by Nina Bruhns
Maybe he loved her.
But when she opened the door, her father stood on the other side. Her heart tripped. Was there another threat?
“Dad, is something wrong? I thought you would have left town by now.”
“I couldn’t leave without seeing you again, honey.”
Honey? When had her father gotten so sappy?
“Then come in.” She waved him inside, but he stayed in the foyer.
“After all that has happened, you need some rest. Some fun.”
Willow frowned. Did he want her to go back with him? That so did not sound like a vacation.
“Dad—”
“Don’t argue.” He removed an envelope from his pocket. “I wish I could accompany you, but I can’t. But here’s a round trip ticket for a week’s vacation. I’ve booked the flight and hotel and all the expenses will go on my card.”
Willow stared at the envelope, surprised at her father’s gesture. Or had Max told him what she’d resorted to doing to pay her bills?
No…he wouldn’t be that devious.
Her father must have seen her crying over Max and realized she’d fallen hard for the man.
His gruff smile nearly brought her to tears again. But she hugged him, accepted the envelope and opened it as he left.
The ticket was to Florida—a week of sunbathing, nightclubs and single men.
Just the ticket she needed to forget Max.
One Night to Kill: Chapter Seventeen
Willow was such a klutz. Her suitcase zipper was broken on one end, so she couldn’t quite zip the bag the entire way closed, and as she exited the taxi to the hotel, half of her underwear spilled from the bottom.
Interested male eyes perked up, but she shrugged it off, stuffed them back inside and half skipped, half ran inside.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed the beach until the plane landed. Too bad Lacy hadn’t been able to come with her, but at least she was taking care of Teensy.
In fact, Lacy said she needed some loving from the cat herself because she’d broken it off with Anton.
Apparently after she and Max left the bar, Anton had sprung his surprise on her --- he’d arranged a threesome with Benny.
Neither she nor Lacy she had seen that coming.
She paused and drank in the fresh salt air. The resort had everything she’d need to have a good time. A swim-up bar, pools, the beach, great dining. The club also boasted golfing which hopefully drew some eligible single men.
Max’s face materialized, and she sighed. None of them could be as attractive at him. And she’d bet her bikini that not a one of them would take a bullet for her.
She checked in at the desk, rolling her eyes at the young bellboy who flirted outrageously with her. He was way too young for her, scrawny, his lips were too thin, his hands -- girl hands.
And he wasn’t Max.
As soon as he shut the door to her room, she unpacked, donned her skimpiest string bikini and cover-up, then grabbed a beach bag with sunscreen, magazines, and a towel and headed downstairs to the pool.
Phase one of forgetting Max had begun.
Still as she settled on the chair, she couldn’t help but remember how it felt to have his hands on her, and she wished he’d suddenly materialize and rub suntan lotion all over her body.
* * *
Max tossed down the rest of his beer in disgust. Dammit, he’d thought south Florida had endless beach babes, booze and parties, but he’d yet to see one female as hot as Willow.
Then he saw her.
A gorgeous woman in a string bikini with boobs spilling over and legs to die for stretching in a lounge chair, although the big floppy hat disguised her face. His cock instantly hardened.
Finally he was reacting to a woman. Maybe there was hope he’d get over Willow one day.
Even if this woman did remind him of her.
But Willow was in Atlanta and had no idea where he was. She didn’t care either. If she had, she would have visited him while he was laid up.
Speaking of laid—that might just be what the doctor ordered to cure him of wanting Willow.
He ordered another beer, then sucked in a deep breath. With his injuries still healing, he’d avoided the sun, and kept his shirt on, but an umbrella covered the empty chair beside the woman.
A half dozen other men were drooling over her, so he figured he’d better make his move. Still, he hesitated.
He felt as if he was cheating on Willow.
Which was ridiculous. They had shared a hot night in bed, but neither had made commitments.
Because she didn’t want a commitment.
Emboldened by the need to erase her from his mind, he approached the woman. She squirted some lotion on her arm and began to rub it in. He was just about to offer his services when a dark-haired, tall guy who looked as if he’d stepped out of a GQ magazine slid into the lounge chair beside her.
“Need some help?” the man murmured.
Max tensed, but started to back away when the woman flipped up the brim of the hat, and he saw her face.
Dammit to hell. It was Willow.
Her gaze met his, and a stunned expression flashed on her face. “Max?”
“No, my name is Aiden,” the man said, drawing Willow’s gaze to the man in the chair. No respectable man with a real job could possibly have a tan like that. Real men earned theirs by hard work out in the sun.
This guy probably used a tanning salon.
Max would never trust a man who went to a tanning salon.
A quick glance at his nails confirmed Max’s opinion. The man sported a manicure. And a pedicure. And his eyebrows were…waxed.
“Uh…Aiden?”
“Yes, I’d be glad to rub that sunscreen in,” he murmured with a smile that showcased teeth so white they nearly blinded Max. “We wouldn’t want a beautiful woman like you to burn.”
Max saw red as the guy reached for the sunscreen.
Without even thinking about what he was doing or Willow’s reaction, Max snatched it. “Thanks, Aiden. But I have the job covered.”
Willow tilted her head toward him, lifting her sunglasses so he could see those incredible eyes. “You do?”
“Yes, I do,” Max said, his voice practically a growl.
Aiden threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, didn’t realize you were a couple.”
“We’re not,” Willow said.
“We are,” Max said at the same time.
Willow’s lips tightened into a narrow line, and Aiden extricated himself, leaving the chair open. “I’ll let you two work it out.” He hurried off to pounce on a blonde wearing a thong strolling up to the bar.
“What are you doing here?” Willow asked.
Max dropped into the chair. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
She tugged at her bikini as if she wanted to cover her boobs which were falling out. Which was ridiculous since he’d already seen them in all of their splendid glory. And he’d touched and tasted every inch of the damn woman.
Willow lifted her martini glass to her lips and took a sip. “My father thought I needed a vacation.”
Max nearly choked on his beer. “Your father sent you here?”
She nodded. “What’s wrong with that? He knows I love the beach.”
A grin tugged at Max’s mouth. Maybe the general wasn’t so angry at him after all. Maybe it was his way of really thanking him.
“Because the general sent me here. Bought and handed me my ticket when I left the hospital.”
Willow gaped at him. “He did?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Mmm.” Willow concentrated on her drink for a moment, looking as perplexed as he was.
Max watched her, mesmerized and confused. Had her father given his stamp of approval by arranging for them to meet at this resort?
Now that would be a switch.
“You think my father planned this?” she finally said.
Max shrugged. “He reserved my hote
l.”
Willow rose from the chair, her body like a goddess, all slick with sunscreen, all voluptuous and sensual, all begging for his touch.
“He reserved mine, too.” A sultry smile tilted her lips. Then she glanced at his T-shirt and must have remembered that he’d been shot. “How do you feel, Max? Are you in pain?”
“I’ve been pretty miserable,” he said honestly.
Worry replaced her teasing smile. “Do you need a doctor?”
He shook his head and reached for her. “No, Willow. What I need is you.”
A heartbeat passed while his words sank in, then he yanked her up against him, nearly toppling his chair over as she settled beside him. “One night with you wasn’t near enough. I want a lifetime.”
Willow looped her arms around his neck. “But—”
“I’ll leave the military when this tour is up. In fact, I can probably get a medical discharge—”
“No,” Willow said softly. “I mean if you want to leave, that’s up to you. But I understand your dedication and that you like Special Forces. I can handle it, Max.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “What I can’t handle is being without you. Not knowing where you are, if you’re safe.”
Fear tinged her voice. He knew her worries were very real.
“But I’ll worry about you even more if we don’t have contact,” she murmured.
“Willow…” his voice cracked. “I never thought I’d love anyone like I do you.”
Willow bit down on her lip. “And I never thought I’d say this—but I’d rather have one more night with you than a lifetime with someone else.”
Max’s throat closed, and he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
“There is one more thing we have to talk about,” Max said as he ended the kiss.
“If it’s about the phone business, I quit.”
Max made a pouting face. “Good, I don’t want you talking like that to anyone else. But you can call me anytime.”
Willow threw her head back and laughed.
“There’s something else.”
“You have a lot of rules,” Willow said, teasing.
Max stroked her hair from her face. “Last one, I promise. It’s about Teensy.”
Willow ran her finger down his chest. “Don’t worry. You get first dibs on the bed. Teensy has moved to the chair in the den.”
Max grinned and kissed her again. When they finally pulled away, perspiration beaded his skin. And it had nothing to do with the sun.
“Come on,” Willow said as she took his hand. “I’m hot.”
He laughed. “Me, too.” He was hot for her, and he always would be.
They rushed upstairs to her room, and made love with the windows open and the waves crashing against the shore. Of course with his injuries, Willow had to climb on top and be careful of his stitches.
But he liked her on top. Hell, he liked her below him, beside him, wherever she wanted to be.
And when he rolled them to the side, cradled her in his arms, and she buried her head against him, he was grateful this was the first day of vacation.
And that they had seven more nights to share.
THE END
About the Author
Rita Herron
Award-winning author Rita Herron has written over sixty romance novels ranging from romantic comedies to steamy, dark suspense and received rave reviews for her SLAUGHTER CREEK series – Dying to Tell, Her Dying Breath & Worth Dying For.
ONE NIGHT TO KILL, a sexy romantic suspense, is the first in her new SEVEN NIGHTS series!
Website: www.ritaherron.com
Twitter: @ritaherron
Facebook: www.facebook.com/ritaherron
More books by Rita Herron:
The Bachelor Pact
Looking for Love
Manhunt
SNOWBOUND
by Karen Fenech
Snowbound: Chapter One
“So, how does it feel knowing you’re taking your last ride?”
Mallory Burke didn’t respond to the latest comment made by Hugo from behind the wheel of the sedan, refusing to let him bait her. He’d been doing his best to get a reaction out of her since they’d embarked on this journey into the Adirondack mountains of New York State a few hours ago when Hugo had discovered that Mallory wasn’t just the new bartender his boss Billy Wilder had hired for his strip club, but an undercover federal agent.
Hugo had called Wilder with that newsflash and Billy had ordered that Mallory be brought to his mountain cabin—pronto.
Though Mallory wasn’t responding to Hugo’s running commentary, she was reacting all right. The gravity of her situation had her heart pounding so hard she wondered if Hugo and his associate, Miles Pratt, the other man in the car, could hear it.
Pratt, seated beside her in the back seat, turned to her and smirked. His unibrow looked like a caterpillar crawling across his forehead. His large bulk took up more than his share of the leather bench seat, wedging Mallory in tight between him and the rear passenger door. The door was locked, though with her hands tied behind her back she wouldn’t be able to open it in any case. She was currently working on loosening the knot, but Hugo tied a knot with the skill of a sailor. Lucky for her, she was good at untying knots. This one was just about undone.
The knot wasn’t going to be her biggest obstacle to getting away from these bozos. When she did untie her hands, she was going to have to escape into the snow storm outside. As she thought that, the big sedan skidded and the rear fishtailed.
“Fuckin’ snow,” Hugo muttered.
On this, Mallory agreed with him.
Snow or not, there was no way she was going to the cabin. She’d overheard Hugo and Miles say with no small measure of respect—and fear—that the “Don” would be there. Though she wanted to encounter the “Don”—Paul Considine—with a fierceness that had her pulse pounding, she wanted it to be on her terms. Not like this. Not at Considine’s mercy.
Mallory swallowed hard. Hugo and Miles had been taunting her with all of the things they would do to her when they had her at the cabin. Despite her professional training and years of experience with the Bureau, she couldn’t hold back a shudder at the methods of torture they’d described that were specific to her gender. There was no way she could allow these two to touch her and, she had accomplished her assignment, found out what she’d gone undercover to learn and now needed to take that information back to the Bureau. The lives of twelve young women depended on her. Mallory closed her eyes briefly. She could not fail.
Wind rattled her window. Mallory jerked back, nudging Miles. For once, he didn’t comment. He removed his safety belt and leaned forward in his seat. Eyes narrowed, he studied the near whiteout conditions. The wipers swished across the windshield at full speed, clearing snow for an instant before the glass was pelted again and covered.
“Slow down, man,” Miles said.
“No way.” Hugo swiped a hand across his mouth. “It’ll be my head if we don’t get her up there fast.”
Fast seemed optimistic and foolhardy. They hadn’t come across another car since Hugo had turned down this road. Apparently, others had the good sense to stay away today. Trees that lined this stretch of road swayed, buffeted by the force of the wind. Hugo’s hands, inside brown leather gloves, were clamped around the steering wheel. He was trying to keep the car steady, keep it on the road, Mallory thought as the wind struck the sedan and the car veered off to the right. Just where the road was at this point was a guess. The thick snow clinging to the ground obliterated the road and it was only the line of trees that provided orientation. With the road conditions as treacherous as they were, Mallory might not have to worry about what awaited her at the cabin. She had a more immediate worry that she might not make it out of the sedan alive.
“We need to turn back,” Mallory said. “We can’t go on in this.”
“Hear that, Miles? Little Miss Fed’s got somethin’ to say.” Hugo met her gaze in the rearview mirr
or and bared his yellow teeth in a smile that made the fine hairs on the back of Mallory’s neck rise. “Save your breath, sweetheart, for when we get to the cabin. You’re gonna need it when you start screaming.”
Mallory wanted to come back with a smart retort, but Hugo’s words struck home and her mouth went dry. Work the knot. Work the knot. She increased the pace on the ropes to a frenzy, twisting and pulling. Perspiration trickled down her brow while she shivered with cold. Panic was setting in and she was losing it. Losing it was the surest way to get herself killed.
She forced herself to stop jerking frantically on the rope. Forced herself to fight back the panic clawing at her. Directing her focus to the task at hand, she went back to working the knot.
Miles had disarmed her, but she could see her gun tucked into the waistband of his black pants. Once she freed her hands . . . done!
She was panting like a racehorse. Adrenaline pumped through her. She would have one chance to grab her gun. One chance. She blocked out the thought of what these two would do to her if she failed.
She glanced at Miles. His attention was all on the road. His shoulders hunched as he leaned forward so he was now perched on the end of the seat, clasping the head rest of the unoccupied front passenger seat.
“Slow down, will ya! I can’t see nothin’ but snow!” Miles’s shout was barely audible above the wind.
Mallory reached out to grab her gun. The sedan went into a spin. The world swirled crazily as the car whirled like a top. Her screams echoed with those of Miles and Hugo.
The sedan struck something—hard. Mallory was flung forward. The seat belt cut across her chest, cutting off her breath but holding her in place. In a blur of movement, Miles was thrown to the front of the car and through the windshield.
Windows shattered, peppering Mallory with slivers of glass. She screamed. She was dressed in jeans and a jacket which protected her body but her head and face were bare. She swung her arms up and hunched her shoulders to protect herself from the spray of glass.
