Hell on Wheels (21 page)

He lifted a dark brow.

“Oh come on,” she raised a hand. “You know,
Monty
Python
and
the
Holy
Grail
?”

The look he sent her clearly questioned her sanity.

“Sheesh, just when I think you might be normal…” she shook her head and started tidying the mess they’d made.

“We are the knights who say
ni
!” he declared in a pretty convincing accent, and she swung around to face him, her mouth slung open. He grinned. “You really don’t know me at all, do you?”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine, I guess.”

“Yeah, good guess.”

“Can’t help it,” he grumbled. “When you’re around, I have difficulty hidin’ this,” he motioned to the bulge behind his zipper, “so I usually just avoid you.”

Now her mouth was hanging open for a completely different reason. “Really? After racing for fifteen hours across the country on the back of a bike that vibrates enough to rattle every single tooth out of your head, after getting shot and having my fingers shoved in your
bullet
wound
, you’re still able to think about sex? You really must be insane.”

“Blame it on the adrenaline rush.”

“Fine. So…” she took a step toward him. “Let’s do something about it.”

“
What?
” He looked like she’d just told him they should shave their heads and join the Hare Krishnas.

“You heard me.” And there was nothing to stop them, no one around, and despite his repeated rejection and his assertion he didn’t want to physically react to her, it was obvious, really, really obvious—given that substantial bulge—that his mind and his body were on two different pages.

She tended to side with his body because, to put it simply, she wanted him. Like she’d never wanted a man before in her life.

Perhaps it had something to do with the not-so-small fact she might be in love with him. Or perhaps it was simply that it had been a long time coming. Whichever, it didn’t really matter, because both reasons only supported her assertion they should give in to their desires.

And if she
did
love him—okay, she did—didn’t she deserve at least one night in his arms?

“No.” He shook his head, eyeing her approach like a cobra eyes a mongoose.

***

“Why?”

“Why what?” Oh, Nate knew what she was asking, but he desperately searched for a way to stall, because he just couldn’t for the life of him come up with a plausible excuse to—

“Why won’t you make love to me?”

Uh, yep.
That
was the question he couldn’t bring himself to answer since Ali wasn’t the kind of woman to take a night’s pleasure and vanish. Hell no. And to offer her anything more was out of the question, given he’d then be compelled to admit he’d killed her brother and
lied
to her about it, which…no, that just wasn’t gonna happen.

“Uh…”

“Because it’s obvious your body is totally onboard with the idea. And you admitted you like me.” She was standing in front of him, so close he could still make out the subtle aroma of her honeysuckle fabric softener even after a day spent on the back of a bike. “I like you—”

He shot her a startled look.

She shook her head and chuckled and all he could think was,
geez, her hair looks good all wild and windblown
.

“Well, I like you
most
of the time, anyway. The other times I usually don’t know whether I want to strangle you or kiss you. And that’s kinda my whole point, you know? The fact that even when you’re making me crazy, I still think maybe I want to kiss you? So…” she made a helpless little gesture with her hands, “why? Why can’t we give in and scratch this itch?”

There was a sudden humming in the air. It licked over his skin like an electric tongue, raising goose bumps.

“Uh…”

“And if you’re calling a halt because of loyalty to Grigg, because you think you’d owe me, his baby sister, more than a one-night stand, you’re wrong.”

Whoa. What? Did she just say one-night stand?

“I know your type,” she continued with a seductive little grin. “Heck, I grew up with a guy who was exactly you’re type. Love ’em and leave ’em, you know?”

“Ali—”

Oh, Lord. She moved to stand between his legs and her pert little breasts were right there.
In
his
face
.

What was he about to say? Something. Something important, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember.

“Nate,” she whispered his name and lifted a hand to run her fingers through his hair. Chills raced down his spine.

“Hmm?” he asked, mesmerized by the unsurpassable vista in front of his eyes and the feel of her,
her
touching him…on purpose.

She chuckled again, and it was the sound of a siren. Low and sexy and goddamned irresistible. He wasn’t consciously aware of movement, but at some point he lifted his right hand to cup the back of her thigh, urging her forward until he could bury his nose in the sweet smelling valley between her lovely, lovely breasts.

“You said my name,” she replied and covered his hand on the back of her thigh with her own, encouraging him upward until he was cupping her full, firm ass.

Lord in heaven.

“I was saying yours in return,” she explained in an indulgent tone.

What? What was she chattering about? It was impossible to comprehend anything with her soft breasts cuddling his cheeks and her subtle, honeysuckle scent making his head spin.

This had to stop.

She may talk big about a one-night stand, but she didn’t mean it. Did she…?

With the reluctance of a starving man walking away from an all-you-can-eat buffet, he dropped his hand and stood, causing her to step back. She glanced up at him quizzically, then gifted him with a knowing little smile. The same one women have been smiling for centuries. The one Da Vinci immortalized in the
Mona Lisa
.

He was in trouble.

And, yep, right on cue she stepped forward, went up on tiptoe, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Oh, man. He should’ve stayed seated, because now she was pressed all along his length. And it was delicious and distracting and goddamned
dangerous
. He was starting to forget all the reasons he was resisting her. They were important reasons, weren’t they?

He was certain they were, even though he couldn’t manage to recall them when she grabbed his ears to pull him down for a kiss.

Reasons…important reasons…

Her breath brushed against his lips, and he groaned.

Reasons!

“We have to stop this, Ali. We have to—”

“No,” she gave up trying to catch his lips and instead trailed a string of wet kisses across his jaw. “I’m not stopping this time, and you’re out of excuses. You say there are things I don’t know about you? Well, I don’t care about them. You don’t want a commitment? Well, I’m not asking for one.”

“Grigg,” he managed to croak, congratulating himself on finally,
finally
managing to come up with a plausible excuse.

“What about him?” she pulled back and stared into his face, her lips already pink from the abrasion of his beard stubble. He lost a couple of layers of enamel on his back molars when the sight of those plump lips brought to mind another part of her anatomy that would be soft and pink.

“He wouldn’t approve.” Yes!
That’s
where he’d been going.

“Of course he would.” The look she gave him was amused and indulgent. “He always told me you were the best man he’d ever known and I could do a whole lot worse than you.”

He jerked his head back when she would’ve resumed her deliciously maddening nibbling. “What? He always told
me
he’d kill me if I laid a finger on you.”

The indulgent smile she gave him was the facial equivalent of
well, duh
. “Of course, he did, you big silly. That’s what older brothers say to guys who are interested in getting into their little sister’s pants. What did you expect?”

What
had
he expected?

“He really told y’that? That you could do a lot worse than me?”

“Yes,” she started nipping on his neck again. “But my plan is to do my worst
to
you. How does that sound?”

How did it sound? Like he’d died and gone to heaven.

Sweet Jesus, did he dare?

What was she asking of him really? Nothing more than one night of pleasure and, wonder of wonders, it just so happened indulging a woman’s pleasure was one of his specialties, given the tutelage of a nice, widowed Brazilian lady.

Funny, he hadn’t thought of Raquel Silva in years, but maybe he shouldn’t be surprised she popped into his head now.

On their very first nerve-wracking assignment, he and Grigg had spent a long, hot month doing recon on their target and staying in Raquel’s little boathouse. The days had been filled with waiting and watching and copious note taking. The nights, though…oh, the nights had been filled with something totally different.

And despite the fact that randy young men were known to engage in a little locker room talk, neither he nor Grigg had spoken about their experiences with Raquel in all the years to follow that first mission, as if verbalizing the intimacy would taint the spirituality of it somehow.

And it
had
been spiritual. A broadening of mind, body, and soul.

Though they’d been highly trained soldiers, it’d been obvious to both of them they’d arrived at Raquel’s boathouse that sweltering South American summer as boys. By the time they’d left, that sweet Brazilian lady had turned them into men.

And oh buddy, how many times had he fantasized about showing Ali everything he’d learned? How many times had he played out each individual caress of his callused fingertips, each laving pass of his tongue, each heavy stroke of his body into hers?

Countless. That’s how many. Countless. And he had his chance to make all his fantasies reality.

She was asking him for one night. One night of indulgence, one night of passion and memories. After all the years of denial and sacrifice, didn’t he deserve to take this one night and make love to the only woman who’d ever touched his heart?

Probably not. Someone like him, someone who’d seen and done so many dark, vile things, someone who’d crawled around in the rancid sewer of humanity was surely unworthy to lay a hand on someone like her. Someone as clean and pure and radiant as sunshine.

So no. He didn’t deserve this one night. But, God help him, he was going to take it.

Suddenly Ali’s back was slammed up against the bathroom wall, and Nate’s tongue was introducing itself to all of her teeth, and…yeah…there went her shirt. He literally ripped it from her shoulders.

Holy
crap!

Now she knew what people felt when they talked about the world tilting on its axis. Right at that moment, she didn’t know which way was up.

He cupped her breast, lifting it, weighing it. And then her bra was miraculously gone. She didn’t know how it happened or precisely when—which just proved this wasn’t Nate’s first rodeo—but she was suddenly bare, and his mouth was there.

Oh hot.

It was so hot, the hard pull of his lips at her nipple, the gentle scrape of his teeth. That was the deciding moment, right there, right then. The turning point. It could go either way. She could pull back, and he’d slow it down. He’d gentle his hunger and sweetly see to her needs, like he’d done that day on the beach.

But she didn’t want sweet. And she certainly didn’t want gentle.

All she wanted, all she could think of, was getting him inside her. Having him fill her with his hard length and thrusting until the friction became unbearable and she exploded into a thousand pieces of ecstasy.

They both fought to get her jeans off, hands frantic, bodies wiggling, mouths hungrily devouring heated flesh. When the stained denim pooled at her feet, she impatiently kicked it away.

“Get inside me, Nate,” she demanded harshly, tunneling her fingers through the soft curls of his hair and pressing him more tightly against her breast.

She didn’t know how he managed it, but somehow he snaked a hand between the frenzied press of their bodies to release those last few buttons of his fly, and…he was there.

He pushed the leg of her panties aside and…oh,
God
he was right there. Hot and throbbing, just brushing against her. Teasing, tormenting.

He groaned against her nipple and then he was pushing, slowly, inexorably, sliding inside her. She momentarily balked at the intrusion, because,
cripes
, he wasn’t your average Joe by any stretch of the imagination.

A frustrated rumble sounded deep in his chest, and she knew exactly how he felt. She wanted that final connection, that full penetration. The place where two bodies joined and worked together to fulfill the ultimate goal of release. She took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes closed, and concentrated on relaxing her inner muscles.

Taking immediate advantage, with one final, forceful jab that nearly knocked the breath from her, he was fully seated.

Behind her lids, her eyes crossed in pleasure/pain. He stretched her, filled her to the very brim, stimulating every vibrating, overly excited nerve ending.

And she was there. Impossibly, unexpectedly, she was at that almost frightening precipice where the body took over and rational thought was inconceivable. She was helpless to do anything but squirm, trying to achieve that last bit of stimulation that would send her careening over the edge.

With his big hands holding her hips pinned against the wall, he pulled back, sliding his length outside of her, and she moaned at the loss.

“Condom,” he growled, and she shook her head with frustration.

“Pill,” she told him breathlessly, aching so badly she thought she’d die if he didn’t get back inside her. “Oh, Nate. Please fuck me,” she whimpered.

And then he was. His hips pistoning wildly as if they were attached to a motor. And she was flying, flung from the highest cliff of passion until her body was nothing but sensation. Pulsing, liquid pleasure started in her womb and spread through her entire body.

“Sweet Jesus,” she vaguely heard him growl before she felt the hot wash of his release as her body continued to rhythmically contract around him, taking everything he had to give her.

***

Lavender.

He’d been right. Her underwear were lavender with little pink bows. Nate had a pretty good view of the flimsy bra dangling by one strap from Ali’s perfect shoulder while his head was pressed against the wall beside hers. He struggled to catch his breath after the most mind-blowing orgasm of his entire life, and his body hadn’t even finished convulsing when self-disgust had him pulling back to look at her.

Geez, Raquel would be sorely disappointed in that performance.

Although…Ali didn’t seem to notice his total lack of finesse.

Her head was thrown back against the wall, her slim throat arched, her beautiful golden eyes squeezed closed, and a deep crimson blush stained her soft cheeks—the telltale color of a woman coming down from a convulsive release.

Still, that did nothing to appease his regret.

“Shit, Ali,” he lifted one hand to smooth damp hair away from the dimpled corner of her kiss-swollen mouth, “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t even open her eyes when she murmured, “For what?”

“For not makin’ it better for you. For…for,
Christ,
for mountin’ y’like a ravening bull.”

Her lips twisted into a smirk. “I seem to recall requesting exactly that.”

“But you deserve—”

“What?” This time her eyes popped open, and he noticed the golden hue had darkened to deep amber in spent passion. “What do I deserve?”

Candlelight
, he thought.
Soft
music. Slow, thorough seduction that starts with a thousand kisses and ends with a thousand more.
But what he said was simply, “Gentleness.”

“Hmm,” she leaned forward, nibbling at his lips. “We can do gentle next time. We both needed that first one to take the edge off.”

And inexplicably, his unrepentant cock begin to twitch and swell. Was it any wonder considering he was still nestled snuggly inside her?

Her smile was one of feminine triumph when she noticed the added sensation.

Yep, next time. Well, next time was going to be pretty damned soon.

Stepping out of his jeans, he lifted her into his arms, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his hips and palming the firm globes of her perfect ass.

“Nate!” she squeaked. “Your wound!”

“I don’t feel nothin’ but you, sugar.” He told her as he stalked from the bathroom, intent on only one thing, the bed.

And, sweet Lord, he wasn’t joking.

The softest, sweetest, most delicious thing he’d ever encountered was Ali, the way she melted against him. And she was his. At least for the night…

Damn. He’d just had her, and he was hard enough to hammer nails at the thought of having her again.

Gently pressing her back against the mattress, he couldn’t fathom breaking the connection of their bodies, so he reached down and with a twist of his fists, ripped the side seams of her flimsy panties. He threw the scrap of ruined material over his shoulder.

“Hey!” she protested, but then totally ruined her attempt at ire when she grabbed his ears and ravished his mouth. Obviously the whole barbarian thing worked for her. Which was good, because that’s exactly what he was.

“Y’have a hundred more. I’ve seen ’em,” he told her when he could draw breath, right before he started in on those thousand kisses. He chose to plant the first one on the delicate line of her collarbone.

“Hmm,” she murmured as she tilted her head back to give him better access, “I suppose that’s true.”

He didn’t quite make the thousand kisses mark. Mainly because at about two hundred she was squirming beneath him and begging. But he did manage slow and gentle, and certainly thorough. After the third orgasm, she went completely boneless. He drifted to sleep with a contented smile on his face and the only woman he’d ever loved softly snoring in his arms.

***

“Shit!” Dagan swore into his cell phone and slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

“Yup,” Chelsea Duvall concurred, her husky voice even huskier over the patchy cell phone connection. Chelsea was the one person inside the CIA who still deigned to speak to Dagan after the
incident
. He was happy to call her friend, though at one point, years ago, he’d been determined to call her so much more. “And it gets worse.”

Great. Worse than finding out the photo of the dead guy depicted one Rocco De Lucca, a transplanted New York mafia goon who’d done as Kid Rock instructed and headed out west. Only Dagan was pretty sure ol’ Rocco hadn’t done so to be a cowboy, baby. Nope. Rocco no doubt found himself in Vegas because there were a lot more legs that needed breaking out that way. Mainly, Dagan suspected, of the gamblers-who-weren’t-making-good-on-their-debts variety.

“The guy has two known accomplices,” Chelsea went on to explain. “One Frankie ‘The Shark’ Costa, and one Johnny Vitiglioni, who happens to be his cousin. Each of them has done hard time, and they all have rap sheets that read like your worst nightmare and that’s before you start talking about all the things they’re suspected of. Jesus, Z, what’ve you gotten yourself involved in this time?”

This
time
. As if he was notorious for finding himself on the wrong side of the equation. He wasn’t…except for that one time, but that one time had been enough to ensure his previously sterling reputation was ruined for all eternity. Even Chelsea, whom he thought still believed in him, obviously couldn’t completely ignore what had happened.

“Thanks for your help, Chels,” he said, ignoring her last question. “I gotta go.”

“Z, I didn’t mean—”

He hung up the phone before he could hear what she didn’t mean, because whatever she was about to say would be a lie. She
did
mean it.

He wanted to scream, “It wasn’t my fault! I was duped!” But what good would that do? None. It wouldn’t change the past. Nothing could.

And his personal problems just weren’t important right now, because Senator Alan Aldus had hired himself a group of thugs to take out Alisa Morgan and Nate Weller, and Dagan was going to do his damndest to make sure that didn’t happen.

Was he putting his neck on the line, trying to redeem himself for what happened three years ago?

Yeah, maybe.

But didn’t everyone deserve a little redemption?

***

“So, how’d you get this scar?”

Nate groaned and pulled Ali more on top of him, lifting her chin so he could kiss the chatter right out of her mouth.

Two hours.

She’d allowed him two blissful hours of the most glorious, peaceful sleep he’d had in years and then she’d awoken him by peppering his chest with sweetly hot kisses.

He was totally on board with the hot kisses, but engaging in conversation while she was naked—Ali was in his arms,
naked
—rated real low on his Things I’d Like to Do Right Now list.

She kissed him back, full-on tongue action that had all thought draining right out of his head. Then suddenly she pulled back, circling the big, puckered scar high up on his right shoulder with a soft fingertip. “This one. How’d you get it?”

He sighed; obviously she wasn’t going to let it go.

“Bad reflexes,” he reluctantly admitted, trying to reclaim her mouth, but the exasperating woman eluded him.

“Bad reflexes? What does that mean?”

“It means I zigged when I shoulda zagged.”

The look she gave him was so perturbed and so darn cute, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“We got caught in a firefight between two rival drug cartels, and I just happened t’run into a stray bullet.”

She pressed herself up on her arms and glanced down his naked torso. “Just how many times have you been shot?”

“Enough t’know one time is too many.”

“Are you always this evasive?”

“Yep.”

She scowled, and his big stupid heart flipped over because there went her nose again.

“If we start catalogin’ all my scars,” he told her, “we’re gonna be here ’til next week, sugar. Unfortunately, a pretty, scar-free body isn’t part of my job description.”

“Hmm,” she relented and laid her head against his good shoulder. “I think you have a beautiful body, scars and all.

Women, geez, you just gotta love ’em. Somehow they could see beauty in everything. Scars, old dilapidated buildings, newborn babies…

Nate’d seen a few of the latter. They were always wrinkly, tended to be the wrong color, and there was usually something very wrong with the shape of their little heads. He was contemplating this last bit and didn’t realize how long she’d been quiet until she said, “Nate?”

“Yep?”

“How do you do it?”

“Do what, sugar?”

“Your job. Do you ever get used to it?”

Geez, this woman…this woman was determined to rip his heart out every which way.

He didn’t talk about this stuff…
ever
. Not even with Grigg.

But here was this woman he loved, asking him the tough questions, and for the first time he realized he wanted to talk about it. With her.

“No,” he swallowed as a myriad of bloody memories washed over him. So much horror. So much death. He looked at his hands, as he did every so often. They were broad and tough, and he was always surprised to find them unstained by the amount of blood he’d spilled. “You never get used to it.”

She shuddered against him, and he pulled her closer, tucking her head more firmly beneath his chin. Rubbing her crown with his beard stubble, he inhaled the earthy scents of sex and dried blood. Overlaying it all was Ali’s sweetly clean aroma.

“Grigg would never talk to me about it,” she said in a little voice.

“That’s because y’don’t really wanna hear, sugar. Grigg was just protectin’ you.”

“But I
do
want to hear about it. Grigg was the one person I had, Nate. The one person who loved me best, loved me more than anyone. And I didn’t even
know
him,” her voice cracked on the last words.

Rriiippp
. Yep, that would be his heart. Again.

He smoothed her silky hair behind her ear, softly caressing the little lobe. Everything about her was small and soft and he loved it, every last feminine inch. “Y’knew the best parts of him. He kept those for you.”

She harrumphed. “But it was a lie, can’t you see that?
Knowing
a person isn’t just knowing their good parts, it’s knowing all the dark, scary parts as well.”