“Dude, she’s hot.” Winters, the SAW gunner everyone called Cali-boy for his blond hair and golden skin, jabbed him with his elbow.
“Not Sara, dumb fuck. My baby.” Sanders punched him in the arm and shoved the photo under his nose again. “Look at my little girl.”
“Hu-ah.” Justin gave him a slap of congratulations on the back and turned to look out the chopper as it descended toward the LZ. Where they were going was too hot to land the bird, so they’d have to hump a couple of clicks to reach their objective. Nothing about it seemed out of the ordinary, except that they’d called out the entire battalion, making Justin wonder what they were about to walk into. He shifted the pack on his back and did his best to relax.
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
***
Justin shut the door, closing the cow and her calf in the heated shed. He led his horse to the barn, unsaddled and brushed him out, going as quickly as he could under the circumstances. In the last two years, he’d never felt the need to rush. Now it took all his self control not to. He turned his gelding out and headed up to the bunkhouse, about forty-five minutes after he’d parted company with the blonde beauty. The only thing on his mind was that red bra and how she looked without her top on, or more to the point, what she might look like in even less.
When Justin stepped into the bunkhouse, a clunk came from his room on the opposite end of the hall from the bathroom. Where the door was ajar, Dog trotted out, whining and wiggling with excitement. Slowly he crept down the hall and pushed his door open. There she stood in her panties and bra, holding—
A red haze washed across his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Mercy jumped and dropped the medal on his bedside table. “I was looking for a towel and saw…that.”
“It’s a long way from where I keep the towels.” Seconds later, what he’d taken in sank in to his numbed mind. The woman was damn near naked and in his bedroom. His cock twitched and Justin swallowed. Get her out. “In the closet, in the hall.” He opened the door wider and stepped to the side.
“That’s a Medal of Honor.”
“It’s none of your business.” He looked away and stared at a crack in the plaster wall. Why did she have to remind him? That was one chunk of metal he wasn’t proud of. Something he didn’t deserve.
“It is, isn’t it? You’re a hero.”
“No.” He put his back to her. Anger. Need. Emotions barraged him. “I’m not a hero. Far from it.”
She brushed past him and glanced back. “I know one when I see one.”
“You’re mistaken. I think you should leave.” He jerked his chin toward the front of the house. Her gaze drifted down, stopping on his groin, where his cock damn near panted in desperation. “Now.”
“Can’t. I tossed my clothes in the wash.” She opened the closet door, pulled out a towel, and slung it over her shoulder. “You want to show me where you keep your soap?” She gave him a smile and disappeared into the bathroom.
Yeah, in the fucking shower.
She left the door open. Justin twisted to study the hallway wall. Next came the sounds of a curtain drawing back and the shower starting. Shit. This was going nowhere good, and fast. Justin rocked back on his heels and swung around to stare at the open door. A pair of panties and that red bra sat discarded on the floor. He balled his fists and opened them. He might try to deny it, but he was still a man, and a man had needs.
That invitation couldn’t be any more blatant than if she’d asked him straight up. But his sanctuary would be compromised if he screwed the old man’s granddaughter, and for once in his life he’d found peace, and he didn’t want to lose it.
And then having sex would mean getting naked, and that meant showing battle damage, things he didn’t want anyone to ask about—things he didn’t want to talk about. Especially with a woman. This woman. He scrunched his eyes shut and ground down on his molars. Bad idea. She wouldn’t let it go. Since the moment he’d met her, she’d asked nothing but questions. It had been a mistake to let her come up here. Justin opened his eyes and turned toward the cloud of steam rolling out of the bathroom.
Mercy began to soap her body. The hazy, but remarkably clear shower curtain did little to hide her outline, reminding him of the beginning of one of those spy movies with the sexy woman in silhouette. His dick began to throb, and Justin forced his gaze away. He shouldn’t have looked.
Time for evasive maneuvers. “I’ll make us some coffee and eggs,” he called out, not sure she’d even heard him. He glanced at the open door again, hesitated a second longer than he liked, and with a disgusted snort, he did an about face and headed for the kitchen. Not going to happen. That situation had bad idea stamped all over it.
***
What the hell is wrong with me? Mercy stared at the door through the clear plastic curtain. Did she really just do that? She closed her eyes and groaned. Yes, and he hadn’t missed the suggestion. The look he’d given her told her he’d wanted to eat her alive. For some unknown reason he hadn’t taken her up on it, and she didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.
Now what? She’d come on like a slut, even if she wasn’t. Mercy sure as hell wasn’t in the habit of hopping into the sack with strangers and had never done anything so bold. She could give a thousand excuses for her behavior, but if she were to be honest about it, it all came down to one thing. She was lonely, and there was something in his eyes…something that obviously made her lose all her faculties and act like a whore.
It had been a long time since she’d had the company of a man she liked. So when the opportunity presented itself, she’d jumped without thinking. And she’d just come to the realization what a big mistake she’d made. All the nifty clues had finally clicked together when she’d started the water. That guy was the missing hero, the one every journalist in the country had been searching for, and she’d stumbled onto him while visiting her grandfather.
She could have the exclusive of the century in the palm of her hand if she played everything right. Which she hadn’t. She’d thrown herself at him like a common tramp. Smooth move. Way to fuck up her chances.
He seemed to like his privacy, and he’d probably toss her out naked if he knew she wasn’t just Mercy Evans, old man Evans’ granddaughter, but Mercy Evans, correspondent for Cheyenne’s Nine News. Or had been. Something told her if she wanted the story, the less he knew about what she did outside of helping her grandfather, the better.
Nice. Still thinking about the story, even though she’d just made an ass out of herself. Wasn’t that what got her into trouble in the first place?
Mercy leaned back against the shower and let the water pelt down on her frozen flesh. If she had any shame, she’d leave him in peace. But after that kid committed suicide following her story on school bullying, she needed this lead to resurrect the career that had taken a sharp nose-dive. This hiatus wasn’t for her good health. She’d been suspended, pending the verdict on the lawsuit. She didn’t have a choice. She had to nail this story or walk away from the career she loved.
But this was not the way to get what she wanted. Seduction?
Idiot. She smacked the side of the shower and groaned. Damn, where had her common sense gone? Who knew what he thought of her? How to explain? Mercy pressed her forehead against the smooth surface of the tile.
There wasn’t a way to explain. She had acted like a whore, and somebody deserved an apology. The best thing she could do was go out there and say she was sorry, and damn, she’d have to do it in a towel, or….
Mercy shut the water off, patted her skin dry, and wrapped the soft terry around her body. She tiptoed down the hall and back into his room, grabbed one of his button-up shirts off a hanger in his closet, and slipped it on. It dropped to mid-thigh and was a hell of a lot more decent than a towel or going naked. The smell of his fabric softener wafted up and she closed her eyes. Thoughts of rolling around in the bed with him floated through her mind.
Bad girl. She took
a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and strode down the hall to the kitchen. She could do this. Sluttiness was not in her genetic makeup, and she needed to correct the misunderstanding, pronto.
Mercy came to an abrupt stop. Holy hell! She blinked at the display of broad back and a tight ass that could sell the jeans he wore and make him a tidy fortune while he did it. She shook her head. Down. She was out here to apologize, not ogle him. Her gaze drifted back to his ass and she groaned. Control. Breathe. Focus.
The fresh, earthy smell of the coffee grabbed her, and perhaps if she hadn’t been thinking about something other than the divine scent, she wouldn’t have slipped. “Almost as good as sex,” she blurted out loud, and not in her head as she’d intended to. “Oh.” Her eyes snapped open and she slapped her hand over her mouth, as though she could stop the just-escaped words from reaching him.
Justin whipped around.
Fat chance. Blunder number two. She had his undivided attention.
His gaze locked onto her and the cup in his hand dropped. The cheap china shattered on impact with the red oak floor, splattering coffee everywhere. But he didn’t seem to notice.
Open mouth—insert foot. Mercy swallowed. Okay, that might easily be misinterpreted, what with her standing half-naked in his kitchen.
She eyed him, her gaze drifting to his groin, where a bulge in his jeans told her that he’d clearly taken it out of context. Her heart raced. Fix this. Now.
“The smell, of….” She grabbed flannel and fisted the fabric at the bottom of the shirt, realizing too late, when his attention dropped, that she was giving him a great view of her hoo-ha and Brazilian wax. Heat surged through her. She tugged the fabric down and stroked her hands across the flannel to cleanse her damp palms. “Of java.”
His mouth remained closed. He continued to stare, smoking hot in his jeans and freshly changed T-shirt. The muscle in his jaw began to tick, and his gaze slid over her slowly.
Was he mad she’d gone back into his room again? Mercy shifted and cocked her thumb at the back of the house where the dryer tumbled her clothing, and hopefully finished fast. She swallowed the lump in her throat and gave him a twitchy smile. “I hope you don’t mind the informal dress. I had to borrow…my clothes are still….”
“Yeah.” It came out as a gruff whisper. The look he gave her threatened to send her up in flames.
What she could only describe as a nuclear flush crept up her neck and over her face. “Wet.”
Yeah, what? He minded, or he didn’t? She opened her mouth to ask for clarification, and Justin was on her. His lips sealed off anything she’d wanted to say, while his hands wrapped in her hair and yanked her head back, tipping her face to his so he could take total control of the kiss. He shuffled her in reverse until he had her pinned against plaster in the hall.
The same erection she’d gaped at moments before pressed against her pelvis. The heat of his body burned her through his jeans, as his mouth did things to her insides that should be illegal. One hand left her hair and shoved up under the hem of the shirt, where he grabbed her ass and pulled her in tighter. His knee slid between hers, widening her stance and forcing her to ride his thigh, grinding her against the forbidden.
Mercy clamped onto his shoulders and nearly climbed his body to get closer, desperate for whatever thing between them to come to a climax. Oh, how she wanted him, but she had no condoms, hadn’t come up here with the idea to seduce him, and considering she wanted his story, it wasn’t a wise thing to do. Plus, he’d kept himself secluded. She doubted he had any protection either. She should stop this. Immediately.
After the kiss.
Maybe.
Mercy moaned and her lips opened enough to allow him access he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of, deepening the intensity and sending her world into a spin.
His mouth left hers and traveled to her ear. “I want you.”
And like the pathetic hussy she was, she could only whimper and all but wrap herself around him as though he were a stripper pole. Please take me. Please kiss me. Please don’t stop.
Mercy tore his fly open, yanked his T-shirt from his jeans, and shoved the fabric up, needing the skin-to-skin contact. Knots of flesh slipped under her fingertips. She dropped her gaze to look at what lay underneath. The gasp that came from her lips seemed to bounce off the walls in a sonic echo.
Justin jerked under her touch and froze.
That scar. She lifted her chin and stared into his eyes. It looked like he’d been cut nearly in half. He certainly had the answer and it would be a good one, but at the moment, she couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around the horror of what had caused it. How could he have lived?
***
Lifted onto a table. Rolled into a room. Voices. Activity everywhere.
“We need to get him into surgery now.”
“We’ll have to work here. No time.”
The doctors cut his shirt open, taking the crust of the battlefield, melted skin, and his blood with it. He arched up and shrieked as he came fully awake. Several sets of hands clamped down on his arms and legs. “Hold him.” Pulsing fireworks burst before his vision. “Get that sedative in him!” Fingers tore at the fabric again. “I’ve got to get this out so I can stop the bleeding. His skin’s melted to the shrapnel.”
“My God. How could anyone survive this?”
“Keep it down. He can hear you.”
“His blood pressure is dropping.”
“Don’t stand there.” Someone grabbed his dog tags and lifted them before dropping them back to his chest. “Move. Blood. O-neg. Two pints. Get a chaplain in here. Go!”
“You’re going to be okay,” a soft, female voice said. It was the only comfort he could muckle on to in the moment, so Justin latched onto her arm and wouldn’t let go. He didn’t want to live, not after what he’d done, but he also didn’t want to die.
“Just go with it, soldier.”
A prick to his arm and warmth flooded his body. Justin continued to struggle, the pain immense. When would it stop? It hurt. God, let it stop. The priest came in and began to pray over him. Justin blinked once. Twice.
Darkness.
***
Uncomfortable silence hung between them. Time to break it. Somebody had to. They couldn’t stand there and stare at each other forever. She ran the pad of her finger along the pink ridge on his belly. “That’s an impressive scar. Is that what you got the medal for?”
Justin’s expression grew frosty. He grabbed her wrists and removed her hands, backing away while he refastened his pants. He raised his hands like someone had a gun pointed at him, or like he couldn’t stand the thought he’d touched her.
“This is a bad idea.” His gaze traveled from her face to her hemline.
“What, because I commented on your scar?” She grabbed the bottom of the shirt and yanked down. Anger moved through her. So she’d noticed. Big deal. He acted like she’d slapped him or dumped ice water on him.
He shook his head. His chest rose and fell so hard, it looked like he’d run a marathon. “I won’t betray Will like this. He’s been good to me. I think we should remain friends and call it that.”
Friends? “That kiss wasn’t the kind of kiss you give your buddy. You want this as much as I do.”
“No. Go.” He nodded toward the front door. “You need to leave. I have sweats in a basket in the laundry room. Put them on and get out.” He turned and limped into the kitchen, not looking back.
Well, damn. She reached up and touched her lip. In a few words, he’d managed to make her feel like the whore she’d acted like. Not to mention frustrated, pissed off, and so amped up, all she could think about was getting laid.
But….
Justin was right to want to keep it friendly. If her grandfather knew she’d been up at the bunkhouse, doing what she’d been doing, even though they hadn’t gotten to the grand finale, he’d toss the guy off his property and then her. Gramps claimed she always brought too much drama with her. If he knew who his
tenant was, he’d know the drama was already here.
She needed the story, and getting him kicked off the ranch wouldn’t help her get it. Without it, she’d lose everything she’d worked for, and maybe he was right. Having sex would make this personal, and she couldn’t afford that. She didn’t know him and maybe it was better that way.
Already, she’d let her emotions get involved and now the little voice in the back of her head made her feel like the biggest bitch on the planet. Guilt. Reporters didn’t feel guilty. They got the story. It was time to back off and do what she planned to do, and that meant hands off. Perhaps his throwing her out was for the best, even if it had promised to be some of the hottest sex she’d ever had.
He’d come here for a reason, and something told her it was to get away from people like her. So, sweats. Get out, and then go to church with Gramps to confess for sins she’d only committed in her mind. She’d put her head on straight and plan how best to win his trust and an exclusive—if she could keep her hormones in check. The guy was like a sexual narcotic. Scars and all.
Mercy glanced back as she grabbed the sweats off a basket on the dryer. His shadow moved around in the kitchen. Even it looked good. Damn. She was going to hell for sure.
***
Shit, that had been close. The last thing he wanted was more trouble. He needed this place, the solitude and peace, or at least he’d thought he had, until he kissed her.
The moment the front door shut, Justin threw his dishes in the sink with the eggs and bacon still on them, slamming things around, knowing he’d done the right thing. Screwing up his retreat because he couldn’t keep his hands off the old man’s granddaughter wasn’t on his agenda. He’d ditched the press, escaped and found sanctuary, and then in a spur-of-the-moment reaction, he’d come seconds from ruining it all. He needed to stop thinking from his dick, but that wasn’t going to happen until he eased some of the tension.
He needed a new magazine. One with a blonde with pretty blue eyes. Nothing spoke possession like a woman wearing a man’s clothes—his favorite clothes. Dressed like that, she’d triggered all the need he’d managed to keep leashed for the last two years. Seeing her standing there, half-naked in his well-loved button-up flannel, had sent him over the edge. He’d lost all control, come close to making a huge mistake, and then she’d pulled his T-shirt up and brought him back to reality with that gasp. He’d seen the disgust on her face. Revulsion.
Finding Mercy Page 3
