by Lisa Hughey
“Zeke?” Staci asked.
Good thought. Even though the guy wasn’t too fond of Staci, he’d be better than nothing. Hopefully he hadn’t left town yet.
Carson’s eyebrows rose. “You know Ezekiel?”
Uh...hopefully that wasn’t a bad thing. For Zeke or Staci.
“We’ve met.” Staci handed Jordan her cell. “Call him.”
“Won’t work in here,” Carson said calmly. “It’s shielded.”
Carson picked up a landline and gave the phone to Jordan.
“Go ahead.”
Technically Zeke was suspended, but this wasn’t official NSA business, right?
Jordan dialed and listened to the ring tone, Jay Z and Linkin Park rocked the phone lines with Numb/Encore.
Zeke finally picked up. “Carson?”
“Hey, it’s Jordan.”
There was a pause as Zeke assimilated that Jordan was calling from Carson’s home.
“Dude, how’s it hanging?” His tone was light, but Jordan had gotten to know Zeke well enough to hear the underlying concern in his irreverent question.
“We’re all fine.” We. Just so Zeke knew he and Staci were still together. “We’re about to take a meeting with the Senator and thought maybe you’d like to join in.”
Jordan tried to keep the conversation as generic as possible since Zeke was on a cell which was not secure.
“I’d freaking love to, except I’m stuck in Nowheresville, California, doing a worthless surveillance detail on Granola Girl.”
Jordan winced. Either Zeke didn’t care or hadn’t realized giving out details was a mistake.
“Uh, not secure.”
“Shit. You’re right.” Zeke huffed. “I should not be here. I am not cut out for this. And nothing is happening.”
“So you’re out of the area.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Zeke was silent again. “I’m no help.”
The disgust in his voice bothered Jordan. “There’s a reason you’re there. Maybe it just isn’t apparent yet.”
“My, my, when did we become so philosophical?” Zeke mocked, then relented. “Never mind. Ignore me. I’m feeling sorry for myself. Again.”
Jamie had sent Zeke there because of a hunch that Sunshine was in danger. “Do you think she’s wrong?”
“Yes. Nothing happens here.” Through the phone lines, the ocean crashed against the shoreline sweeping away some of Zeke’s words. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve got a weird vibe, but everything appears fine.”
“Eyes open,” Jordan said.
“You know it.” Zeke paused again, then asked softly, “You got any backup?”
“Not exactly.”
“Take Carson,” Zeke recommended. “He’s tougher than he looks.”
Jordan hadn’t even considered using Carson Black, but as Zeke’s idea settled in, he realized the advice was perfect.
“Great idea. Thanks.” Jordan signed off quickly. “Take care of yourself, pal.”
“Keep safe,” Zeke said softly.
Jordan carefully pressed the off button. “He suggested I take you.”
Assuming Carson would agree, the idea was brilliant. Jordan was expendable. Life would actually be easier for the senator if Jordan was out of the picture. But the senator wouldn’t and couldn’t harm Carson. Not without serious repercussions.
Jesus, Zeke was smart.
“Excellent idea.” Carson brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his wool pants. “Of course I’ll go.”
Suspicion fluttered in the back of Jordan’s mind. He got the feeling they had just been maneuvered.
More was going on here than just saving Staci’s life. Before they ever requested Carson's help, they should have factored in that he would have his own agenda.
Staci yawned, the muscles in her jaw stretching wide.
“Why not get some sleep before we go?” Carson offered the guest room.
They were safe here. This house was a fortress. They had almost three hours before they needed to leave for D.C. A quick combat nap would refresh him. Maybe Jordan could even get Staci to fall asleep. Then leaving her here would be a non-argument, and he could just sneak out.
“You aren’t leaving without me,” Staci said firmly.
“Sleep sounds good. Maybe a shower.” Jordan’s nose itched, but he didn’t want to rub any of the camo paint onto his hands.
Staci groaned. “A shower sounds heavenly.”
Carson showed them to a guest room, grabbed a stack of pristine white towels from the closet. He looked them over, and smiled. “Don’t worry about getting the towels dirty. We’ve got bleach.”
With that non sequitur, he looked at his watch. “Two and a half hours. I’ll be in the kitchen, if you need anything.”
Jordan closed the door. They were alone. He felt he and Staci had come to a tentative understanding, some place where they were in accordance with each other, and with the baby.
Maybe they weren't in agreement about confronting the senator, but two out of three was pretty good.
Jesus, what a crazy two days.
Jordan tugged gently, and Staci came into his arms without resistance. He rested his cheek against her forehead, wrapped his arms around her too thin body, and pulled her tight against his chest.
She was still cold. The heat from his body would warm her. And the comfort from their embrace would warm him. Win-win.
Staci sighed and melted into his arms. Her breasts pillowed against his chest, and the hard points of her nipples rubbed against his pectorals.
Suddenly, his body flared into an inferno. Great. One platonic embrace and his hormones acted like a hound dog in heat.
“You want first dibs on the shower?” His voice came out husky and soft.
She sighed again, squeezed his waist, and let go. “You go on ahead.”
“Yeah.” If he got away from her, he could get his randy body under control with a really cold shower.
FORTY-THREE
I watched Jordan hustle into the bathroom. My former lover, lover, father of my baby, whatever, was running away. Away from me? Or away from the churning feelings and emotions that ran underneath every interaction we had?
Wrapped in the protective embrace of his arms, I’d finally felt as if I’d come home. As if I could rest my weary body along the rock of his and we could just...be. Our connection, our bond had strengthened challenge by challenge. But could we withstand what was coming?
I listened to the roar of the water and snuck out to the kitchen where I knew Carson would be waiting for me.
My request took less than a minute.
“Are you sure?” Carson asked.
“It’s the only way to be free.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
I snuck back into the guest room, reviewing our relationship, the ups and downs, our time together...and gave thanks Jordan was still here, still with me. What a miracle.
Still by my side.
Still primed to fight for me, for us, for the baby.
Could I be sure that all of that fight wasn’t strictly for the baby?
No.
On the other hand, I didn’t see anyone else around. Anyone else believing in me, believing in my innocence.
Suddenly I wasn’t willing to let that miracle slip away.
I had a limited window to let him know how much his support meant to me, how much he meant to me.
Glancing in the mirror, I looked at the train wreck of my reflection. I was too thin, too brittle. But Jordan didn’t care. That was the truth, the beauty of his affection for me.
Somehow he didn’t see me as I did. Instead he saw through to the warrior that lived beneath my fragile skin, to the woman who refused to give up and refused to give in.
I shoved open the louvered doors to the guest bathroom.
The noise startled Jordan, and he turned defensively, his face almost clear of the paint.
“Sorry.”
“Everything okay?” He stopped, completely oblivious to
his nudity, and completely focused on me.
“Fine.” Water sluiced over his sculpted muscles, rolling down his shoulders, pecs, and six-pack, with an ease I envied.
How weird was that...to envy water?
I stared at him, unable to vocalize all the thoughts jumbling in my mind, emotions tumbling through my body.
He just stood there, staring at me, wanting me to leave...or wanting me to come closer?
I didn’t know.
There was only one thing left to do. I pulled the soft cotton camouflage shirt over my head. Unbelting the pants, I let them slide off my hips to puddle around my ankles, then stepped out of the pile. Reaching around, I unhooked my bra and let the serviceable white cotton drop to the floor.
His gaze dropped to my pert nipples, and my breasts full, heavy, and so sensitive from the pregnancy hormones just the lick of his regard flushed my body rosy.
I shimmied out of the white cotton panties and walked purposefully toward the shower, anxious to trace the path of the water down his body with my mouth.
At the clear shower door, I hesitated, prepping myself for rejection, hoping the reality of my beaten and scarred body wouldn’t send him screaming into the night.
I didn’t think he’d scare so easily. If the past two days had revealed one thing about Jordan, it was his innate capacity to persevere whatever the circumstances.
He popped open the glass shower door, his expression vulnerable. “You coming in?”
I stepped over the threshold and into his arms.
Home. I’d come home.
The surprisingly warm water cascaded over our intertwined bodies. His sculpted biceps cradled my smaller, thinner frame with care. The hard muscles and wiry hair of his thighs rubbed at my softer skin creating a delicious friction. His burgeoning erection pressed insistently at the juncture to my feminine core. He hugged me tightly, the flex of his muscles against my heavy breasts increased my rising tension.
I knew I should move, get to it. Sex was why I’d come in here, bared my scarred abused body to his. It was the only thing I could think to give him.
And if I was honest, I wanted this one last moment for myself.
Instead of taking us to the next level, he shifted me in his arms, holding me under the spray and apart from his body. “Close your eyes and tilt your head back.”
I complied and he cleansed my face of the greasepaint, his fingers following the same path he’d used to smear it on, gently, gently, washing away the evidence of our crawl here, his thumbs tender as he wiped at my mouth. My lips tingled with each subtle stroke.
I started to open my eyes.
“Keep them closed.” Starting at the fingertips of my right hand, he kissed each one as if giving thanks. With his tongue, he gently licked the wicked bruises along my wrist. He traced his fingers up the length of my arm, stopping at each mark, each burn, and pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss on each badge of torture.
His hands and mouth catalogued then swept away each hideous moment of that two weeks, washing me clean, absolving me with his ministrations.
I wanted to thank him. Wanted to show him my gratitude. But I was afraid to open my eyes as the pressure built behind my lids, and threatened to come pouring out if I didn’t hold myself together.
His fingers slid into my hair. With a firm circular motion, he massaged an evergreen-scented shampoo into my scalp and through the rough strands of my hair, washing out the temporary gray.
The touch of his hands was surprisingly erotic. He’d eased closer to rinse out the shampoo, and I took advantage of his nearness.
I slid my hands down the flat plane of his stomach, noting the weight he’d lost. My knuckles rubbed against the ridges of his muscles until I smoothed my palm down to his rock-hard erection.
There was a time for finesse, for long sensuous hours of exploring and tantalizing, and now wasn’t it.
Now was the time for hard, pounding, life-affirming sex.
I wanted to get lost in the pleasure of him, of us, and forget everything else. Burn away my memories, burn away my tears.
His body still slick with soap, I took the length of him in my palm and rubbed along his pulsing, engorged erection, using my thumb to firmly swipe back and forth over the sensitive tip.
Jordan threaded his fingers through my hair, pulled my head back, and plundered my mouth.
He leaned back against the tile wall and pulled me flush against his hard body, his chest flattening my breasts as he slid his hot, callused hand down my back and over the curve of my butt. His fingers closed over the globes of my ass as he lifted me up.
He stopped, with my fist on his cock, priming him, his fingers digging into my ass as he braced to take my weight. “Open your eyes.”
I waited for a second, the pulse of desire, thick and insistent in my body. The raging heat emanating from him, the water pounding against my back, the liquid pouring over my shoulders and caressing my breasts. “Can’t I do that later?” I asked with impatience.
“Now.”
I opened my eyes and stared into his intense hazel gaze. As soon as we connected, my body re-sensitized all over again. Every place we touched, my skin was on fire, every spot where our flesh and muscles parted was bereft.
“Let go.” Somehow I knew he was talking about more than just letting go of his cock. Our gazes still knit together, I freed him.
He lifted me, my pubic bone pressing against his erection, my thighs scraping the soft skin of his underbelly until he held me poised above him.
Instead of the down, dirty, and fast I expected, Jordan carefully, gently, almost reverently joined his body with mine. My slick channel welcomed him with a rain of desire.
We moved together, slipping and sliding into a drowsy, sensuous rhythm, each glide stroking, arousing.
His sex swelled, the rigid length rocking inside me, hitting that hidden treasure spot. Pleasure swirled higher and higher with each stroke.
Jordan stiffened as he arched his body into mine and pulled my sex tight against his. The hot jet of his orgasm, and the hard pulse of his penis shattered me. Together, falling, falling into a euphoric rush. I trembled and shook with aftershocks, as his arms supported me, held me.
I brushed a soft kiss against the muscles of his shoulder.
That tenderness was just what I expected of him, the unexpected.
“Do you ever do what you’re supposed to?”
He reached behind me and turned off the water. “Only when I want to.”
My laugh was quiet. “Yeah.” I rested my head in the curve of his neck. “What do you want to do now?”
“Go to bed.”
I notice he didn’t say sleep.
As he straightened, pushing off against the tile, his cock pulsed inside me, sending a trill of sensation through me.
He nuzzled my neck, then blew into my exposed ear, as he opened the shower door. I tightened my thighs around his waist and locked my ankles over the taut curve of his butt. “You don’t have to carry me.”
His mouth curved into a wicked grin. “I don’t mind.” He grabbed a towel, drying us both randomly, and then headed into the bedroom.
Jordan held me tight against him, his hands sliding down to support my butt. At least that was what I thought until I felt the firm pressure of his fingers sliding along the crease of my buttocks, stroking my still-flush folds, and curling toward my clitoris.
I whimpered as he expertly plied his fingers in rhythm to the stride of his legs. By the time we made it to the bed, my whole body quivered on the brink of release.
He had swelled inside me, primed again.
Gently, gently he lay me down on the bed.
Oh no. We were not going this way again.
I wanted his last memory of this, of us to be wild, erotic, and unforgettable.
I arched up, using my ankles, restricting his ability to move away.
Jordan’s control broke.
Our bodies collided. He slammed into me, hips pistoning, muscles
straining and here was the roughness, the intensity I’d expected.
I gripped his biceps, his skin slick with sweat as we hammered together. My nerve endings were raw, sensitized, nearly bursting from more erotic stimulation. I bowed back, and his mouth latched onto my breast.
My orgasm exploded outward like a bomb detonating, I felt as if I’d lost all substance, all form, and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces from which there would be no recovery.
Jordan arched, groaned and poured himself into me.
And I knew I was never going to be the same. He’d given me everything.
I sighed, shivering in the chill air.
Jordan pulled the duvet over our still joined bodies. The solid hardness of his body lay between my thighs, a welcome comfort.
We lay there, savoring. Neither of us spoke, not wanting to destroy the fragile calm of this moment.
But it couldn’t last. He propped on his elbows to stare down at me.
Emotion began to cloud his eyes.
Jordan twirled a damp curl around his finger. “Carson has an agenda. We need to know that we can trust him to watch our backs.”
“Carson will do what’s right.” I only hoped Jordan could forgive him, forgive me.
“How do you know?” Jordan asked.
I’d rarely talked about my family. I knew why I’d avoided the subject. Nothing like a buzz kill to explain why you had intimacy issues. Of course, for most guys, women having intimacy issues was probably a pleasant change.
I’d gone through enough psych evals to know that I tended to keep people at an emotional distance. Friendly, yet remote. No best friends.
Until Jordan.
I had to explain, had to prepare him, even if he wouldn’t understand until later. “After my grandparents' deaths, I was,” I paused, “Devastated.”
“You were close to them.”
“Not exactly.”
“How not exactly?”
I didn’t say anything.
“There are a thousand other things we should be talking about, working ‘what if’ scenarios--”
“This is important.” Jordan traced his finger lightly over the scar on the under curve of my breast. “I know all about these. What I need to understand are the ones here.”
