by Jill Shalvis
14
AS HAWK TURNED ON THE LIGHT, a warm glow bathed the room. The bed was tousled, and so was the woman in his arms.
“You’re naked,” she accused him.
“I’m wearing a towel.”
“Nearly naked, then.” Her breathing had changed, and she wasn’t meeting his eyes. But that’s because she was soaking him in, from his shoulders to his pecs to his belly, which she seemed to linger over, making the muscles there quiver like…well, like he was a horny teenager about to get lucky for the first time. He felt lucky, so goddamned lucky, even knowing he was crazy to be here, like this, with her.
Insane, he thought, even as his hands fisted in her shirt. Reckless, after what had happened tonight. But she did something to him, to his gut, his heart.
She’d spent six months being cool and icy, shooting him down with her superior disdain. Now he was suddenly beneath that tough veneer, and while he was here, he wanted to ruffle her up, see the real her. He should be running, yet instead he kissed her.
Pulling back, her gaze dipped down his body again, taking in the towel loosely wrapped around his hips and what it covered.
And what it didn’t cover.
But there was the problem. The longer she looked, the less that it covered. Hawk didn’t want to freak her out or anything but if she kept it up, which she appeared to be set to do, he wasn’t sure that the entire bedspread could cover him. He needed to slow them down, somehow, and opened his mouth to say so, but her tongue came out and wet her lower lip, and he went harder. Great. Nice way to slow down. “Uh, Abby?”
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.
“Not like you. You take my breath.” And now the Neanderthal in him wanted to strip her down and get to even more beautiful parts. He wanted it so badly he was shaking, but that was for him. For her…he didn’t know what the right thing was, but he wasn’t going to rush her, or make the first move. Nope, he was going to sit here and let her look her fill, completely still, nonthreatening, for as long as she wanted.
And if he keeled over from having all his blood between his legs, well then, he hoped she knew CPR. “The last thing I want to do is bring up bad memories.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m okay. I just forgot what it felt like, this…rush.”
Okay, looking at him was giving her a rush. He liked that. He liked that a lot. In fact, knowing it gave him a rush of his own.
A big one. One she couldn’t possibly miss. But she kept looking, and he kept letting her, for as long as he could, until it had to be completely obvious what she was doing to him, since his towel had become more like a tent. “It’s sort of a direct ratio thing,” Hawk murmured in his own defense.
Her eyes lifted to his, wide and questioning.
“The longer you look at me like that, the more turned on I get.”
“Oh.” She grinned.
He tried to laugh, and found his mouth touching her temple.
She lifted her face and their noses bumped. “Oh,” she said again, even more breathlessly, and then he was stroking away her hair, which was poking him in the eye.
She smiled a little, but her gaze was glued to his mouth, which was a mere fraction of an inch from hers, and then suddenly she’d closed the gap. When her tongue met his, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. Oh, God, he didn’t want her to ever stop.
Cupping the back of her head with his hand, he deepened the kiss, which tugged a surprised, throaty moan from her and sent a flood of desire raging through him, one that seriously threatened the placement of his towel. Abby was curvy and warm in his arms, her soft sighs of pleasure causing a rush of emotion that nearly swamped him.
She had one hand on his chest, palm open, as if she might have originally planned on holding him off but had lost her train of thought.
Or changed her mind.
He hoped for that second option. She was battling her demons, and Hawk could appreciate that because he had his own. All his life, his job had always taken priority, over family, over friends, over everything. While in Special Forces, he’d lost most of those close to him because it was hard to maintain relationships with what he did for a living.
He’d felt a little regret—but there’d always been that elusive future when he’d stop working, settle down and get serious about letting someone in his life. For now, he was still driven to ferret out bad guys. Hell, he didn’t even know how to do anything else, be anyone else. Women as a whole didn’t seem to like that, and as a result, they’d come and gone, mostly gone.
But when Abby looked at him, he didn’t have to try to downplay his life, or hide how crazy his job was. She knew, because she lived it, too.
So freeing. Slipping his fingers into her hair, Hawk kissed her again, deeper now, trying to let her know it was okay to delve as long and hot and wet as she wanted. With a sexy-as-hell little murmur, she lifted one of her hands.
Oh, yeah, he thought. Touch me. Do it. Even the thought made him hard. Or harder, because he’d been hard, painfully so, since he’d pulled her onto the bed with him.
Her hand hovered in the air, then headed toward his shoulder, touched down, jerked back, then touched down again.
At the connection, he groaned and she jerked both hands off him and pulled her mouth free, lips wet, breathing ragged, body trembling. “I’m sorry,” she gasped.
Sorry? Was she kidding? “No, I want you to—” Wanted so much he was afraid to even finish the thought. But she’d kissed him like he was better than air, like he was her lifeline, her only hope, like maybe that one kiss wasn’t going to be enough, could never be enough.
Yeah, he could live off that fantasy alone. When he’d rolled around with her on that hard ground at the ranch, her body had moved against his, all curves and softness, and he’d sent up a desperate wish that someday they’d be rolling around and not fighting for their lives.
The need had surprised him then, but it didn’t now. This thing between them had been building up for six months, six months during which he’d been frustrated and hot and bothered, and he hoped she’d been the same. Now there was nothing to hold them back.
Still staring at him with those wide eyes, Abby lifted her fingers to her mouth and slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready—”
“Okay,” he managed. He even smiled, though truthfully, he wanted to cry. “It’s okay.”
“It’s just that you’re so strong,” she said very softly, staring at the width of his shoulders. His chest. The tattoo on his bicep. His belly…the tented towel. “Very strong.”
That clearly was not a compliment. “Would it help to know that when you look at me, I feel like a two-pound weakling?”
She smiled, but shook her head. Hawk sighed. He was strong. Hell, he’d spent years toning and strengthening his body for his job, they both knew that. It’d been a matter of survival after all. “I’d never use my strength against you, Abby.”
“Except, of course, if I was going to turn you in.”
At the reminder of how he’d tumbled her around in the woods, he winced. “I tried really hard not to—”
“I know. And you weren’t naked then, and I couldn’t really see…but now…” She lifted a shoulder. “I guess I’m just wishing that you were very skinny, or maybe even fat. Yeah, fat would do.”
He blinked. “You’d rather I was fat?”
“And weak. Instead of…” She eyeballed him again. “You know.”
“Wow. Okay…”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, wait. I can fix this.” Grabbing the handcuffs on the nightstand, he snapped one on his wrist, the other to the headboard.
Abby stared at him in shock. “What are you doing?”
Arm stretched above his head now, he leaned back. “Just sitting here. Not fat, sorry, but weakened. One hand only, see?” Hawk wriggled his fingers. “You can take me one-handed, and we both know it. I’m at your mercy, Ab.” He looked into her eyes. “You’re in total control.”
Something leaped into her gaze at that, gratitude, relief, and oh, baby, a whole bunch of heat that had his own blood boiling again. His fingers itched to move, to touch her, but he remained still as stone.
Well, except for the part of him that he couldn’t make go still. Beneath the towel it gave a hopeful surge.
Her gaze dropped to it.
“Okay, well that part of me has a mind of its own. But the rest of me? Just sitting here. Restrained. So do as you will, Abby. Look, touch…” Taste. “Whatever you want, I’m yours.”
Totally.
Completely.
Yours.
Obviously intrigued, she reached out to touch his chest, then pulled back. “But…?”
“But what? No buts.”
“But what happens when we’re back in the real world?”
“Now see, I sort of thought we were in the real world.”
“You know what I mean,” Abby protested. “The real world is different. We work together in the real world. We have to be professional.”
“Hey, I’m the king of professional.”
She laughed. Laughed. And it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Then she leaned a hand on his chest, bracing her weight completely over him as she peered into his face. “You’re going to stay just like this? Really?”
“Just like this.”
If it killed him.
Which it might.
“It’s not that I’m afraid of you….”
“I know.”
“I’m just…”
“You need the control. It’s okay, Ab. I get it.” He jangled the handcuff to remind her how much he got it. She hadn’t been sexually abused, but being stripped, helpless, had left its mark. They’d destroyed her confidence. They’d hurt her.
Now the situation was reversed.
She had a chance to be the one clothed, the one with all the power, and he was going to sit there and let her do whatever she wanted. “You’re in the driver’s seat.”
“What should I do?” she whispered.
“Whatever you want.”
“To you?”
“To me.”
She stared into his eyes, torn between wariness and excitement. Just seeing it had his body leaping.
Down boy. He offered her a smile. “Just be kind.”
“I will,” she said very seriously, as if taking care with him was of the utmost importance, and for some reason that reached out and grabbed him by the throat. In his life, he was the one who took care of others, making places safe, taking out the bad guys…
But few, if any, had ever taken care of him, or even wanted to.
There Abby sat, fully dressed, her lower lip between her teeth as she contemplated him, arm stretched above his head, handcuffed to the bed in just a towel. As he waited there, not moving, hell barely breathing, she didn’t move either.
But she was thinking, thinking so loudly he could practically hear her mind racing. Her face was flushed, and he could see her nipples pressing against the material of her shirt, two tight, aching peaks just waiting their turn for attention, which he was dying to give.
“I’m not sure where to start,” she admitted.
He could guide her, even rush her. Everything in those wide eyes, in the way she was breathing, told him he could.
But he’d promised her all the control, promised her that she could go at whatever pace she wanted. And if she wanted more, and Hawk hoped like hell she wanted more, she needed to make this first move. “Wherever you want.”
“Okay.” Finally she lifted a hand and glided it over his chest, her finger brushing one of his nipples.
His muscles leaped, and feeling it, she paused, then arched an eyebrow and did it again. “You like that.”
He was already sweating. “Yes.”
Chewing on her lower lip in great concentration, she ran her hands down his torso. More quivering on his part. “And that,” she noted. “You like that, too.”
“Let me save you some time here,” he managed. “I’m going to like everything you do.”
“Really?” Again her fingers moved, lower.
Over his ribs.
Then his trembling abs.
All while she watched his face with great interest.
Hawk had fantasized about this and far, far more. But in those X-rated dreams, he’d completely underestimated the effect she would have on him. Hell, she didn’t even have to be touching him to make him hard, just the sound of her voice could do it, and yet now she was pressed to his side, looking, touching…
Stay still, he reminded himself.
The hardest thing he’d ever done.
“Okay,” she whispered, answering some unspoken question in her own head. Then she dipped her head and nearly, but not quite, touched her lips to his.
And then stopped.
He didn’t move either, just did his best to keep breathing so he wouldn’t pass out and miss something good.
And then, as if he’d somehow passed a final test he hadn’t even seen coming, she licked her lips and kissed him.
Killed him.
Same thing.
15
Cheyenne Memorial Hospital
CALLEN SAT AT LOGAN’S SIDE. She’d been watching over the cocky ATF agent as she often watched over her patients, with one noticeable difference.
Her heart was in her throat.
Not a comfortable place for it to be, not for a person who was used to being in charge at all times. But all sense of control had deserted her. So had common sense. And for what? The one thing she’d always sworn she’d keep her head about.
A man.
His partner’s call had shaken her to the core. Logan was in danger; it sounded crazy, but she’d believed him. So much so that she’d switched the charts, and now Logan was Stephen Caudill. At the next shift change, he’d be making yet another chart change.
To Annabelle Levin, a thirty-year-old woman, nine months pregnant, five centimeters dilated.
He’d be so thrilled.
God. She’d risked all tonight. For a man. Her sister would not be happy. Kate had raised Callen because their parents had been hardly more than kids themselves, and not the sharpest tools in the shed, either. And she had warned Callen—when love hits, it’s like a ton of bricks upside the head. Either wear a helmet or accept that at some point, you’re going to get clobbered.
Heeding those words, Callen had made her way through life without getting overly involved.
Until now. Now she’d been clobbered, and as tough as she was, as careful as she’d been, she’d had no warning.
Kate had been right. It made no sense, and Callen had no explanation for it, but Logan was The One.
She knew it.
And she’d been so careful with her heart, too, only giving it away when she was quite certain it was safe.
Ha! Now she’d handed it over to an ex–Special Forces ATF agent who was currently embroiled in a situation where some high-ranking official wanted him dead. Just about as unsafe as it got.
But, good God, the man had charisma in spades. All he had to do was look at her. Hell, even lying there prone and far too still, she felt the space around her heart constrict, making it almost painful to be near him.
How did that happen in a matter of hours?
And then there’d been his obvious connection to his partner, and the frank concern he’d felt over leaving him alone to face the mess they’d found themselves in. She’d always had a thing for a man with a hero complex, and this man was definitely hero complex worthy.
She watched his face for signs of pain, because that she could handle, there she knew what to do, but his eyes were closed, his drool-inducing body motionless.
He was out cold.
So why her heart pounded, she had no clue. She couldn’t seem to find her cool reserve, the place in her head where she kept her fears and panic at bay. There she could treat and care for the sickest of people, and still remain a little bit distant, just enough that she
didn’t lose a piece of her heart to each and every person who came into her life.
Because a lot of needy people came into her life.
But with Logan she hadn’t been able to retreat. It wasn’t just his physical attributes. She was immune to good looks and easy charm; in her line of work, she’d seen both erased by pain and suffering, leaving only the soul beneath.
Maybe it was his wit, which in spite of the pain, he’d shown in spades. Or maybe it had been the way he’d looked at her, as if she was the only woman he’d ever really seen.
Yeah, Callen thought, letting out a shaky breath. That’d been it.
She sat, at his side, watching him sleep as if she could keep him alive by willing it. But his injuries weren’t going to kill him, he was merely sleeping off the pain and the load of meds he’d been given. By daylight he’d open those melting eyes and be on his way to recovery.
And then she’d go.
Deep in his drug-induced dreamland, Logan let out a long sigh. He could be dreaming about anything, she knew, given the dangerous life he led. Shifting closer, she set her hand on his arm and stroked, hoping her touch was soothing. “Don’t let the bad dreams get you.”
“I’m not asleep.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
Turning his arm, he snagged her fingers in his. “Sorry.”
He had a cut on his thumb and his palm was rough, callused. Warm. Leaning over him, she looked into his eyes. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Fighting the drugs.” His voice was low, raw. Rough. “Callen—”
“Right here.”
“If the worst happens—”
“Hold it.” Her stomach dropped. “The worst is not going to happen.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t have changed my chart.”
Damn.
“I just want you to know,” he murmured. “I could have fallen for you. The can’t-eat-can’t-sleep-can’t do-any-fucking-thing kind of fall.”
Well, if that didn’t grab her by the throat. She swallowed. “That’s the drugs talking.”
“Hell if it is.” He lifted his arm, revealing the fact that he’d pulled out his IV.
