Damian (The Caine Brothers #3)

by Margaret Madigan

  Not if she had anything to say about it, and as half of the pair of them, she did.

  “Us,” she said stepping up into his personal space. “We are the topic.”

  Raising up onto her tiptoes, she placed her hands on his shoulders and reached to kiss him. He responded with a peck on her lips.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said. She took him by the hand and dragged him into the bedroom. “Sit,” she said, pointing at the bed.

  “Elena…”

  “No. You’ve been running from me since we left Colombia. No more running.”

  His expression closed into a scowl, but he sat on the end of the bed. She stood in front of him and untied the top of her bikini, tossing it to the floor in a wet splat. She followed it with the bottoms, until she stood naked in front of him, one hip cocked to the side and her hands planted on her hips.

  At first, his brows went up in surprise, then he looked down at his hands in his lap. She glanced at his hands, too, but the beginning of a bulge in his swim trunks didn’t escape her attention. Good. At least there was still a little life left in him.

  “Damian, look at me.”

  “Put your clothes back on and I will.”

  “Do you not find me attractive anymore?”

  His gaze shot up to meet hers. She thought she caught him trying not to cringe when he looked at her.

  “Of course I do.”

  “But you can’t look at this,” she pointed to her bruised cheekbone. “Without feeling like you failed me.”

  He glanced down at his lap again. Bingo.

  She glared at him for a minute, but he didn’t move. How was she supposed to get through to him? She could force herself on him. They’d probably have pretty good sex, but in the end it wouldn’t accomplish anything. It had to be his idea.

  “Fine,” she said. “You win. Go ahead and feel sorry for yourself. Blame yourself for whatever it is you’re blaming yourself for. But leave me the hell out of it.”

  She marched to the bathroom and snatched a robe, then walked past him to the kitchen. Throwing open the refrigerator door made the few glass bottles jangle against each other. She snagged a bottle of beer and slammed the fridge closed, then threw the cap into the sink where it clanked around before coming to rest.

  Tipping the bottle to her lips, she guzzled half of it before turning and resting her ass against the counter only to find Damian leaning in the bedroom doorway. His arms crossed over his broad chest, and the scowl still furrowed his brow.

  “What?” she barked.

  “Reverse psychology won’t work on me.”

  “Fuck you, Damian. I’m not using any psychology on you. I just want you to talk to me.”

  “There’s nothing to say. I let you down. I let them capture you, and beat the shit out of you, and…”

  He couldn’t finish, just looked down at the floor, kicking at some imaginary thing.

  “Here’s the way I see it, and since it happened to me, I think my version wins.” She took another long pull on the beer. “The SEALs had a plan. It was a good plan, but like any plan, there are always variables you can’t account for, so the plan went south and didn’t work the way it was supposed to. You and I worked together and got out of there. You gave me a lovely, if muddy, orgasm. I still owe you for that, by the way.”

  A tiny twitch flickered at the corner of his mouth. She took that as a good sign, and continued.

  “After that, we discovered that we overestimated the guerillas’ gullibility. Lesson learned there. But what happened to me with Camacho was not your fault. If you’d come out of the river and charged the vehicles while they were hauling me away, you’d be dead and I’d still be at their warehouse a victim of a lot of unpleasantness.”

  He grunted and tensed, likely thinking about all the ugly rapey things they would have done to her. She forged ahead.

  “But none of that happened exactly because you didn’t fail. You. Saved. Me.” She enunciated each word slowly and clearly for him. “I’m an agent for the CIA, Damian. I’m trained to fight, trained to assess risk, trained to withstand torture. Did I want to? Hell no. But I did have a plan.”

  ***

  Damian brought his gaze up and glared at her. The swelling on her face had gone down some, but the bruises were still livid. He hated seeing her that way. It only reminded him he hadn’t got to her in time.

  “Your plan was to get yourself killed.”

  “Would you rather I stayed alive for whatever Camacho had planned for me? I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t really up for that.”

  He stalked away from the door and up into her face. “What if I’d got there right after he choked you to death?”

  Surprise flickered in her eyes, as if that hadn’t occurred to her. “I thought you were dead.”

  “It takes a lot more than a bullet to kill me.”

  She bit her lip. As if he’d said something funny. He glared harder at her.

  “Well, I know that now. But I didn’t then.” Her expression softened as she continued. “I’m sure in all your self-flagellation it never occurred to you that maybe I felt guilty about that?”

  He scoffed at her. “Why? I was doing my job.”

  “Because we were in it together. Look, the point is…”

  “No, the point is this,” he interrupted her, poking her in the chest as an echo of her earlier gesture. “I almost lost you. I almost didn’t get there in time, and that’s my fault. It’s my fault you got captured at all because I let myself fall in love…”

  He shut his mouth with a snap and staggered back a couple of steps. He hadn’t meant to say that. Goddammit, she had him so fucking confused.

  A grin started at the corners of her mouth, then spread until he thought it might burst her face. “You fell in love with me?”

  “That’s not the point,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

  “It is the point, exactly. You think caring about someone clouds your judgment, makes it difficult to do your job—in this case saving me. But if you have a family at home, you think you won’t be able to give yourself completely to a mission because you don’t want to leave your family without you.”

  All he could manage was a grunt of acknowledgement. She might be able to express the sentiment in words, but he doubted she understood it in principle.

  “Damian, you are so dense.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Dense. You are dense. Okay, first, I fell in love with you, too, so that deal is sealed. Secondly, I’m a CIA agent. Do you think I don’t live in the same world you do? I may not wear a uniform and carry weapons and run into the middle of combat missions, but my life is in danger every time I go under cover. Having a family could compromise me, too.”

  That hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d always figured his job was the most dangerous on the planet, but living undercover, alone, with the constant threat of discovery, without a team bristling with weapons to cover your ass might be pretty close to as dangerous as his job.

  “Okay, fine. So we walk away and go back to our lives. That way, we don’t put each other in danger.”

  She cocked her head and scrunched her brows together as if he’d spoken a foreign language and she didn’t understand it. He’d thought he’d been pretty clear.

  “I have a counter-proposal. How about we explore a relationship. Get to know each other some.”

  “How are we supposed to make a relationship work? What if we get in so deep we can’t get out?”

  “You mean, if we fall in love so much we want to get married?”

  He winced at the ‘M’ word. He’d assumed he’d never marry, and he’d been okay with that. “Okay, if you want to put it that way.”

  She snorted. “Then we get married. I’m going out on a limb here in guessing you don’t plan to give up your career any time soon, and I don’t plan to give up mine, either. So any relationship between us will definitely be non-traditional. That works for me, if it works for y
ou.”

  “Don’t you want kids and a home and stuff?”

  “Do you?”

  “No, but you’re a woman. Women want that stuff.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Good grief, Damian. Not all women are the same. I don’t want kids, as it turns out. But I do want you. We can figure out the rest.”

  Apparently done with the conversation, she put her bottle on the counter and stepped up to him, reaching a hand around his neck and dragging him down for a kiss.

  He could work with that. The last few days had been torture having her so close, but believing he didn’t deserve to touch her. He’d beat himself up over not saving her soon enough. He couldn’t get the image of that asshole’s dick in her face out of his mind. But if it didn’t haunt her the same way, why should it haunt him? Maybe she was right. He may not have got there faster, but it could have been worse.

  Elena was unlike any woman he’d ever known—smart, tough as any soldier he’d ever met, gorgeous, and all his. She loved him. She wanted him. Maybe he could make room in his life for a partner. They might not come home to each other every night, but did that matter? Was that what made a marriage?

  The “M” word still freaked him out. But at least he’d let it creep into his vocabulary. That was a start.

  For now, he needed Elena. He needed to feel her skin on his, her breath mingled with his, her heart beating in time with his. She was in his blood and he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her. When he’d suggested walking away, the idea had been like a blow to the gut. His old life seemed like a lonely, pathetic, empty hull. How could he go back to that now that he had her?

  He wouldn’t.

  With a deep, growl, satisfied that things were settled, he reached for her, digging his fingers into her hair and cupping her face between his hands. “You need to lose that robe,” he said.

  He dropped kisses on her forehead, her cheeks—even the bruises—and her gorgeous, delicious lips. The little plaintive sounds she made when she opened her mouth to him had his cock inflating in record time. God, he loved those sounds.

  Her robe dropped to the floor in a whisper of terry cloth and her fingers moved to his trunks, fumbling with the wet fabric and his growing erection. Finally she gave up and huffed at him.

  “You do it,” she said, her voice halfway between a command and a plea.

  Shoving the trunks off and kicking them away took less than a second. He went back to her, but she stopped him. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and caressed it in a long, slow stroke. He held onto the counter to keep his balance while his eyes closed and his head dropped back. “Jesus, Elena. You’re killing me.”

  “Mm-hmm.” The syllables came out in a low, sultry voice.

  Then he felt something warm and wet circle his cock. His eyes popped open and he looked down to find her on her knees with the tip of him in her mouth. He panicked for a split-second, not wanting to subject her to the same thing she faced in that warehouse.

  He grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her to her feet. “Elena, you don’t have to…”

  She took her mouth off him and shot him a quizzical look. “What’s the matter?”

  “I just don’t want you to have to…” he couldn’t finish the thought, so let it drift incomplete in the air.

  Her brows shot up when she realized what he meant. “You think there’s any way in the world that piece of filth would be in my mind when I take you in my mouth? No. Not even close. You want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking you’re so ridiculously gorgeous and you’re all mine. I want to taste every bit of you. Your body is my playground now, and I want you to remember my touch on every inch of you, so why not start here?”

  Who was he to deny her? There was plenty of him for her to explore. Let her have her fun. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

  He braced his feet wide because if she was going suck him off, he didn’t want to embarrass himself with noodle legs. When she took a firm grip on him at the base and took him in her mouth, he just about collapsed it felt so damn good. Hot and wet was heaven enough, but when she sucked, and squeezed with her hand at the same time, it pulled a groan from somewhere deep inside.

  When she slid her lips further down his length, he felt his tip slip into her throat and held himself as still as possible. He didn’t want to buck his hips and choke her, but holy crap it felt good. Then she grazed her teeth along the length of him as she pulled back and it shot electricity to his balls.

  As much as he wanted to give her what she wanted and let her finish him, he wanted to come inside her—as deeply connected to her as two people could be.

  Again, he reached down and took her by the shoulders and pulled her up. “My turn,” he said.

  Grabbing her by the waist he hitched her ass up onto the counter. Her claim on him went both ways. He looked forward to playing with her body, too. Her chestnut hair tumbled around her shoulders in a still-damp-from-the-pool mass, and her pupils dark with desire almost eclipsed the blue corneas.

  Her nipples had puckered and pebbled and begged to be sucked and nibbled, but by damn he didn’t think he could hold back long enough. Instead he caught hold of her legs and scooted her until her ass cheeks hung at the edge of the counter, then opened her thighs wide enough to step into that glorious space between them.

  She placed her palms on the counter behind her and threw her head back, offering the whole of herself to him.

  Dear God, how could he say no to that? Not that he was inclined to, but…

  “You’re taking too long, hotshot,” she said, wrapping her legs around his back and pulling her to him until the tip of his cock rested in the warmth of her opening.

  “Hey, you can’t rush these things.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m an expert, remember? I know what I’m doing.”

  “Then do it already.” She looked him right in the eyes, her gaze concentrated desire. “I need you in me. Now.”

  He didn’t need any more invitation than that, so he drove himself in to the hilt in one sure stroke, drawing a long, satisfied moan from her lips.

  “Yes. That’s it,” she said.

  He chuckled. “Glad to be of service.”

  Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her close and started a slow rhythm, grinding his hips into her pelvis every time he filled her. He needed to brand her as his as much as she wanted to make him hers.

  He thrust himself into her—pouring his hopes, his fears, his desires, his love—into each and every one, faster, harder, more insistent, making her his, making them one. Her body responded, pulling him tighter, her yearning sounds seeking some mutual place of communion

  When her orgasm hit, it gripped him tight and triggered his own. He thrust hard and deep and stayed there, riding the rippling waves as her muscles stroked him from the inside.

  As they spiraled back down and became two people again, instead of one, she wrapped herself around him, a soft, warm balm for his soul. He disengaged himself from her, gathered her into his arms, and carried her into the bedroom.

  They climbed into bed and for the first time since they’d returned from Colombia snuggled into each other’s arms. She fit perfectly against his side, forcing him to admit that he was hopelessly lost to her.

  She heaved a deep, satisfied sigh and said in a sleepy voice, “who needs fireworks when we can make our own?”

  EPILOGUE

  One Year Later

  Damian couldn’t keep his eyes off his wife. Or believe that he should call anyone by that word. She wore a wedding dress with a white lace top and yellow chiffon skirt, and half a garden of flowers in her hair. Easily the most gorgeous woman there, he still couldn’t believe she was all his.

  They’d spent a year figuring out how to make a relationship work until it had become obvious to both of them they’d never be able to live without each other, so they planned a Fourth of July wedding, and what better place for it than the Mitchell estate?

&nbs
p; Despite the heat, the place crawled with people. A wedding with “just family” between the two of them meant a huge crowd.

  Damian had taken a moment for himself on the deck to survey the party. It had been going on for a while now with lots of booze and music—Jaxon had found a great local band. They’d even done karaoke with some really bad renditions of all the typical hits. He’d discovered his fellow SEALs should never go near microphones again.

  Speaking of which, as he surveyed the crowd he didn’t see any Navy dress uniforms. Even in a crowd this size, six men in uniform would stand out. He hoped they weren’t off somewhere planning some crazy shit.

  He watched Elena laugh at something one of the other women had said, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so content. It kind of freaked him out. He needed his edge for work. But he had confidence both he and Elena knew how to do their jobs—she assured him they were sufficiently expert—and that the focus would be there when he needed it, and afterward they would come home to each other. He still worried about the day one or the other of them didn’t come home from a mission, but being in love meant it didn’t matter if they were married or not, they’d still face the same loss. So he went with it. Better to have all they days they could than none at all.

  Today, though, he’d allow himself to bask in pure, unadulterated happiness.

  “One more bites the dust,” Hunter said, climbing the stairs and presenting him with a beribboned bottle of scotch. “My wedding gift to you.”

  It seemed inevitable his brothers would eventually find him and give him shit. He grinned like an idiot. He didn’t care.

  Xander, Jaxon, Colton, and Bishop followed Hunter, all carrying glasses like they expected to share.

  Colton held out his glass, waiting.

  “Fuck off, man. This is mine,” Damian said. The hurt look on Colton’s face made him laugh. “Okay, fine. If you’re going to be a baby about it.”