Taylor

by Irish Winters

  There was no sense trying to catch himself. He’d fallen into the delightfully open windows of her soul. No, he was diving, a triple somersault and definitely into the deep end. She looked as beautiful as he’d never seen her in all their four days of knowing each other. God Almighty. It felt like—forever.

  “I know this is too soon. Hell, I... I don’t know what I’m asking. I’ll settle for pizza and, I don’t know, whatever it takes, I guess. I just know I want your fingerprints all over this house, too. I want you.”

  She blinked fast and hard, her eyes brimmed to overflowing, and damn it. She didn’t answer. He’d said too much. Too soon. He’d opened his big mouth and inserted both feet, boots and all. She wasn’t ready. No way.

  He pulled his bedroom door shut, the tour over and the tender moment crushed. I should’ve ordered pizza. I should’ve quit while I was ahead. I should’ve—

  “Taylor?”

  God, I’m so stupid. “Yes?”

  “Kiss me.”

  Oh. Yes, ma’am.

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. He gathered her into his arms and swept her off her feet. His worries faded with the deepening of her kiss. Lightning crackled from somewhere. He heard it. White-hot lightning that didn’t leave a trail of thunder unless heavy sighs and raging emotions could be called thunder. In that case, the whole damned world trembled with it.

  “Again,” she whispered hoarsely, and he complied all the way down her neck and into her shoulder, her soft sighs combusting already smoldering embers.

  The cramped quarters of her little car flashed to his mind. If nothing else, he had plenty of room in this wreck of a house. Her arms around his neck pulled him closer. He leaned heavily back against his bedroom door, one hand holding her and the other searching for that damned elusive knob. The bandages had to go. He couldn’t grip any part of her the way he wanted, not the knob, either.

  “Kiss me, Taylor,” she murmured again, her mouth begging for more, her hands running down his stomach. His belt. His zipper.

  At last! The doorknob cooperated, but the instant he set her down, she scampered away and climbed up onto his bed. All he saw was those cute back pockets clear the edge of his high mattress. There she sat hugging her knees, her hair swirled around her in a silken curtain, a beguiling smile on her face.

  Taylor stripped his shirt over his head, ready to please this woman.

  Her pretty face fell. She crawled across the bed to him. “What am I thinking? You’re still hurt and—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. I’m good.” He pushed her flat and climbed on top, his gaze drifting down the front of her shirt. “I might need some help with the buttons though—”

  No sooner said that done. She undid her blouse, her lips lifted for more.

  “I need my hands,” he said. “I can’t do this without—”

  With an unexpected arch of her hips, she rolled him over and straddled him. Cool. He’d kept this room darkened with heavy curtains for daytime sleeping, but not so dark he couldn’t see the swell of her breasts breaching the lacy curve of her white bra. His heart flip-flopped.

  “I can re-bandage your hands,” she whispered.

  Music to a guy’s ears. She had no idea how seductive that sounded. She stilled his wandering fingers. “But you have to promise you’ll be very careful while we—”

  “I promise already.” He raised his right hand to her first. Suddenly, she was the warden and he her willing captive again.

  Gracie peeled the tape and gauze away with a provocative smile. Un-bandaging became undressing. With every loop that dropped away, the fire stoked hotter. Her eyes darkened.

  “More,” he growled. “God Almighty, I’ve been waiting for you all of my life.”

  She gulped. Her eyes softened. “No, Taylor Michael White Hawk Armstrong. I’ve been waiting for you all of my life.”

  And everything went south.

  Freeze frame. “Me?” As in only me?

  “Did I do something wrong?” She bit her lower lip in that adorable way she had.

  Suddenly, the lust to claim her fell silent to the need to—truly love her.

  “Gracie,” he murmured, on the verge of something incredibly rare. A gift like no other. He gulped at the sheer power she’d just offered him at this point in time, the power to take her when no one else had. His world rippled with change and promise.

  This woman held no secret agenda. She’d come willingly and eagerly to his bed, ready to give herself to the one man she’d waited for. To the man she knew would return when he hadn’t known it himself.

  He couldn’t take her, not like this. Not without knowing. He swallowed hard. She’d seemed experienced—until now. That she’d asked that particular question made him wonder. “Are you telling me you’ve never been with a guy before?”

  She tucked her shoulders into her neck. “Why? Aren’t I doing it right?”

  Ah, Gracie. His heart flooded. Yeah, you’re doing it right. I’m the problem. Slow down, Rambo. Back the boat up. She’s—pure.

  “Let’s talk,” he said as he rolled her into his side and reached for the sheet to cover them both. Once he concealed her, he took a deep breath. “I’m a Marine, Gracie, and sometimes I don’t get hints very well. I have a hard head. You hit it once. Remember?”

  She nodded, her warm body tucked against him where it still caused one helluva lot of distraction.

  “I’m sorry. I’m a guy. I didn’t realize until now what I think you’ve tried to tell me before. I want this moment to be all about you.” He smoothed his hand through her hair, his other hand creeping automatically downward to her ass. He recalled it to her waist and held it there. Not yet. Maybe not even today.

  He drew in a deep breath. How the hell had she saved herself all these years for a guy she might never have seen again? And why? Humility stormed his heart. God, she’d never doubted. How could a guy like him ever deserve a woman of her devotion? He sucked up his pride.

  I’m sure as hell going to try.

  “I’m clean, Gracie. I haven’t been with a woman in years, but we don’t have to do this today if you’re not ready.” He cupped her chin, tilting her face up to peer into her eyes. “If you’d rather wait—”

  “I’ve already waited.” Her eyes glistened in the dim light. “Don’t you—want to?”

  “I do. God Almighty, yes, but let’s take it slow.” He reached for the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a foil wrapped condom. He’d kept a few on hand. “Let’s do this right.”

  She nodded, her lips tucked inward like a little girl who’d been caught. “Where do we start?”

  “Right here.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. Her left eyebrow. Her right. With every beat of his heart, he caressed the trusting woman in his arms. He blessed her closed eyes one by one. What had to be the warmth of a blush on her cheeks. The tip of her nose. Her lips. Her mouth.

  And there he paused to savor the woman he loved. He had much to learn about the subject. It didn’t come easy. No one had so much as waited up for him to come home at the General’s house. Ever. Much less offered a place of sanctuary from the tough world or a heart to heart. Much less said the word.

  With every nibble, his passion stoked higher, and along with it rose the tenderest feeling for this incredible woman. The need to claim her evolved into the need to please her. To serve her. To give her everything her heart desired for the rest of his life.

  She arched against him, her hands gentle on his shoulders and down his ribcage to his belt. He eased away from her and stood beside the bed. Despite his stitched fingers, he undressed. Scarred inside and out, but willing to be the man she’d always known he was.

  Not one hint of hesitation glimmered in her eyes. He dropped one knee to the bed beside her, his other foot on the floor. She shifted and sat, removing her bra, her eyes riveted to his. It was time.

  He filled his hands with her soft breasts. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed as he took in a mouthful. The sensuous sounds lifti
ng out of her throat lit a fire deep inside, demanding release. He suckled, tugged and pulled until she was one wiggling mess beneath him.

  He sheathed himself, not willing to make the life changing decision of a child without a deliberate discussion first. She might be willing to offer all, and God knew she’d be the perfect mother, but he could wait for the right moment.

  Within nanoseconds, they were nothing but skin and fire, locked together with raging need. Rolling her over to straddle him, he covered her bare bottom with his scratchy stitched hands, his fingers clenched tight as their bodies came gently, slowly together.

  He held back, letting her adjust to his entry, not wanting to hurt her. She arched her back and together they established an easy rhythm.

  There were no words. Not for this moment. Not for this melding together of her sweet body with his. He held her to him as their passion climbed higher.

  The humility of her gift overwhelmed. He gasped a ragged breath, needing her to know, “Come to me. Come with me. Just... come.”

  She sighed, hot and heavy in his neck while he drove all of his hopes and desires into her. They melted together in lustful detonation, two perfect halves joined. The lost finally found. The wait over. The best yet to—come.

  His hands moved possessively to the cheeks of her backside while aftershocks quaked through her body. “What have you done to me?” he whispered, his fingers exploring every last curve of her body.

  “Do you want me to explain it? You’re smiling. I can tell.”

  He let out a deep, throaty chuckle, his thirst for her not even half-quenched. “I’m happy.”

  “That’s good.”

  “No, Gracie. It’s rare. It’s damn rare. I don’t remember when I’ve felt this—complete.”

  He pulled her face down to bite her lower lip, and that’s all it took. As he released her, he bucked her up and off, but only enough to roll her beneath him, out of breath, her dark hair tousled against the sheet. The pillows joined the growing pile on the floor. Only sheets and Gracie, that’s all he needed on his bed.

  His assault began with the slowest push against her, his eyes filled with nothing but her. She’d become the most sacred place in his world. “I plan to do this to you and with you all night long.”

  She quickened beneath him, her body willing and ready for more. Parts of her clenched he didn’t know worked like that. Incentive. He picked up the pace. “And then we’ll move to the onyx bathtub. I bought an extra large one in case this day ever came.”

  “This day?”

  His mouth descended to claim hers. “The day I finally fell in love.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Midnight had come and gone.

  Alex stood in the thick brush of the Roaches Run Waterfowl Sanctuary off the Potomac, his quarry just yards ahead of him and having the worst day of his life. Maybe his last.

  Kelsey waited patiently at home, but sometimes covert surveillance demanded twenty-four-seven vigilance. Alex just hoped vigilance would be enough tonight.

  Light traffic on the parkway hummed nearby. Jets from Reagan National to the east lifted overhead, the Sanctuary awash in the pinkish glow of freeway lighting.

  The man ahead of him walked with quick sure steps. He’d passed Alex without realizing he’d picked up a tail. Never once did the stranger’s step flag or his gait tire. Neither did he hesitate. No. He had a definite place to be at a definite time.

  Alex walked where the soft moist ground of April cushioned his footfall. No more than another shadow, he’d dressed entirely in black tonight. He had a definite place to be as well.

  Across the river, the Jefferson Monument glowed in the dark, a beacon of freedom and independence on this dangerous night. The wise man’s words whispered across the Potomac:

  If a nation expects to be ignorant and free,

  In a state of civilization,

  It expects what never was and never will be.

  Alex knew full well what freedom required. Blood, maybe. Sacrifice, always. Never ignorance. Freedom and ignorance were as diametrically opposed as the polar icecaps. Light and darkness. War and peace. One simply couldn’t survive in the presence of the other. Mankind had only to choose.

  The fellow Alex hoped to intercept and maybe save tonight had chosen poorly.

  Another few yards and the man stepped quickly to his right toward the edge of the sanctuary. Alex paralleled his path. The quiet putt-putt of an outboard motor idled nearby, an oddly out of place sound for this enclosed puddle of water with no access to the nearby river. Alex quickened his step. An outboard motor spelled trouble. Timing meant everything, and if what he suspected was about to happen, it meant life or death.

  A grunt of acknowledgement on the shoreline ahead gave the man’s intended destination away. There was no longer one. Now there were two. Maybe three. The boat’s motor sounded too small to accommodate more.

  Alex halted in the shadows as the white hull of a small fishing boat came into view, most likely ‘borrowed’ from an unsuspecting local fisherman. It rested low in the water, just a tool to be left behind or sunk when the deed was done.

  He crouched to avoid detection, no need for unnecessary risks. Just in time meant just in time. The man he’d come for merited nothing more, and deserved less, but that was not Alex’s call to make. Tonight was all about brotherhood, even when the brother was dumber than shit.

  Easing his SIG from its well-worn leather holster under his left arm, Alex waited and watched. Two men stood against the reflection of the rippling nighttime water while another sat cross-legged on the floor of the boat, a black bag over his head and tied at his neck. No doubt he was also gagged and bound, which explained why he made no sound.

  At least he had the good sense not to struggle. A fight in a boat this small and narrow would create too many variables in the equation of life, death and rescue. There’d be plenty of time to struggle later.

  Yet another assailant sat at the outboard motor, his hand on the stick.

  Alex measured, sized-up and weighed. Two he could take, maybe all three. The question was, who first? The three assailants or the single victim?

  The two men took turns getting into the boat, balancing their weight as if familiar with the ways of water craft. Without any words to each other, they pulled their hapless victim to his knees, making room for them to sit on the bench behind him.

  The fellow at the rudder shoved the boat out of the shallows with an oar. A high-pitched whimper whined across the water, the only protest the victim could make. By now he had to be sweating bullets. Alex almost felt sorry for the fool.

  He brought his weapon into position, his right arm straight and his left hand cupped alongside the right with thumbs spooned together at the left side of his piece. The man at the helm pressed the throttle. Slowly the motor churned a wake of white foam while the other two steadied their foolish mark between them.

  Now.

  Alex fired. The man at the throttle pitched overboard, but chaos overtook the craft. It slowed and circled to shore. Alex took a few quick steps toward the water and fired again.

  The man on the far side of the boat crumpled and fell into the pond. The other was wiser. He pushed his hooded passenger to the side of the boat, blocking Alex’s final aim. The man beneath the hood resisted but didn’t scream, another dilemma that spelled more trouble.

  His mouth must’ve been taped.

  The craft rocked mightily. With a jerk to the right, the man onboard over-corrected his stance and lost his balance. Both he and his victim entered the water.

  By then, Alex stood at the shoreline. There were four men in the water, but only one at the surface. He holstered his weapon, slipped his shoes off and dived. The pond wasn’t deep. The boat hadn’t gone far, but the water was cold and dark. He felt nothing but reeds and silt in his hands, but still he searched. He came up for air once and to catch his bearings. One man splashed toward shore. Three didn’t, but he only cared about one of them.

 
Alex dove again. Feeling his way along the murky depths, his fingers finally brushed a shoulder and then a head. He hooked his arm under the drowning man’s armpit and kicked toward the surface. Within minutes, he’d hauled the struggling man to shore.

  He gasped for air even as he knelt and tore the hood from the would-be victim’s head. The fool thrashed, blinking with wild eyes that didn’t see anything. It would’ve made a difference if he’d been smart enough to know he’d been rescued, but panicked people don’t think. They react.

  Alex tore the duct tape from the guy’s mouth, rolled him to his side, and thumped his back until water spurted from his nose and mouth. He sucked in cold air while he sputtered, coughed and gagged. Finally, he vomited onto the muddy bank.

  A twig snapped in the dark underbrush. Alex stilled, but the man beside him groaned too loudly, as if he were already safe. He wasn’t. Alex slipped back undercover. The night wasn’t over.

  He stealthily withdrew his SIG and cocked his head to listen. Wet or not, the faithful weapon would still perform. He let time and the cloak of darkness work for him while the man on the shore cried for someone to come help. Did he honestly the killer would run to his aid?

  Alex hunkered down. Let the fool lure the assassin. Let the assassin believe he could still make the fool pay. It seemed a fair trade.

  A shadow gradually transformed into a single man with a semi-automatic pistol up and ready. The murderer had come back to finish the job. Good deal.

  Alex took an extra second to wipe the murky river water from his eyes before he switched the laser sight on and brought his weapon back on target. A single red dot marked the back of the unwitting assassin’s head. When he raised his pistol to shoot the fool on the shore, Alex fired first.

  The murderer fell amidst the roar of one of Boeing’s finest. Mission accomplished. Three assassins down. One fool left. Even now he squealed. Apparently, the sound of suppressed gunfire frightened him. Alex dropped to one knee alongside the whimpering man and holstered his piece. It had been a helluva day. He was tired and wet, but duty still called.