by Elle James
“Tight fit,” he said.
Why did her traitorous mind turn those words into a come-on, with thoughts of how well the two of them would fit together? She looked away—at the floor, the wall—anything but those sensuous lips, beckoning. If she started to kiss him now, she’d forget all about the shower, and the baby, and everything but slaking the desire that rocked through her.
“I’ll just, um, take my shower now,” she said, pushing past him.
“Don’t you need to wait for the water to warm up again?”
“That’s okay.” A little cold water might be just what she needed.
The water was warm enough, though. She took her time in the shower, washing her hair and shaving her legs. As if I was prepping for a big date, she thought.
But this was no casual date. Michael was spending the night here in her trailer. Considering the electricity they’d managed to generate with only a brief touch, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe they wouldn’t act on that attraction at some point. But when—and what might happen afterward—was anyone’s guess.
She slipped into yoga pants and a T-shirt and blow-dried her hair, but didn’t bother with makeup. She didn’t want to seem obvious or desperate. Besides, the man had seen her at her absolute worst. A little mascara and lipstick weren’t going to change his opinion of her.
She opened the bathroom door and was surprised to hear humming. She froze, listening, and made out a few words. “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.”
She peeked around the door and stared at Michael, standing by the sofa, holding the baby. The infant looked impossibly small in his arms, smiling up at him and cooing as he sang softly. More priceless still was the look on his face, the stern lines and angular features softened in a smile of such tenderness it brought a lump to her throat.
He turned and saw her standing there, and the tips of his ears turned pink. “She was fussy,” he said by way of explanation.
“Obviously, you’ve made a conquest.” She joined him in front of the sofa and he tried to hand the baby over, but she waved him off. “Oh, no, she looks very happy where she is.”
She sat, and he sat beside her. Angelique gurgled happily. “I’ve never spent much time around babies,” he said.
“Then, you’re a natural,” she said. “You’ll make a good father one day.”
He was silent for a moment, both of them watching the baby, who stared back with her solemn brown eyes. “Do you think about it much—having kids, raising a family?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “More lately, now that my life is beginning to settle down. Before, when I was in the army, and later, after I was injured, even the possibility of that kind of stability seemed so far away.”
“Yeah, I haven’t exactly had the kind of life that makes a wife and kids seem like a good idea.”
“I have to finish graduate school and find a job—figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.” She leaned over and stroked the infant’s satin-soft cheek. “But sometimes I wonder if those things are just excuses to keep me from focusing on all the emotional, personal things that are harder to deal with.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I can deal with the toughest situations in my job, but when it comes to relationships...sometimes that’s a lot scarier.”
Their eyes met, and her heart sped up, fluttering in her chest. “Do I scare you?” she asked, keeping her tone light, a little flirtatious.
“Oh, yeah.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “But I’m a big believer in the importance of facing your fears.”
He lowered his head toward her, but the sound of tires on gravel made him straighten, instantly alert. “Someone’s coming,” he said, and handed her the baby.
He stood and walked to the window and peered out the blinds. Abby clutched the baby to her, aware that the vehicle had stopped outside her door.
“Hey, it’s just us,” a woman called. “We came by to see how you’re settling in with the baby.”
At the sound of Carmen’s familiar voice, Michael’s shoulders relaxed. He pulled on a T-shirt, then went to the door.
Carmen came in, followed by Lance. He carried a large cardboard box labeled Diapers.
“We brought you some more diapers and formula,” he said, his voice loud in the evening silence.
He set the box on the table, made sure all the blinds were drawn, then took the top off the diaper box to reveal a realistic-looking baby doll, wrapped in a blanket identical to the one that swaddled Angelique. “It’s a doll called My Real Baby,” Carmen said. “Isn’t it a kick?”
She lifted the doll out of the box, handling it as if it were a real baby, and passed it to Abby. “From a distance, I’m sure no one could tell the difference,” she said.
Abby cradled the doll and turned to look at Angelique, who rested in the box on the sofa. “I’m going to miss the real baby, though,” she said. “Where are you taking her?”
“The state put me in touch with a woman in Grand Junction who specializes in temporary foster care for infants,” Carmen said. “She’ll be safe there.”
Safer than she would be here with her and Michael, Abby knew, but still, she hated to see her leave.
Carmen picked up Angelique and cooed at her, then transferred her to the diaper box. “I don’t guess you’ve heard anything from our friend?” she said as she tucked blankets around the baby.
“Nothing,” Michael said. “But we don’t even know if he knows she’s here yet.”
“We talked it up in town,” Lance said. “I stopped for gas and told everyone there about the baby we’d found.”
“You’d think he lived for gossip.” Carmen elbowed the younger agent in the side. “Everyone was all ears. Maybe some of the talk will get back to our guy.”
“Maybe so.”
“Call if you need anything.” Lance fit the lid back on the diaper box and picked it up.
“Take good care of her.” Abby curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for the baby.
“We will,” Carmen said. “See you tomorrow.”
They left, and Michael shut and locked the door behind them. Abby sank onto the sofa and listened to the sound of their tires gradually fade to silence. She blinked hard, fighting tears, but they spilled over and rolled down her cheeks.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Michael hurried to her side.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” She choked back a sob. He took her hand and patted it, but as she continued to sob harder, he pulled her to him. She buried her face against his chest. “I know it’s stupid,” she said. “I hardly know her, but I felt responsible for her.”
“Shh. It’s okay.” He smoothed his hand down her hair and rocked her against him. “Of course you miss her. It’s hard not knowing what’s going to happen to her.”
She raised her head to look at him. “You understand.”
“I try.” He kissed her cheek, but she turned and found his lips. She kissed him greedily, hungrily, wanting to blot out the sadness, to forget for a little while about the baby and Mariposa and a stranger who might want her dead.
He responded with the same fervor, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against his chest. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened to him, tasting the butterscotch candy he liked. They kissed until she was trembling and light-headed, her body humming with awareness of him, but still she wanted more.
She slid her hand beneath his T-shirt and pressed her palm against his stomach, feeling the crisp line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. He kissed his way to her ear and said, his voice low and husky with need, “If you keep that up, I’m not going to be able to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” she said. “I want to
make love to you.” As if to prove her words, she pushed him back against the sofa, her body slanted over his. He dragged one hand up, over her rib cage, and cupped her breast through her thin T-shirt, the tip a hard bead pressed against his palm. He flicked his thumb back and forth across it, sending little shock waves of desire rocketing through her. Her breath came in gasps, and her eyes drifted shut as she surrendered to the onslaught of sensation.
Then his mouth was on her, the combination of heat and moisture and the gentle abrasion of the fabric driving her wild. She let out a soft moan and fumbled to remove the shirt. He sat up and helped her, then shed his own shirt, so they were both naked from the waist up.
“You’re so beautiful.” He slid his hands down her sides, as if cradling something precious. “So beautiful.”
She believed he would have said the same thing if her body had been scarred like her face. The words wouldn’t have been a lie; she believed when Michael looked at her, he saw more than what was on the surface. He always had; maybe that was why she’d fallen in love with him.
She stood and held out her hand. “Let’s move to the bed, where we’ll be more comfortable.”
He grasped her hand and let her pull him up and lead him to the bed at the other end of the trailer. She pulled back the covers and he started to follow, then hesitated. “What is it?” she asked.
“Just a second.” He turned and slipped into the bathroom.
She took off her jeans and underwear, so that by the time he returned, she was sitting up in bed, naked.
His gaze took her in, and the wanting in his eyes made her tremble all over again. “What took you so long?” she said.
He held up a condom in a foil packet. “I had to get this from my overnight bag.”
She smiled. “You think of everything.”
“I was a Boy Scout, remember? Their motto is Be Prepared.”
“Something tells me they weren’t thinking of situations like this.” She moved over to make room for him.
He stopped to shed his own jeans and her heart beat faster as she stared—while trying to appear not to stare—at his body. He was as gorgeous as her fantasies.
They lay on their sides facing each other, the dimmed reading lights on either side of the bed providing soft illumination. He traced his hand down the curve of her side, then cupped her bottom and drew her close once more. “I feel as if I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time,” he said. “Does that seem crazy?”
“No.” She felt the same way. As if her reluctance to go out with other men had been because she hadn’t met him yet. Maybe those frantic moments on a helicopter over Afghanistan had forged a bond too deep for understanding. She only knew that with him, she lost the shyness and desire to close herself off and hide away. She wanted to open to him, to reveal everything, to be with him, in this moment, as she’d never allowed herself to be before.
“Make love to me,” she whispered, and kissed him lightly on the lips.
He deepened the kiss, and soon they were entwined, arms and legs wrapped around each other, hands and lips stroking, exploring. He pulled away only long enough to roll on the condom, then he drew her close once more and entered her. She wrapped her legs around him, wanting to shout in joy or triumph, but then he began to move and she lost all power of speech or thought. There was only wave after wave of wonderful sensation building within her.
Her climax was the largest wave, washing over her, filling her with light and life, then releasing her, floating. Soaring. He tightened his hold on her and found his own release, crying out her name. “Abby!”
Afterward, they remained entwined, her head pillowed on his arms, her fingers stroking his chest. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel that wonderful again,” she said.
“I’m glad you don’t feel you have to hide anything from me.” He traced the scar on her face with the tip of one finger. With a start, she realized she lay with that side of her face to the light, her hair tucked back behind her ear. Even in sleep, she usually lay so the scar was hidden. But though this position felt a little awkward—exposed—it didn’t feel wrong.
She snuggled closer to him. “You’ve seen me at my worst and didn’t run away,” she said. “I guess I really don’t have anything to hide.”
“I’ll always be here for you,” he said. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
* * *
MICHAEL WOKE EARLY, long habit preventing him from sleeping much past sunrise. Gray light filled the trailer, and outside a bird was singing a morning chorus. Abby lay curled on her side beside him, her back to him, her face half buried in the covers. He rolled over, trying not to disturb her, and studied her sleeping form. Maybe he should pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He’d had similar dreams often enough over the years. Sometimes he’d worried something was wrong with him; who let the memory of one woman with whom he’d never even spoken possess him so?
But it didn’t matter why his attraction to Abby had stuck with him all these years, only that she was here with him now. Whether fate or chance had brought them together, he’d be her guardian and her lover. Neither of them would be alone again.
She stirred, as if feeling his gaze on her, and rolled onto her back and smiled up at him. “How long have you been watching me?” she asked.
“Only a few minutes.” He moved closer; her skin was warm from sleep, so soft and smooth.
“Mmm. You’re definitely awake.” Smiling, she reached down to stroke him.
He resisted the urge to pull her onto him right away, and kissed her shoulder. “You’re definitely nicer to wake up to than my alarm.”
“Give me a second. I’ll be right back.” She patted his shoulder and slid out of bed. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling of the trailer, which was only a few feet above his head. He didn’t want thoughts of the world outside to intrude on this moment, but of course they did. He wondered how Angelique was doing, and if El Jefe thought she was still with Abby.
She slipped back into bed, smelling of mint toothpaste, her hair combed and the sleep washed from her eyes. “My turn,” he said, and hurried to banish his own morning breath and retrieve another condom from his bag.
When he returned to the bed, she waited with open arms. He pulled her close, savoring the sensation of her breasts pillowed against his chest, the nipples already erect and hard. She draped her thigh over his, pressing close, eager. “What time do you have to report in?” she asked.
“Not for another hour or so,” he said. “We have plenty of time.”
“Time for what?” she teased.
He snugged her more tightly against him. “Time for me to show you more of what you’ve been missing.”
“Or maybe I’ll be the one to show you a thing or two.” She untangled herself from him and sat up, then pushed him back against the pillows and straddled him.
“Oh, you think so.” He caressed her waist.
“I wasn’t a biology major for nothing. Hand me that condom,” she said. “Class is in session.”
* * *
THEY FELL ASLEEP again and woke to the buzzing of Michael’s phone as it vibrated against the bedside table. He rolled over and snatched it up while Abby propped herself on her elbow and watched. She felt warm and relaxed and a little sore, but in a good way. She smiled, remembering how the soreness had come about. Clearly, all she needed was a little more practice with Michael to be in excellent shape.
“Nothing going on here,” he said. “Did you get Angelique placed all right?...I’ll tell Abby....She slept fine, as far as I know....Now, how would I know that?” The tips of his ears flushed red and Abby covered her mouth, smothering a giggle. She loved that he could still get flustered like that.
He hung up the phone and rolled onto his back. “That was Carmen. She said Angelique was settling in well when she
left her last night. The woman is in her forties and has two teenagers. Angelique will be the only baby with her right now and seemed to really take to the woman.”
“Thanks for letting me know. What did she say that made you blush?”
He turned even redder. “She wanted to know if I kept you up late last night—and if your bed was comfortable.”
“So she knew you were attracted to me?”
“I think the whole team knew. I’m not so good at hiding my feelings.”
“I guess I was the one who was slow on the uptake,” she said. “At least for a while.” She sat up. “And though I’d like to stay in bed with you all day, I guess we’d better get up. What’s the plan for the day?”
“I guess you should be seen out and about with the baby. We want to give El Jefe every chance to find you and make his move.”
“It won’t be the same as having a real baby to hold, but I’ll do my best.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were both dressed and Abby had coffee brewing. “I’m going to go outside and look around,” Michael said. He slid his gun into the holster on his utility belt. “I never heard anything last night, but you never know.”
“We were both a little preoccupied last night,” she said.
“True.”
He opened the door and stepped out into the clear, thin light of early morning. The air still held a touch of the night’s chill, and smelled of piñon and cedar. The campsites on either side of Abby’s trailer were empty, and trees screened the view from any other site. Her car sat parked beside the picnic table and the empty fire ring, the borrowed Cruiser next to it. Nothing looked out of place.
He turned to survey the trailer and his heartbeat sped up. A folded sheet of paper fluttered against the door, held in place by a piece of blue tape.
He returned to the trailer and retrieved a knife from the drawer in the kitchen. “What is it?” Abby asked. She followed him to the door. “Is something wrong?”
“Someone left you a note.” He slid the blade of the knife beneath the tape, detaching the note from the door. Holding it by the corner, he unfolded it and scanned the brief message.
