A_Father's Sacrifice

by Mallory Kane

He crossed the room to the computer workstation, studied the monitor for a moment, then reached across the desk to the printer. He retrieved the pages and shuffled them.

  Natasha walked slowly over to stand beside him. She didn’t say anything, just watched him intently. Her body was tense with dread and anticipation.

  He studied the printout, then looked back at the monitor. He typed something, clicked with the mouse, and stared at the screen.

  She waited, holding her breath.

  When he finally raised his gaze to hers, he looked stunned.

  Her heart seized in her chest. Oh, no. Had the program erred out? She couldn’t speak. All she could do was touch his forearm in silent support.

  Slowly his eyes changed, and his stunned expression morphed into disbelief, then hope.

  “Dylan?” Natasha whispered, almost soundlessly.

  “It’s—” he stopped and cleared his throat “—it’s finished.”

  She heard his words, but for an instant they didn’t make any sense. “Finished?”

  His face transformed. He shook his head in wonder. The bulging tension in his jaw and neck faded, and he grinned. “It works! The interface works!” He laughed. “The diagnostic finished with no errors!”

  Natasha’s throat clogged with emotion.

  He gripped her upper arms, his face beaming. “No errors. Do you know what that means?”

  She smiled. “You can operate! You can make him walk!”

  He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. She hugged him back. His hard bare torso against hers was as hot and silky smooth as she’d imagined it.

  His shoulders quivered and his breath hitched. She caressed his hair and neck. After a few seconds he bent his head and buried his face against her neck. She felt his hot tears.

  She was crying, too, her tears mixing with the water droplets on his skin. She was so happy for them. Ben could be freed from the prison of his leg braces, and Dylan could finally shed the guilt that weighed him down. He could help his son.

  She took a deep breath, breathing in his familiar scent. She cried with happiness—for him, for Ben.

  But after several seconds, she could no longer maintain a remote happiness for his success.

  Her insides vibrated with sensation, her thighs tightened in anticipation. She was mortified that she was turned on by him right now, when he’d just found out that he could make his child walk again.

  “Thank you,” he muttered hoarsely against her neck as he tightened his embrace.

  “You did it. You finished the interface.” She should pull away. She shouldn’t be enjoying the strength and safety of his embrace. Every inch of his skin that touched hers shouldn’t burn her with erotic fire. His muscular thighs shouldn’t be taunting hers. His hard chest shouldn’t be rubbing so sensually against her breasts, tightening their tips as his uneven breaths stoked the fire of her passion. And she shouldn’t want to slide her palms over his pecs to feel his crisp, sparse chest hair.

  She tried to keep her breathing even, tried to pull away, but her body refused to cooperate. The pull of his burning intensity was unbearably erotic.

  His arms relaxed a bit and he took a small step backward. “Natasha? Are you all right?”

  Thank goodness one of them was strong.

  She sighed in relief and lowered her arms. “Sure.” Her voice broke. “I’m just so happy for you and Ben.”

  At the mention of his son’s name his gaze darkened. He nodded. “I need to call NSA. Set up an operating room. The clock is ticking.”

  “It’s late. Why don’t you sleep, then call them tomorrow.” She laid her palm against his chest.

  He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  “What little I did,” she said, “was my pleasure.” She smiled at him and gently pulled away.

  But he didn’t let go. Instead, his embrace subtly changed. It was no longer a hug—it was a caress. His muscles relaxed, turned sinuous and supple. Her body felt the change in his, and it fed her growing desire.

  His hands slid down her back, gentle and caressing. They spanned her waist, then moved lower, to her hips. He urged her against him with gentle pressure and small adjustments of his stance, until she was caught, one leg between his, with his pulsing erection pressed against her in undisguised need. She closed her eyes. She should stop him, but she didn’t.

  He bent his head just enough to reach her mouth. As his lips brushed hers she gasped. He groaned and his body grew harder and hotter.

  “Tasha?” he whispered, as if asking for her permission.

  She should say no. Stop. Something. But her vocal cords were paralyzed, and her brain was fixated on one thing—his hot strong body undulating against hers. His erection was rigid, straining against her belly as his lips skimmed across her skin.

  She lifted her head enough to kiss him back. As his kiss stirred her, she could no longer deny to him or herself how much she wanted him. Ever since their kiss in the tunnel-house, she’d craved his soap and cinnamon scent, his hard, sinewy body, his firm, mobile mouth.

  He plunged his fingers into her hair as his tongue urged her lips to part. She responded. He tasted like coffee. He felt like silk-covered steel.

  Her hands ran greedily over his pecs, his muscled abdomen and around to stroke the bare flesh of his back. She traced his ridged spine and caressed the lean muscles that rippled under her touch.

  He engulfed her in sensation. His hands slipped beneath her sleeveless top. He traced each rib, moving up, up, until his thumbs grazed the underside of her breasts.

  She shivered with reaction. Her breasts tightened and a liquid yearning pooled between her thighs.

  “Tasha? Are you okay?” he whispered against her ear.

  “I don’t know,” she murmured, arching her neck as he trailed kisses along her skin, finding erogenous zones she never knew she had. “Yes.”

  Dylan groaned under his breath as his body responded immediately, painfully to her supple strength. He ran his mouth and tongue along her neck, her jaw, the underside of her chin. She tasted the way he’d known she would. Like springtime and strawberries.

  He returned to her mouth, kissing her slowly and thoroughly, pulling her even closer until he felt fused to her by their heat.

  His erection pulsed with desperate desire. His breathing turned ragged. He was too close to the edge. He’d never be able to hold out. But as much as he wanted to overpower her and propel them both to climax, he held back.

  Natasha had always seemed so strong, but right now she felt fragile, breakable in his arms. She raised her gaze to his and the longing and trust in her green eyes scared him.

  She flattened her hands against his chest. Her palms were hot. Her fingers curled into his chest hair as he teased her mouth and tongue.

  He felt the change in her. She relaxed, and his concern that she might break dissipated as her body moved against him with supple grace and strength.

  She opened herself to him, offering him her lush, sexy lips, and her perfect, firm body. He took them, feasting on her mouth, caressing her breast until he felt its tip tighten and strain with response.

  She opened her eyes, their green depths dark with desire, and looked at him. Then she lowered her head and kissed his chest as her fingers sought and teased his nipples.

  Shuddering, clenching his jaw to control his raging hunger, he took her hands and urged her gently toward the sofa. Her gaze flickered, questioning, but she didn’t resist when he tenderly lowered her to the cushions.

  She shivered.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nervous.”

  He smiled at her and slid his arm under her head as he lay beside her. He kissed her eyelids and cheek while he teased her breasts under the thin cotton of her blouse.

  Each time he touched a taut, hardened little peak, she moaned quietly. Finally, he bent his head and took an erect nipple in his mouth as he ran his hand down her belly
to the button of her jeans.

  It was an incredible turn-on to nip and suck at her nipple through the cotton, while her belly rose and fell with her excited breaths.

  His arousal grew, throbbed until telltale dampness told him he was dangerously close to losing control.

  He pulled back.

  Natasha opened her eyes. “Dylan?” she whispered. “Did I—”

  He shook his head, trying to control his uneven breathing. “You didn’t do anything,” he said breathlessly, “except turn me on so completely that I’m about to come.”

  She gave him a shaky smile, her eyes dewy with desire, her mouth open slightly.

  He concentrated on undressing her and himself, hoping the distraction of peeling off two pair of tight jeans would slow him down. He pushed her blouse up and off, and removed first his jeans, then hers.

  The sight of her slim naked body sent him dangerously near the edge. His erection pulsed. So much for slowing down. Her body was beautiful. Slender, strong, yet undeniably feminine, with curves in all the right places.

  He leaned up on one elbow. “You are so perfect, so beautiful,” he whispered. Carefully, reverently, he trailed his fingers down her stomach, enjoying the way her muscles fluttered beneath his touch. He ventured farther, skimming the narrow patch of pale hair to caress her inner thighs. Teasing, tantalizing her until she clutched his wrist.

  “Dylan…” she begged breathlessly. “Please.” She couldn’t stand his teasing another second. She craved his heat, craved his touch. She had to feel him inside her.

  “Not yet, Tasha.” Dylan kissed her with the same intensity he applied to everything he did. She felt like a stick in a flowing river. Time felt endless, flowing, yet at the same time rushed. She knew, like the stick, that she was about to be shattered, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. Nor did she want to.

  Dylan flattened his palm against her belly. Natasha arched against his hand, anticipating what was to come, and he groaned quietly.

  “Be still,” he whispered. “Don’t go so fast.”

  “I can’t—”

  His fingers moved lower, to caress her intimately. She knew she was ready for him, but he was relentless. Stroking, teasing, again and again he brought her to the brink of release, only to stop and start it all over again.

  He bent and kissed her ribs, the tiny hollow between her breasts, then he trailed his tongue from her midriff to her belly and over the slight swell of her hip bones. All the time his fingers fondled and teased her most sensitive area. She gasped and closed her fingers around his wrist, but she didn’t really want him to stop.

  He pushed her hand away, then bent farther, replacing his fingers with his mouth, and drove her nearly insane with the feel of his lips and tongue.

  She was mad with passion by the time he lifted himself above her.

  She gazed into his eyes as she ran her hands down his chest, over his ribs and his taut, muscled abdomen.

  His fiery blue gaze burned her. His intensity engulfed her. His gentle desperation mirrored her own.

  She clutched his buttocks and urged him to finish the seduction he’d started.

  Dylan gasped as he entered her. She was tight and hot and ready for him. As he buried himself in her she opened beneath him, accepting him fully, rising to meet him.

  The feel of her surrounding him was too much to bear. He fought the overwhelming urge to move, to feel the delicious friction of her tightness.

  His urgency warred with his determination to coax her into a slow, endless orgasm.

  Beneath him, she shifted and took him more deeply.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “You win,” he whispered. He couldn’t keep it slow.

  She followed his movements, synchronizing perfectly with him, as if they’d always been lovers.

  Immediately, her body began to soar toward climax. He could tell by the change in her breathing, by the alteration in the tone of the small sounds she made.

  “Look at me,” he muttered hoarsely, lifting himself on his arms so he could see her breasts with their puckered nipples rise and fall as he stroked within her.

  Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. She moved in perfect rhythm, taunting him, taking him in, building the passion to a fever pitch.

  “Tasha, look at me,” he demanded, not sure how long he could last. But he wanted them to feel each other, to reach the ultimate peak together. So he clenched his jaw and waited for her to open her green eyes.

  She looked at him. He thrust more quickly, more deeply, and her wide green eyes glazed over. She threw her head back and cried out his name.

  Her cry destroyed the last of his control. His body spasmed and his entire being convulsed in a climax so intense he thought he might pass out.

  “Tasha,” he grated through clenched teeth as he poured into her all the pent-up passion of three years alone.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as the pulsing of their bodies slowed. He tasted salty tears, but he didn’t even wonder whether they were hers or his own.

  He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  “NATASHA, WAKE UP!”

  Natasha’s eyes flew open and she reached under the pillow for her gun. No gun. No pillow. She blinked.

  “Here. Here are your clothes.”

  Dylan was standing over her, holding out her jeans and top. The room was dimly lit and the sound of an inkjet printer echoed loudly.

  Suddenly, she realized she was naked. The only thing covering her was a thin blanket. She sat up, pulling the blanket with her.

  Frowning, Dylan dropped her clothes beside her on the couch and turned away. By the time she’d dressed, he was collecting pages from the printer.

  The interface. She glanced at her watch. Seven o’clock in the morning. They’d slept all night. If she knew Dylan, he was furious that he’d wasted eight hours. And furious with her for distracting him.

  She watched him. He’d put on a T-shirt with his jeans, and his stern expression made him look like the intense genius he was, rather than the tender lover she’d known briefly last night.

  Last night. She shivered as small aftershocks of her climax rippled through her. Her experience was relatively limited, but she knew with an unshakable certainty that what had happened between them was special.

  A sudden panic surged through her as she studied Dylan’s face. Her first thought—that he’d be angry with her, was right on the money. But that was okay. He had every right to blame her for the time they’d wasted. She knew NSA would have waited until this morning to transport the device, but Dylan didn’t.

  She pushed her fingers through her hair and started toward him.

  Her movement caught his eye. He looked up from under his brows. “Get out of here. I don’t want anyone walking in on us. I’m sure Alfred has already figured out where we are, but the rest of the staff doesn’t need to know.”

  His voice was even, but though she’d expected them, his words hurt. “Dylan, I know you’re—”

  “Don’t say anything. I apologize. We were both exhausted. Our defenses were down. Leave it at that.”

  “Our defenses were down?” She gaped at him as doubt began to erode her confidence. Anger was one thing. But his cold arrogant analysis of the intimacy they’d shared frightened her. She’d given him everything. Now he was rejecting it. Rejecting her. Turning what happened into a mistake.

  He nodded and turned his attention back to the printouts. “I’ve got to review these, make sure I’m right. Then I need to get the device packed for transport. There’s a lot to do if I’m going to operate on Ben tomorrow.”

  Natasha stood there for a moment as she tried to reconcile the coldly determined scientist with the tender lover who had held her and loved her the night before, or the desperate loving father who would do anything to save his son’s legs.

  As pain arrowed through her, she told herself again that she couldn’t blame him. He was trying to save his son.

  She turn
ed toward the door just as a click and a faint sound of metal sliding against metal told her someone was coming in. The door swung open.

  It was Mintz.

  Natasha breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. Alfred might disapprove, but he was discreet.

  He barely acknowledged her as he strode up to Dylan, his face ominously grim.

  Dylan looked up, his face shining like an angel’s. “Alfred! The interface is finished. We need to get in touch with NSA. I’m ready to operate on Ben’s legs.”

  “Dylan—”

  Natasha heard the dire tone in Mintz’s voice. It spooked her.

  She moved closer to Dylan, following an instinctive urge to shield him.

  There was something wrong—terribly wrong. Mintz was more upset than she’d ever seen him.

  Dylan frowned at him for an instant, then his frown turned into a mask of abject fear. “Alfred, what’s wrong?”

  Mintz wiped a shaky hand down his face.

  Natasha froze, her heart catapulting into her throat. No. Not Ben.

  “Son, something has happened.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Something—? What? It’s not Ben, is it?” Dylan’s voice rasped. His face was pale as he held out his hands in a defensive gesture. “No, Alfred. Don’t—”

  Natasha met Mintz’s gaze. He nodded. She moved closer to Dylan’s side.

  “Alfred, tell me!”

  “Ben and Charlene got to the safe house by five yesterday. A short while ago, their guard was shot and they were removed from the house.”

  “Removed—?” Dylan laughed, a short sharp sound with no amusement in it. “Where is he?”

  “Son—”

  “No! He was supposed to be safe there. You said he would be. Where—is—my—son?” His voice was broken. His blue eyes were dull. He was disintegrating right in front of them.

  Natasha reached for his hand but he pulled away, still warding them off. Doing his best to ward off the truth.

  “I’ve got to find him. Alfred, we’ve got to find him.” His face distorted with grief. “Dear God, what will I do?”