Princess

by Christina Skye

  “Don’t talk,” Jess said quickly, afraid if she talked she’d lose her nerve. She didn’t want to be afraid.

  She rose on tiptoes, skimming her hands across his chest, his ribs, just above his waistband. “Hawk, I need—”

  “I know what you need,” he said roughly. “I was thinking about it in high-resolution detail most of the night.”

  Jess wondered that she wasn’t embarrassed by the brush of his hands tugging her blouse free of her skirt.

  Hawk leaned down, his face tense. She caught the scent of apples and sea wind again.

  Her blouse opened.

  “There’s still time to change your mind.” His voice was slow, like cold water dropping over deep gravel.

  “My mind’s made up.”

  “You’re making a mistake.” He gripped her waist, turning her slowly.

  “If so, it’s my mistake.” As Jess spoke, her gaze drifted to the walls.

  His eyes narrowed, dark points that seemed to pull her soul into their depths. “You don’t go easy on yourself, do you?” He tilted her face up carefully. “You’re soft outside, easy with words, but tough where it counts.”

  Jess didn’t answer.

  The emotion in her eyes kicked hard at Hawk’s chest.

  She was the bravest woman he’d ever met, wrestling demons that would have toppled many a strong man.

  The thought of her locked in a shed left his hands clenched into fists. He wanted to right the old wrongs, repay the idiots who had hurt her years ago.

  But she didn’t want his pity or his anger.

  He’d listened to her story with all expression locked down tight, aware that Jess didn’t need complicating emotions. All she wanted was to forget, facing the past dead-on rather than denying it. Even when the situation grew worse, she’d held tight to her sense of humor as she disgorged the contents of her purse in search of possible distractions.

  And then she’d faced him without a qualm and asked for the solace of his body, for sex in any way he chose to have it.

  The memory still left him unsteady. Hawk was a generous lover who knew how to stir a woman’s body. He knew he could touch Jess with fire and make her moan his name as she raced along the razor’s edge of passion into oblivion.

  But Jess wasn’t like the other women he’d known. She was smart and stubborn, yet beneath that prickly exterior he glimpsed a dreamer who woke every day with a resolve that better things were just around the corner.

  Hawk didn’t want to be the man who ruined those dreams. She swore she would have no regrets, but she was wrong. Because she wasn’t a woman who gave her body lightly, she’d leave a part of herself behind, too generous and too innocent to wall off her feelings the way Hawk had long ago learned to do.

  The women he chose as partners knew how to create that distance. They laughed easily and drank with calm deliberation, asking no questions so that nobody got hurt and nobody expected more than either one could give.

  Until Jess, that kind of sex had been easy.

  Until her cocky smile, endless questions, and trembling hands twisted something in his chest and made him want more, though he couldn’t find a name for it.

  God knows, it wasn’t love. Hawk hadn’t believed in love since he was twelve and he watched his father push his mother down a flight of stairs.

  His fingers tightened, then he released them quickly, all too aware of how easy it would be to mark her, to hurt her.

  Because with every gentle touch, she left him aflame, reckless to give her the oblivion she craved. But there was always a cost, he thought grimly. And now the medication he was taking pushed him to the very edge of his control.

  His muscles clenched as she traced old scars on his neck.

  A knife fight in Mexico City.

  A river ambush in Thailand.

  Burns from fast-roping off a chopper in the South China Sea.

  She cared about those scars, Hawk realized. She touched them slowly, her breath tense. And he sensed that she wanted to touch the man beneath the scars, the one that Hawk never let anyone see.

  But who would touch her back—the lethal warrior or the stranger he glimpsed occasionally in mirrors and windows? A man he’d all but forgotten since anonymity and transience had become the mainstays of his life.

  If his life had taken a different, less violent path, he might have met a woman like this, might have fallen in love and married her without thinking twice. Right now he could have been a high school teacher in Portland, with a fence and a mortgage and three noisy kids.

  Instead of a man with too many scars and too few dreams.

  Hell.

  She was looking up at him, a mix of hope and desire on her face, and he wanted to tell her there was nothing here, that he couldn’t help her. That in the end he was bound to hurt her.

  But he didn’t say any of that, mesmerized by the depths of her smoky green eyes. Paralyzed when her hands slid beneath his shirt, curving smoothly over his chest while her perfume tangled up all his too-acute senses.

  And then he was lost, tracing her neck, the line of her shoulder, shoving off her blouse to explore the silk of her skin.

  She sighed when he released the catch of her bra with its simple white straps. The feel of his mouth seemed to stun her, and she said something Hawk couldn’t hear.

  He’d been certain that she’d push him away, but her hands slid to his face, tightened, then moved down, shoving hard at his T-shirt.

  The touch of her fingers on his skin nearly undid him, nearly made him forget his plan.

  To give without taking. Because that’s what she needed most from him.

  “Hawk—”

  His lips opened, cutting her off. Whether it was a question or an explanation, he would never know. With need like thunder in his head, he slid away her skirt and one final scrap of lace until all she wore was his big leather jacket, askew around her shoulders.

  And damned if his battered jacket didn’t suit her just as much as the nakedness did.

  His rough hands scraped slowly up her thighs and curved around her hips while he tasted his way recklessly across her chest, nudging aside the leather so he could mouth her taut nipple.

  Her body trembled, her fingers digging into his shoulders, but Hawk refused to give either of them time for questions.

  I love the weight of your breasts, he wanted to say. I love the way your breath catches when I find the hot, wet place between your legs.

  But he showed her instead, pulling her to the floor with locked arms until she lay beneath him, pale and restless against the dark leather of his jacket.

  And then he loved her, his mouth slow and relentless on her thighs, and then higher, exploring her wet folds, driving her up while she gripped his back and raked her nails across his skin.

  He wanted her taste on his mouth. He nuzzled, then scraped her gently with his teeth.

  When she shuddered, he eased her legs apart, tracing her with his thumbs, giving her time to accept his mouth.

  As she moaned brokenly, Hawk eased one finger in-side her.

  Seconds passed. She moved against him in aching intimacy, her breath rising in inchoate words.

  With a dark smile, he drew her against his mouth, searching for the tiny ridge hidden in slick folds.

  When he found it, she was wet and ready, trembling on the edge, all fears forgotten.

  His own needs seemed distant, and Hawk realized he wanted her nails driving into his back while pleasure rained over her and the wind hissed down the elevator shaft around them.

  “Hawk—”

  “Shh.”

  No words, he swore. No questions. Only hot, silent pleasure while her body rose against him, arched in need. He slid another finger inside her while he took her with mouth and tongue until she cried out his name and her heart banged in her chest and she collapsed in exhaustion, slick with sweat.

  Mustering his control, Hawk curved his body against her, one arm wrapped protectively around her waist. With every bre
ath, her soft hips rose and fell, cradling his erection, stretching every nerve to the breaking point.

  Then, with a sigh, she burrowed against his chest, one hand at his neck, the other inches from the taut line of his zipper. Completely oblivious, she draped her warm body across him and fell asleep.

  chapter 11

  Summer Mulcahey hated computers and the feeling happened to be mutual.

  Scowling, she stared down at the screen of her frozen laptop. Why did the wretched thing work with-out a hiccup around her husband, but freeze completely around her?

  Abruptly the screen unlocked, flickered twice, and then Microsoft Windows crashed.

  Muttering, she rebooted the computer and went through the laborious steps to track down the digital culprit, managing a successful reboot. Ten minutes later she had forgotten the cucumber mask slathered over her cheeks and was peering at weather forecasts for Washington State.

  The reports were ominous. Forty mile-an-hour winds were already pounding the Olympic Peninsula and more rain was predicted over the next forty-eight hours.

  She looked outside at the snow falling in dark Philadelphia streets. Summer had a strong suspicion that more than a storm was at stake in Washington. In the last week, four senior field agents from her office had been quietly reassigned to the Northwest, with no explanations offered. Questions were met with silence.

  Which meant that a highly classified operation had been initiated.

  And if Jess had stumbled into the middle of that operation . . .

  Summer closed her eyes. Her twin sister was smart, responsible, and able to take care of herself, but worrying about Jess had become one of Summer’s oldest habits.

  Sighing, she turned back to the weather maps, trying to gauge the storm’s progress. What was the name of her sister’s latest hotel assignment? Was it the Meridian or was it the Marathon—

  The doorknob turned behind her.

  Summer’s frown burst into a radiant smile as a tall man in a Navy uniform filled the doorway. She jumped up, knocking her chair down in the process, and the force of her hug drove him back against the wall. “You’re home!”

  “Sorry I’m a day late. Something came up.” Her husband didn’t say more, and after a glance at his face, Summer didn’t ask. Work generally meant secrets neither could reveal.

  Gabe caught her with one arm, grinning. “Got off the plane twenty-five minutes ago. One of the men offered to give me a ride, and we drove straight through from Virginia.”

  Summer shoved at the buttons on his jacket. “The last four weeks have felt like a few decades. In fact, I’m probably an old hag with gray hair already.”

  The SEAL held her a little away from him and studied her face. “Not a gray hair in sight, but it looks like the aliens have landed.”

  Summer shoved at his chest, laughing. “I forgot I had this gunk on my face. Jess sent it a few weeks ago and insisted I try it out. I’ll go clean up, but I don’t want you to move an inch.” As she raced to the bathroom, she called over her shoulder. “Have you eaten anything today?”

  “Nothing that I want to remember.” Gabe stripped off his uniform jacket and laid it on the leather chair near the door. “By the way, Izzy said to tell you hi.”

  Down the hall water ran, then was abruptly shut off. “Izzy? You saw Izzy?”

  “I passed him in the hall a few days back. Nothing formal.” Gabe chuckled. “He said to tell you that married life agrees with me.”

  Summer appeared, minus the green gunk, her hair pulled free of its rubber band and curling softly around her shoulders. “I’m delighted to hear it, Lieutenant Morgan.”

  “You should be, Mrs. Morgan, since you’re largely to blame.”

  In one stride, Gabe had his arms around her, his mouth hot and impatient.

  When Summer could break away to speak, she looked down, enjoying the sight of Gabe stripping in record time. “Just so you know, I fell asleep in the tub working on my current case. But I used that pineapple bubble stuff you like, and then the coconut oil lotion Jess sent me for Christmas.” She toyed with the belt of her robe. “Not wearing anything else. Just in case you’re interested.”

  Gabe’s eyes darkened and he said something under his breath. His hands loosened her belt and slid inside her robe. “In that case, we ought to do something about it.”

  “Anything particular in mind?” One side of her robe gaped free.

  “You’re damned right I’ve got something in mind.” Gabe planted slow kisses down her neck and shoulder. “I haven’t thought about anything else for the last four weeks.”

  Summer yanked at his belt. “The bedroom’s probably cold. I opened the window earlier and then—”

  “Forget about the bedroom, honey. We’re not going to make it.” Gabe opened her robe and filled his hands with her. His breath was harsh and strained. “Right here, Summer. Right against this wall.”

  Snow brushed the window, leaving little white tracks as he shoved off her robe and brought their bodies together.

  Summer stretched slowly, every muscle in her body unkinked and luxuriously relaxed. “Wow,” she said.

  “Well said, honey.” The snow was still whispering against the windows.

  Now Summer watched it from bed, burrowed beneath a thick quilt.

  Gabe’s job as a Navy SEAL meant all of his work was classified, and much of the same held true for her assignments as an FBI field agent. Both of them were keenly aware of the heavy security issues imposed by their jobs, and both were scrupulous about observing those rules.

  At the same time, they were both struggling with the whole concept of marriage, still waking up amazed to be together. When the distance was factored in, with Gabe based on the West Coast and Summer here in Philadelphia—

  She closed her eyes. At least their distance problem would soon be resolved. In a month Gabe was set to be transferred to Little Creek, Virginia, while she was being assigned to a field office in Maryland.

  Meanwhile they met when they could, talked often, and managed to stir the embers through long-distance phone calls that had grown increasingly heated.

  In fact, Summer had discovered a definite talent for phone sex.

  But she had never had much experience with normal relationships as an adult, and as a female agent training for the FBI, her world became even more proscribed. Because she wanted her marriage to Gabe to succeed, she was determined to master normal.

  Of course, she still hadn’t figured out what normal meant.

  She stopped tracing Gabe’s muscular chest and rolled onto one elbow. “Are you hungry? I made some spaghetti sauce yesterday and—”

  The SEAL cracked open one eye. “You cooked? With pans and cutlery and real garlic?”

  Summer flushed. She refused to tell him that she’d spent three hours hunched over a cookbook, trying to make sense of unknown spices and the proper method of tim-ing al dente pasta. After all, other women made spaghetti in their sleep. Other women actually made pasta from scratch, mixing the dough and rolling it out in expensive little machines.

  It infuriated Summer that it took her three hours to come up with a reasonably palatable approximation of a simple, home-cooked meal.

  But she refused to admit that to him.

  If he wanted normal, he was going to get normal.

  “No big deal. I can handle cutlery. As a matter of fact, Jess sent me a new cookbook, and I decided to try it out while you were gone.”

  Gabe cupped her chin and turned her face up to his. There was something unreadable in his eyes as he slowly traced her cheek. Summer had forgotten the small bruise on her neck, but Gabe kissed it carefully. “New case?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Rifle recoil?”

  Summer shrugged.

  For a moment something came and went in Gabe’s eyes. “I can’t tell you to be careful, can I?”

  “It’s my job, Gabe. If I’m thinking how to protect me, I can’t think about protecting everyone else.”

  He s
aid something under his breath, then kissed her fiercely, his hands locked in her hair while he captured her beneath him.

  Summer finally pulled away and took a deep breath. “What was that for?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For a few cups of spaghetti sauce?”

  “For being the best at what you do. For making me food when we both know you hate the thought of cooking.” Looking down, he traced the slender gold band on her finger. “For being everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman.”

  Summer blinked hard, struck with a wave of emotion. Just when she thought she had this man figured, he said something that turned her inside out.

  Maybe being normal wasn’t so important after all.

  “Okay, it did take me three hours and the kitchen looked like the evacuation of Dunkirk by the time I was done, with olive oil over most of one wall. But when you get the garlic just right, the smell is amazing.” Summer’s eyes narrowed as she saw Gabe’s crooked grin. “Well, it is,” she said defensively. “And the thing about olive oils—who knew they could all be so different? Like handguns, you know what I mean? They all do the same job, but they’re worlds apart.”

  “Honey, only you could compare extra virgin olive oil to handguns.” Gabe nuzzled her breast, tugging the sensitized skin with his teeth until Summer made a breathless sound.

  Suddenly she froze. “Wait a minute. You said you saw Izzy?”

  Gabe nodded.

  Alarm bells rang in Summer’s head as she realized that Gabe hadn’t volunteered any details.

  So this was work, probably classified.

  But classified or not, her sister’s safety was in question and Izzy had the answers. “Jess told me she’d run into Izzy out in Washington. I’m worried that she’s landed in the middle of something dangerous.”

  Something closed down in Gabe’s face.

  “You can’t talk about it, can you? I understand that, Gabe. I’ve never asked before, and I won’t ask now. But if Jess is in danger, I can’t stand by and keep quiet. You know how impulsive she can be.”

  “It’s part of her charm.”

  Summer’s hands tightened on the quilt. “If—if something ever happened to her—”