Sweet Revenge

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Feminine awareness zinged through her body and pebbled her nipples. The man had always been dangerous, yet an edge lived in him now that was as appealing as it was deadly. That edge tempted her on a primal level she’d hoped had disappeared when he had. Apparently not.

  To mask her unwelcomed desire, she moved to go. “Well, enjoy your night.” She expected him to stop her retreat and wasn’t surprised when his calloused hand wrapped around her bare bicep, but she hadn’t even considered his next words.

  “Let’s dance.” He turned her toward the dance floor.

  She balked. “No.” God. She couldn’t dance with him, couldn’t be touched by him.

  “Yes.” His hold slid down to the back of her elbow, and he ushered her toward where the orchestra was playing “I Will Wait for You” by Michel Legrand. Nate’s skin on hers quivered her nerves to life in an erotic need she’d worked hard to overcome.

  She could either cause a scene or go along with him. Didn’t he understand if she protested, he’d probably be a dead man?

  He turned and pulled her into his arms.

  The bittersweet moment her body met his stole her breath, while memories of passion and love assailed her. For the briefest of times, she’d belonged in the safe circle of his arms. The only time in her life she’d been truly happy and not alone. Ah, the dreams she’d spun, even though she’d known better.

  Happily ever after didn’t exist for her. Hell, it didn’t exist for anybody.

  The music wound around them, through them, proclaiming a romance that couldn’t really exist. His heated palm settled at the small of her waist and drew her into an impressive erection.

  She gasped, her face heating, her sex convulsing. Blinking, she glanced up in confusion to see if he was as affected as she was and stilled.

  Furious. The man was truly furious. Even with the contacts masking his eyes, his anger shone bright.

  She tried to step back and didn’t move. Yeah, she knew she’d hurt him when she’d ended their relationship, but after five years, he shouldn’t still be so mad. He’d had freedom for five years, which was a hell of a lot better than she’d had. She’d had pain and fear and uncertainty. She blinked. “What is wrong with you?”

  His impossibly hard jaw somehow hardened even more. “Oh, we’ll discuss that shortly.” Threat lived strongly in the calm words. “For now, we’re going to finish this dance. Then you’ll take the north exit and meet me in my car so we can talk.”

  “If I don’t?” she asked quietly, wings fluttering through her abdomen.

  His hold tightened imperceptibly. “I know where you live, I know your daily routine in working for Senator Nash, and I know where you go when you need time alone. You can’t hide, you can’t outrun me—and you know it.”

  The hair rose down her back. “How long have you been watching me?” More important, why hadn’t she noticed?

  “A week.” He spun her, easily controlling their movements.

  Her leg hitched, and she stumbled against him.

  He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” None of his damn business, that was. “What do you want to talk about?”

  His gaze narrowed, and he spun her again. She tripped again. Her damn leg didn’t move that way.

  “What’s wrong with your leg?” he asked, brows furrowing.

  Oh, they were so not going into her injuries on the dance floor. “You almost sound like you care, Nate.” She threw his words back at him, gratified when his nostrils flared in irritation.

  His gaze probed deep, wandering down her neck. He blinked several times, his chest moving with a harsh intake of breath. “I like your dress,” he rumbled, his voice a low whisper.

  With his tight hold, she had no doubt the tops of her breasts were visible. “Nathan, don’t—”

  “Don’t what?” His gaze rose to her lips. A light of a different sort filtered through his angry eyes. She knew that look. Her body heated and her thighs softened. His erection jumped against her, and she bit down a groan.

  “One kiss, Audrey.”

  Her eyes widened to let in more light. “No,” she breathed. One of his hands held hers, the other pressed against her back. Thank goodness. He couldn’t grab her and kiss her, no matter how appealing the thought. “Bad idea.”

  “I know.” Nate didn’t need hands. His lips met hers so quickly, she never saw him move.

  His mouth covered hers with no hesitancy, no question—as if he had every right to go deep. His tongue was savage and demanding, holding nothing back and accepting no evasion. He tasted of loneliness, anger, and lust. Hard, needy, demanding lust.

  Her heart thundered in her ears, and she fell into his heat, uncaring of whether or not he caught her. He wrapped around her, his unyielding body holding her upright. He caressed her with his tongue, and she met him thrust for thrust, fierce hot pleasure lighting her on fire.

  She forgot where they were, who they were, everything but the desperate need he created.

  He broke the kiss, blatant male hunger crossing his face. His breath panted out even as he moved them in tune with the music.

  She softened against him, allowing him to lead so she didn’t collapse. Her mind whirled, and she shook her head to regain reality. “Nathan, what do you want?” The question emerged as a breathless plea she couldn’t mask.

  That quickly, all hints of desire slid from his face. His chin hardened. “Want? I want to know what happened to the child you were carrying five years ago when you ripped out my heart. Where’s my baby, Audrey?”

  Turn the page for an excerpt from Rebecca Zanetti’s first novel in her sexy romantic suspense series,

  Forgotten Sins

  Available now!

  Prologue

  Southern Tennessee Hills

  Twenty Years Ago

  Shane settled against the cold block wall, engrossed in the television set across the room but forcing himself periodically to glance outside the darkened window. The second dawn hit, he and his brothers had to flee the computer center. Their current transgression was punishable by beating or confinement. Probably both.

  But a night spent watching a marathon of a show featuring a family living in the city was well worth the risk and provided an insight into a world he had only dreamed about. Breaking into the private room housing the television had been almost too easy. It surprised him the soldiers had taught them stealth and surveillance but didn’t expect them to use the skills.

  A boom sounded in the distance—probably from a coal mine hours away. Just to double-check, he lifted his head and used his special hearing to make sure they were safe. A wolf prowled a mile or so away, and prey scattered. No humans breathed nearby. Well, none other than his three brothers while they watched the show. The eighth episode wound down to cheerful music and a happy ending.

  “What’s a family?” Jory, his youngest brother, asked.

  Shane forced a shrug. “I think a family is people who live together.”

  “So we’re family?” Jory’s voice cracked.

  Shane nodded, his shoulders straightening. “Yeah, we’re family.”

  “What’s a mom?” Jory scratched his head.

  “I guess it’s that lady there.” Shane pointed at the woman on the screen.

  “She looks…” Matt, the oldest of them all, said thoughtfully, “… soft.”

  They all nodded.

  “How come we don’t have moms or ladies here?” Jory asked.

  Shane shrugged again. He probably didn’t deserve a mom, but Jory did. Why didn’t Jory get a mom? “Maybe soldiers don’t get moms.”

  “Oh.” Jory turned back to the screen. “She looks nice.”

  Yeah. The soft lady did look nice.

  Nathan jumped up. “It’s time to go—sun’s out.” As the second oldest, Nathan usually kept a close eye on Jory and Shane, while Matt spent his time training them to survive.

  Shane stood and reached down to help Jory up.

  He yanked back. “I want to
stay.”

  “Now, Jory.” Matt slid the door open a sliver to peer outside. “They’re already starting hand-to-hand.”

  Jory stood and brushed off his pants. “Fine.”

  “Follow me, and don’t look guilty.” Matt headed into the chilly dawn, followed by Nathan.

  Shane waited until Jory was clear before shutting the door and hustling over to train with Nathan. All around them, boys engaged in mock-fighting. His brother kicked him in the stomach, and he allowed the pain to disappear before punching Nate in the jaw.

  The sun angled through the trees when the commander strode onto the practice area followed by two soldiers who pulled behind them a short, dirty man. Grease and debris littered the man’s long dark hair and beard. The prisoner’s hands were bound behind his back, and he furiously begged in a language Shane hadn’t learned yet. The man’s bare feet dragged in the dirt, leaving clear tracks. His blood made a swishing sound as it shot through his veins too quickly. Lung tissue crackled as his breath panted out.

  Terror had a sound.

  “Soldiers.” The commander called them to attention.

  They quickly moved into formation. The commander was straight and sure, his hair cut in a short buzz. His eyes were a deep, dark black. Shane always tried to concentrate on something else when facing the commander, sure that getting lost in those black depths would mean death. He knew it somehow.

  He and the other boys watched impassively as a soldier forced the prisoner to his knees.

  “You’ve been studying anatomy and pressure points for a month now,” the commander said. “Today we concentrate on the swiftest and most economical way to break someone’s neck.”

  The live demonstrations always made Shane’s head pound. Did the prisoner know he was about to die? Probably. Shane steeled his spine just in case it was his turn. Please don’t let it be his turn.

  The commander paused and then called out, “Cadet Shane.”

  As Shane moved forward to stand by the prisoner, Matt began to shift from his place in formation, reaching for the knife sheathed at his calf. Shane subtly shook his head. Even if Matt somehow stabbed the commander so they could run, they didn’t have anywhere to go. The commander would always find them.

  Matt stood down, his entire body tense. As the oldest of the brothers, he considered it his duty to protect them somehow. Their identical gray eyes met, Matt’s hot and desperate. Shane tried to shrug, but his shoulders shook instead. His gut hurt.

  Hopefully he wouldn’t lose his mind for a few days like Matt had when it had been his turn. Shane understood this was another part of his training—he was old enough to kill now.

  He had just turned ten.

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  Josie’s heels clicked in rapid staccato against the well-worn tiles, the smell of bleach making her stomach cramp. Her mind spun. How could this be happening? It must be some sort of trick.

  Someone had taped smiling pumpkins along the hospital walls to celebrate the month of October. Something about their jagged teeth against the dim walls creeped her out. Even as an adult, the sense of helplessness she’d felt as a child in the hospital caused her body to tense and brace to flee from the antiseptic smells.

  Several nurses converged behind a wide counter, studying charts. Josie ignored them and hurried down the hall. She reached the last room on the left and ran smack into a uniformed police officer. Bouncing back, she struggled to balance herself in the heels she’d worn to work. The call had come in after dinner, and she was still at the office. As usual. A promotion to vice president was up for grabs, and she was going to get it.

  The cop steadied her, dark eyes appraising. “You all right, ma’am?”

  “Yes.” She tugged her handbag strap up her arm, needing to get a grip. She was an adult and in control now. “A Detective Malloy called me to come down. I’m Josie Dean.” Her breath hitched on her last name; she’d be changing that soon.

  “He’s inside with Mr. Dean.”

  “Major Dean,” she said automatically, and then her face heated. “I mean, he used to be a major. He may have been promoted.” God. She sounded like an idiot.

  A voice over a loudspeaker announced a code blue. The officer straightened, listened, and then relaxed his shoulders as a room on the third floor was named. “You can go right in.” He tipped his head toward the open doorway before flashing a smile at a pretty nurse pushing a book cart down the hall.

  Yeah. She’d go right in. Easier said than done. Josie took a deep breath, steeled herself, and walked inside, her attention instantly captured by the male figure perched against the hospital bed.

  For the briefest of seconds, time stopped. Memories flooded through her mind, her body, maybe somewhere deeper until her lungs forgot their job. That quickly, she was helpless with the need to heal him. Coughing, she forced air down her throat and took a good look.

  Several bandages were strapped across Shane’s muscular torso, while a splotchy purple lump rose from his forehead. His long legs were encased in bloody jeans, and he’d crossed his thick boots at the ankles. He sat bare to the waist, his scarred chest and packed abs betraying a life of combat. The new wounds would fit with the rest.

  Those scars broke her heart all over again.

  His gray eyes lasered in on her, and she fought the urge to run. Pain, need, and familiarity swirled through her brain. Her skin warmed. Damn, he looked good. Dark brown hair swept back from his battered face, and even with the bruises, his rugged features spoke of strength and masculine beauty. Fierce and dangerous like a wolf.

  His hair had grown to his shoulders and added a wild new edge to the danger.

  She had a lot of layers, and he’d appealed to her on each one by providing security and fulfilling her desperate need to belong. Until he’d abandoned her. She faltered and clutched her handbag strap until the leather cut into her skin.

  A throat cleared. “Mrs. Dean?”

  “Josie.” She shifted her focus to a man in a rumpled brown suit who leaned against a poster depicting the inner ear. The room was small—examination table, smooth counter with sink, one rolling chair for a doctor. Yet she hadn’t even noticed the other man until he’d made a sound. “Detective Malloy?”

  “Yes.” Shrewd eyes the color of his suit studied her, and he began scribbling in a notebook. “Is this your husband?”

  The quiet power of Shane’s presence yanked her attention back to him. Even after all this time, he commanded her body’s responses. He cocked his head as if awaiting her answer.

  She nodded. “This is Shane Dean.” This couldn’t be happening. The helplessness she’d felt as a frightened and hurting child in the hospital closed in on her. The need to flee made her knees tremble. She focused on the closest person she had to family, struggling to keep her lips firm. It was really him. Really Shane. “They said you have amnesia.”

  Shane gave a short nod. “I can’t remember a damn thing.”

  The familiar rumble of his voice slammed into her solar plexus. Emotion washed through her edged with a sharp pain. Two years. Two long years since he’d left her. “What happened?”

  The detective stopped writing. “We were hoping you might provide an explanation. Where was your husband going today?”

  She barked out a laugh. Seriously? “I have absolutely no idea. We’re separated.”

  Shane stilled, the air thickening with tension around him. “We are?”

  “I haven’t seen you in two years.” Her voice shook, and she fought to settle raw nerves. She would not let him affect her. “I didn’t even know you were back in the country.”

  “What country should he have been in?” the detective asked.

  Like she’d know. “He’s in the marines based out of Pendleton. Call them.” Wait a minute. “How did you know to call me if you didn’t know he was in the military?” She took a small step back to study her husband. “And what are you doing in Washington State?”

  Shane shrugged. The paper
on the table crinkled as he moved. “Dunno. Probably coming to visit you from my home in Oregon? I have an Oregon driver’s license as well as a card with your name and phone number in my wallet… along with our marriage license. Am I from Oregon?”

  Her thoughts began to swirl. “Yes. I mean, I think so.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You don’t know?”

  “No. I didn’t know much about you, Shane. We met in California and married there.” Within three weeks of meeting each other—the one and only time in her life she’d taken a risk and been spontaneous. Of course it had ended in disaster. She had been so stupid. What had she been thinking?

  The detective cleared his throat. “Your husband isn’t wearing dog tags. He was found down by the river, which is miles across the city from your home. To your knowledge, does he know anyone else here in Snowville?”

  “No.” At least, she didn’t think so. More than one hundred thousand people lived in the eastern Washington town. Shane might know somebody else who lived there.

  Her knees began to tremble, and she forced them still with stubborn pride. She dug her nails into her palms to quell the urge to caress his bruises. Her romantic notion of being able to heal him, to show him love was possible, had earned her a broken heart. Rightfully so. It was over. They were over. Her body needed to freakin’ remember that fact. As did her heart.

  Shane’s eyes sharpened. “When did you move to Washington?”

  “Two years ago.”

  “When we separated.”

  “Yes.”

  He lifted an eyebrow in an expression she remembered well. “Did I know we were separated?”

  Warmth flushed through her chest, just under the skin. “Ending our marriage was your choice.” In fact, he hadn’t bothered to officially end the marriage. He had just disappeared—leaving her alone after making promises he clearly had never intended to keep. Some people didn’t get a family, and she should’ve remembered that before trusting him.