by Karen Anders
Wanting to keep that comfortable easiness between them, she looped her arms around his neck and gave him another grin. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to see if she could make him react. Keeping her voice deliberately provocative, she murmured, “You’re very, very good, marine.”
Chuckling, he gave her head a little shake. “You know how to be a tease. You make me crazy.”
Smiling at the ache in his voice, she ran her hand down his muscled back to his buttocks. “I bet I can make you wild and crazy.”
His expression altered, and even in the faint moonlight filtering in, she could see his eyes darken, his gaze becoming hot and intimate. Gazing at her, he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, then lowered his head, brushing his mouth against hers. “Oh, yeah,” he breathed, caressing her bottom lip. “That works for me.”
With that one light touch, Amber’s heart started stammering, and suddenly it was impossible to breathe. Pulling his head down, she brought his mouth into full contact with hers.
The kiss was slow, soft and so unbelievably gentle that it left her absolutely breathless, and her whole body turned to jelly. He flipped her onto her stomach, his hand trailing down her back, followed by his mouth. He made a soft sound at the flag tattoo that went across her lower back. He kissed her skin and murmured, “Sexy.” A sudden urgency sizzled through her and she lifted her bottom against the thick erection pressing between her legs from behind to urge him on.
Entering her from behind, he sent his big hand up her rib cage, clasping around her breast as he thrust against her buttocks. Dragging both her arms over her head, he laced his fingers through hers, holding her hands against the bed. “Easy, baby,” he whispered, his hot mouth on her neck. “We’re going to take our time—slow and easy.” He stroked her palms with his thumbs and shifted ever so gently against her. “This time we’re going to make it last.”
Amber’s heart nearly climbed right out of her chest. She didn’t think she could stand it. She really didn’t. He’d only started and it was too much already.
And Tristan did take his time—goodness, did he take his time. It was just like the kiss, slow, soft, gentle. And painstakingly thorough—inch by inch. Amber had no idea a man could be that dedicated to detail, and he set off reactions she’d never, ever experienced before. She couldn’t think of anything, except what he was doing to her. He took it slow and easy. He nearly drove her off the deep end, and she was practically clawing at the bedding before he gave in to her. She was sure she was on the verge of losing her mind when he finally thrust into her, driving her up and over into a soul-shredding release. It was so unbelievable, so explosive, it was as if she came right out of her body. And he was the only thing that held her together.
Like it or not, there was a connection here, stronger than she’d ever experienced with Pete, but she was left with reality. She would go and he would stay in the service.
Like Pete, she would lose him, not to distance, but to duty.
Chapter 10
The first faint hint of dawn had already crept into the room, and Amber awakened, a heavy lethargy swimming through her, the weight of Tristan’s arm around her middle anchoring her. She felt as if she didn’t have a muscle left in her entire body.
But the pleasant feeling was suddenly dominated by a feeling of enormous responsibility. This was all her doing. All hers. She was not going to let anything detract from what had happened the previous night. She just wasn’t. For once in her life, she was not going to assess her actions—or his. And for once in her life, she was not going to be logical and rational. Her much-vaunted sensibleness could just get stuffed. For once, she was going to follow her heart.
It was an easy road to take, snuggled securely in the curve of Tristan’s big, beautiful body. Tucking her hands under her face, she basked in the afterglow of finally getting this man to be honest about his needs, his feelings, because there were some. She was quite sure of that. Her heart stumbled as she recalled everything that had happened in that bed. He was amazing, and she had lost count of how many times they’d made love.
Her thoughts stirred up a sexual restlessness in her. She closed her eyes, wanting it to happen all over again. Wanting to turn into his arms, wanting to feel him awaken, wanting him to slip inside her.
Her breathing suddenly uneven, Amber took a hard deep breath and opened her eyes. She had to use the bathroom, but she didn’t want to disturb him, especially since his arm was tightly around her as if in his sleep he was afraid of losing her.
She got a bit discombobulated about that. Then he shifted, sighing softly, in a wholly male, totally sexy, deep way, breathing her name on a wisp of sound.
She turned toward him. God, he was so beautiful—and she noticed the scars on his body she was sure were shrapnel. Low on his rib cage, an unmistakable round mark that could only be a healed bullet wound. She reached out and traced the raised tissue. Her hand looked small and delicate against his wide rib cage, pale against his sun-warmed skin.
She let out a heavy sigh, then took a deep breath, maintaining control. She wasn’t going to lose it, not here, not now, not with him.
She wasn’t a fool, and no matter how connected she was to him, the reality was he was entwined with the corps. His identity was deeply entrenched.
“Amber...” he murmured, “...smell good.” He rolled onto his stomach, his breath leaving him on another sleep-filled sigh and warming her shoulder.
Amber realized that having knowledge about what Tristan really did for the Marines gave her an unfair advantage over him. First off, she knew more about him than she’d told him, and second, she’d had time to mesh the man with the file.
He was more than just a sniper and his file held a lot of classified information. Tristan was black ops, a Force Recon marine. He was an elite operator, the kind of man that could use stealth and deliver lethal action from out of thin air.
Knowing that he was legendary in his work and one of the best US Marine Recon operators that had ever served only made her all the more determined not to make him choose between her and the corps. In his file, Dr. Cross had evaluated Tristan’s mental state after he’d come off that Force Recon mission in bad shape. It showed the extent of his dedication and his guilt.
He went off the grid, which isn’t surprising for a Recon marine. That isn’t my worry. It’s that he exhibits self-destructive behavior that is too wholly connected to the corps and his identity as a man is connected to what he does as a marine. I feel that Master Sergeant Michaels needs the time to understand himself in terms of who he is outside of being a marine. He would benefit from an assignment that has him training others and getting a mental break from constant field service that could have caused enough stress to alter his thinking.
It’s my recommendation that he be forced into another duty assignment and no longer be approved for any missions until he is reassessed after eighteen months. Once that time frame is up and after it’s clear that he’s had a chance to assimilate the concepts that I have put forth to him, then he would have the opportunity to go back into the field.
Master Sergeant Tristan Michaels is a very dangerous man, definitely to our enemies, but also to himself. It would be prudent to give him the time that he needs to work out who he is outside of the missions, the danger, the stress, the constant need to rise above his duty and simply rest. He’s earned this. He wouldn’t admit to me or to his commanding officer that he is fatigued. That would be admitting that he was weak and/or had failed the corps in some way.
To conclude, the consulate tragedy where Master Sergeant Michaels lost his objectivity regarding his own identity and that of the corps was a turning point in his young life. His dedication and courage and sense of duty propelled him into an exemplary field operator who has saved countless lives in the fulfillment of his duty.
Please be advised that Master Sergeant Michaels wil
l not be amenable to the cessation of field operations. He has told me that he feels that the reaction to his disappearance is being overblown and he is more than fit for duty. So he didn’t check in and was a bit undernourished and dehydrated. He’s fully recovered and ready for duty.
But, of course, as my previous comments indicate, I am not convinced of this, and as his therapist I believe the next time he goes out could be his last. His abilities and skills are not in question. It’s his thinking that needs altering. He needs a healthy balance between his dedication and his duty. He needs to discover the value of what he has to offer others against the isolation of completing a mission that puts him in imminent danger. There must be a balance between these, as well as good, solid judgment as to the best way to carry out his mission.
He is a very personable young man, and I am sure that with some mental and physical rest, he will see that he jeopardized not only his mission but himself in the process. His judgment must be sound and balanced in making decisions about his welfare, the welfare of his platoon members and the good of this country.
I understand the need for tough, brave, well-trained and disciplined operators. It’s imperative, but MS Tristan Michaels needs to be sidelined for his own good and the good of the corps.
He had more medals than she could count, commendations up the wazoo, and all this because he was completely dedicated 100 percent to what he did. It left nothing over for anyone in his life. She knew all this before she slept with him, before she’d got attached. But sometimes some things were worth the heartache and the pain that would follow.
He was worth it.
Because he was gung ho about what and who he was. Until he could separate himself from what he did, there wasn’t much of a future for them.
It appeared that Tristan was still caught up in what his therapist stated was his inability to see himself separate from the corps. It wasn’t about the fact that he couldn’t commit to her, to pursuing a relationship that was something more than physical, because Amber was sure it was. She had no doubt.
She wanted that chance to help Tristan see it and become it, but no one could alter the course of someone else’s thinking.
And her own issues were not insignificant, like the one where she needed to prove to everyone she met that she wasn’t second-best. That she was worthy got twisted into nothing but a competitive situation that only led to strife.
He’d shown her that regardless of his dedication to the corps, he could feel and react to her on a personal and very intimate level. More so than any man she’d ever met. She wasn’t sure if that was because he’d worked so hard to be the man he saw in his mind’s eye or if it was because of his own personal experiences, but Amber saw it and reacted to it. She needed to let go of being perfect, being number one, and settle for being the best that she could be in that situation. It took an enormous amount of stress off her and made her feel lighter than air.
She was now exactly where Tristan was worried she’d be. There was no getting around it, and even though it hurt, she wasn’t sure she wanted to change anything. He’d wanted her and had in that moment been able to transcend his resistance. Had the courage to give in and let this wonderful thing happen.
She knew what it all meant. He’d been in a terrible fight, and the only kind of fight Tristan was ever in was a firefight—bullets flying, life or death, no quarter asked, none given, everybody out for blood. The one that had almost ended his life on that mission where he’d disappeared.
He was the US government’s gunslinger.
But he had to figure out what else he was good at besides gunslinging. That was his dilemma. Not whether to take this job with his friend Rock or not, but about whether or not he could define himself away from the corps.
The fact that she understood didn’t help. She would be leaving here probably tomorrow, maybe even today if she could wrap things up and get a flight out of Reno. Get to the vacation she really needed.
Reaching up, she gently ran her fingers back through his thick hair, her fingers caressing a face of high cheekbones and lean angles, a beautifully formed nose. Carefully, softly, she touched her mouth to his, then pushed herself away. She didn’t get far.
In an instant, he was awake, his hand coming up and holding her in the bed, his eyes wide open—every muscle and tendon in his body tight and radiating one single message: ready.
Ready for anything was more like it. She was startled by his sudden transition into utter and complete wakefulness. Good Lord, he’d been sound asleep, snoring.
“Don’t go,” he said, holding her gaze, his voice soft, a sleepy contrast to the alertness pulsing through him like a heartbeat.
“I...I wasn’t going.” At least not very far. She acknowledged the fact that she should put some space between them, get some air, give herself at least a half a chance to think straight. Something that was impossible to do when she was close enough to breathe him in—and they were close. One of his legs was half over her, his right arm extended and clasped around her waist. With every breath he took she felt his stomach rise against her. “Just need to use the facilities.”
“Good.” His hot blue gaze slid past her to the door. His face was stark, his expression deadly serious, as he watched the emotions play across her face.
It gave her pause. It unnerved her. She knew what he was doing—searching for threat in her and in his surroundings, which sent a small shiver through her. The thought that she could hurt him wasn’t something that sat well with her. Because she had to eventually go.
He looked at her for a second, an unreadable expression on his face, before his gaze slid away again.
“Amber, I...” He started to say something but then didn’t, and suddenly she felt a little tongue-tied herself.
Oh, yeah, she thought, they were getting off to a great start. The silence drew out between them. Then it extended until she couldn’t quite bear it.
She pulled out of his grasp and ducked into his bathroom, shutting the door and doing what needed to be done.
After taking care of business, she came back out. He was still on his stomach, lying on the pillows and looking sexy and better than any man had a right to look. Seeing him propped up on those pillows—his arms over his head, showcasing the tantalizing curve of his biceps, his torso bare and heavily muscled—made her completely weak in the knees.
Only half of his face was visible as he lay against the linens, his dark hair such a contrast to the white pillowcase. The heavy stubble on his face and his one eye were enough to melt her bones. God, the way the man looked at her.
His arm flexed and he reached out his hand. There was no way to resist, no way to tell him that this was going to hurt them both when it was over, no way to avoid the damage that was coming.
She knew he could see it, too.
She stepped closer and slipped her hand into his. The warmth of him shivered over her.
“Are you cold?” His whole demeanor heightened.
She closed her eyes and swallowed. “No.”
He drew her against the bed and she folded down. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to her palm, his velvet lips brushing up over the heel of her hand to her wrist. Everything just going liquid.
He rose up and pressed his face into the center of her body, his arm sliding around her back. She ran the palm of her hand over his silky hair. “Tristan,” she whispered as he kissed her stomach, licking her skin, drawing her nipples into hard, aching knots.
He bit her rib cage, drew his teeth up to the underside of her breast, and she gasped, her fingers tightening in his thick hair. As he turned his body to better feast on her, she saw that he was completely hard, completely erect. He was a well-endowed man, and she covered his smooth, hard erection from the base of his balls all the way to the tip.
With a growl, he thrust into her hand and clamp
ed his mouth over her breast, sucking hard. She cried out, and he dragged her down with a powerful thickening of his biceps until she was beneath him.
Then his mouth was all over her.
* * *
Tristan couldn’t think. The taste of Amber was in his bloodstream, a powerful pressure in his chest, his dick, his heart.
And, damn, it wasn’t supposed to be this way.
She should have been like any other woman he’d bedded. The act was what was good, not the woman he held in his arms. But it was the opposite here and maybe that was why he’d resisted so hard—because he’d known she would blow his mind, blow him out of the water.
She was soft and wet as his fingers slipped over her core, and when she arched, her nipple popped out of his mouth.
“Geezus, Amber.” He rocked against her, then lifted her hips and pressed against the heat of her, his dick throbbing. “Wrap your legs around me, babe,” he said, watching the way her face absorbed all the sensations he was stirring in her.
Then he was pushing inside her—and everything slowed down, way down.
It was incredible, the sensations intensely sweet, the rush of the emotion overwhelming.
He swore softly. She felt amazingly good. He nuzzled her neck, thrusting into her, and felt himself die a little from the pleasure—and the pain.
There was no way on earth for him to stop.
How was he supposed to let her go?
His hand fisted in her hair and he pulled her head back, exposing the beautiful column of her throat. The whole thing was amazing, the heat, the smell, the softness—Amber taking him again and again. It had been so long. It had been forever since he’d been inside a woman, and this was Amber. All she had to do was breathe to make him hot.
But she did more, sealing her mouth over his and sucking on his tongue and just flat-out filling his whole body with the exquisite tension that only she could seem to evoke in him.
