Final Siege

by Scarlett Cole

  “No, you grabbing my boob is your fault.” The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them, but she’d give anything to suck them back in.

  “So, me touching your breast turned you on, which in turn made you grab my dick?”

  She grabbed his pillow and tossed it at his head. “Shut. Up. Go make me coffee, and I might forgive you.”

  He leaned over her, placed a hand on either side of her shoulder. “I’d rather go back to talking about breast and dick grabbing.” His tone had turned way too serious for her liking.

  “Mac,” she said, quietly. “That isn’t us. Not anymore. I was half asleep, and you were … convenient. I was so asleep that you could have been anybody.”

  Mac huffed. “What a glowing recommendation.” He snatched his hands from the bed. “I’ll go make coffee.”

  She watched him walk through the door and instantly wanted to call him back. This wasn’t fair to him. The thought stopped her in her tracks. It was the first time she’d considered his feelings. His wants and needs. He’d made no secret of his willingness to explore what they once had. And now, unable to satisfy the dream-induced arousal, she didn’t know what to do.

  The fair thing would be to leave. Like really leave. Fly to New York, stay with her friend, Maria, her former college roommate who worked for The New Yorker. Lose herself and the reminders of Mac in the big city. A different coast had been enough distance once before. It would be again.

  But she wasn’t stupid. Self-preservation needed to be her first concern. She was safer with Mac in the luxury, gated, and guarded apartment than in Maria’s one-bedroom apartment in a less than salubrious part of Brooklyn. Momentarily, she considered calling Six to see if she could go to stay with him, but it didn’t seem fair to take trouble to him and Louisa when they had already been through so much. And then she remembered he was in Syria. Shit. There was always Cabe.

  Confusion sucks.

  You still have feelings for him.

  STOP!

  Delaney climbed out of bed, threw her hair up into a messy bun, and wandered to the kitchen where Mac was watching the coffee splutter into the pot. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was spiteful of me. This isn’t me. I’m not normally confused, and weak.”

  Mac turned to face her, his face not revealing a single emotion. Just flat.

  “It’s not fair to you to let you think anything can come of the two of us, Mac,” she continued. “But I’ll admit, I’m freaked out by what is going on and I know I’m safer with you. Which makes me selfish.”

  Mac turned back to the pot just as it finished hissing and reached to the cupboard above it where he kept his mugs. Silently, he poured coffee into each and added a generous helping of sugar to his own before handing her a mug.

  “It is selfish, but you know what, Delaney? It’s okay. I didn’t want to lose you all those years ago. I let you down. I didn’t just lose Brock that day. I lost the woman I saw forever with.” Mac shrugged. “It is what it is. I’ve lived my entire life trying to make up for it. If this can help me make it up to you, I’m more than happy to do it.”

  Payment. He thought of it as some way to pay her back for taking Brock. Could she be that callous?

  “Mac. I don’t know if I can think about it like that. The idea that somehow things will be straight between us. I don’t know.”

  He took her coffee out of her hand and placed it on the counter. “I can’t expect you to forgive me for that day. Fuck, I can’t even forgive myself. So even more than I owe it to you to take care of you when you need it, I owe it to Brock. Because it’s my fault he isn’t here to take care of you himself.”

  Tears stung the corners of her eyes. At his words. At Brock’s memory. At the look of hope on Mac’s face.

  “Let me do this, Delaney. Don’t run.”

  Could she do it? Could she stay here with him? Would she be strong enough to resist the man he’d become, the way he looked at her, the way he’d felt pressed up behind her even though it had only been a dream?

  “We need lines, Mac. Hard ones. None of this sand shit. I want them drawn in concrete and reinforced with steel.” The very same materials she’d be applying to her heart.

  Mac shook his head, but she cut him off before he began to argue. “I don’t want you to cross over to my side of the line.”

  “The invisible one. The one not drawn in sand, the one reinforced with steel and concrete?” His eyes sparkled the way they used to when he was about to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, and toss her in the surf.

  “Yes, that one. And stop looking at me like that.”

  Mac laughed. “Like what?”

  “Like you used to,” she blurted.

  The words hung between them until he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against hers. Something must be wrong with her body because no matter how much her brain instructed her to step back, to berate him, to tell him that this was exactly what she was talking about, she stayed exactly where she was, addicted to the feel of his lips against hers. Until it was over.

  “I pulled away there. Did you notice that?” he asked. Mac ran his tongue over his lips, and she could have sworn he did it to tease her.

  Unable to speak, feeling wholly vulnerable, she nodded. “It doesn’t mean what you think it means, Mac.”

  “Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. But you’re staying, and we have work to do,” he said, pointing toward the stack of boxes that hadn’t been there when she’d gone to bed. “But first,” he said, picking up his cup of coffee, “I should go put a shirt on so you don’t get distracted.” Then he winked.

  She waited until he was out of the room before she smiled.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Are you sure Lochlan won’t mind me doing this?” Delaney asked as she used decorator’s tape to stick papers to the walls of the dining room area. She peeled a corner of the tape back, checking that it didn’t pull any paint off.

  Mac grabbed another of her boxes from the hallway and carried it across to the dining room table. “Not at all. But if he complains, I’ll beat the shit out of him, or redecorate … whichever I feel like.” He stopped and watched her for a moment. A piece of paper fell from the bundle she was holding, and she bent forward to pick it up. Fuck. Inwardly he groaned. She was wearing tight gray leggings, white sneakers, and a fitted navy T-shirt. That ass of hers was driving him wild.

  When she stood up again, a piece of wet hair fell out of the messy bun she’d pulled together after her shower. A shower that had tortured him as he’d stood in the kitchen and listened, trying not to think of wet water running over her curves. Soapy wet water that would run between the valley of those—

  “Mac?”

  He shook his head. “What? Um, sorry?” Jerking off in his shower to clear his mind had been a weak substitute for the real thing. Never in his life had he had a problem dealing with the fluctuations in his sex life. When he’d been deployed, he’d taken care of business when he’d needed to and he’d enjoyed his downtime with women immensely, but whether he was getting any or not had never bothered him. But now …

  “I asked if you could hand me the tape.”

  Mac grabbed the blue tape and slid it across the table. The soft touch of her fingers brushing his was more than he could deal with.

  “I wish you’d just sit down and let me do that. You’re still favoring that ankle.”

  Delaney shook her head. “I’m fine, Mac. It’s feeling better.”

  He didn’t believe her. The wince when she put any weight on it gave her away. “Until you can hop on that foot while twirling a baton, I don’t believe you.”

  They stared at each other across the table for a moment, and then her mouth twitched, the corner turning up. “I hate you,” she said in jest, and he wondered if she realized exactly what she’d said. Those three words had accompanied the slap he’d received all those years ago.

  “Fine. I’m going to go call the guys. Back in a sec.”

  The clock on
the stove told him it was a little after ten in the morning. Despite the late arrival, anybody who was already up was probably already at Eagle. He called the main office, hoping somebody was there already. If not, he’d call Cabe directly.

  “Hello, Eagle Securities.”

  The voice was grumpy, but Mac knew immediately who it was. “Wow. We really need to get you some personality training, Cabe.”

  “Yeah, whatever, asshole. What’s up?”

  “Was talking with Delaney this morning. Wondered if you could get the rest of the guys convened here. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to get everyone to hear what’s been happening. See if we can’t then break up into teams to divide and conquer to figure out what’s going on.”

  There was a clatter in the background. It sounded like Cabe was opening the roller shutter doors of the warehouse. “Wouldn’t it be better for the two of you to come here?”

  “Yeah, it would.” He looked over at Delaney, who was still pretending not to hobble and shook his head. “But Delaney is still hurting, and I’d rather not force her to walk on her ankle unless she needs to.”

  “I’m fine,” she shouted. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

  “Just stating facts, Buttons,” he replied.

  Cabe laughed. “Can’t decide if this reunion between the two of you is the greatest thing to happen to you or a ginormous clusterfuck in the making.”

  “Would it help if I said I felt the same way?” Mac said.

  “Probably not. Look, I’ll gather up the guys once we’ve finished writing up our reports, probably noon, one-ish maybe. You’d better be prepared to feed everyone.”

  When Mac returned to the dining area, Delaney was crouched down taping things to the wall. Pictures of crates of weapons, a map of the Middle East, documents that looked like flight manifests. “Take-out it is, and I’m expensing it, asshole.”

  He looked over to Delaney, his concern for her growing with every new piece of information she stuck to the damn wall. And if his gut was correct, which it usually was, she was going to need him a lot more before it was all over. Which meant a point would soon come when he would be unavailable for work. As much as he loved his brothers—and cared about Eagle—Delaney was at the top of the priority list.

  “Deal. I’m on it. Let me wrap up here. See you in a couple of hours.” Cabe hung up the phone without waiting for Mac to respond.

  As he placed his phone on the kitchen counter next to Delaney’s, her phone rang. Benjamin Streep. He grabbed it and handed it to her as she hobbled toward him. “Wish you’d sit down,” he said, sweeping her into his arms.

  She squealed as he lifted her into the air, rolling her eyes as she answered the call. “Benjamin. Hey.”

  Mac couldn’t decide which was worse. Holding her in his arms like he longed to, knowing she just wanted him to put her down, or the fact that some guy was calling her and she sounded happy about it. Instead of putting her down on a chair as he’d originally intended, he sat down on the sofa with her in his arms. He could hear the guy talking as Delaney wiggled around in his lap, trying to get out of Mac’s grip.

  Delaney glared at him, but he kept hold.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry. No, it was too late, I didn’t want to wake you.” Delaney pinched the bridge of her nose.

  There was a pause while “Benjamin” said something. Mac watched Delaney, trying to figure out what the guy was to her.

  “No. Honestly. I’m fine. It’s a good thing, honestly.”

  A good thing? Being shot at was never a good thing.

  Dude’s voice escalated but he couldn’t quite hear the words, just the tone and volume. Mac felt his pain.

  “Look at it this way,” Delaney said into the phone, seeming to momentarily forget she was in Mac’s lap. “The fact that someone is so worried about what I might uncover that they want to abduct me, kill me, whatever, means I’m on to something. One of the chains I’ve rattled in pulling all this together has somebody so worried they’ll take significant action. I’ve just got to figure out which chain and who.”

  Mac forgot about Benjamin. She was right. She was definitely on to something. And while he hated that Delaney was the one doing the uncovering, what she was uncovering had the capacity to save lives. Lots of them, by the sound of it. Theoretically, she could help his fellow military personnel on the battlefield by preventing munitions access to those who fought against them. Or could stop chemical-poisoning disasters.

  “I know. I know I said I’d take some time off, but I can’t. This forces my hand. Yes.… I will.… No, I’ll protect myself, I promise.” She looked Mac right in the eye. “I’m staying with a friend who knows his shit when it comes to that stuff.”

  Damn right he did. So, the douche canoe on the other end of the phone could fuck right off. But it did make him think. She needed to learn how to take care of herself. He looked down at her ankle, which was still strapped up in her sneakers. Still, she needed to be able to protect herself.

  She’d stopped fighting him, and he tried to ignore how her leaning back against the armrest with her shoulders back presented her breasts in a way that made it hard to keep his hands to himself. And speaking of hard. Goddamn.

  “Look. This is all good, Benjamin. I’m set up. I’m healed. And, honestly, I love it that you care, but I need to do this. I’m close. I can feel it.”

  Mac didn’t love it that the dude cared. In fact, he didn’t know who or what Benjamin Streep was to her, but he needed to keep all his caring shit to himself. Unable to resist, Mac ran a hand up her thigh. It was a simple gesture to remind her of his presence, to remind her that it was his lap that she was sitting on. When he reached mid-thigh, she slapped her hand down on top of his to stop his progress. He should have been pissed, but the way her eyes were bright told him that she didn’t altogether hate it.

  He grinned and slipped his hand away.

  “Okay, Benjamin, I will,” she said, and hung up the phone. “We talked about lines, Mac.”

  “You talked lines but we didn’t agree on where they should be placed exactly. Who was that?” he asked, knowing his tone sounded borderline accusatory.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Now you are talking semantics. And that was my editor. My boss. My business partner. Pick one.”

  “Good. Listen. I’ve got a plan before the guys come over in a couple of hours. While I want you to rest that ankle, I think this is important.” Mac played with her fingers, intertwining them, and she let him for a moment before pulling them away.

  “We need to get on with this,” she said, easing herself off him. “And we obviously need to have another conversation about boundaries.”

  He stood, perhaps a little too close to her. So close he could smell her shampoo, could feel the warmth of her on his arm as she brushed against him. “I know. But trust me, you’re going to enjoy this.”

  Forty minutes later, Delaney looked as cute as a button wearing industrial-sized headphones and a pair of his safety goggles at the gun range owned by one of Mac’s friends. They stood in lane number four, his favorite SIG lying on the shelf, muzzle facing down the lane, ejection port faceup, and slide lock back. He’d just walked her through the most basic elements of being in a gun range. Things like gun safety protocols, never passing the firing line, what to do when someone shouted “Cease fire.”

  Now for the fun part.

  “Let’s talk grip,” he said, picking the gun up off the bench. “Your index finger should sit along the side, here.” He tilted the gun so she could see his positioning. “And your other fingers should wrap around the handle firmly. Keep ’em flat and vertically stacked. You should have a nice line down the side of the gun and your arm.”

  Next, he explained where to put her left hand, the firmness of the grip, and how to make sure her left hand had contact with the gun. Delaney watched him with wide eyes, but if he wasn’t imagining things, she was enjoying watching him. “Isometric tension.” He forced the phrase out to stop
thinking about the way she’d just bitten her lip. “You’re going to push forward with your shooting hand and back with your support hand.” As he explained tension to the left and right and how to manage recoil, he looked at her. She was staring straight back at him. He placed the unloaded gun back on the shelf. “Your turn.”

  Delaney grinned. “This is going to be fun.”

  Mac watched her pick up the gun and repeat what he’d done. She took the time to position her index finger and push her hand as high up the gun as she could. As she stood pointing the muzzle downrange, she grinned.

  Shit, the silhouette of her fitted workout clothes, straight back, long neck, and extended arms holding his favorite SIG was the kind of thing that would fuel jerking off for the next ten years. To refocus, he walked her through the basics of muzzle, and sight, and trigger.

  Delaney put the gun back down on the shelf and laughed. “I feel like a total badass holding that thing.”

  “All right, you’re going to load it,” he said, placing the magazine on the shelf. Delaney reached for the gun with her left hand, and he reached for her wrist to stop her. “No, never pick it up with your left. You always pick up your weapon with your dominant hand.”

  “Why’s that?” she asked, doing as he told her.

  Forcing himself to look at the target that was hanging a couple of feet away, he composed himself. “Because once it’s loaded, you’ll have to change hands, and there’s a chance you could drop it or accidentally discharge it while doing so. You really want to minimize that kind of thing.”

  “It’s heavier than I expected,” she said, turning the unloaded gun over in her hand.

  Mac watched what she was doing. Accidents could happen, even between friends. “Yeah. They can be. Okay, pick up the magazine, and using your index finger, seat that first round properly.”

  “It’s kind of springy,” she said.

  “Kind of the point, Delaney. Now you’re going to slam that magazine in that opening there.”

  The sound of things clicking into place assured him that everything was properly seated, but he checked it anyway. The gun did look big in her hand, but he didn’t have anything smaller. Their first stop had been to fill out permits to carry a weapon. Due to the very real threat against her life on two occasions and his personal guarantee to teach her how to fire the goddamn thing, nobody had thought her application would have an issue. Their final stop was going to be the gun store. He was going to buy her a weapon with his own documentation while they waited for her permits.