The Protector: MAC: A Cover Six Security Novel
Page 14
He offered her what he thought was a smile and knew he failed miserably when she flinched. "Let's just say I believe in being prepared. You never know when I might make enemies I'd rather avoid."
"So this is like a panic room."
Panic. Christ, he hated that fucking word. "Not exactly. It's an alternate exit in case serious shit hits the fan. The tunnel dumps out about seventy yards away. And there's a safe room, fully equipped, around the first bend." He aimed the flashlight beam down the tunnel, showing her where it curved to the right.
"The first bend? How many are there?"
"Three. Did you want to see the rest of it?"
"Um..." She rubbed her arms, hesitating. Mac was ready to take her back upstairs, convinced she was going to say no, but she finally nodded. "Okay. Yeah. Show me the rest."
He reached for her hand, curled his own around it and frowned at the chill of her flesh. Her fingers trembled just the slightest bit, squeezing his a little harder than necessary as they moved along the tunnel. "You okay?"
She looked up at him, forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah. Fine. It's just...I can't imagine being down here without a light. I'm not sure how they would have managed back then."
"You'd be surprised at what you can do when you have to."
"I guess." They moved several more feet before she spoke again. "You weren't lying earlier? This really was part of the Underground Railroad?"
"It really was. That was one of the deciding factors when I bought this place."
TR stumbled, tightened her hand around his then tossed him a look of pure confusion. "Because it was historical?"
"No. Because it already had an emergency exit built in." Mostly. He'd had to do a lot of work on it but it had been worth every penny. And it would be worth even more if it helped give TR some peace of mind while she stayed here.
Although, looking at her, she appeared anything but at peace. Her face had grown even paler, her eyes even wider as they moved deeper into the tunnel. And she was breathing faster, her chest rising and falling with each small gasp. Mac slowed their progress, came to a stop as a thought came to him out of nowhere.
"TR, are you claustrophobic?"
"What?" She spun toward him. Frowned and rapidly shook her head. "No. Of course not. Why would you say that?"
"Are you sure?"
She nodded but dropped her gaze, no longer meeting his. "Yeah. I've never had any problems before."
Before. Before when? He remembered yesterday morning, how she had struggled to pull the nasal cannula from her face, convinced it was choking her, convinced she couldn't breathe. Then earlier today, in the woods behind her building, when she had started gasping for air, that look of panic on her face and the way she had clawed at the air. Like she couldn't get enough of it. Like she was drowning.
Fuck.
Why hadn't he realized it before? Why hadn't he seen the signs? He should have never brought her down here, should have stopped to think before even mentioning the tunnel.
He tightened his hand around hers and turned around. "Come on, we can go back upstairs, get some coffee or something."
"No, I'm fine—"
"The hell you are. You're starting to hyperventilate. And you're as pale as a ghost."
"But I'm not claustrophobic. I'm not."
"Maybe you weren't but there's something going on. Not surprising, either, considering everything that's happened." He tugged on her hand once more. "Come on. We can do this later. When you're ready."
"I'm ready now."
"TR, dammit—"
"No." She yanked her hand from his, wrapped both arms around her waist. "You brought me down here for a reason, Mac. Not to show me a piece of history, but for a reason. Didn't you?"
He hesitated, started to deny it but she interrupted him before he could say anything.
"You did. I can see it on your face. You brought me down here because you think I—we—might need to come this way, don't you? That something might happen."
"I—" He swallowed, shook his head. Nodded. "I believe in always being prepared, TR. That doesn't mean I think anything is going to happen."
"Then I need to be prepared. Right?"
He wanted to tell her no. Wanted to tell her she didn't need to worry about anything, that he'd make sure nothing ever happened to her. That he'd protect her. Keep her safe—no matter the cost.
But he couldn't tell her that, couldn't lie to her that way. Yes, he'd protect her. He'd do whatever he needed to do, just as he promised her mother. But he, of all people, knew how quickly things could turn to shit, how quickly the best-laid plans could turn into the year's biggest clusterfuck. Did he think anything would happen?
No.
But that didn't mean she shouldn't be prepared. He knew that...but he couldn't do this to her. Not now. "TR, we can do this later—"
"No. Now." She took a deep breath, her chin lifting a notch as she forced a smile to her face. "Will there always be a flashlight available? Is there other light down here?"
"Yes." The lie fell from his mouth without hesitation.
"Liar." There was the barest hint of a smile in her voice, the barest hint of appreciation. She took another deep breath, squared her shoulders then nodded.
"Turn the flashlight off."
"No."
"Mac, I need—"
"Not yet." He grabbed her hand again, pulled her toward him then turned her so she was facing away from the stairs. He flattened her hand against the wall, pressed his own on top. "When you come down the steps, hold the wall with your right hand. And keep your hand on it at all times. Use it to guide yourself."
A shaky breath, followed by a quick nod. "Right wall, right hand. Got it." A pause, another quick breath. "Why the right?"
"To keep yourself oriented. The room is on the right, twenty yards up. If you need to come down here in the dark, all you have to do is make it to the room. You can lock yourself in there and wait."
"Wait. In the dark. Alone." There was the slightest tremor in her voice, just enough to let him know that the idea of waiting in a dark room wasn't at the top of her list of favorite things to do.
"TR, it won't come to that—"
"Prepare for the worst, right? Isn't that what you said?"
Damn him for even opening his fucking mouth. He should have never brought her down here. If he had known it was going to make things worse, he wouldn't have. If he'd had even the slightest inclination that she might be even a bit claustrophobic, he would have never brought it up. But he'd screwed up and missed the signs.
TR glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide with trepidation—and the tiniest flash of impatience. "That's what you said, Mac. Prepare for the worst. Right?"
He clenched his jaw, ground his back teeth together then finally nodded. "Yeah."
"Then let's do this." She took another deep breath then faced toward the end of the tunnel. "Let go of my hand."
"TR—"
"I need to do this on my own, Mac, and if it's all the same to you, I'd kind of like to get this over with sooner instead of later. So—let go of my hand and turn off the light. Please."
Despite the assurance in her voice, Mac still hesitated. Her hand tensed under his and he knew she was ready to turn around again, ready to tell him one more time to let her do this stupid, crazy, insane thing. To prove to him that she could do it.
No, not him. She had nothing to prove to him. She needed to prove it to herself. That's what this was about.
He let go of her hand, stepped back, and turned off the flashlight.
Chapter Eighteen
Pitch black.
Absolute darkness.
Heavy. Oppressive. A living, breathing thing. Wrapping around them, twisting and smothering, squeezing the breath from their lungs.
Mac held himself still, his body attuned to every nuance in the darkness, his mind supplying his eyes with the sight he needed. Darkness didn't bother him—it never had. He'd been part of the darkness for far too lon
g. The darkness was his friend, providing stealth and cover and protection when he needed it most.
TR was a different story.
He tilted his head, closed his eyes and listened. Her breathing was shallow, fast. Not the sharp hiss of panic but close to the edge. He heard the scrape of her shoes as she moved forward, one hesitant step at a time. The slide of her hand against the rough brick as she maintained contact with the wall.
A small murmur, almost a whimper. Of fright. Of uncertainty. The sound of her throat closing as she swallowed, followed by another soft whimper. A gasp of air, then another and another. Faster. Sharper.
Close to panic.
Mac stepped forward, silent and fast, closed his hand over her shoulder to reassure her then sucked in his own breath when something hit him in the stomach. Hard. Damn, he hadn't been expecting that. And he hadn't known she could hit that fucking hard.
Pride dashed through him. Good for her.
Except she had let go of the wall and was now floundering, her arms waving wildly around her as she searched for that missing anchor. One hand clipped him on the shoulder, another knocked the flashlight from his hand. He felt it land by his foot, heard it roll away.
Dammit. He could use that flashlight right now. He should have turned it on as soon as TR swung at him, shouldn't have waited.
He'd get it later. In a few minutes, as soon as he calmed TR down.
He reached for her, his hands closing over her shoulders with unerring accuracy. "TR, I'm right here. It's okay. I've got you."
She swung at him again, clipping him in the jaw this time. He swallowed back a grunt and pulled her into his arms, finally holding her still. Although still was an exaggeration. Her body trembled against his, shiver after shiver coursing through her slender limbs as she held onto him, her face buried against his chest, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.
He rubbed small circles against her back, pressed featherlight kisses against her temple. "Everything's fine, TR. I'm right here, babe."
She nodded, the soft strands of her hair teasing his chin, his jaw. One more shudder, longer this time, then she settled against him with a deep breath and something that sounded like a sigh.
"I like when you do that."
Mac froze, frowning even though she couldn't see him. "Do what? Rub your back?"
"No. I mean, yeah. That, too. But the other thing."
"What other thing?"
"When you call me babe."
"I—" Mac snapped his mouth closed, unsure what to say. He hadn't even realized he'd called her that. And more than once, apparently, if she'd grown to like it. Should he apologize? No, she had said she liked it, why would he apologize?
"I probably shouldn't."
And maybe he should focus on the fucking conversation because he'd obviously missed something. "Shouldn't, what?"
"Shouldn't like it."
"Oh." He hesitated. "Um, like what?"
A small laugh, her warm breath seeping through the cotton of his shirt. "When you call me babe. Some women would say it's not very progressive."
"Oh." Okay. What the fuck? "Um, I'll try to stop. I didn't mean—"
"No, don't. I told you: I like it."
"Okay. Good. That's, uh, good." Something pressed against his neck, soft and warm. He stiffened, frowned, certain he was imagining things. He kept one arm around TR's waist but eased back a half-step, putting distance between them. "I'll get the flashlight and we can go back upstairs—"
"No." Her arms tightened around his waist, holding him still. Pulling him closer. "Not yet."
"TR, you don't need to prove anything to me—"
"I'm not. I just—I want to stay here for a minute. Just like this."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded, her hair once more teasing his chin, his jaw. Soft, so fucking soft. He wanted to bury his hands in those long strands, feel them wrap around his fingers, his wrists, as he tilted her head back and kissed her. As his tongue darted into her mouth and fed off her sweet heat.
And Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck was wrong with him? She had nearly panicked, nearly came unglued in the dark, and the only thing he could think of was kissing her? No, more than that. He wanted to press her up against the wall and fuck her. Feel her long legs wrap around his waist, squeezing him as he drove his cock into her wet pussy.
Wanted to fist his hands in her hair as she dropped to her knees and closed that sweet, hot mouth around his throbbing cock.
Fucking hell. What the fuck was wrong with him? He needed his fucking head examined. Needed his fucking balls ripped off and jammed up his ass sideways. Needed—
"I can hear your heartbeat."
"Wh—" Mac stopped, cleared his throat, tried again. "What?"
"The beat of your heart. It's this deep, heavy thud. Loud. Reassuring."
"Reassuring?"
"Yeah." She loosened one arm from his waist, trailed her hand along his side, across his stomach, finally placing it in the center of his chest. "Reassuring. A steady, throbbing sound. Thick. Heavy. I don't just hear it. I can feel it."
Mac choked back a low groan, tried to step away again. Christ, that wasn't his heartbeat she was hearing—it was the sound of every drop of blood rushing to his cock. "Wrong word choice, babe. So wrong."
"What is? Steady?"
"Um, no." He reached up, curled his hand around her wrist and tried to pull it away from his chest. "Come on, let's go upstairs and—"
"Throbbing?"
Holy fuck, she was fucking killing him and didn't even know it. "TR, we need to go—"
"No. Not yet."
"TR—"
She twisted her wrist, freeing it from his grasp and settling it once more in the center of his chest. Her voice softened, the faintest plea filling the words when she spoke. "Please, Mac. I need—" A deep breath, as if she was trying to steady herself. Calm herself. "I need something else to fill the darkness. Something that won't remind me of nearly drowning. Something that won't remind me of choking smoke."
He knew what she was asking. Hell, he even knew why. But he still hesitated. Was she thinking clearly? Or was this some kind of panic-induced hysteria? No, she didn't sound hysterical. She sounded perfectly normal. A little breathless, but not with the sharp, brittle edge of panic that he'd heard earlier.
She shifted, pressed herself more fully against him, her soft breasts teasing him as she raised up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He turned his head, froze when she trailed more kisses along his cheek, his jaw.
Across the scars that marred his face.
He reached up. Cupped her face in his hands and tried to ease her away. "TR, don't—"
"Don't, what? Don't kiss you?"
"Not...not there. Not like that."
A finger reached out from the darkness, trailed along the scars with a softness that made the breath hitch in his chest. "Why?"
"Because..." His voice trailed off, his mind unable to find the right words, unable to admit to this one weakness.
"They don't bother me, Mac. They never have." She leaned forward, brushed her mouth against his jaw once more as her hands trailed along his chest, down lower to the hem of his shirt before disappearing inside. Muscles bunched and released as trembling fingers grazed his stomach, climbed higher along his heated flesh before stopping once more in the middle of his chest.
Directly over his heart.
"I told you before that this is all I care about. You. The man you are. Nothing else."
Her soft whisper heated his flesh, his blood. Unleashed something deep inside him. Something primitive. Feral. But Mac held himself still. Afraid to move. Afraid of hurting her.
Her hands, so soft and delicate, traveled across his chest, his shoulders. Pushing his shirt higher, higher still until he raised his arms and let her peel it off him. Yet he still didn't move—couldn't move, his feet were rooted to the floor as she circled his body in the absolute darkness, her hands touching every inch of him.
Mac closed his eyes, tilted his head back and clenched his jaw against the need burning inside him. The need to stop her. The need to tell her not to stop. The need to touch, to feel—
To lose himself completely.
TR continued circling him, one slow step at a time, her hands exploring his body. His lower back. His side. Fingers trailing along his rib cage, his chest. Nails scoring the flat tip of one nipple then the other. Hands splaying across the broad expanse of his chest as muscles continued to bunch and flex under each little touch.
Lower, down along his stomach, his hips. Lower still, dipping into the waistband once more, nothing more than a light tease against flesh begging to be touched.
He could hear TR's breathing. Soft, shallow. Each breath a little faster, filled with the same sharp need eating him alive. Both of her hands gripped his waist, trailed along the front of his pants before closing over the snap. A loud pop, followed by the slow slide of a zipper and the rustle of denim against flesh as she pushed the pants down past his hips.
His own breath, a sharp hiss splitting the darkness when she closed her hand around his cock and stroked. Long. Hard. From the base all the way to the tip. One finger circled the tip of his cock, spreading the bead of precum along his engorged length.
He swallowed a groan, clenched his jaw even tighter, fisted his hands and held them by his side. Afraid to move. Afraid to touch her. Afraid of the need that threatened his very control.
Her hand disappeared and he swallowed back another groan, this one of disappointment. But he didn't move, didn't so much as breathe as his ears listened for every little sound in the complete darkness.
The whisper of cloth gliding against flesh.
The flutter of material being tossed to the ground.
A faint metallic scrape followed by another rustle of fabric, softer this time. Slower.
Mac pictured TR in front of him, her sweater caressing soft flesh as she pulled it over her head, tossed it to the ground. Could see her arms, slender and toned, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. Saw the silky straps skim the pebbled flesh of her arms as she shrugged out of it then stood before him, her smooth, pale skin bared to him.