She let out a sudden breath at that, half a sob, half a moan, and then she sat up abruptly, reaching for him, winding her arms around his neck, her mouth finding his. Kissing him passionately, desperately.
Perhaps he should have pushed her down again, stroked her some more, but he thought he’d made his point. And besides, she tasted of salt and pain, and it was pleasure he ultimately wanted to give her.
Recovery wasn’t always about pain. His physical therapist had been worse than some of his commanders, but once she’d started promising him a beer after each session, he found the pain much easier to deal with.
So he let Callie kiss him for a long moment. Then he calmly took charge, easing her back against the mattress, but this time he followed her down onto it, covering her body with his.
And with patience and gentleness, with tenderness and skill, he proceeded to give her all the pleasure he was capable of.
All the pleasure she deserved.
* * *
Callie must have drifted off, because the next thing she knew, the shadows of late afternoon were shining through the windows and Jack was standing by them, talking quietly on his phone. He had his jeans on, but hadn’t bothered with his T-shirt, so she took a moment just to appreciate the beauty of his torso. To remember how his skin had felt beneath hers and the roughness of the scars that laced his side. The contrasting softness of his mouth on her skin, the gentleness of his touch . . .
Her heart gave one hard, painful beat.
“Wounds always hurt, Princess . . .”
He wasn’t wrong. They did hurt. In fact, she hadn’t realized how many wounds she’d actually had until he’d touched her and they’d begun to hurt. All the wounds her parents had dealt her over the years, death by a thousand cuts.
But somehow the way Jack touched her, the way he told her how important she was, how she mattered, made her feel like that day in her father’s study after he’d pulled her out of college, staring into her mother’s eyes and seeing the hatred there. The blame.
She’d spent years trying to be good, doing what her father had said in order to protect her mother. Because Callie had loved her. Because once, she’d been kind. But there was nothing of love in her mother’s eyes now. Only accusation. “Your fault,” she’d hissed. “This is all your fault.”
And Callie had felt that hit her like a shock, like a spear of ice direct through her heart. She’d felt bewildered and hurt, and underneath all of that, there had been a part of her that had wondered was her mother right?
Oh, she’d told herself no, that she couldn’t be blamed for being born, and she’d ripped that spear out and gone on with her life. But the wound was still there, like the tip of that spear had broken off as she’d pulled it out, and it had left something inside her. Something sharp and cold.
Jack’s touch had somehow bumped that thing in her heart, that wound that had never healed no matter how much she’d pretended otherwise.
Gentleness was painful because it made her want more of it.
And she wasn’t sure she was worth it.
Your mother might be right. You might not be.
She swallowed, forcing the voice away. No, she wasn’t going to think about the pain, or her worth or lack of it. Or about how, despite the fact that his touch had hurt, there had been a part of her that had craved his gentleness, been desperate for his tenderness. That had loved the feeling of his hands stroking slowly down her back, tracing patterns on her skin. That had wanted more.
She could still feel his touch even now, as if the impressions his fingers had left were still there, glowing warmly. Sinking down beneath the surface of her skin, into her flesh, into her blood, into her bones . . .
He’s left his mark on you. You’ll never be the same again.
Callie took a silent, sharp breath, the thought adding to the pile of things she didn’t want to think about, making her feel uneasy.
“So, what’s the plan?” Jack was saying quietly. “Does he want a meeting or what? . . . No. She’s not going anywhere until I can guarantee her safety, understand?”
He was still turned away, looking out the window, the fading sun shining on his tattoo, the dragon climbing up his side. How strange that he’d tattooed a monster over those scars, when a monster was the very last thing he was. He’d said he was violent and possessive, too, and yet that wasn’t true. Sure, he’d had moments of violence—he was in the military after all—and yet that wasn’t the whole of him. Neither was his possessiveness.
He was capable of gentleness. Of care and tenderness. She’d seen and experienced that firsthand. And sure, he was possessive, but that was another aspect of his protectiveness. And she . . . kind of liked it. It certainly didn’t scare her the way he seemed to think it should.
Her heart gave another of those uncomfortable beats and she could feel it echo through her like a warning.
You know what this means, don’t you?
Yeah, she knew. She was falling for him.
“Okay, fine,” Jack said. “I’ll be there in fifteen.” The call ended and he lowered the phone, slipping it into his back pocket. Then he stood there for a long, silent moment, staring out the windows.
She watched him, wondering what he was thinking and realizing that it wasn’t an idle question, but an important one to her. And one she really wanted to know the answer to. But when she opened her mouth, all that came out was, “Is it twelve hours already then?”
He turned at the sound of her voice, his gaze meeting hers, and she could feel heat spread the entire length of her body, a massive wave of it, trailing longing in its wake.
No, scratch falling. She’d already fallen. And hard.
She was blushing, her cheeks feeling like they were on fire, which was entirely ridiculous considering what they’d spent the last couple of hours doing. Yet that didn’t stop her from blushing.
He moved from the windows, coming over to the bed, and she watched the way he moved, admiring his fluidity and yet that slight hitch in his walk making her chest feel tight with tenderness.
No, she didn’t want to fall for him, but she had. And maybe it was Stockholm syndrome and maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was simply that parts of him meshed perfectly with parts of her. Like different notes in a song, creating the perfect melody. The bright notes and the dark, together creating a whole.
She’d never thought she’d fall for anyone, never thought she’d want to, not after watching her parents’ dysfunctional relationship play out the way it had. But if there was one thing she’d learned about Jack, it was that not all men were like her father. Which meant that not all relationships needed to be like her parents’. She could choose differently. Hell, she already had.
Yeah, but you’re not in a relationship.
Well, no. Jack had been very clear about not sleeping with her again, yet he had. But she didn’t think that a sudden confession from her would be the best way to go just yet. Certainly not with her father still wanting her back.
Afterward, when this was all over, then she might be able to broach it.
Jack came to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out a hand and winding his fingers through her hair. And she had to work to stop the urge to arch herself up into his touch like a cat wanting to be stroked.
“Not quite twelve hours.” His hard mouth curved in a rare smile that made her breath catch. “Good news. The kidnapping bullshit your father created with the press has been handled. I have to go in to meet with the team, but it looks like the mysterious Mr. Night has changed his mind about helping you after all.”
She blinked at the suddenness of it. “What?
“I don’t know all the details quite yet. But Faith told me that Night’s managed to get Hawthorne to hold off looking for you.” Jack’s vivid gaze held hers. “This could mean you’re free, Princess.”
She stared back at him, shock moving through her. Free? Just like that? It seemed . . . too good to be true, quite frankly. “No,” she murmured. “He’d never j
ust let me go like that, Jack. He just wouldn’t. Not after he went to the media and everything.”
“Yeah, I agree. Which is why I’m going to meet with them in ten to get the full story.” He stroked her hair, then wound it around his fingers. “I want you to stay here. Don’t put a foot outside this door until I know what’s going on, okay?”
She nodded, her throat starting to feel a little dry, because if it was true. If her father had actually left her alone, then . . .
You’re free.
But no, she couldn’t think that. Couldn’t believe it until she actually had proof.
“How long will you be?” She found herself leaning into his hand, relishing the absent stroke of his thumb over her scalp.
“Not sure. I’ll leave you my burner phone and get another on the way there, then I’ll text you.” He bent and brushed his mouth over hers in an all too brief kiss, then pulled back. “You’ll be okay?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good.” He released her, then got off the bed, moving to grab his T-shirt, pulling it on, then reaching for his leather jacket. As he put that on, she noticed that he also slipped a gun into the waistband of his jeans, and for some reason that made her feel better. Stupid to be worried about him, especially when it was obvious he could take care of himself, but then he had his vulnerabilities too, just like she did.
Once he was dressed, he came back to the bed and took another kiss from her, then, with another warning to stay in the hotel room—as if he hadn’t said it fifty million times already—he headed straight for the door and went out, leaving it to close behind him.
She sighed and rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. But her brain kept circling back to what had gone on between them just before, to the way he’d touched her and how it had hurt her. To the heavy beat of her heart as he’d stood by the windows.
To the absence that lingered in the room now he was gone.
Hell, she missed him already. Perhaps lying there thinking was a bad idea. Perhaps she should get up and do something.
Hauling herself off the bed, Callie went into the little bathroom and ran herself a hot shower. The water felt good on her skin so she stayed there probably longer than she should have, washing her hair and humming to herself, trying to figure out the end to that song she’d been composing.
Ten minutes later, fully dressed in her only set of clothes—jeans and a T-shirt—she was drying her hair with the hotel hair dryer when there was a knock on the room door. It was loud enough to be heard over the drone of the hair dryer, and it made her frown, because she couldn’t think of who it could possibly be. Housekeeping maybe? Or room service? But then she hadn’t ordered anything and housekeeping wasn’t due. Maybe Jack had ordered her something on his way out? She hoped so. Turned out lots of sex and emotion made you very hungry indeed.
Turning the hair dryer off, she put it down on the bathroom vanity, then stepped out of the bathroom and paused to make sure she’d actually heard a knock. It came again, louder this time and more insistent.
Puzzled, she went over to the door and looked through the peephole, only to see nothing but an empty corridor.
How weird. What the hell was going on?
She put her hand on the door handle and pulled it open, risking a glance out into the corridor.
Only to find her view suddenly blocked by a very large man.
Callie jerked in shock and took a step back, trying to pull shut the door, but he’d put out a hand and grabbed it before she could, holding it open.
He was familiar, she knew it, but her brain had started to panic and couldn’t place him.
But then she didn’t need to, because the man stepped aside to reveal someone else standing behind him. Someone whom this time she had no problems identifying.
“Ah, Callie,” her father said with a smile that was just a hair short of terrifying. “You’ve led me on quite a chase. But it’s over now. Time to come home.”
CHAPTER 16
“You don’t need to know the details.” Night’s voice on speakerphone was very dark and absolutely expressionless. “But I told him that his daughter is now none of his concern and that if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll forget he even had a daughter.”
Jack frowned at the coffee table on top of which sat Faith’s phone, uneasy with Night’s minimal explanation. Callie had been right, it felt too . . . simple. Anticlimactic. “So what?” Jack asked belligerently. “He’s just going to do what you said? Just like that? And what about that bullshit press conference?”
Isiah, standing with his arms crossed near the couch, gave Jack a warning look, which Jack ignored completely. The guy wasn’t his commander, not fucking yet.
“Yes, he’ll do exactly what I said,” Night answered with absolute conviction. “I saw the footage Sabrina got from the security camera at the Boston MFA and I played it to him. He was . . . less than pleased when I told him I’d hold a goddamn press conference myself, then upload that video to every news site on the planet if he didn’t drop the kidnapping story with the police, then leave her alone.”
Jack couldn’t help glancing over at Kellan at that. He was sitting next to Sabrina on the couch and gave Jack an easy grin, nodding at Sabrina, who was too busy staring at her phone to notice.
A strange feeling went through him and he realized he hadn’t been expecting Kellan to do anything at all about that footage. He’d expected he’d have to deal with this whole thing on his own and . . . well. Turned out he didn’t.
“What changed your mind?” Jack asked, curious despite himself.
“The footage of the senator twisting his daughter’s wrist was a good place to start. Plus, there were other factors, which I’m not going to go into now.”
“But you said there were other lives at stake. What about those?”
“That’s none of your fucking concern.” There was an edge in Night’s voice now. “All that you need to know is that Senator Hawthorne is no longer a threat to his daughter. And as for you, Mr. King, well . . . Now you owe me.”
Jack tensed. He’d been expecting something like this, because rich, powerful fuckers like Night didn’t do favors for nothing. There was always a price. Still, he needed more than this man’s voice down the end of a goddamn phone before he promised the guy anything.
“I’m not done yet,” Jack growled. “I want proof before we get into shit like who owes who what.”
Kellan, sitting on the couch on the other side of the coffee table, grimaced and shook his head, while Sabrina simply stared at Jack as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying.
Clearly, they all held Night in awe for some reason. A reason that Jack must have missed somewhere along the line since he hadn’t met the guy.
And you probably won’t now, not given the way you fucked up your mission.
Yeah, well that was too bad. He’d promised himself he’d protect Callie and he had. She wouldn’t go down on his list of people he’d failed. She would be one of his victories, she just fucking would. He wasn’t going to accept any other outcome. And if that meant he’d screwed up his chances of being one of the 11th Hour team, then he’d screwed up his chances.
He’d find something else to do somewhere. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t found anything for the past six months was simply because he hadn’t looked hard enough.
“Proof?” Night inquired, as if the word was distasteful in some way. “You screw up my goddamn mission, put information I need in jeopardy, and now you want fucking proof? How about my word as a motherfucking gentleman?”
Christ. Did they really not understand the gravity of the situation?
Jack opened his mouth to tell him that actually, his word meant nothing because Jack didn’t know him from a bar of soap let alone a motherfucking gentleman, but then Faith moved over to the table and picked the phone up, hitting a button and lifting it to her ear. She turned and walked away toward to the gym area, talking furiously while holding up a wait hand in Jack’s
direction.
“You want some advice, Jack?” Kellan murmured from the couch.
“No, I fucking don’t.”
“Night is someone you really don’t want to piss off,” Kellan went on, taking absolutely no notice. “I mean, seriously.”
Sabrina wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, but I’m on Jack’s side. Sure, Night’s the boss, but if I had a guy like Senator Hawthorne on my tail, I’d want proof he’d been handled too.”
“It’s too easy.”
Jack snapped his head around at the sound of Isiah’s flat voice. “What?”
The older man had gone to sit in the recliner, meditatively stroking his beard between his thumb and forefinger. “You heard me. It’s too easy. The guy’s powerful in his own right and I can’t imagine he hasn’t got the issue of that footage handled.”
Well, this was interesting. Jack hadn’t expected dissension from Isiah.
“Seriously?” Kellan was looking at the other man in surprise. “Come on, man. You really think Night would have said all that if he hadn’t dealt with the issue?”
But Isiah only shook his head. “The whole goddamn situation is strange. The senator wanted our help to protect his daughter from some supposed death threats and according to King, there was an incident when they were both threatened. Yet now he’s suddenly all okay with letting her go? What happened to the whole death threat issue?”
Good question. It had concerned Jack, but he’d dismissed the reasons behind that particular problem as not being part of his job. Yet even from the beginning Callie had been suspicious of her father’s motives, hadn’t she? She’d thought Jack had been hired specifically to keep an eye on her and that the death threats had been merely the excuse her father had given her.
“Callie didn’t think there was an issue,” he said slowly. “She thought her father had hired me to report on her movements to him. I dismissed it at the time, but knowing what I do now, I wouldn’t put it past that prick to have done exactly that.” Another thought occurred to him. “Shit, I found cameras all over her apartment so I took them out. Then he told me to put them all back. But what if they were his right from the beginning?”
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