Morgan's Hunter

by Cate Beauman

  Hunter snorted. “God, no. On my last assignment I spent two days avoiding my client’s oversexed teenage daughter. She kept pinching my ass. I haven’t been shot at since Afghanistan, and I can guarantee they weren’t shooting at us with a Glock.” As soon as he said it, his smile disappeared. He stared down at his dinner.

  Where the hell had that come from? He’d never spoken of Afghanistan outside the psychiatrist’s office, and even then he’d only said what he’d had to to get through the twelve mandated sessions.

  “Your scar,” Morgan said softly, “your on-the-job injury. You were shot while you were over there.”

  He looked at her, didn’t answer. He wasn’t going there. He wasn’t bringing it all back, not even for her.

  She hesitated, placed her hand over his. “It was—it was bad.”

  It wasn’t a question; it didn’t have to be. His eyes remained locked on hers. He saw the compassion, the comfort she offered, but he couldn’t take it.

  Because it was Morgan, because she was different, he gave her what he could. “Yeah, it was bad—as bad as it gets.” His stomach clenched, his pulse raced. He felt himself shutting down—a defense mechanism well-constructed to block out the images that could come out of nowhere and crush him.

  He broke contact, stood. “I’m going to finish cleaning up.”

  She nodded. “I’ll wash the dishes.”

  CHAPTER 26

  MORGAN WOKE IN THE DARK to the sound of Hunter’s erratic breathing. She reached above her head, groping for the lantern, turning it on low. Hunter’s face and chest were sheened with sweat in the dim light.

  Morgan yanked her cover back, freeing herself from the sleeping bag. She placed her hand against his brow, fearful of fever, but he didn’t feel overly warm.

  Hunter mumbled something and she relaxed. He wasn’t ill. He was dreaming. His body jerked as she watched the rapid hammer of his heart slam against his chest. She brushed her fingers through his hair, wanting to rouse him from whatever hell his subconscious dumped him into. “Hunter. Hunter, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

  Hands fisted, he thrashed.

  She rubbed his shoulder. “Come on, Hunter.” Her heartbeat thundered in time with his when she couldn’t bring him around. “Hunter—”

  “Jake! No, Jake!” He bolted upright, looking around wildly while his breath heaved in and out. He fell back against the sleeping bag, putting his hands over his face.

  “It’s okay.” She didn’t dare touch him.

  “I’m all right,” he said through his hands.

  Was he trying to convince her or himself? “Can I get you anything? Water maybe?”

  “No. I just need a minute.”

  “Okay.” Morgan put the water bottle by the lantern on his side, just in case he changed his mind. She got in her sleeping bag, turned over, trying to give him as much privacy as their situation allowed.

  Hunter sat up, and she turned back, facing him. She needed to see for herself he was okay. He swung his legs from the bed, crawled forward, unzipped the tent. His gaze met hers. “Stop looking at me like that. I said I’m fine, all right?”

  “Yeah, got it.”

  He closed his eyes, sighed. “I just need some air.”

  She lay her head back against the small bubble formed by the mattress pad.

  He let loose another long breath. “Sometimes I have nightmares about Afghanistan.”

  As much as she wanted to, Morgan asked him no questions.

  He sat back on his sleeping bag. “They usually happen if I think about it too much.”

  “I asked you about it earlier. Did that trigger the dreams?”

  He rubbed his thumb and fingers over his forehead. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Horrified, she sat up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would upset you. I won’t ask again. I feel terrible.” Taking Hunter’s hand in hers, Morgan squeezed. “Why don’t you go get that fresh air and try to get some more sleep.”

  He reversed his palm so their fingers laced, surprising her.

  “It’s not your fault. They just sneak up from time to time.”

  Morgan glanced down at their clasped fingers. Hunter’s large hand all but swallowed hers. She didn’t know what to do for the suddenly vulnerable man sitting next to her. “Are you sure I can’t get you something, maybe some tea?” she asked lamely.

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  He stared at her, and she gnawed her bottom lip. What did he want? She couldn’t figure him out. Her first instinct was to hold and comfort, but he would only push her away.

  Hunter moved closer, until their knees touched. Morgan’s heart trembled as he brushed his thumb over her cheek, pressed his lips against hers, gently, tenderly.

  Need burned bright in his eyes as their gazes locked, and he moved in again. She put her hands on his forearms, pulling him to her, deepening the kiss.

  “I want to forget, Morgan.”

  Ready to give whatever he would take, she nodded, ran her lips along the bottom of his jaw, down his neck, tasting salt and Hunter.

  He laid her down, bringing her mouth back to his without any sense of urgency. His callused hands brushed her arms, making her shiver.

  She put her hands to his cheeks, staring into his eyes, steeped in quiet passion as his fingers traced light circles around her nipples, teasing her through the barrier of clothing. She whimpered, already burning for him. She wanted his skin touching hers, to melt against him. She wanted him to make her come alive.

  As if he read her mind, Hunter lifted her, pulled her shirt away. He laid her back again with his hands wrapped around the front of her shoulders. He left opened-mouth kisses down her neck, along the sides of her breasts, and she sighed, reveling in the tenderness passing between them.

  Tilting her head up, bowing her back, she offered him more to explore, wanting his mouth everywhere.

  Her palms skimmed down his waist, up to lay flat against his firm chest, against his strong heartbeat.

  Hunter journeyed down, leaving a lazy trail of kisses. He tugged at her long johns until only her panties remained. His lips and hands brushed her legs, stopping at the skimpy v of black silk. His fingers ran along the lacy edges, dipping under fabric, but never touching, never fulfilling.

  Throbbing, gasping, she moaned. “Hunter, I need… I need to—”

  He silenced her, kissing her again, and she grew hungry, aching for release. Desperate, Morgan dragged his hand to her center, pressing him against her, and groaned in frustration when he pulled back, caressing her breasts instead, only adding another layer to the flames.

  Frenzied, she tugged his mouth to hers. Her tongue dove deep, tangling with his. Lost in his taste, in the feel of his lips, in the thrill of his hard body pressing hers against the mattress, she gasped, crying out, clutching at his shoulders as his fingers snuck under lace and played her over the first violent peak.

  He stroked and plundered until her legs trembled, until she built again, erupting. Hunter swallowed moan after moan.

  Wanting more, craving to be joined, needing to feel him inside, she pulled his shorts off with unsteady hands. He positioned himself over her and entered slowly. Twin groans filled the air.

  Hunter tortured them both with each gentle thrust, until her breath came in shuddering gasps. The throbbing tug built deep in her belly, spreading, until it was too huge, too overwhelming. “Oh, God, Hunter.” Her head tipped back, her hands fisted against the sleeping bag.

  “Stay with me, Morgan.”

  Did she have a choice? She was with him. She was his. Throaty whimpers escaped her as she looked into his eyes. Unable to hold back any longer, the orgasm took her, stronger than before. Lost, undone, her hands skimmed down his back, pressing against his butt, urging him on until he pumped faster and faster.

  His breath shuddered in and out, growing harsh, as she clamped tight around him. Bracing himself on one arm, he used his other to scoop her hips high. With one last deep thrust that left her
gasping, he emptied into her.

  Hunter collapsed against her. His hot breath feathering along her neck. He rolled to his back, bringing her with him. “I’m always afraid I’m crushing you. You’re so small.”

  “I’m small, but I’m not a wimp.” She kissed him, smiled while his heart rate steadied. “I like when you’re on top of me.” She snagged his bottom lip with her teeth, tugging gently. “I like it better when you’re in me.”

  His hand tightened against her lower back. “Keep talking like that and we’ll get to it in just a second.”

  She traced his ear with her tongue, stroked him. “Promise?”

  He groaned, flipped her back, plunging in again. “I never break a promise, Morgan.”

  She grinned up at him. “Thank God.”

  Later, they lay together in his sleeping bag. Morgan stroked her hand along Hunter’s arm. Her fingers paused on his tattoo, tracing the ornate cross. He glanced at her and she stopped abruptly.

  “Sorry, bad habit.” She moved her hand to his chest, letting it rest there.

  “I got the tattoo when I came back from Afghanistan.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”

  He moved his fingers in lazy circles over her hip. “You want to know about the date.”

  “I don’t want you to feel like you have to share. I know it’s painful.”

  He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “September 23, 2010 was the worst day of my life. I don’t think anything will ever be as bad.”

  He stopped talking. The gentle drum of rain against rock filled the cave. She figured he changed his mind.

  When he spoke again, she heard the strain in his voice. “My men and I were heading out on a classified mission. We were off to bag Al-Qaeda’s number three. Word came down through the chain that he was about to get away—again—so we went for it. We had four weeks left. We were going out in glory. God, if I could go back and change it...” He scrubbed his hand over his face, ran his fingers through his hair. “It was my job to plan the route. We had several options, but I chose the fastest—which was also the most dangerous. We couldn’t let the fucker vanish into the mountains again.”

  Bitterness spewed with every word, and she snuggled closer.

  “It was a bad call, but it was the one I made and will live with every day for the rest of my life. There were a thousand and one ways I could’ve done things differently, but I didn’t.” His fingers stopped their lazy circles, tightened against her skin. “We were ambushed. Six of my men died, and in the end the bastard disappeared anyway.”

  His restless hand relaxed and bunched as he blew out a long breath. “One of the men killed was my best friend, Jake. We were friends for so long I can’t remember him not being a part of my life.” He paused again, swallowing hard. “I tried to save him. God, did I try, but his injuries were more than I could handle on the side of the road in the middle of fucking nowhere. So I sat there and watched him bleed to death while I lived.”

  “I’m so sorry, Hunter.” Morgan pulled him as close as she could, trying to give comfort for something bigger than herself. She held him tight until he slept, trying to imagine the horror he had lived through.

  Morgan sat up on her elbow, staring down at Hunter. She brushed her hand through his hair, remembering the tenderness that passed between them. He surprised her when he started sharing a part of his life with her. The pleasure of him finally opening up was quickly overshadowed by the tragedy he had experienced. His story only made her love him more. It took courage to walk away from something like that and keep going, keep living.

  Her finger roamed to the dimple in his chin. She touched it gently. She wanted to hug this moment to her. There wouldn’t be many more—when her body lay naked, warm and pressed against his. Her hand returned to his hair as she pressed her lips to his lightly, wanting to savor one more minute before she went back to sleep herself.

  Hunter’s eyes opened, looked into hers. Her hand moved to his cheek. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Not yet.” He took her hand, kissing her palm. “Lay back down with me.”

  “I will, but first I want you to know you aren’t to blame. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

  As the words left her mouth, she saw the shutters come down over his eyes, felt the wall he put up between them so easily.

  “Jake’s daughter is growing up without a father and his wife is a single mother. I am responsible for that. When you’re in charge of a squad, it’s your responsibility to get each and every soldier home to their families. I didn’t.”

  “That’s not fair, Hunter. You—”

  “What’s not fair is Jake watched his daughter come into the world and never got a chance to hold her. What’s not fair is Kylee will never know Jake. Sarah will never feel her husband’s arms around her again.”

  “I thought you told me earlier that what happened to my team wasn’t my fault. How is this any different?”

  “It’s completely different. My men didn’t have a choice. They had to follow my orders, and I messed up. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Morgan. Let it go.”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she looked away, nodding.

  Hunter reached over, turned out the lantern. When he settled himself, his body no longer touched hers.

  Hurt and desperately sad for him, she started toward her own sleeping bag.

  Hunter hooked an arm around her waist. “Where are you going?”

  “I just figured you wanted your space.”

  “When I want space, I’ll let you know.” He pulled her back until she lay against his side. She turned, facing him, as his arm wrapped tight around her. His free hand came up, covering her hand resting against his heart. Their fingers laced and she drifted off, content in Hunter’s arms.

  CHAPTER 27

  BY MID-AFTERNOON THE NEXT DAY, Morgan and Hunter made it to Tower Junction, Wyoming, a small tourist stop-off within Yellowstone’s boundaries. Hidden deep among the trees on the outskirts of town, Hunter scrutinized the sea of visitors strolling about.

  He had no idea who pursued them, but the tingle along his spine and lead ball weighing heavy in his stomach told him that among the groups of happy, chattering families, people watched, eager to take him and Morgan out.

  They were a day early and he had no way of contacting the Bureau or the agent who was supposed to get them the hell out of there. He needed to call Ethan but didn’t dare use his or Morgan’s cell phone.

  Hunter peered through binoculars, keeping his eye on the small twelve-room motel, general store and scenic center across the street from where he and Morgan hid. The three buildings beyond were the area’s main attraction. If someone waited, and he was sure they did, they wouldn’t be far.

  Morgan read a book while she lay on her mattress pad, resting her head on his lap. “The worst part about this whole thing is there are perfectly comfortable motel rooms right across the way, and we’re lying on the ground in a pile of trees being blinded by the damn sun.”

  Hunter looked down at her, grinning. “One of us is lying down. The other is actually working. If you were sitting up, the sun wouldn’t be in your eyes. It isn’t bothering me.”

  Rolling her eyes, she mimicked him. He drilled his finger into her side, making her squirm and laugh. Morgan grabbed his hand, attempting to hold him off. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s better.” Chuckling, he peered through his binoculars again as a silver Buick Lacrosse pulled into the motel parking lot. Hunter came to attention when a man emerged from the car in an outfit too upscale for a day of fun at Yellowstone. The tall, fifty-something with black hair going gray at the temples wore Armani slacks and a polo shirt with thousand dollar leather shoes.

  “Unless you have something specific for me to do—”

  “Hold up, hold up,” Hunter interrupted. “I think we might have something here.”

  The man looked around, smiled as a navy blue Escalade pulled into the parking spot next to
him. A man dressed similarly, in black slacks and a white button-down, nodded as he stepped from his vehicle. The men shook hands, talked, turned toward the mountains. The man with the Buick gestured to something as he spoke. Hunter followed his hand as he pointed toward the wooded area far off in the distance.

  “Can I see? I want to see.” Morgan grabbed for the binoculars. Hunter moved, evading her hand.

  “Stop. I’m trying to watch two men who certainly don’t fit the part of tourist.”

  “Maybe one of them is the agent from the Bureau.” She tried for the binoculars again. “Just let me look for a second.” She pushed herself up.

  Hunter handed them over. She peeked through the lenses. “Who am I looking at?”

  “Straight ahead, twelve o’clock. The guys that look like they missed the turn for the country club.”

  A grin spread across her lips. “Pretty accurate description.” Still watching, Morgan shook her head. “I don’t recognize—wait.” Sitting taller, she pushed forward through the trees. “The man standing closest to the silver car seems familiar. If he would turn just a little bit.” As if on cue, he did. “It’s Dean.”

  Hunter yanked the binoculars back, peered through them again. “Who’s Dean?”

  “You know, Dean Jenkins, the guy we talked to on the phone the other night. What in the world is he doing here?”

  Hunter didn’t like it—it didn’t sit right. He watched the men get into their vehicles, back up, drive off through the chaos of visitors.

  “I guess my dad sent him to pick us up. I honestly thought he would’ve come himself.”

  “Dean just left.”

  “What?” She yanked the binoculars back. “How could he just leave?”

  “We’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow.” He needed to get to a phone, needed to talk to Ethan—now.

  “Oh, yeah, well that makes sense.”

  Hunter put the binoculars in his pack. “We have to get out of here and find a phone.”