Shoot to Thrill

by Bruhns, Nina

  “That is Helena Middleton, Alex. She is your fiancée.”

  KICK didn’t have to open his eyes to know it was Rainie. He just knew. By her quiet, sure footsteps; by the way she lovingly adjusted the sheet over his body, her hand lingering on his chest to feel it rise and fall. The way she bent to brush a tender kiss onto his forehead with a sigh, the soft tickle of her silky blond hair on his cheek. The uniquely compelling scent of her filling every one of his senses.

  Rainie. The woman he loved.

  Yes, loved. Loved with every cell of his body and every breath of his soul.

  Being that close to death had taught Kick one big, important lesson about life.

  Live for today. Grab love with both hands and hang on as long as you possibly can. Trust that it’s real.

  Don’t punish yourself for past actions. Don’t anesthetize your heart because of past hurts. And don’t assume others can’t love you just because you find it hard to love yourself. Forgive. Others, but most of all, yourself. Move on.

  He wanted a normal life. But what was normal? For anyone? Fuck that. Life was what you made of it. Today. The past was just that. Over and done. Gone forever. What he wanted was a future.

  With Rainie.

  Damn it, he needed her in his todays and tomorrows. Needed her badly. In every one of them. Every minute of every one of them. And he wasn’t going to deny himself the opportunity to have her there just because he was too big of a coward to ask her.

  Not that he had to. She’d already told him how she felt about him.

  I love you. She’d said it so sweetly. So honestly. Twice.

  She trusted. He was the one who hadn’t been able to say it back. Or do anything other than make lame excuses.

  Idiot.

  But he planned to remedy that mistake. For the rest of his life. For every today he was given with her. For every minute of every one of them.

  I love you.

  He needed to say it back.

  He opened his eyes. “God, Rainie, I—”

  She gasped in shock. “You’re awake! Finally! Oh, thank God.” She plopped on the bed and hugged him fiercely. Then gave him a long kiss . . . ending with her hand on his forehead. Ever the nurturing caretaker. “How are you feeling? Oh, you’re hot!”

  “So I’ve been told,” he said with a wink. He felt like crap, feverish, with the mother of all headaches, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. There were more important things to talk about. He held her face in his hands and kissed her back. “You look pretty hot yourself.”

  She rolled her eyes, but the warm glow in them didn’t diminish, and her smile just grew. “In a coma for a week, almost dead, but some things never change.”

  He pulled her close and held her tight. Never wanted to let her go. “I can’t believe we made it back alive. No thanks to me.”

  “You are so wrong. You taught me so much. I wouldn’t have lasted a day over there without you.”

  He drew back. Stroked her face. “But how on earth did you get us out of the Sudan? With the three of us in that condition?” Not that anything about this woman would surprise him any longer. Her bravery and resourcefulness were unending.

  “It wasn’t me. STORM sent a helicopter.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Bridger hadn’t mentioned that. “But you must have radioed for help. How? Did the camel come back with our packs?”

  She got an impish look. “Not exactly. I’d called in for the air strike earlier, like we were supposed to, but when they learned you’d been captured and I was going to try and rescue you and Alex, they sent backup.”

  “Across the border? That was risky.”

  “Thank goodness,” she said, “because without immediate medical intervention, most likely neither you, Alex, nor Nathan would have made it.”

  A sobering thought.

  STORM really did take care of their operatives. What a contrast from Zero Unit.

  He pulled her down to lie on the bed next to him, tugging her close. He wanted to feel her warm breath on his skin, feel the flutter of her heart against his chest. “Were you okay? With the plane ride and everything?”

  She smiled up at him. “Other than the part where you were dying?”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Yeah, other than that.”

  “Actually, I enjoyed it. Seeing all those clouds below was unreal. And the little fields and houses and cars. An amazing sight.”

  He chuckled. “They just offered me a job, you know.” When she gave him a puzzled look, he added, “STORM Corps.”

  For a nanosecond her face froze. Then her smile was back. “Yeah? Wow. That’s . . . Are you going to take it?”

  He cupped his hand around her cheek. “Hell, we did our part. Let someone else have a turn at saving the world. Besides, there are one or two things I’d much rather do.”

  Her gaze warmed. “Yeah? Like what?”

  It was obvious what she was thinking. But she was wrong. Well. Okay, she was right, but that wasn’t what he meant. Not this time.

  He reached over for the silver envelope Bridger had left on the table and handed it to her. Rainie was written on the front of it.

  “This, for starters.”

  She tilted her head, confused.

  “Compliments of STORM.” He hadn’t peeked inside, but he had a pretty good idea what it contained. Which would play into his plans perfectly. “Open it.”

  She ripped open the flap curiously, and pulled out a key on an elaborate chain. The tag said Penthouse. She hesitated. “Okaaay.”

  Kick smiled. He’d heard stories about STORM Command’s generosity to its operators and consultants. Huge bonuses. Lavish digs, safe houses, and vacation paradises—all with flawless security, like here at Haven Oaks. If STORM had arranged for the penthouse, an entire army wouldn’t be able to get to them. And it would be a whole lot more private than a hospital room for what he had in mind.

  “Their way of saying thank you for salvaging a disastrous mission,” he explained. He winked. “But I figure they’ll let me go along, too.”

  She made a face, then pulled out the only other thing in the envelope—a calling card. Engraved on it was the address of a venerable Park Avenue hotel.

  She gasped softly. “The hotel where we met! But . . . how did they know?”

  “Zero Unit aren’t the only ones good at tracking people down.”

  He tugged her close for a lingering kiss. “How long do you think before I’m discharged?” he asked, his voice husky with a sudden voracious need for her. And a whole lot more.

  “Not tonight, so don’t get your hopes up, mister.”

  He groaned softly. “Shame to waste that penthouse . . .”

  “It’ll wait.” She frowned down at the card. “I hope.”

  “Mmm. Probably just as well.” He nuzzled her neck. “You’ll probably need a few days to arrange things, anyway.”

  She snuggled against his chest. “Not a problem. I doubt I’ll have to pack much.” Her lips teased his neck.

  “Why pack at all?” he suggested as she drew her moist tongue erotically over his Adam’s apple.

  She made a sexy noise in her throat. “You are so bad.”

  “That’s why you love me, baby.”

  She glanced up and the look of loving tenderness in her eyes took his breath away. “Yeah. I do,” she murmured sweetly.

  And he’d never get tired of hearing it. “Mmm. Let’s not forget the license,” he murmured back.

  “Can’t. I don’t drive. Remember?” She chuckled softly. “Though, I s’pose I could get one now.”

  “Different kind of license,” he corrected, smiling down at her.

  “Oh? For what?”

  “The kind that will make an honest man of me. I was hoping this could be . . . kind of like”—he took a deep breath and crossed his fingers she wouldn’t run screaming from the room—“our honeymoon.”

  She stared up at him in stunned disbelief.

  Oh, hell. “Unless you didn’t mean w
hat you said about loving me . . .”

  “No. I mean yes! Of course I do. But . . . I thought you weren’t interested in anything long-term, relationship-wise . . . ?”

  “A guy can change his mind, can’t he?” He slid his fingers into her hair, brushed a thumb over her cheekbone. “I love you, sweetheart. So very much.”

  She looked up at him, her gorgeous green eyes filled with tears of joyful surprise. And pooled with undisguised hope. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He drew in a deep, cleansing breath, filling his soul with the scent of her, the nearness of her. “You are all I live for, Rainie. All I’ll ever want. I want to be with you, now and always.”

  “Really?” she whispered.

  He swallowed. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. But it felt so right. So incredibly right. “Marry me, Rainie. Make me the happiest man in the world. I know I’m probably the worst risk on the planet, and you could do so much better, but . . .”

  Her eyes softened and glowed with joy. “I disagree. And I’ll take that risk, if only you’ll let me prove you wrong.”

  “Let you? I’ll get down on my knees and beg if I have to. I love you with all my heart, Rainie. Please say you’ll marry me. Or at least move in together or—”

  “Yes,” she breathed, pressing her lips to his. “Oh, yes. To all of the above.”

  He sent up a prayer of profound thanks. At long last, he’d found what he’d been shooting for all his life. To find his own true love, someone to cherish and be with. His own place in the world.

  And the thrilling promise of a future overflowing with warmth and happiness.

  EPILOGUE

  Haven Oaks Sanatorium, NY

  Two weeks later

  “THANK you so much for doing this,” Rainie said to Alex’s fiancée, Helena.

  She, Helena, and Alex and Helena’s FBI friend, Rebel, were standing outside Alex’s room at Haven Oaks, where Rainie was about to become Mrs. Kyle Jackson. She and Kick had decided to hold the small wedding ceremony here because the doctors still wouldn’t let the best man out of bed.

  “Oh, Rainie, please. It’s an honor! Truly.” Helena beamed. “It’ll give me practice for when Alex and I get married!” She gave her an air-kiss on the cheek and disappeared into the room.

  Rainie wished she could beam, too. This should be the happiest, most amazing day of her life. And it would be, if only her best friend were here. It should be Gina standing at her side, holding the bouquet of pink roses and orange blossoms that Kick had bought for her, and dabbing tears and sharing hugs afterward, not a virtual stranger.

  But Gina had disappeared.

  Rebel squeezed Rainie’s hand. “Don’t worry, the FBI will find your friend,” she said. “It’s what we do.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, blinking back a wellspring of emotion. The woman had no idea what was involved. Gina’d told neighbors she was visiting relatives, but Rainie had called every one of them, and no one knew where she was. She was terrified that by originally calling Gina for help while talking with Jason Forsythe, she’d somehow put her friend in danger. She couldn’t imagine what kind, but look what had happened to Rainie when she just flirted with the wrong man.

  Yes, okay, she was about to marry that man . . . but still. The thought that Gina could be in some kind of awful trouble because of her filled Rainie with a sick, gnawing fear.

  Where was she?

  “Are you sure you don’t want to postpone the wedding?” Rebel asked sympathetically. “I’m sure Kick would wait for you no matter how long it took.”

  Rebel was sweet, pretty, and a bit more perceptive than her friend Helena. For a split second, Rainie wondered about Alex’s choice of fiancée.

  She took a deep breath. “I know he would. Believe me, I’ve wrestled with the decision all week. But Kick may be leaving on an assignment any day now, and we don’t want to chance waiting.”

  Kick had insisted he didn’t want to take the job with STORM, but Rainie knew better. Abu Bakr might be dead and his attacks on the Western embassies prevented—this time. But his organization was still out there, planning its next reign of terror with the horrible virus that had nearly killed Kick. She knew he would never forgive himself if even a single person died because he’d decided to take the easy way out, letting others finish the job he’d started. Not to mention the fact that he’d have to stay “dead” until the threat from al Sayika was neutralized for good.

  Rainie wanted him alive . . . in every possible way.

  So she had insisted right back. And they’d both accepted the jobs with STORM—effective as soon as they returned from their penthouse honeymoon.

  Honeymoon . . .

  Just the sound of it brought a smile to her face, despite everything. The thought of finally having Kick all to herself was almost as enticing as the thought of being Mrs. Kyle Jackson. Almost. It had been a very long two weeks, with barely a minute alone together.

  “Okay, then,” Rebel said encouragingly. “Ready?”

  “Ready.” Rainie straightened her shoulders, raised her bouquet, and turned to Alex’s door, at last allowing joy and excitement to flow through her. “I can’t believe I’m getting married.”

  “You look stunning,” Rebel said, and smiled as she opened the door for her. “Good luck.”

  Rainie stepped over the threshold to a collective sigh from the small crush of friends and staff who’d gathered in the room for the wedding. As soon as she saw the dazzled look of love in Kick’s eyes, everything else flew from her mind.

  Oh, my God. She was really doing this. Marrying the most dangerous man she’d ever met in her life—no, make that the most amazing man she’d ever met in her life. The most wounded and needful. But also the most honorable and brave, by light-years. Quite simply the most man she’d ever met.

  And he was all hers. At least he would be, after he said, “I do.”

  She couldn’t wait.

  Kick took her hands in his and the pastor started saying the traditional words, but she didn’t hear a thing save the beating of her heart, certain she would wake up any second and find this was all just an incredible dream. How could her ordinary life have changed so drastically in three short weeks? How could she have changed so drastically?

  Finally, the pastor got her attention. “Do you, Lorraine Emily Martin, take this man, Kyle Spencer Jackson, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “I do,” she managed to say past the sweet clot of emotion rising in her throat.

  Looking into the eyes of the man she loved to distraction, joy filled her heart to the very brim. They would be so happy together. Sure, there would be bumps, but she couldn’t imagine a better person to face them with. They’d already been through so much together. Their relationship had been forged in danger and shaped by passion and respect.

  It was funny . . . for most of her life, she’d ached for someone like Kick to keep her safe and protect her from all the evil in the world. At last, she’d finally found him—but she was no longer terrified, no longer felt the need to be protected—and all because of what he’d taught her . . . about herself. Now, instead, she wanted to protect him. From the cruelty he’d hinted at in his childhood, from the violence he’d witnessed in the world, from the emptiness and desolation that had marred his life before they met. She wanted to shower him with love and warmth and affection, so he would never again feel alone or unloved.

  Because, oh, how she loved him!

  “Do you, Kyle Spencer Jackson, take this woman, Lorraine Emily Martin, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do.”

  There. Finally!

  He was all hers.

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” he murmured, the grittiness of his voice betraying the emotion in his throat, too.

  The simple gold band he slipped on her finger was the most beautiful thing Rainie had ever seen. It felt so right. Meant so much.

  She slipped her ring on his finger, and breathlessly recited the words that would
bind her to him for all time. Then looked up into his beautiful, passion-filled eyes.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” she whispered back.

  And then the smiling minister said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  And finally, finally, Kick kissed her.

  A perfect kiss, filled with possibilities and promises for the years ahead.

  And everyone cheered.

  Turn the page for a preview of the next romance

  from Nina Bruhns

  IF LOOKS COULD CHILL

  Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!

  The Dumani Embassy, Istanbul Turkey

  Five years ago

  “SHE seems young.”

  Marc Lafayette flicked a glance over at fellow STORM operator Bobby Lee Quinn, who was lounging against a pillar in an elegantly tailored tuxedo, sipping a martini, appearing for all the world like he attended embassy parties every day of his life.

  Marc knew better. Quinn was a Bama redneck with gun grease under his fingernails from all the ground ops he’d led in the past six or seven years working for STORM Corps. Still, for some obscure reason women loved him.

  “Too young for you, boug,” Marc warned. For all the good that would do. If it wore a skirt, Quinn was all over it. He returned his gaze to the newest CIA officer to hit Istanbul this summer. Darcy Zimmerman. Fresh as spring rain, and pretty as a bayou orchid in a strapless blue gown that had their Arab hosts either frowning or drooling. Her cover was assistant to the cultural attaché at the US embassy. But already she was attracting too much attention for a spook.

  He gave the blond ingénue a week in this cauldron of politics, jealousy, and backstabbing. Tops.

  “Wonder if she’s even legal,” Quinn mused.

  Dieu. Less than a week, if Quinn got his hands on her. “Why? You plannin’ some kind of mischief, mon ami?”

  “You got a problem with that, friend?”

  Yeah. He did. The girl looked fresh out of college, and no way was she ready to handle whatever Quinn had in mind to dish her way. But . . .