“Hey, I offered to cook you brunch, not make you have sex the old fashioned way.” Feet spread a comfortable shoulder’s width apart and hips slung to one side, she flashed him a smile. “I never cook. So, you should jump at the offer.” The thumb on her left hand hung on the belt loop of dark jeans. They contrasted with the fluffy white gauze wrapped around her wrist, dangling mid-thigh.
Ryan straightened as though he’d been electrocuted. The H&K fell to his side, and he rubbed the horror and sleep from his eyes. A strand of tears tumbled onto his bare chest. The moisture blended with the sheen of sweat and took cover in the bristle of his hair. Maybe she wouldn’t notice the first tears he’d shed since his sister’s funeral.
He wiped the remnants on the boxers he’d borrowed from a dead man. Probably wouldn’t have to give them back, since the guy wouldn’t need them any more. His chin raised and he breathed until his lungs couldn’t hold a molecule more. He released the breath through parted lips. The technique pulled the reins on his erratic panting and wild heart. He’d had so much practice pulling himself together after an episode, it only took one more breath before he could speak.
“Or maybe I should cook. Cooking, like sex, gets better with practice and discipline.”
Her copper eyes tilted toward the ceiling and her cinched braid waggled with the shake of her head. “If I liked pussy, my life would be so much easier.” With that nugget, she turned on the soles of her tan leather boots and headed for the kitchen.
A smile quirked Ryan’s lips despite the stains on his insides. He shoved his feet into thieved jeans then pulled a white tee over his head. Gun tucked neatly into the small of his back, he turned to the window and surveyed the horizon by day. Too bad the Sinaloa weren’t scheduled to arrive until the black hours of the morning. He’d be able to see them coming from any direction for two miles. As he knew all too well, the thin brush, scrawny cacti, and rocky terrain didn't provide much cover. He had thermal and night vision monoculars, but nothing beat daylight.
He turned his back on the monochromatic rainbow of brown and followed his nose. The thing led him to the curves of Piper’s ass peeking out from behind the refrigerator door. On the island, a cutting board held a whole avocado and beheaded tomato, playing host to the partially imbedded blade. Pans cluttered the stove. One sizzled with eggs while another frothed bubbles over the edge. The third spat grease with a loud pop.
“Mierda.”
“You need some help?”
She closed the stainless-steel door with her foot and turned away as if he hadn’t said a word. The overflowing contents of her arms spilled onto the counter. She plucked a tortilla from a paper bag and tossed it into the popping oil. The white round shimmied in the pan while she whipped a tea bag from the pile and dropped it into the water. She turned the burner off and slid it to a free one.
With a frying pan handle in each palm she shook loose the eggs and tortilla and flipped them into the air. After catching and returning them to the fire, she turned, lips pursed and hands propped on her hips. “You can set the table.”
“Set the table? I plan to blow this place to the moon in a few hours, and you want me to set the table?”
“Yes, as in plates, forks, knives, napkins, cups.” She sliced the tomato and cored the avocado so quickly Ryan found his brow pulled low. “Help, if you’re going to. Everything will be ready in two minutes.”
Ryan hustled around the kitchen, pulling open most of the cabinets and drawers in his search of the requested items. Two by two he set them on the lacquered table across from one another. Before he finished with the flatware, Piper ushered over two plates full of food. She swirled around, snagging a pitcher of orange juice from the island.
Taking a calculated risk, Ryan pulled out her chair and offered it with a wave of his hand. Surprisingly, he didn’t pull back a nub. Amazingly, she sat without a hint of sass.
“Provecho,” she bowed.
“Provecho.”
Her gaze followed the fork to his lips and her brow arched. Taste exploded in his mouth as hot and as vivid as the woman sitting in front of him. The creamy avocado and sweet tomato countered the spice of the eggs. Ryan placed his hand over his heart. “I’ll admit, I’m wrong about the practice. Either you have it or you don’t. And you sure as hell have it.”
She gifted him with a flash of her pearly whites. “I may be rusty, but I’ve had more than my fair share of practice.”
“Are we talking cooking or sex now?”
“Cooking, but…” she said with a shrug. “It could apply to both, I suppose.”
“Who did you cook for, Piper?”
Her tongue slid over her upper lip, stealing away a bit of fluffy green. She took another bite and followed it with a swig of juice. “My little sister, who’s not so little anymore.”
“Hence, the not cooking?”
“Yeah,” she agreed.
He remained quiet, hoping she’d fill the void with words. She considered him with a tilt of her head and as much intent as he studied her. They ate in silence, measuring one another. Once her plate sat empty, she wiped her mouth.
“My mother worked a lot when we were young.” A hint of a smile arched her lips. “So, I took care of dinner and bedtime.”
“Just you and your sister?”
“Ivy,” she supplied. “No, my grandmother lived with us, but rose and slept with the sun. And napped with the cat.” Her eyes darted in the corners of her mind for a moment. He guessed gauging how much to say. That penny-shine gaze settled back on his hair momentarily before meeting his gaze. “My older sister lived with us too. Technically. But she enjoyed the freedom our mother’s absence provided.”
“Another reason you’re so hell bent on doing everything yourself?” Ryan kicked back in the seat.
Piper’s lips thinned and her face screwed tight for a five count. She shoved her plate to the side and slowly relaxed. “Could be. Is your nightmare a one-off thing?”
“No.”
“PTSD?”
“It’s not PTSD.”
All malfeasance fled her face and her fingers spread wide on the wooden table. Though a table separated their proximity, the weight of her stare pinned him in place. “You think because you’re a bad-ass you can’t get it? A cop on the force, a damn fine officer, got pinned down. Even though he read those bastards their rights and shoved them in jail, he had nightmares every time he slept about one of the bullets ripping him apart. He never made anything of it. Less than a year after, he killed himself.”
“You think I’m a badass?” he asked.
Piper rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” he surrendered, “I don’t think a person can get PTSD at age ten.”
Ryan shot from the table and collected the plates. He rinsed them under the heavy flow, focusing far too long on a defect in the blue glaze. Piper’s hand hooked his bicep. He pivoted his head in her direction and his heart dropped into his shoes. The rich tan of her skin was cast with a chalky glow and her bottom lip quivered.
He slammed the lever, cutting off the water, and searched the room for the cause of her distress. When he didn’t see anything he strained his sensitive hearing for any unfamiliar noise. Her shaking head stopped him.
“You were ten and it still affects you?”
Women, he didn’t understand them farther than he could lick them front to back. “What’s wrong, Piper? It’s not like I’m going to swallow a bullet and leave you to deal with this mess on your own.”
“I know.” She nodded. “I just…I can’t imagine…”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” He shrugged off her touch and walked into the living room. He used surveillance as an excuse, hurrying out onto the front patio. Piper followed and skirted through the arched door before he closed it. She stepped away, walking several feet before leaning against the wall, her long legs kicked out and crossed at the ankle. Like she intended to stay as long as it took.
He shifted his face toward the horizon, but saw nothing.
The past, present, and future tormented him, but no more so than did her presence. He couldn’t ignore her. Lord knows, he tried.
“You really want to know?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Crossing his arms, he turned to face her. “Well, there are some things I really want to know too.”
Her chin wagged in denial before he finished the sentence. Her lips parted, but the words evaporated in the dry air before reaching his ears. Piper clamped her strong jaw closed and her lids followed suit.
“You may not need anyone’s help, but it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t benefit your cause.”
Her head rested back against the adobe and her chest heaved, drawing his gaze to her engorged nipples. He turned back to the land. He wished away his hard-on. When it didn't leave on its own he chased it away with memories.
“Nearly eighteen years ago my parents surprised me after breakfast pancakes with a ten-foot hoop. I begged them non-stop to construct the thing. Of course, my father had to go into the office for a few hours. Even on the special Saturday. Leaving my mom to decorate the house, cook, and build the goal for my party.
“Did you ever see the movie Space Jam?”
“Only a thousand times. Ivy ate only vegetables and she swore she was Bugs Bunny. She wore construction paper ears and a cotton ball tail so much my mom bought stock in Crayola and Cotton.”
“Make sure they have Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny on the cake and don’t mess it up.” Ryan propped his palms on the wooden railing and spread his feet. “That was the last thing I said to my sister. For the first time after getting her license my mom let her drive without an adult in the car. Rebecca only smiled at my demands.” His grip bit into the finish.
“She was car-jacked. But the son of a bitch wasn’t satisfied. Tried to take her jewelry. She fought back and he emptied the magazine into her chest.”
“It’s not your fault,” Piper said.
“She probably thought he was trying to force her into the car. And who really knows. Maybe he was.”
“It’s not your fault,” Piper repeated.
He’d been so wrapped up in a basketball goal that rusted through without ever being used, and a cake that never left the bakery, for a party that never happened, that he hadn’t waved his sister goodbye or even blown her a kiss. “I know.”
“In your head you know, but in your heart…guilt bores holes so deep. You could fall forever and never hit the bottom. Purgatory with your heart slammed against the back of your chest. Your throat mangled raw from the scream that won’t stop. A train of what if’s running the same track in your mind, but refusing you the sweet relief of derailment. Of severing your brain stem and ending the shame.”
Her words shot an arrow dead center down one of the chasms in his heart. Ryan pried his clenched fingers from the railing, and then turned. The hole must not have been all that deep. The broad-head found purchase at the cinched lips and rivulets flowing from Piper’s closed eyes. Agony—hers, his—sliced through his chest, razing every naked nerve ending on its sojourn.
11
The rasp of his breath drew nearer. Piper retreated inside herself. Blindness her only protection against his knowing stare. Somehow this stranger reached deep inside and poked at a place she’d cordoned off and tried desperately to obliterate from her consciousness. His incessant nudges ached like mental images of the first homicide she worked. It brought pain, immediate and sharp, but somehow lessened the torment. Lessened the fear of the misery to come.
No way would she acknowledge it.
“Sounds like you’ve studied contrition intimately.” His deep voice rumbled and the warmth of his breath tickled her neck.
Piper held completely still, waiting for him to leave.
His touch settled at the corner of her eye. The weight of it pressed firm before trailing to her ear and off the edge of her bare lobe, taking her tears with it.
In a battle of wills, Piper never lost. Then again, she’d never lost her will. Until craving overcame determination. Winning took a backseat. Independence hopped in next to it. Desire gripped the wheel with both hands and opened the throttle. Her eyes opened. Her chin dropped to scope their fill.
Gone was the greasy gorilla he’d been last night. In his place a shocker stood. With his floppy blond hair and wholesome good looks, he could easily shoulder a Ralph Lauren campaign. The white-fire eyes could melt the habit off Sister Irene at Our Lady of Sorrow. Or scare the piss out of a world-class criminal. He truly was a conundrum of a man.
Ryan threw a leg over her crossed ones, nesting them in the V of his. The move brought his lips a breath away. Piper wished for the instincts she had the last time he got this close.
“Why can’t you have regular sex?” Before she could stop the thought it fell out of her mouth.
His jaw lowered and his gaze peeked from beneath his thick brows. “You trying to change the subject?”
“I sincerely wish.”
“I can and have had regular sex, Miss…?” His dimples winked in a burdened smirk.
“Vega,” she whispered.
“Piper Vega, regular sex is mundane. Mediocre at best.” He shrugged.
“Maybe you just haven’t done it with the right person.” She inhaled, stuffing her lungs full of his masculine scent, and enjoyed the hit. Like a pothead discovering crystal meth, she was hooked. Whether she liked it or not.
“No doubt. But what I’m talking about, if done right, blows regular sex out of the water every single time.”
“What makes you think you can do it right?”
“I can’t.” Ryan’s thumb mimicked the earlier caress over her left cheek. “We could.” He placed the pad between his lips and sucked off the moisture. ”It’s a trust so absolute I could aim a gun to your head. Smile. Pull the trigger. Kill the man sneaking up behind you. And all the while you’d smile back at me. Never for an instant believing I could harm a strand of your hair. An inch of your skin. A piece of your heart.”
His palm lay against her thudding chest.
“It’s making love and never knowing where the next touch will fall. Never knowing how heartbreakingly gentle. How passionate. How rigid it will be. The shock of orgasm pulls you under the wave you never saw coming. It wrestles you to the point of exhaustion and allows you to breathe only when you’ve died la petite mort. When you’ve given all and received everything in return.”
Piper swore her vagina magnetized. Her hips tilted and surged forward, sparking contact with his steely erection. Her breath caught as she anticipated his next move. Would he subdue her with a kiss and plastic cuffs? Would he bind her to the chair he’d slept in and devour her body tit to toe? She didn’t know, but her nerves rattled with the eagerness to find out.
Ryan’s head lolled back and his thick chest expanded, molding the ridge of his torso to the cotton. On exhale he groaned like a bear ready to bash in a car door for its snack. An electric thrill shot up her spine. Her lips parted in preparation. The pressure at her chest increased. Her back flattened against the wall. Their gazes locked.
“Come on. We have a hell of a lot of work to do before the Sinaloa arrive.” His hand dropped. He stepped back and turned toward the door.
“Asshole,” she hollered. Piper would have scraped her jaw off the ground, but it was too tense in rage. Rage at herself, mostly.
“Yep. But not usually,” he said. Hand on the knob, he gestured her inside the house.
“What, I bring out the worst in you?” She sashayed into the compound, but avoided looking into his eyes.
“My old partner would say you bring out my best.”
“So, you’re gay?”
A full belly laugh assailed her ears and made her glad her back was to him. She stomped into the kitchen and rounded the island, but didn’t raise her gaze until the threat of his dimples waned.
“Let’s just make a plan and forget everything else. All I want to do is get these people out of here safely.”
“All?”
“No,” she said with a wobble of her head that would have earned her a whipping from her momma back in the day. “I want to kill these bastards too.”
Ryan’s smile compressed into a line. He scrubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead and flipped back some wayward strands. “Killing is not an easy thing.”
“When you’ve seen what I’ve seen…it is.” Piper flattened her hands on the wood and leaned forward. “Chained to the wall, unable to help at all, two shipments came through here. If it had been drugs or weapons, maybe I couldn’t take their lives. But I’ve looked into the eyes of these girls. I’ve see their freedom ripped from them under the guise of hope. I’ve seen the promise of their future. Its forced prostitution, multiple forced abortions, and an early death. A death that they’ll welcome with wide arms.”
“I’m putting my life in your hands, Piper. If your law-abiding conscience gets the best of you, don’t leave me pissin’ in the wind.”
“I was a cop, Ryan. Not a saint.”
Those cursed dimples caught her off guard.
“What?” she barked.
He shook his head. His gaze shifted to the window through which she spied the garage. “I know the convoy usually has a lead car, the bus with the cargo, and two tails. But where do they go when they arrive?”
“I’ve only seen the bus parked outside the door. But what I’ve pieced together is the lead car goes to the garage, the first tail stays with the bus, and the last pulls to the front of the house.”
“And where’s Gabrone during all this?”
Piper pulled back and shifted her weight to her right foot. She slapped the braid over her shoulder and contemplated her answer. Not knowing what he’d plan, she couldn’t yet weigh her options. “In the last car.”
Stranger Mine: a Base Branch novel Page 5
