by Dawson, Zoe
Yoga made her supple, her muscles not even straining. He lowered his head and ravenously took her nipple, scoring it with his teeth. The pleasure and pain of his bite arched her back, made her hips buck uncontrollably.
He sucked hard on her nipple almost to the point of pain then used his tongue on the tip at the same time. She sobbed with the tingling ache from her nipple right to the center of her.
The rock-hard length of him brushed between her thighs. Her muscles were liquid from the clever mouth that ravaged her nipple, sucking and licking her.
Then he turned her around and pressed into her buttocks. He pulled her arms behind her, capturing her wrists in one hand, holding them against the small of her back. With his free hand in the middle of her back, he pushed her over the sink. Then his hand was between her legs, opening them wider. With her rib cage against the sink, he slipped his hand over her hip, down into her moist core.
Their eyes met in the mirror. His gaze was dark with need, and his face was pulled tight with it. He looked dangerously sexy, his thick, sable hair mussed from her hands. He was so achingly handsome in his need for her.
“Say my name,” he demanded, the order a deep rumble in his chest.
“Hollywood…Jude…Jude,” she breathed.
The sound that slid from her was deep and throaty as he pumped into her without warning. She was so ready for him and pushed back on to him. He closed his eyes, his back arching, a fierce look on his face that made her cry out.
His eyes opened at the sound of her pleasure. He pulled out of her and remained still, his eyes challenging her.
“Please,” she begged. “More.”
He thrust the full length in a slow, controlled slide deeply into her, then out, and the rhythm built with each thrust. The connection she felt with him as their gazes held with each thrust was primal, untamed. He released her arms, and she used the sink to anchor herself as he leaned over her, nipping at her ear, while his hands slid up her torso, streaking her with fire.
Hollywood covered her breasts, his hands hot, his fingers pinching and rolling her nipples, wrenching groan after groan from her, but nothing matched the low shout of pleasure he pulled from her when he slid one hand between her legs.
It felt as if she’d fallen into a fever dream. Her world had narrowed down until there was only him. The pressure of his body against her back, his hands doing wicked, wicked things to her.
She peaked quickly, almost brutally, and he kept his fingers there, slick and clever, kept her quivering and shuddering, until he was shaking with the effort to hold off his own devastating climax. She pushed back against him, craving more of him in some way, and yet feeling so utterly full of him she wasn’t sure what more there was to have.
His hands slid back to her hips, his fingers pressing hard as he pumped harder, faster. She met him thrust for thrust, her hands slipping on the porcelain as she fought to keep her grip. The mirror had fogged completely over, but there was no need to see him. She felt him so thoroughly it was as though she was part of him, as he was part of her. His climax, when he finally let it overtake him, was almost mindless in the tumultuous way he drove into her, body slapping against body, animalistic noises from both of them.
He collapsed over her, and they both fell over the sink. She braced their weight on the mirror, leaving streaks on the glass, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly to him, his body still shuddering in the aftermath.
It was hard to breathe in the thick air as their hearts raced and their bodies trembled. She had no idea how much time passed before he finally lifted her up and turned her around, saying nothing as he pulled her into his arms. He shifted, resting his weight against the sink as she leaned into him, still trying to slow her pulse, breathe. He seemed to be doing the same as he stroked her hair, pressed his cheek against the top of her head and just held her.
Hollywood was a wall of hard-packed muscle. She flattened her hand close to his heart, the deep, solid rhythm echoing through her palm and into her awareness, and she knew he’d given her more than just sensual pleasure.
Since she was small and realized that her parents were not going to be there for her, she hadn’t felt safe. She’d been safe. They’d taken excellent care of her. But she felt safe with Hollywood…Jude, the warmth of his body surrounding her.
They’d broken some kind of barrier, she and Hollywood, on what was easily the most dangerous time of her life. Yet she felt safer than she had in years. She was crazy for him.
They’d made love in an out-of-control, over-the-edge way that had sent her someplace she’d never been before with a man who could easily woo any woman he wanted. Apparently even her.
Yet nothing had ever felt so right, so safe or so freeing.
This was more. It was more than she was willing to admit to herself. She couldn’t admit it. It would be too devastating to even contemplate what she so foolishly had allowed to happen. Her heart had been given, and there was no getting it back.
17
CIA Station
San Diego, California
Hollywood stood outside the glass and watched Kat Harrington work. She slid a photo across the table to Roger Harper, aka Ted. “Do you know this man?”
He looked down at the photo, and the recognition was clear on his face. He just looked at her blankly.
“Vyncent Eze. He was killed two days ago in the jungle of Attiago,” Kat said. Ted’s hands fidgeted on the table. His tell. “That means, right now, you’re it.”
His chin lifted in a belligerent way. “I’m it?”
“Yes, you’re going down for the mass murder of a village of innocents, being in possession of a banned nerve agent, purchase of a stolen military weapon and oh, the big one. Domestic terrorism, which carries the death penalty. If you cooperate and we neutralize any threat to the area, I will get the death penalty taken off the table.”
His face blanched, and he swallowed hard, his hands moving even faster. “I know him. He hired me.”
“To do what?”
“For all the stuff you just said.”
“We had plenty of intel on you two, but you kept eluding us. How?”
He sighed and covered his face, then looked haggard and scared when he pulled them away.
“We had a contact in the State Department. Eze had something on him, but I don’t know what. He gave us a head’s up. We were always prepared.”
“Name.” She slid a pad of paper across the table. He picked up the pen and started to write. “What were you doing in all those countries?”
“Looking for someone to produce the gas for us. We finally found him and brought him to Cartagena. That’s the lab you raided.”
She nodded. “What is Bill’s name?”
“Bill?”
“Your co-conspirator?”
“Oh, it’s Charles Mackey, but I call him Chuck.”
“What was your plan once you got the gas and the nuclear trigger?”
“Chuck is a genius. He was going to extract the nuclear material from the trigger and rig the bomb with both the uranium and the gas. His brother was killed in an accident during SEAL training, and he hates the Navy because of it. He wanted revenge.”
“And you?”
“I did it for the money.” His voice was strained and clogged with emotion. “It was for my mom. She has cancer.”
“Where is he going to set off the bomb?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“That’s not very helpful, Roger.”
“I swear. He was paranoid that I would get caught and spill. Just like I’m doing right now.”
“Point taken. Do you know where he lives or where the bomb, the trigger and the gas are right now?”
“We moved around a lot and don’t have a residence. He has a sister in Encino, but we mostly worked out of this warehouse down by the docks. Eze picked up the tab for everything.”
“Address?”
He wrote that on the pad.
/> “Anything else you can tell me?”
“He bought a white van a few days ago. He’s also really unstable. He has this crazy rage and resentment along with paranoid schizo delusions. He killed a guy in Manilla who was walking his dog because he said he was spying on us. He was just an old dude walking his dog.” He met Kat’s eyes, showing the remorse he felt. “It only got worse. I kept him from killing other people but just barely.” He swallowed, and his hands were finally still. He leaned forward, his expression solemn. “He’s going through with this. You should probably evacuate San Diego and Coronado. Chuck said the dirty bomb and the gas would affect the area.” He looked away. “I wasn’t down for the testing of that gas on those villagers. It was…awful. I left, and he released the gas. There was no way I could get out after I agreed to participate. Chuck would have killed me, and if it wasn’t him, Eze would have tracked me down. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I’m sorry about those villagers. They haunt me.” His voice broke, and he covered his face, openly weeping. His hoarse, broken words were barely audible. “I’m sorry about everything.”
Hollywood’s gut started to churn. Chuck was the volatile one, the loose cannon. He had to be targeting the SEALs.
Kat came out of the interrogation room. “You want in on this?”
“Hell yeah, the whole team wants in on this takedown. It’s the last warhead. We’ve sacrificed a lot to get them all back. We want the closure.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought. Let me talk to Ruckus.”
* * *
Willow sat in the car after Emma had gotten out. Her hands were sweaty. The last time she’d been here, they’d been terrorized, drugged and kidnapped. She looked out the window at the gallery. She jumped when Emma rapped on the window.
“Come on, scaredy cat. They don’t bite,” Emma said.
It wasn’t the kidnapping that kept her inside her car. It was what was going to happen in the gallery. She’d gone public once with her art, and it had been so devastating. She said she was only doing her art for her own edification, but deep down she wanted people to love it, not to live up to her mom’s name but to make her own.
Her mom was an original, and Willow was an original too. Hollywood helped her to see that in herself by the way he treated her, encouraged and supported her with her art. Her heart melted at the thought of him, and now that the calendar was done and there was no need to have contact, she had to wonder if the bloom was off the rose and he would just…fade away. It was what she wanted, right? A Navy SEAL wasn’t—
Oh, who was she kidding? She might have said it a million times, but that was about a group of men. Hollywood didn’t fit any kind of mold. He was genuine, sweet, and God, she didn’t dare say how she felt about him.
“Willow. I will pull you out of there myself and drag you inside.” Emma sounded just like a nagging mom. Willow was okay with that.
She smiled at Emma’s words. They were already BFFs, and there was no denying her best friend. Willow got out, opened the back door and pulled out her portfolio. Inside were her own abstracts and the finished painting/photograph she’d done of Hollywood. She figured he could give it to his mom for her birthday.
Willow went around the car and joined her friend on the sidewalk, and they walked into the gallery. A woman in a black-and-white dress rose from a desk just inside the entrance.
“Hello, Emma.” She glanced at Willow, and her eyes lit up. “Is this Willow?”
“Hi, Marci,” Emma said. “It sure is, and we’re so excited to be here.”
“I’m so excited to have you here.” She came out from behind the desk and shook Willow’s hand. “Jack, I’m going into my appointment. Please man the front desk.” She leaned over and said, “I have so much foot traffic in this location. It’s primo. Your work will get a lot of exposure. I also have a website.”
Willow followed Marci up the stairs, and the woman’s words came fast and bright. It took Willow a moment to realize she was wooing her with facts and figures of the gallery.
“Have a seat,” Marci said, and Willow and Emma sat down. “Can I get you anything?” Willow shook her head, and Emma declined. “Is that your work? May I see it?”
Willow came around the desk and unzipped the case for her.
Marci’s breath caught. “Oh, my God.” She picked up the photo/painting of Hollywood. She looked up at Emma. “Your brother is yummy in clothes, but in this armor with wings. Damn. I’m a married woman, but this will sell for beaucoup bucks.” She exclaimed over the rest of the art with sighs and simple words like, fresh, bold, a feast for the eyes, color saturated. She reached into her side drawer and brought out a sheaf of papers. “Here is our standard contract. You will be exclusive to us, except for any art you wish to sell on your own. The percentages are there, and they’re generous. I think we can schedule a show—”
“Wait! You’re offering me a contract?” Willow had to get something straight before she even contemplated taking this golden opportunity. “This better not be because of my mom’s fame.”
“Your mom?”
“Yes, she’s Joanna Blackmoon. Landscapes. I am my own artist, and I won’t be compared to my mom.”
“Oh, she’s your mother.” Marci looked at Emma then smiled at Willow. “This offer has nothing to do with your mom. We don’t really sell what she paints. I have no doubt you’ll make your own name for yourself.”
Emma squeezed Willow’s hand. “Well?”
Willow took the contract to read through it. “Can I check with a lawyer before signing?”
Emma clapped and giggled, and Marci sighed with relief, a grin splitting her face.
After they left the art gallery, Emma said, “Let’s go and have lunch at The Del. My treat.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” She turned, stopping Willow in her tracks. “You were amazing during that whole kidnapping. You were my rock, and I’m so thankful you were there. So you’re going to order the most expensive thing on the menu and enjoy every bite.” She linked their arms. “And you’re getting dessert.”
Willow laughed. “What’s a celebration without dessert?”
* * *
They sped across the bridge, using the middle lane to get to The Del before Charles Mackey detonated a super-dirty bomb. They had just come from the warehouse with traces of gas and nuclear material. There had also been a stencil that said “Lori’s Flowers” discarded with purple spray paint on the edges. A map of The Del, circled in red with a big X over it, laid discarded on the warehouse floor. He was going to detonate the bomb where there was a massive SEAL training going on right now.
Kat had been on the phone with the mayor, the CDC and the FBI, but they were all going to be too late. Kat and the team were San Diego’s only hope of preventing this disaster. When the troop carrier pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, people were being herded out the front doors in droves, shuttles ready to pick them up, but there wouldn’t be enough.
Ruckus’s voice came over the comm. “Kid, set up overwatch. Get in a good sniping position.”
“Copy that, LT,” Kid said, running toward one of the hotel employees as they showed up with golf carts.
“The rest of you spread out and find that van. Radio in when you’ve got it.”
Hollywood climbed into one of the golf carts, freezing when he saw Willow and Emma standing outside waiting for the next shuttle. Fuck! What were they doing here? A new urgency running through him, he said to the driver, “Take me to the beach.”
The driver nodded, and they raced along a path that led to a bicycle and walking path behind the hotel. They sped along, but Hollywood didn’t see any van. They passed a large rock formation, and Hollywood caught a glimpse of something white.
“Stop!” he shouted.
He exited the vehicle as soon as it came to a stop. With his rifle up, he headed toward the sand, moving steadily and quietly toward the rock formation. “Kid. Twelve o’clock, rock fo
rmation.”
“I see it. Damn, there’s a vehicle hidden by the rocks. It’s a white van.”
“Copy that,” Ruckus said. “We’re on our way.”
As Hollywood moved abreast of the rocks and came around the end of the vehicle, he saw Bill…Chuck standing and facing the ocean, watching the SEALs out in the water. Hollywood glanced at the side of the van and stenciled in purple with floral embellishments was “Lori’s Flowers.”
“Charles Mackey,” Hollywood said.
He whirled around and stared at Hollywood. “Don’t come any closer.”
Hollywood lowered his weapon, his whole being focused on the device in the guy’s hand, and said into his mic, “Dead man switch.”
Silence crackled across the airwaves.
“That’s right. You can’t stop me.”
“I’m sorry about Nathan. He was a good man and gave his life for his country,” Hollywood said. Kat had pulled the file, and Hollywood knew everything about Nathan Mackey and his accidental death during BUD/S.
“Fuck honor. He died because of you and the Navy. All of you. You’re nothing but government-sanctioned thugs.”
Hollywood inched closer to him as he shouted. Charles whirled as a woman came in from his right, walking her dog. His momentary lapse in attention allowed Hollywood to get within lunge range. He motioned for her to get the hell out of there. She ran away with her little dog barking up a storm.
“We can talk about this,” Hollywood said. “Your sister Nancy is on her way here.”
Charles’s face contorted and turned red as he shouted. “No! I don’t want her here. It’s not going to do any good.”
Then he paced and ranted about how everyone didn’t understand, spewing hatred at the government and the Navy.
“Kid, you got a bead on him?” Hollywood asked
“Yeah, but Hollywood, if he goes down…the dead man switch.”
“Let me worry about that. When I say, ‘give up,’ you tag him.”
“You got it.”
“Chuck,” Hollywood said, “disable the detonator, and we can get you some help.”
