All I Need

by Christa Conan

  “Shh,” he said. “They’re healed, now.”

  “What about the ones on the inside?” Her agonized whisper sliced through the darkness.

  He rained kisses over her face. “Will heal, too, given time.”

  With a soft cry, Shannen pulled him to her. She ran her hands down his spine to his hips and back up again. Slowly, seductively conveying in her touch, her kiss, that everything she had to give was his. She would ask for nothing more than what he chose to give in return.

  She needn’t have worried. As if a gulf of years and life-altering events had never occurred, he sought and found every sensitive point of pleasure he’d once discovered, seemingly so long ago.

  He stroked her breast from underneath, eliciting a soft sigh from her. When his fingertips coaxed her nipple into a taut knot, just as her insides already were, she moaned his name. Saw the flash of a grin before he lowered his mouth to suckle the hardened bud, encircling it with his tongue.

  Pain so exquisitely sweet had her thrashing, reaching, grabbing. She didn’t want to be the only one lost to sensual touch and crying out for relief.

  Partially on their sides, facing each other, Shannen slipped her hand beneath the covers. Bending his knee, Rhone gave her the access she sought. At the same time, he tracked his fingers along her inner thigh. In achingly slow motion he moved upward.

  Shannen felt his heat, hot and throbbing, as ready for her as she was for him. Her ministrations multiplied the fever, the pace of his breathing.

  Rhone’s moan echoed hers, his fingers finally reaching their destination. He slipped them inside, rapidly taking her to the threshold of a special place where only muted sighs were heard, burning desire and tingling sensations felt. Urgency returned as Shannen rolled onto her back. She grabbed his shoulders, encouraging him. “I... Rhone.”

  She read acceptance, his own readiness in a glance that locked with hers. She moved her thighs to accommodate him as he took the position that belonged to no one else. Only Rhone.

  Poised above her, her insides melted as he watched for her response while he eased himself within her. She arched, wanting to drive him deeper, aching in ways she’d never forgotten, starved for his total possession.

  He was a magnificent man. And for just these precious minutes, hers once again.

  When his length filled her, he paused. She reached her arms behind him, drawing him closer, holding him as she often had.

  In unspoken communication, they began to move.

  Completely attuned to each other, Shannen found it difficult to equate the passage of time since they’d last made love.

  On a gasp, the thought fled as she felt tension coil hot and hard deep inside herself.

  Between breaths that mingled, from a distance, she heard his name. As he took her higher and higher, she realized she’d been the one who’d spoken it.

  “Rhone,” she said again.

  He drove deeper into her, hurtling her closer and closer to the edge. Determined not to topple alone, she cradled his face between her palms. She drew him down for her kiss, her tongue mating with his, demanding what she’d sworn she wouldn’t, giving twice as much.

  When she shattered, the intensity shook her to the core of her being.

  A second or two later, with a final thrust, Rhone grimaced, a moan escaping him as his own release took him down the same path that Shannen only barely returned from.

  Supporting most of his weight on his forearms that nestled beside her shoulders, he leaned his forehead against a pillow. “You’re beautiful,” he told her. “Sweet. So sweet.” His voice was muffled, raspy as he struggled to catch his breath.

  Muscles still quivering, the intensity of their union lingered. Shannen thought they’d shared intimacy before. Nothing compared. Never had emotions as equally intense as her climax overtaken her in the aftermath.

  Feelings she’d tried to contain these past couple days rushed to the surface. She’d been struggling so hard to be brave, to convince herself everything would be all right. So much so that she’d succeeded on several occasions to focus on beginning to plan Nicky’s christening.

  Tears streamed unheeded. Her body shook with them.

  Rhone immediately turned his attention to her. How, she couldn’t begin to imagine, but he seemed to understand.

  Rolling to his side, he took her with him, wrapping her in his warm embrace. She collapsed her head on his shoulder.

  “Stay with me,” she offered in the night.

  He nodded, holding her even as he drew her closer and spread the comforter over them. Grateful for the warmth from the gusty wind that spilled from the open window, she snuggled against him.

  An hour or more ticked by and they dozed. Eventually, Rhone stretched, as if he’d already had too much rest. When he climbed from the bed, the chill returned.

  Shannen sat up and slipped her arms into the heavy terry-cloth fabric of her robe.

  He slipped into a pair of blue jeans and left the top snap open. Then he paced.

  Reality began to seep back in.

  Needing action of her own, she slipped from beneath the covers and went to the window.

  “What are you doing?”

  A trace of something she had difficulty defining laced his tone. She turned back to face him.

  “Don’t.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Don’t what?”

  “Close that window.”

  The barely concealed panic made her move back toward him. Comprehension, sick understanding, pierced her. “Rhone, just what the heck happened to you in Colombia?”

  It took forever for him to answer. When he did, she closed her eyes against the horror of the single word: “Imprisonment.”

  She sank onto the bed and drew her legs up close to her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He stood near her, back pressed against the log wall, as if needing the support.

  “The cell—” he sneered “—if that’s what you want to call it, was three-quarters underground. A concrete-and-steel coffin would be a more accurate description.

  “As you might imagine, I try to avoid enclosed areas. Since taking up residence out-of-doors isn’t a plausible solution, I have to live with it. Make do the best way I can.”

  She steepled her hands, then buried her face in them.

  The lack of emotion from Rhone made the horror that much more difficult to handle.

  He continued, as if she wasn’t even there, staring at the ceiling. At nothing. “I didn’t see the sun for more than a year. I wanted to mark the days somehow, but I couldn’t even do that.” He made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Funny how the things that once mattered cease to. At one time, a steak, medium-rare with a baked potato, sounded like heaven. After God knows how long, a slab of food without bugs crawling on it and in it sounded like heaven. Prison has a way of changing your priorities.”

  She tightened her arms around upturned knees. “That wasn’t prison, Rhone, that was barbaric.”

  “You got me through it.”

  “Me?” While she’d been living with uncertainty and regret, he’d been living in a real man-made hell. Guilt, more powerful than anything he’d laid at her feet, promised to consume her. She should have been there. Done something. Anything.

  “Thoughts of you,” he continued, staring at her. “Laughing. Smiling. Teasing. I relived every minute we spent together. When I thought I’d go mad from the heat, the bugs and the muscle aches, I pretended I could smell your perfume, hear you speak.

  “And I dreamed. Me, who’d never indulged in a fantasy my entire life. I dreamed of you walking to me, a sexy smile on your lips, a feminine sway to your hip, an invitation in your expression.” He nodded. “Yeah, I made it because of you.”

  Even if he eventually forgave her her sins, she knew she never would. Couldn’t.

  She realized that the frightening minutes of night had blended with one another, making way for the new day.

  “How did you get out?”
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  “Doug.”

  She should have known. Doug would have never abandoned his friend.

  The bed sagged as Rhone sat next to her, placing an arm around her shoulder.

  “Rhone?”

  “Hmm?” he answered absently.

  Shannen drew herself tighter into a ball, as though to ward off the answer to her next question. “Did you ever cry?”

  He met her gaze, head-on. “No. I was afraid if I ever started, I’d never stop.”

  Chapter 9

  “You look like hell.”

  “Good morning to you, too.” After opening a window, Rhone leaned against the counter, rubbing thumb and middle finger over closed eyes that felt like gravel pits.

  Without asking, Doug poured a mug of coffee and slid it across the smooth tiled surface to Rhone. “Crude oil. Just the way you like it.”

  Rhone heard the smile in Doug’s voice before he saw it. Blinking, Rhone grabbed the oversize mug and drained a good portion, grumbling that at least one of them had slept.

  The double-strength dose of caffeine raced through a system that desperately needed it. As his thoughts crystallized, Rhone realized Shannen had been right about the cold. Cream-colored ceramic felt icy under his bare feet and a brisk morning breeze stirred the hairs on his chest. “Just what the devil is on your mind?” he demanded of Doug, who’d continued to watch Rhone with a half smirk.

  “You.”

  The meaning escaped Rhone.

  “You spent the night with Shannen.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  Doug raised a hand in mock surrender. “Just an observation. You didn’t show up for watch duty last night. Brian pulled a double shift to cover for you.”

  “Damn.” Rhone ran his fingers over the top of his head, absently raking his hair into something that vaguely resembled order. “I’m sorry.”

  “Tell the kid, not me. I slept like a rock until an hour ago.”

  Rhone barely slept a wink. Not a smart move, he thought, considering it might have been his only chance.

  “You obviously had better things to do,” Doug decided.

  “Yeah.” Going for a refill, Rhone drained the pot and headed for the small dinette, the cold metal of his gun resting between the waistband of his jeans and bare skin.

  Doug dumped the used filter. Replacing it, he started spooning grounds for another pot.

  Rhone stared out the window, comprehending why Shannen had come here for healing. The peace and tranquillity the Rocky Mountains offered would be hard to beat. He glanced over his shoulder. “Any news?”

  Mouth set in a grim line, Doug shook his head. “You know that would have been the first word out of my mouth.”

  “I can’t stand this much longer. Shannen sure as hell can’t.”

  “Patience has never been your forte. As I recall, Norton has been known to demonstrate even less. He’ll be in contact. My guess, sometime today.”

  Rhone rubbed his jaw, surprised by the scrape of stubble. How long had it been since he’d shaved? A day? Two? “Heaven help him when I get my hands on him. He’s going to suffer.”

  Doug opened cabinet doors until he found what he was looking for. Pans rattled as he withdrew one and set it on the stove. “Want to talk about it?”

  Rhone had known his friend too long to pretend ignorance. He knew Doug was referring to the previous night with Shannen. Following Doug’s lead, Rhone took bacon and a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. “Shannen asked about Colombia.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Just about everything.” Cracking eggs into a bowl, Rhone heard Doug opening and closing drawers. “Silverware’s in the one to the right of the stove.”

  Taking a fork, Doug turned the bacon, spiced hickory scenting the air. “That’s a change.”

  “Figured she had a right to know.”

  “About time.” Doug shoved the plate of bacon at Rhone. “Eat. Shannen and Nicholas need you to be a hundred percent.”

  His friend was right.

  Voices belonging to Shannen and Brian sounded from the living room. Rhone handed Doug the bowl of beaten eggs. “I’m taking a shower.”

  “And miss this gourmet delight?”

  “Save me some.”

  On impulse, Rhone sidestepped to block his wife’s path. As Brian started around them, Rhone spoke to the younger man without taking his gaze off Shannen. “Sorry about last night. I’m not in the habit of neglecting my share of duty.”

  Brian glanced from Rhone to Shannen, stifled a smile and kept walking toward the kitchen. “No problem. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

  “A lot of that going around.”

  Green eyes swept over him, lingering on his bare chest before settling on his face.

  A flash of their intimacy danced before his eyes. But that was yesterday. And now that dawn had streaked the sky, neither could deny the reality they’d forced away the night before.

  “Come and get it while it’s hot,” Doug called.

  “I’ll be there in a few,” Rhone told Shannen. “I was heading for the shower when you detained me.”

  She cocked a brow in acknowledgment of his teasing accusation. “News?”

  He shook his head.

  The silence said a million things.

  “Shannen? You need to eat.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  Not for a second did he believe she would.

  Ten minutes later, Rhone wiped condensation from the mirror, wrapped a towel around his waist and reached for shaving cream and a straight edge.

  Last night had been incredible. Impossible. Too many words and actions lay between them for a true truce, but last night he’d seen a part of her reasoning, hoped she’d understood his.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t change a darn thing.

  And he had a son to think of.

  With a practiced hand, he guided the razor-sharp slice of metal over cheekbones and neck. Laser-accurate thoughts returned to each detail that had been supplied by the various agencies. And what had yet to come. He’d pulled every string possible to get a copy of pertinent information from Jack Norton’s file. Not that Rhone expected to discover anything new when it came, but he wasn’t willing to leave a single stone unturned.

  Unfortunately, nothing of value from any of his other sources had emerged. Rhone had to give his opponent credit. Jimmy Norton had done a great job of setting up a few wild-goose chases.

  And the oddest thing was, he didn’t seem to be working alone. Definitely not his usual style. Maybe the snake actually had a touch of human feeling for the woman who’d participated in the ruse with him. If so, Rhone had no compunction about using her to meet his own ends.

  Carefully, Rhone swiped the razor blade a final time.

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Shannen looked up when Rhone entered. Dampness curled the ends of hair that skimmed the neckline of his shirt. Gone was the dark shadow of whiskers that had felt prickly last night. Faded jeans hugged long legs that had wrapped around hers not so many hours ago. A black T-shirt covered broad shoulders and chest from view but not from memory. For reasons known only to him, he’d opted to wear his shoulder holster instead of securing the gun in his waistband like he so often did.

  Shannen got up to get his plate. Warm from the microwave, she set it on the table. “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Please.”

  Absent was the teasing warmth she’d seen earlier. Not unlike the rest of them, Rhone’s face reflected the tension they all felt. His expression was distant, preoccupied. Once again, he was the aloof professional. She, the outsider.

  While Rhone and Doug included her in many of their planning sessions, she knew they shared only enough to make her feel involved. She’d seen too many glances pass between them when she’d asked questions, had listened to their vague answers that were supposed to appease her.

  When Brian volunteered to clean up, Shannen insisted on helping. She didn’t want to sit across from Rhone and be ignored.
If she didn’t stay busy, she would go crazy. Minutes seemed like hours as the waiting game Norton insisted they play dragged on.

  Going through the motions, Shannen loaded the dishwasher, her mind a million miles away. Rhone had a job to do, she reminded herself. She would have to be a fool, a selfish fool at that, not to realize that one mistake could cost him, Doug or Brian, their life. Looking beyond her own wants and needs, she put herself in their shoes and knew instantly that total absorption, total concentration was vital. She certainly didn’t have the guts to do what they did.

  Which only compounded her fears. She couldn’t help it. Last night had solidified it all over again. She loved Rhone. She always had, though she’d tried to deny it to protect herself. The thought of losing her husband hurt now as much as it ever had. It hurt whether he was with her or they were separated.

  She couldn’t run, couldn’t hide from fear. Had he been killed in the past two years, the pain would not have been less. If anything, it would have been greater. Especially when she considered the time they’d wasted in the interim that could have been spent together.

  “Shannen!”

  She heard the impatience in Rhone’s tone, realizing he’d been trying to get her attention. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “I want to explain this to you. Can you come over here?”

  Drying her hands, Shannen did as he asked, glancing at the electronic paraphernalia spread over the table.

  “This device will be attached to the phone,” he instructed, pointing to various wires and a box. “Do not, I repeat, do not answer the phone until we tell you. We need a person over there—” he pointed “—to start the trace. Calls can’t be monitored unless we’re in place. Questions?”

  “What if it’s a personal call?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  Before Rhone could answer, Doug inserted smoothly, “We’re not interested in eavesdropping on Shannen’s private life, are we, fellas?”

  Rhone’s glance cut to Doug, clearly stating otherwise.

  A chair scraped across the floor. “Might as well get this thing installed.”

  “Why didn’t you install it yesterday?” Shannen asked.