what you use for patience when you’re sniping.”

He snorted. “That’s just plain old willpower.”

The man never stopped moving—even trapped in this stupid tin can, his body seemed to vibrate through the darkness. She tried to picture him lying facedown on the ground for hours without moving and failed. “This is probably nothing for you, right? I’m sure you’ve had lots of narrow escapes.”

“A few. I try to avoid the plane crashes, though. Typically, I just bail before it happens.”

“I forgot that you could do almost anything. Including building bombs from coconuts, right?”

“Now she gets a sense of humor,” he muttered.

“Well, not everyone gets to be a consultant on a reality show for a major movie star.”

He snorted. “I’m not doing the man-versus-wild thing for Jules, no matter how many times she asks.”

“It sounded like she really wanted you to.”

“Yeah, she wants a lot of things. We have some unfinished business—but all of that’s on her end, not mine.”

Jamie understood unfinished business. Sometimes she felt as if her entire life had been one long string of unfinished—memories, experiences. Childhood.

At college and at work, she’d liked completing things. Even the simple act of actually filing a folder away after finishing a case was pleasing to her.

She wondered if having things messy and complicated would ever actually satisfy her, the way it seemed to for so many people around her.

Things here—in this country, on this personal mission—were far too tangled, becoming more so by the second. Her worry merged with Chris’s until it bubbled over into this—sitting next to him in the dark.

Or at least that’s what she wanted to believe.

Over the years, she’d met her share of men—all of them, including Mike, seemed to want to crack her open, figure her out, try to loosen up the serious act. But it wasn’t an act, and Chris seemed to understand that. Didn’t seem to mind it either.

He’d settled in next to her, handed her the bottle. “Are you all right in the dark?”

Why wouldn’t I be?
nearly shot from her mouth before she reined it in. “Not always, but I’m okay for now.”

Yet even as she spoke the words, the familiar panic spread inside of her, hot and fast, and she was drawing her knees to her chest, her brain working overtime because she couldn’t think of what she was supposed to say, didn’t remember her made-up story. She could only think of the truth, and she’d sworn she’d never tell anyone that.

Before her parents had been killed, life in Witness Protection had consisted of a home in Minnesota. But Jamie had been born in Brooklyn, where her mother, an ADA, had successfully prosecuted the wrong man, a high-ranking member of the Russian mafia. The man’s son swore revenge on her and her entire family, no matter how long it took.

After her parents were murdered, Kevin Morgan, the U.S. marshal who’d followed their case and counseled them, had taken them in with him. His wife, Grace, had reluctantly agreed and Jamie and Sophie lived there under Witness Protection until Sophie turned eighteen and enlisted. Jamie remained until she was eighteen as well, then left for college.

It wasn’t surprising that both women ended up in law enforcement, that both of them carried weapons. They’d been looking over their shoulders their entire lives anyway.

Now Chris was rubbing her neck and shoulders again. “Your pain’s back.”

“Yes,” she lied, because really, it had never left. When the headaches got really bad, she swore she could hear Sophie’s screams—screams that had woken her up from a dead sleep when she’d been eight years old and had her running to find her sister.

It had been the night the man who’d hunted her parents since they’d all gone into Witness Protection, had found them. That night, there had been so much blood—it covered the ground, it was all over Sophie’s feet and her hands, but somehow … somehow Sophie managed to calm down and tell Jamie,
Go downstairs
.

And in between the screams, Jamie remembered the sirens; the only thing that had saved her and her sister that night had been Sophie’s quick thinking—even in her panic, the fourteen-year-old had remembered her training from the marshals and the drills their parents had run them through regularly.

When Sophie heard the man murdering their parents, she’d called the police. And then she’d started screaming.

Jamie fought the urge to put her hands over her own ears to block out the yells now only she could hear. “Did your iPod survive the crash?”

“I think so. Do you want to listen to it?”

“No. I’d like…would you…would you sing for me again?” she asked, wanted to take back the “for me” part, because he’d been singing for himself earlier.

Then again, maybe he hadn’t, because he answered her question by turning on his iPod—she saw the quick flash of light—and then his singing filled the interior of the plane, bouncing off the enclosed space. The song—Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here”—washed over her like instant comfort, his voice filling up the spaces in her mind until she was able to push all other thoughts away for the moment.

Clutch called out to them as Nick walked slowly back to the car, Kaylee at his heels, the anger between them as thick as the sudden humidity that had sprung up with the rumble of distant thunder. This was going to be some storm.

“What’s up?” he asked Clutch.

“We’ve got to take off. Rains are coming—we’ve got to try for higher ground,” Clutch said.

“What about pushing through to a hotel?” Nick asked.

Clutch shook his head. “I just checked with a source. Soldiers still have the borders closed in all directions—we can only get so far, if we’re lucky, without attracting attention. You two ride with Sarah, I’ll follow right behind.”

The rains would come in another hour or so. Nick knew from firsthand experience, as no doubt Sarah and Clutch did too, that the torrential rains would bring flooding that could take the cars if they didn’t find high enough ground.

Sarah was already in the car. Thunder rumbled overhead, an ominous sound as night refused to let the day through. Kaylee looked up at the lightning flash; Nick noted she looked tired, worried too, and still so fucking beautiful it made his heart hurt in a way he hadn’t known was possible.

I think I know who you really are…

She
did
know. All these years, he’d been so careful—all ties cut, no traces of Cutter Winfield’s trail left uncovered, and now, because of Walter’s guilty conscience, Nick was found out.

By an investigative reporter. One he was falling for.

He could’ve denied it—she had no real proof other than seeing Walter at the house—but he hadn’t. Hadn’t wanted to. He’d meant it when he’d told her he was tired of the burden. He just hadn’t realized how much of a burden the secret had become until he’d met Kaylee.

Kaylee, who had already pushed past him into the car. He shut the door behind her and walked toward Clutch. “You haven’t been declared dead—you’re still known. Or you were. How does that figure into GOST? It goes against what you’re telling me.”

“They let me have an honorable discharge for a family emergency. I was one of the first men recruited. After what happened with Aaron, the men who did the recruiting decided it was better to figuratively kill off the men and their military pasts—less ties, less chance of anyone missing you.” Clutch paused. “I guess I’m one of the lucky ones.”

Clutch really meant that—Nick could hear it in the man’s tone.

“You sure everything’s all right with Kaylee?” Clutch asked him. “Sounded like she was really upset.”

“She is.”

“Dammit. I didn’t want to involve her, Nick. You have to believe me. If I’d known you were involved with her—”

“I’m not.”

Clutch stared at him for a second. “Brother, you need to check your definition of
involved
, then, because from where I’m sitting, you’re in deep.”

Nick wanted to tell him that he had no fucking idea just how deep he was into all of this. Instead, he got into the car, next to Kaylee, listening to the thunder rumble overhead as Sarah crashed the car through the brush to get to higher ground.

After initially refusing, Jamie found that a few good swigs from the bottle of bourbon, as hard as it was going down, did wonders.

Now, sitting against what was left of a cushioned seat in the darkness of the plane’s interior, she still felt the slight panic whenever she thought about Sophie.

“Talking helps.” Chris’s voice rose up out of the darkness.

“How do you know what I’m thinking about?”

“I’d worry if it wasn’t about your sister.”

“You must think I’m so unprofessional.”

“We’ve got to protect our own,” he said quietly.