Every Second In His Arms (Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series, #3)

by Debra Kayn

  "Now, remember, it will shoot if you pull the trigger." He dropped his arm from around her and stepped away from her.

  She glanced over her shoulder. "Don't leave me with this thing."

  "You're fine." He lifted his chin for her to turn around. "A few things you need to know before you practice is it'll be loud. Louder than you think. It's also going to move when you shoot. You'll have to hold on and not let go of it. Each time you pull the trigger, the casing of the bullet will fly out the right side, away from you. What did I just tell you?"

  "It's loud. Hold on. Bullets fly out the side."

  "Close enough." He paused. "Is your arm tired?"

  Her arm shook, and her shoulder ached. "I'm not strong enough to do this."

  "You are." He moved closer, pressing against her back, and slid his hand around her wrist, propping her arm up. "Now that you know you're holding a dangerous weapon, I want you to concentrate on shooting. I'll help you with the first round. Do you see the red painted circle on the side of the mountain about six feet up?"

  She searched, finding the spot after a few seconds. "Yes."

  "I want you to point the gun in that direction and pull the trigger."

  She slipped her finger through the loop. Her arm shook. Wanting to make him happy, she squeezed.

  Everything happened at once, and she screamed, pressing back against Mark. He caught the pistol she'd let go of and kept her from ducking away from the sound.

  Her ears rang. She couldn't hear a thing.

  "That is so not fun." She grabbed her earlobes and shook her ears.

  "You can still hear. Focus on my voice. It goes away." He put the pistol back in her hand and stepped away. "Now that you know what to expect aim toward the hill and pull the trigger yourself."

  "It'll fly out of my hand." She opened her mouth, trying to pop her plugged ears.

  His voice sounded muffled and far away. Too far. She wanted him against her, holding her, helping her.

  "It won't." He waved his hand, motioning for her to do what he instructed.

  Wanting to get it over with so he would stop forcing her to learn, she turned around and raised her arm. Knowing her muscles tired easily, she slipped her finger into position and pulled the trigger.

  Her arm flew higher, but she managed to keep the gun in her hand. Mark grabbed her wrist. "Pay attention to what you're doing. Your finger is on the trigger still. It will shoot again."

  Over and over, she performed the same task. Mark lectured. She shot. He drilled the proper way to shoot a gun into her head until she finally paid attention to the hillside where she watched the dust fly up every time she shot. She squeezed the trigger again, and the muscles in her shoulder protested.

  She lowered her arm to her side. "I can't lift it again."

  He slipped the pistol out of her hand. "We're finished. You did well."

  How could he say that when all he'd done was correct her the whole time? She blinked up at him.

  His gaze softened, and he nodded. Was that admiration coming from him?

  "I'll grab you a shoulder holster inside. One of Kyle's should fit you." He rubbed her arm, working his way up. "Just remember, the gun will be ready. All you have to do is slide and pull. Keep pulling the trigger until you run out of bullets."

  What his fingers were doing to her body on top of the numbness caused from shooting made her weak. "When I shoot a bear?"

  "You won't be shooting a bear." He stopped rubbing her. "That's if your dad or anyone else gets too close to you."

  She gawked at him. There was no way she could kill a person. She wasn't even sure she could kill a bear that was coming at her.

  "Let's go to the office, so the boys can do litter pickup."

  She followed him, stumbling over the uneven ground. When she argued with him to stay at the bunker instead of going to Anders' Lair, she never thought it meant taking an active part of hunting down her father. All she wanted to do was make her dad approach her. Then, they could keep him here while they called the state police.

  Holding out hope that she could defuse the situation if it came to fruition, she let Mark fit her with a holster over her shirt and stood back as he went about helping the next two groups of customers who wanted to go unguided on the trails.

  Chapter 26

  Carly backed the last ATV rental into the garage. Mark pushed the remote, lowering the overhead door. The busy day had failed to relax him.

  Every time he turned around, Carly stood outside the house or wandered through the open door of the garage and stood in front of the business. She dared her father to approach her, and he had a feeling her confidence hadn't come from the pistol she carried at her side.

  Between him and the others, she had enough evidence to worry about her safety. To not trust her father.

  To fear him.

  Carly handed him the key. "That was fun."

  "That's because you're a new rider. You'll find any excuse to putter around." He double checked the look, made sure he had everything put away for the night and then motioned her to follow.

  He dreaded and anticipated going in the bunker. The last time they were alone, she'd asked him to sleep beside her in the bed. If she asked him again, he wouldn't be sleeping.

  At least underground, Jaster couldn't get to her. He could ease the tension that'd built inside of him throughout the day, having the responsibility of Carly resting on his shoulders.

  Studying the area, he stayed between her and the road until she was securely inside. He checked every area of the house. Knowing the premises was clear, he locked the door and took her into the bunker.

  The best idea he'd ever had, besides the off-road rental business, was to jack up the house and have an empty cargo trailer buried underneath. It took him several years to make it habitable and beef up the security, and in the end, he had one place where he could hide from the world and not worry about Jaster killing him when he slept.

  He took off his holster and motioned for Carly to do the same. There was no need to wear them once the door was locked.

  "Do you like chicken?" he asked.

  "Yes." She washed her hands at the sink. "I can make dinner for us. Just tell me what you want."

  "You know how to cook?"

  She laughed softly. "Of course."

  "There's chicken strips in the freezer and probably a bag or two of frozen fries." He walked over and stretched out on the couch, propping his head with the pillow to watch her.

  "Do you like them baked or fried?" She stuck her head in the freezer.

  He watched her ass move to the counter. "Fried. Oil is in the cabinet to your left."

  Taking his phone out of his pocket, he texted Anders and Quint asking for an update. Not hearing from either one during the day, he assumed Jaster hadn't shown up at the Lair or campground.

  He worried about Quint living at the campground with people all around him. It would take nothing for Jaster to blend with the crowd, get inside the cabin, or set fire to his place, literally blocking them against the mountain with no way to get out. The Lair was safer, it's why he had Evie go there.

  Anders texted back. He looked up from the phone. "Your mom's fine."

  Carly glanced at him. "Fine? What's that mean?"

  "I suppose it means she's fine. What else is it supposed to mean?"

  "It could mean she's upset and doesn't want me to know or she's mad and—nevermind, she never gets mad. I don't know, I guess I just want to know more. Like is she comfortable sleeping there and is she scared or does she need me?" Carly dropped the chicken into the hot oil in the pan and stepped back, facing him. "You were around my mom and know how she's quiet and unsure of herself. Do you think she's fine?"

  "I do." He latched his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. "I think she's stronger than you give her credit for."

  "I hope so." She glanced at the stove. "So, tomorrow, we do the same thing?"

  "Yeah." His stomach growled. "Unless you want to stay in the bun
ker and then I'll stay in the office."

  She shook her head and moved back to the stove, using a fork to turn the strips. "I enjoyed working beside you."

  His chest warmed. The simplest encouragement from her and he was ready to invite her into his life. He was too old to figure out how that could be.

  "You're the first woman who has cooked in the bunker," he said.

  She took out the chicken and placed the strips on a paper towel. "Seriously?"

  "Why is that so hard to believe?"

  She added a couple handfuls of frozen fries to the pan and jerked back as the oil spit. "You've never been married or lived with a woman before?"

  "Nope."

  "Huh." She lifted her brows. "I'm surprised..."

  "I never wanted to bring a woman into my life when I had no idea if I was going to be alive another day." He sat up and removed his boots, kicking them off his feet. "I've been with enough women to know none of them would've accepted me if they had known the truth about my life. It wouldn't be fair to them."

  She kept her focus on the skillet. "That's sad to think."

  "What about you?" He was curious about how she lived a normal life with Jaster as a father.

  He also wanted to know if she had someone in her life. That when all of this was over, would she slip into another man's bed. The thought of her with someone else disturbed him.

  "I went out on dates." She shrugged. "I've never looked for something serious or long term. My life was complicated enough living two different lives and trying to keep things as normal as I could to hold down a job and gain my independence. I imagine if I had fallen in love, he would've come to believe I was completely crazy."

  He wouldn't call her crazy. She'd traveled to the Bitterroot Mountains by herself, sought answers she needed, and planned to go away and take on her father face to face. Alone.

  Sadly, for her, she was naïve and innocent to Michael Jaster's activities. It was one thing to hear about his crimes. It was another thing to live them.

  She held up a plate. "Ketchup?"

  He straightened. "Yeah."

  She brought the bottle with her and handed him the plate, then went back and got hers. He'd eaten one chicken strip when he realized food tasted better when someone else cooked the meal.

  Halfway through the meal, Carly lost focus on her food and stared at him. He made it through a few more bites, and his amusement got the better of him. "What?"

  "We're a lot alike." She stood and took her plate into the kitchen.

  He waited for her to expand on her statement, but she'd let it drop. He finished every piece of food and walked over to her, putting his plate in the sink. When she went to move out of his way, he blocked her against the counter, pressing his lower body against her.

  "Name two things that make us alike." He hooked the fallen strand of hair on her cheek with his finger and tucked it behind her ear. "Because I can name a hundred ways we're different."

  "Easy." She gazed up at him. "We both hide our past and limit ourselves to connecting with someone else."

  He gazed at her mouth. "Agree."

  "Two...we both hate my father," she said.

  He inhaled deeply. "Okay, you've proven your point."

  "There's one more thing we share. We both find each other attractive and that kiss the other night has made both of us curious to find out if sex will be as wonderful as we've imagined." She laid her hands on his chest. "And, I swear to God, if you lie and tell me you haven't thought of what could happen tonight when we're both in bed—and we will sleep in your bed together—I'm going to smack you."

  His cock pulsed to life, growing harder. If he moved away from her, she'd know. If he stayed, she'd still know.

  He took her hand and put it between their bodies, letting her feel what she was doing to him.

  Her gaze warmed and her fingers explored. His balls constricted and he held still, letting her get to know him.

  "You surprised me," she whispered, staring into his eyes as she stroked his cock. "I thought I'd have to convince you to have sex with me."

  He tilted her face. "Try to stop me."

  Capturing her lips, he walked her several feet back to the bed. He stripped her of her shirt and caught her heated gaze. No, she didn't need to convince him.

  Chapter 27

  Mark stood before Carly naked. She sat in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed having already stripped her clothes off in a hurry. The initial shyness at revealing her body went away as she became utterly fascinated with the man in front of her.

  His confidence filled the bunker, every square inch, seeping into her.

  Each breath expanded his chest, broadened his shoulders, and formed an unmovable presence in her life. Naked but covered in masculinity, his almost gray beard, so much a part of him, only complimented the solid body and scars.

  She fisted the blanket underneath her. Her gaze wandered lower to his stomach. His body thicker, harder, and more solid and mature from working outdoors than most men she knew, and yet his strength alone showed her the results of the hard life he led on the mountain.

  His body called for her. She wanted to wrap her arms around his middle and anchor herself to him.

  As the thought came to her to get up from the bed and go to him, her attention lowered to his erect cock. Proud, like the man, his display for her stood prominently and beautiful. As if knowing she admired him, his hardness pulsed...showing off.

  She raised her gaze, feeling her smile throughout her whole body.

  "Are you going to let me touch you?" His deep voice rolled through her.

  She shivered in anticipation and tilted her head. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

  He kneed the end of the bed and launched himself beside her, stretching out. She rolled toward him. Her breasts brushed his bare chest.

  His tiny inhale through his nostrils endeared him to her. He wasn't invincible. He was human. He felt. He needed. He desired.

  He played his feelings close to his chest but there was something needier below the surface, and she wanted nothing more than to get to know the complete man. She ran her fingers down the side of his face, stroking his beard. She wanted to know Mark beyond the reports in the file, and she wanted to be the first woman he let into his life.

  He might've had other women, but she doubted if they ever had the opportunity to know him past the physical.

  "You're gorgeous," she whispered, sprawling her hand on his chest, roaming down and curving over his ribs.

  His chest quivered in amusement. She dipped her head and kissed his shoulder, rubbing her lips lightly over his skin.

  "You taste different than me," she said.

  "I would hope so." He played with the dip of her waist, trailing his fingers back and forth over the swell of her hip.

  Her skin warmed, and she inhaled deeply, breaking out in goosebumps.

  "All day, I imagined you being the type of guy who would take me up against a wall." She propped her head on her hand and gazed at him, letting his touch go to the front of her. "Hard and unforgiving."

  "Am I that mean?" He slid his hand between her breasts and looked down at what he was doing to her.

  Her nipples hardened. "Sometimes."

  "Maybe you like when I'm mean." His breath came faster the more he rubbed the tight space where her breasts fell together. "Maybe you want me to fuck you hard."

  Okay, that was sexy. She never figured him for a talker, either. The surprise of finding out more about him pleased her immensely.

  "I don't know what I like," she said, honestly. "I just like you, so everything you do to me is going to be good. Don't you think?"

  A low growl came from him. "You should never give any man that much control."

  "I'm not." She rubbed her lips against his mouth. "I'm only giving it to you."

  He grabbed her hip, digging his fingers into her skin. She lifted her leg and placed her thigh over him. The ease at which she trusted him came years before meeting
him. She'd fallen in love with everything he and the others represented in the reports. How easy it had been to be romanticized by the survivors, the rebels, the boys who worked their way from nothing to successful business owners.

  They were her hope for a better life for her mom.

  And whether it was fair or not to put so much trust onto him, so soon, she had. She only knew that when she met him and the others, it was Mark she was drawn to despite his rudeness and ruggedness.

  He squeezed her breast, finding the tight bud. She pressed against his hand. Her thoughts shut off and her body turned on.

  She trailed her fingers from his shoulder, down his arm, and lightly held on to his forearm, feeling the muscles constrict and bulge as he rolled, tugged, and pinched her nipple.

  Her pussy spasmed. She arched. There was something so intimate, so loving about the slow nature of Mark exploring her body.

  She moved, caressing his outer thigh with her leg. The prickles from the hair on his body excited her more. She loved how different they were.

  He took her hand and put it on his cock. The heat coming off him warmed her fingers. She stroked slowly, aware of his whole body stirring in time to her movements.

  Awed at how much she controlled his arousal, she played with ways to hold him and let her fingers explore every inch of him. She bit down on her lower lip, catching her smile. His response to her touch intoxicated her. She pleased him.

  "Damn," he mumbled, lowering his head to her neck.

  His lips sealed on her skin, drawing pressure, licking, and nipping before soothing her. Her eyes fluttered closed at the pleasure growing inside of her.

  Cradling his head with one arm, she strained to touch his balls with her other hand. A frustrated moan slipped out. He was too tall, too big, too far away.

  Mark raised his head and kissed her mouth. "Climb up on my head."

  She quivered, unable to move.

  He rolled to his back, stretching out on the bed. She sat up, trying to make sense of what he wanted her to do, and he took her hand, guiding her on top of him.