Overabundance of pride was obviously in the DNA.
But recognizing any similarities only made Scott more furious. It felt like a betrayal of the father who’d raised him and the man he’d looked up to more than anyone else on this planet. Knowing that he looked like his biological father was bad enough; he didn’t need any more connections.
That was why he hadn’t wanted to come here. Scott had one father; he didn’t want another.
But lying in bed, trying to force the sleep that wouldn’t come, he could feel the relentless prickle of emotions he wanted to ignore. Guilt and, worse, compassion.
The bastard was dying.
Scott twisted around a few minutes longer before tossing the covers back and getting out of bed. He wasn’t going to get any sleep like this.
Not for the first time, his gaze shifted to the closed door that was another reason for his edginess. The thin piece of wood that separated him from what he really wanted seemed to be taunting him.
There were a lot of reasons he shouldn’t give in to that temptation, but he couldn’t think of any of them right now.
He crossed the room and opened the door. If she’d been sleeping, he might have turned back around. But she wasn’t. She was lying in bed, reading a book that she must have picked up from one of the shelves.
She glanced up, obviously surprised to see him.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, as if him showing up in her room in nothing more than his boxer briefs was the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe it was.
There was nothing in his voice to give him away, but she heard it anyway. She looked at him with such compassion and understanding that he knew he didn’t have to explain.
It was like the night when he’d gone to her after Mark had died. Mark Fallon had been a fellow officer, the OIC of Neptune Platoon (the other platoon in Team Nine), and one of his closest friends in the navy. While on a joint mission, Scott had sent him and half his platoon into a building on overwatch. The building that was supposed to have been deserted for some time had been wired to explode. Mark had gone in first and had died instantly. He was the only casualty, although a few of the guys had been badly injured.
Scott had gone to Natalie’s after the funeral at Arlington. She’d opened the door, took one look at him, and didn’t say anything. She knew exactly what he needed. Someone to be there for him. Someone to turn to. Someone not to ask questions.
She did the same thing now. Wordlessly, she lifted the covers and opened her arms.
He didn’t hesitate.
Scott crossed the room in a few strides and slid in next to her. The next moment her arms were around him, their bodies were pressed together, and his mouth was on hers.
The edginess was gone, and all he could feel was warmth. Warmth that penetrated to the bones. Warmth that made everything else around them disappear.
This was all that was important.
This was the answer.
He groaned at the taste of her. She was like sugar, melting under his lips. He couldn’t seem to get enough of that sweetness before it was dissolving away from him, so he kissed her deeper and deeper.
Their tongues twisted and twined, circled and stroked, until the soft moans and pants urging him on became more than he could take.
He couldn’t wait. She was giving herself to him, opening her body and her heart with no questions asked.
With no conditions.
No promises.
Maybe it was wrong. Maybe she deserved something more in return. But this was all he could give her right now. His body. His desire. His need.
And God, how he needed her. He wanted to feel her under him. Feel her silky skin sliding against his. Feel her body squeezing him like a glove as he pushed inside. Feel her hips lifting and circling as he thrust. And most of all he wanted to feel the cries of pleasure reverberating through him as he forced her over the edge.
He tore away with a groan long enough to get rid of the limited clothing that was in his way.
She was reaching for him even before he finished, and he moved over her, pausing just long enough to look into her eyes. He might be out of his mind with need for her, and they might have made love a hundred times before, but he needed to hear her say it. She might have been able to get beyond what had happened to her, but it was new to him, damn it.
“I need you to tell me you want this.”
His voice sounded as tight as the rigid muscles of his neck and arms.
“What?”
He could see the confusion in her half-lidded gaze. “I need you to say it.”
Suddenly she seemed to understand. Her eyes grew suspiciously shiny. She reached up and cupped his grizzled jaw, with a look of tenderness in her eyes that melted what little ice he had left around his heart.
“I want you to make love to me, Scott.” He would have groaned with relief if she hadn’t stopped him. “It’s just . . .” Her voice dropped off.
He frowned. “Just what?”
A slow smile spread over her face as she took advantage of his position looming over her to let her hands slide over the muscles of his flexed arms and stomach. He sucked in his breath at the bolt of pleasure that surged through his veins from the delicate touch.
When she reached the thick column of his erection, she took him by the balls—literally—squeezed as if she owned him, and then circled her hand around his cock, gripping him with a long hard stroke. She leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Just hurry.”
Scott groaned and thrust deeper into her hand. There weren’t many things he could do with her hand working him like this, but hurry . . . that he could do.
He bent down and kissed her again. But the milking torture of her hand made it harsher. More demanding. More carnal. And maybe even a little raunchy.
He licked, he sucked, he coaxed her with his mouth to stroke him harder.
He could feel the pleasure pulsing. Feel her thumb swirl the heavy head with the drop that seeped out.
The pounding of his blood, the beating of his heart, the pressure building at the base of his spine started to overwhelm his control. He was close. Too damned close.
She knew it too and guided him between her legs. He wanted to push inside so badly, his raging body started to sweat. But he let her tease herself, as he was incapable. He let her dampen herself with the sensitive tip, let her circle and nudge. But the feeling of that soft warm flesh was too much.
“Enough,” he bit out. “I can’t . . .”
This wasn’t going to be pretty; he needed to be inside her too badly, and it had been too long.
She released her grip, moved her hands around to his ass, and he started to push. He let out a deep, primal groan of pleasure as he sank deeper and deeper, as her body squeezed and clenched, as everything slipped into place.
He reached the end, and with one final nudge that made her cry out and their bodies lock into position.
He stilled. Their eyes met. He would die and never be tired of that look of surprise—of wonder—on her face. It happened every time. Which given how many times he’d made love to her didn’t make any sense. Except that he understood because he felt it, too.
He’d always felt it. He was just surprised to feel it now. He’d thought being with her again after all that had happened—after what he’d learned about her—that it would be different.
But it wasn’t. She wasn’t. The connection between them was real. Whatever else had happened between them he could trust that.
He could trust this.
He started to move. Slowly at first, trying to make it last as long as it could when every instinct—every primitive impulse—was crying out to take and plunder. To unleash the powerful emotions that were raging inside. Emotions that he couldn’t talk about but that she understood.
She wouldn’t let him go
slow. She met his thrust with a circle and lift of her hips that increased the pace—and the frenzy.
She started to moan. To urge him on with her naughty words. She told him all the things he hadn’t known how much he needed to hear. How much she’d missed this. How good he felt. How he was going to make her come.
And then, when he couldn’t hold on any longer, when he heard her cries, and his body let go of the freight train of need that had been crushing him . . .
She told him how much she loved him.
Eighteen
Natalie had forgotten. . . .
No, that wasn’t true. She could never have forgotten; she just hadn’t let herself remember because she was scared she would never have this kind of feeling again. The feeling of closeness and absolute contentment.
She wasn’t surprised when Scott fell almost instantly asleep after they’d collapsed in a hot, sated heap. He’d rolled off her onto his back, tucked her in against his chest, and held her tightly as their bodies tried to recover from . . .
It was hard to put a name to something that incredible, that overwhelming, and that extraordinary. Touching heaven was too poetic for something so fierce and intense. Exploding? Shattering? Except that those were destructive and what had just happened was the opposite. It was forging, joining, and connecting.
It was special. It had always been special, but this time it seemed even more so as there was nothing between them anymore. There were no more veils, no matter how thin, to hide how she felt about him. How much she loved him.
She wasn’t even disappointed that he hadn’t said it back. She loved him unconditionally and wanted him to know that.
But he must have already known; he wouldn’t have come to her otherwise. Men like Scott didn’t need anyone—or at least they thought they weren’t supposed to. But everyone needed someone that they could turn to when things got rough, someone they could count on for comfort and understanding. Someone who could be the tether when everything else around them was spinning out of control.
Scott had been that way for her. He still was. And though she knew he’d never admit he needed a little stability, she wanted to be that for him.
He was hurting right now. Meeting the man who’d fathered him had forced him to face his identity. No matter how much he wanted Stephen Taylor’s blood running through his veins, it wasn’t going to happen, and Scott couldn’t ignore or pretend differently anymore. He had two fathers—the one who’d raised him and the one who’d given him his DNA—and today he’d had to accept that. What Scott was going to do when it came to Tom Greythorn, she didn’t know. Just as she didn’t know what his and her future held.
But right now he’d needed her, and that was enough.
It touched her that even in his pain and need he’d stopped to think of her. It hadn’t been necessary. God knew they’d made love enough times for her to know that what she had with Scott was in no way reminiscent of Mick. There was no confusion about that. But it was sweet and considerate. It also spoke of the kind of guy Scott was.
It was surprising that with everything she’d been through that sex had played such a big part in her relationship with Scott—and that she could be so free and uninhibited with him. She’d refused to let Mick take physical pleasure from her. But when she was with Todd, it had been a conscious “I’m going to enjoy this.” With Scott she never even got that far. She never had to think about finding pleasure; it was just there.
Neither of them had said anything. There was nothing to say that hadn’t just been said.
She’d rested her cheek against his heated chest as she always did and listened as the heavy pounding of his heart as it slowed and the deep breaths turned softer and more even.
That was how she knew he’d fallen asleep.
Scott sleeping while she wasn’t was such a rarity, she unfurled herself a little so that she could just watch him.
Her heart tugged with love and longing. She missed her clean-cut, golden-haired naval officer, although she had to admit the dark, dangerous, stubbly Scott definitely had that sexy thing going. Either way he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. He was almost too perfect. She’d joked about it earlier, but it was true—and sometimes a little intimidating. But he seemed much less imposing and serious with his eyes closed and expression relaxed—younger and more boyish. It was as if only in sleep could the weight of his job—his duty—be lifted from his shoulders.
She admired what he’d accomplished and was fiercely proud of his role in Team Nine. But the constant pressure and responsibility took its toll. He might not be leading his platoon into missions right now, but trying to keep them alive while finding out what had happened to them was no less responsibility. Maybe it was more so. There wasn’t a chain of command to run up the flagpole for approval. Scott was the one calling all the shots. All of them.
She wished she could carry some of the load for him, but she couldn’t. All she could do was be there for him when he needed her.
She smiled, thinking if the kind of passion they’d just experienced was the result, she wouldn’t mind him needing her a lot.
Suddenly she sobered as the truth hit. She wasn’t going to “be there” for long. That was the reality. It was the elephant in the room. It was also one of the reasons she wouldn’t let herself wonder what this meant. What could it mean?
Even if Scott forgave her, even if he could find a way to love her again, it wasn’t going to give them a future. It would probably actually be better for him if he kept his distance from her.
No matter what kind of pretty bow they put on the package, nothing could change the fact that she’d been a spy. Her future was probably in a cell somewhere facing charges of treason. The best she could hope for was that they could figure out who was trying to kill her before she went to prison.
Scott’s future—until he’d met her, at least—had been lots of stars and ribbons on his chest and probably a seat at a table in the Pentagon one day. She knew how much he loved being a SEAL and how important it was to him.
Could she really take any of that from him?
She watched the even fall of his breath and felt her own lungs tighten. The hope and happiness she’d felt a few minutes ago felt as if it had turned to ash in her chest.
She knew the answer.
Her life was ruined. She wasn’t going to ruin Scott’s as well. He’d stuck his neck out for her enough already by not taking her in right away and by helping her family. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—ask him to do more. She loved him too much to do that.
She probably should have let him drag her back to DC like he wanted to when he showed up at the farm. But she’d been so scared. She was still scared. But maybe there were worse things than being scared. Like seeing the man you loved destroyed for trying to help you.
But what about the baby?
She guessed that she did have to ask one more thing of him.
* * *
• • •
Scott woke with the kind of lazy grogginess that he hadn’t felt in a long time. His body and limbs were heavy, as if he were sinking into quicksand.
Instinctively, he reached for the warm, soft body next to him. When his hands met only air and cool sheets, however, his eyes snapped open with instant alertness. His pulse, which had jumped as well, stalled and then sank along with his heart.
Natalie wasn’t there.
He sat up and looked around the large bedroom that was pooled in the late-afternoon sunlight. His gaze immediately shot to the bathroom. But the door was open and the room empty.
Where the hell was she?
The speed with which he jumped out of bed and threw on his briefs—noticing the clothes he’d torn off her were gone—pointed in the direction where his mind was headed. He told himself she wouldn’t try to slip away again—not now—but his heart was pounding and every nerve ending was buzzing.
He cursed and tore open the door to his adjoining room.
He stopped so suddenly that he almost stumbled. Natalie was sitting in one of the wingback leather reading chairs, with her bare feet tucked up under the missing T-shirt and underwear that he’d tossed on the floor earlier.
She was on the phone—his burner—and glanced up at him questioningly when he stormed in. Like an idiot. That’s how he felt when he realized his mistake. She hadn’t tried to flee; she was only making a call. A call to her family, he realized when she spoke.
“I can’t wait to see it, Lanie. I’m sorry I missed your birthday. But maybe you can show me the next time I see you.” Pause. She looked over at him where he’d taken a seat on the edge of the bed. “I’m not sure. I hope soon.” He could hear the false optimism in her voice, and it made something pinch between his ribs. “I miss you, too,” she finished quietly.
The pinch turned into a stab. He swore to himself that he would do whatever he could to see that Natalie saw her sister sooner rather than later. And it wasn’t just because he was feeling guilty about showing up in her room earlier for sex without promises—which he was—or jumping to the wrong conclusion right now. After what had happened, Scott could no longer pretend that he didn’t still care about her, even if he wasn’t quite ready to put a label on it. Scott wanted to make her happy, and he was going to do everything in his power to get her out of this. She had put her trust in him, and he wasn’t going to let her down. Which meant he had to start trusting her.
But it wasn’t easy. He was used to relying on his perception and judgment, but he was keenly aware that it had a blind spot when it came to Natalie. He felt like he was going on blind faith—which didn’t sit well for someone like him.
“Let me talk to Dad,” she said. A few minutes later, Scott felt that agony all over again. He hated hearing her so upset. “I don’t know, Dad. I hope not long. I know it’s hard having them there, but it’s necessary.”
Out of Time Page 24
