TrustMe

by Unknown

  He swore, apparently not enjoying the sensation of ice-cold snow mixing with the sweat he’d worked up with the ax.

  “You wanna know what else?”

  “What?” While he sounded mightily aggravated, he couldn’t entirely suppress the slight twitch at one corner of his mouth.

  She took it as a hopeful sign. “The way you’re getting all pissy? I think that makes you what my friend Arnold calls a girlie man.”

  Her gleeful insult did it.

  He was moving before she had time to blink, easily dodging the snowball she tossed hastily his way as she gave a shriek and bolted away. Forced to stick to the path he’d carved on his trips to the shed, she was an easy target as he scooped snow up by the handfuls as he ran. Wadding it together, he peppered her with a series of hits that came one after the other in the short time it took him to catch up with her.

  Then his arms came around her and he lifted her off her feet. She laughed breathlessly as they tumbled to the ground, her relief as she saw a smile finally flit across his face mixed with tenderness as he took care to absorb the brunt of their fall.

  The second they quit skidding across the icy ground he flipped her onto her back, caged her in with his elbows, and made a show of glowering down at her. “Laugh all you want, angelface,” he growled. “You’re in serious trouble now.”

  Angelface. The endearment made her feel warm all over. She did her best not to let on, however. “Ohhh,” she hooted, “aren’t you the big bad.”

  Much as he had the previous night, he gave it his best shot but couldn’t quite sustain his dark and dangerous look. “Big bad?” A tiny V of disbelief formed between his eyebrows. “Where the hell do you come up with this stuff?”

  Willing to forgo her dignity and act silly if it would keep his demons at bay for even a little while, she shook her head. “Forget it. No way am I telling you all my secrets.”

  “You’re not, huh?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.” Pinning her in place with one big hand, he scooped up a handful of snow with the other. His gaze raked her front, zeroed in on her waist where she’d run up the double zipper to allow herself greater freedom of motion, then came back to her face. The smile he finally unleashed on her wasn’t nice.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Yeah, like I’m going to feel threatened by you.”

  “John—”

  “Too late.” Releasing her long enough to shove up the hems of her shirts, he clapped the icy mass in his hand against her bare stomach.

  “Ohmi—” Gasping, protesting and laughing, she bucked and twisted, doing her best to shake him off.

  She might as well have been trying to shift a bulldozer.

  Changing tactics, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her thighs around his hips, figuring if she was going to suffer he might as well share the pain.

  Surprise, surprise. He really was the big bad. Or at least the big, she amended, as she registered the solid length of his arousal pressed eagerly against her.

  Her gaze flashed to his face to find his eyes riveted on her with such desire in their mossy depths it stole her breath. “Oh, John,” she said softly, her amusement ebbing as everything she felt for him filled her up and took its place.

  “Yeah,” he murmured in the instant before his arms came around her and his mouth settled hungrily over hers.

  His lips were cold and tasted of snow. His kiss was hot and greedy. Genevieve sank into it, welcoming the avid thrust of his tongue, glorying in this further proof that he wanted her. She could feel his heart pounding, despite their layers of clothing, and the knowledge that she had such an effect on him thrilled and enthralled and humbled her.

  When he shifted onto his knees, scooped her into his arms, climbed to his feet and headed for the cabin, she didn’t protest.

  She wanted him and anything—everything—he was willing to give.

  “I’ve never made love during the day before,” Genevieve said softly, watching Taggart undress as she knelt naked on the bed.

  Being here with him, like this, at this time of day, felt different, she mused. Daring and a little risqué and incredibly intimate. There were no shadows to hide in, no escape from the shafts of glittering sunshine striping the room and painting everything they touched a pale, shimmering gold.

  “I have,” he volunteered unexpectedly, peeling off his shirt to reveal the wide, smooth shoulders and sculpted chest that never failed to put a hitch in her breath. “Once.”

  Amazed that he’d willingly share such information, she told herself to concentrate, even as her pulse tripped. She’d never seen him completely naked in broad daylight, she realized. “How was it?”

  He unsnapped his jeans and slid the zipper down. With an economy of motion that was laudable, he stripped off his jeans and briefs together. “Fast.” The look he tossed her way was unexpectedly rueful. “I was sixteen.”

  “Ah.” The thought of him as a teenager made her wistful. She wondered what he’d been like, if he’d been open and hopeful for the future. But no, she realized an instant later. By then he’d already lost his mother and been shipped away from home to military school.

  It made her want to gather him close, protect him, keep him from ever feeling more pain, even though she knew not only that it was impossible, but that he’d never allow it. He had too much pride to let her or anybody else shelter him.

  “What?” he said, searching her face as he stretched out beside her.

  “Nothing. I just…” Chiding herself for putting concern in his voice, she smiled. “This was one of your better ideas, that’s all.” Coming up on her knees, she saw his surprise as she braced her hands on either side of him, then lowered her head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the shallow oval of his navel.

  This—the gift of pleasure—was something he would accept, and was well within her power to bestow.

  Deliberately leaving the best for last, she ignored the velvety thrust of his straining arousal and slowly skimmed her lips over the washboard ripple of his abdomen. He had the most magnificent body she’d ever seen, and truth be told, having it stretched out like this for her delectation made her feel all fizzy inside.

  Taking her time, she explored with her hands and her mouth. She trailed her fingers over every inch of those glorious abs first, then the curves of his pectorals from his sides to his middle. She flicked her tongue over the hardened bead of his nipple, delighted to hear a soft sound rumble from his throat. Intrigued, she did it again, and felt his hand slide into her hair a moment before he tugged her head up.

  “Genevieve,” he said, his voice smoky, his eyes dark with a look she’d never seen in them before.

  “What?” With a pinch of concern, she reached up, touched her hand to his face. “What is it?”

  “I want—” He stopped, and she saw his struggle to get out the words. “I need to see your face when I’m inside you.”

  The words alone were enough to trigger a liquid flutter inside her. It got stronger as he slid his hand around and traced her lips with his thumb. “Now,” he said hoarsely.

  “Yes.” Scooting up, she claimed his mouth, giving herself over to him completely as he held her close and reversed their positions.

  In a blink of an eye, the kiss went from soft and tender to greedy and heated. In the next instant, he was tearing his mouth away, holding himself still for the heartbeat it took her to open her eyes. Then he plunged inside her.

  She was wet, slick and yielding, more than ready, and she could feel herself stretching to accommodate his considerable size as he began to pump. His hips slowly pistoned as they continued to watch each other, their gazes locked.

  He was so beautiful, she thought, as the first ribbon of pleasure made an immediate arrival and curled through her. From that strong, austere face to his wide palms and long fingers, from the warm, corrugated surface of his stomach to the powerful, lightly haired thighs wedged now between her smooth, s
ofter ones, he was utterly, quintessentially male.

  Never in her life had she been so aware of being female, of the fundamental drive to claim and be claimed by a man.

  Not any man, she amended as she felt herself slide a little closer toward completion, that single ribbon of toe-curling sensation having given birth to a silken web that had her firmly in its grip.

  Just John. Only John. Always John.

  She watched, enthralled, as his eyes began to blank and his breathing quicken as his control started to evaporate. Teeth clenched, perspiration misting his skin, he shifted, sharpening the angle of penetration and began to drive. “Damn it,” he gasped. “I can’t—I can’t hold back.”

  “It’s all right,” she whispered, her head going light as pleasure began to squeeze her.

  Nothing in her life had prepared her for this, she thought hazily. The delicious heat of his big body. The raw, drugging sensuality of the act they were sharing. Her own wildly eager response.

  Emotion overran her as if she were the top wine flute in a champagne fountain. It was too much to contain. Too precious to hoard.

  Reaching up, she dug her hands into his hair, rising up to meet him at the same time that she tugged his head down to hers. “I love you, John,” she said clearly, her gaze never leaving his. Clamping around him with sleek, inner muscles, she felt herself reaching, reaching…“Come with me,” she implored.

  He quivered as if she’d struck him. Then his eyes squeezed closed and his mouth crushed down on hers, a welcome marauder.

  Every muscle in his big body shuddering, he held on to her as if she were his only anchor as the storm broke and pleasure swept them away.

  Twelve

  “Y ou shouldn’t do that,” Taggart said quietly, his shoulders still heaving as he sat up and swung his feet to the floor.

  “Do what?” Genevieve said blankly to his back.

  He heard the sheets rustle and knew she’d sat up. “Say things you don’t mean.”

  “Like I love you?” There was a telling pause, and then she said evenly, “Pardon me, but I think I know my own mind.”

  Frustrated, he twisted around to face her. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her; why couldn’t she just acknowledge she’d spoken in the heat of the moment and let it go? “You’re wrong. You’re confusing great sex with…something else.”

  “Trust me. I know the difference between the two.” Her expression was serene as she met his gaze. “And I didn’t tell you because I was hoping you’d say it back or because I’m looking for a commitment, if that’s what’s bothering you. I just wanted you to know. Love, freely given, is a gift, John. Not a burden. Or at least it shouldn’t be.”

  How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? Feeling all tied up inside and hating it, he stood, scooped up his jeans and yanked them on, then paced to the window and stood looking blindly out. “There are things you don’t know about me.”

  “You’re right. It’s also true that if you only count the time in hours, we haven’t known each other very long. But none of that matters. I feel closer to you than I’ve ever felt to anyone except Seth. And I trust my judgment. I know you, John. Maybe not every little detail, but the things that are important. I know you care—about your brothers, your job, about doing the right thing. I know you light me up inside. I know you’re a good man.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He wheeled around, surprised to find she’d flown under his radar once again and was standing just a few feet away, wrapped in his shirt. “What if I told you nine guys are dead because of me?”

  “I wouldn’t believe you.”

  He turned back to the window, the sunshine unable to touch the endless winter that lived inside him. “Then you’d be deluding yourself.”

  “No,” she said firmly.

  “Yes, damn it.” He told himself just to shut up and let it go, but now that he’d gone this far, he couldn’t seem to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. “You know I was a Ranger. My last deployment was to northern Afghanistan. My unit had been there nine months when word came down from CentCom that they had reliable intel an old trade route was being used as a pipeline by terrorists coming in from Pakistan. We were ordered to check it out.

  “The trip out took a week, but there was zilch to indicate that anybody but us had been over that pass in years.” He took a shallow breath and an iron grip on the bitter emotions burning his throat. “Until we started back. It was night, we were maybe two days from our base camp, pushing it a little because heavy rains earlier in the day had slowed us down. One minute everything was fine.”

  Willis’s amused drawl whispered through his mind but he shook it off.

  “The next, we were taking heavy fire, with nowhere to hide because the trail had been mined since we’d come through. The whole thing lasted five, maybe ten minutes. When it was over—” he shrugged “—I was the only one left.”

  “Dear God.” Her face, always so expressive, was a telling mixture of shock and horror.

  Taggart told himself he ought to be glad; after all, wasn’t this what he’d wanted? For her to see him as the bastard he really was?

  Damned right it was.

  So why did he feel as if he’d just lost a vital piece of himself? Something he wasn’t sure he could go on without?

  “How—” Genevieve swallowed. “However did you survive?”

  He smiled humorlessly. “I was carrying my CO, who’d been hit, when a grenade went off beside us. He took the brunt of the blast; I got blown over a cliff. I got lucky—” the word felt like acid on his tongue “—and hit a ledge about a hundred feet down.”

  Genevieve tried to picture it in her mind; the noise and the confusion and the urgency and the fear, and then what must have seemed like an unending fall. That was the memory, she now realized, that must have prompted his agonized cries at the end of his nightmare. The ones that had sent shivers down her spine and pushed her even harder to wake him up.

  She drew in a deep breath, blew it out, fought for composure as her heart broke just a little more for him. “How badly were you hurt?”

  He shrugged dismissively. “I was a little banged up from the fall.”

  “Define banged up.”

  His mouth set stubbornly, and she knew before he answered that he was going to lie. Clearly, the last thing he wanted was sympathy, of any kind. “Nothing major. I told you. I was lucky, remember?”

  She heard the self-loathing in his voice, and suddenly it all made sense. The air of isolation; the tightly controlled emotions; the stubborn, misplaced conviction that he didn’t deserve to be loved. “What did you do?”

  “I climbed up the cliff, checked to see if anyone else was alive.” His voice was suddenly uninflected, his expression cool, as if what he was saying was of no significance whatsoever. Genevieve didn’t buy it for a minute. “All our comm units were shot to hell, so I had to wait to radio for help until I got back to camp.”

  He’d said they were two days out. She pictured him—injured, since no one could fall that far and escape damage to their body—with no one to talk to about the carnage he’d witnessed or the friends he’d lost. And she ached for his pain and despair.

  It took all of her control not to give in to the urge to step close, wrap her arms around him, offer what comfort she could.

  Yet with an instinct she didn’t question, she knew that if he were to have any chance of healing, he had to confront the guilt that had clearly festered inside him for far too long. She took a deep breath. “And all of this is your fault…how?”

  His mouth twisted. “We never should have been there in the first place. I knew—something felt off right from the beginning. Unlike CentCom, we were there, on the scene. If there’d been hostiles passing through the area, there would’ve been whispers in the villages, something passed along from one of our contacts.”

  Although she suspected she knew the answer, she asked the question anyway. “So why didn’t you say something?”

  “I did.
But I should have recognized that it was a setup, raised hell, even refused to go—”

  “And disobey orders?” she said in disbelief. “You couldn’t do that. Any more than you could have lived with yourself if you’d hung back while your unit was about to walk into a situation you thought was dangerous.”

  “Listen, for God’s sake. Maybe you’re right about that, but what happened on that pass—It was just all…wrong. Teams get used to a certain pattern, into a kind of rhythm, on patrol. I should’ve been in front, the way I usually was, but instead I was hanging back at the rear—”

  “Why? Were you sick or injured or something?”

  “No. I was keeping an eye on—what the hell does it matter? The point is I wasn’t where I should’ve been—”

  “And if you had been up front, what would that have accomplished?” she demanded. “Were you so much better than the man taking your place that you could have prevented an ambush?”

  “No, but—I—” He stopped, regrouped. “That’s not—” He stopped again, and just stared at her.

  “You’re not psychic, John. If you were, you wouldn’t have spent the past few days chained to the bed. Obviously your instincts were right, but it was your job, your unit’s job, to do exactly what you did, to take that walk into danger no matter how you felt. The responsibility for what happened rests with the men who attacked you and whoever higher up your chain of command okayed the information about the pass in the first place.”

  Unable to stand the physical distance between them another second, she padded close, rucked back the sleeves of his shirt and reached up to cup his face. “I’m sorrier than I can say that you suffered such a terrible loss.” She thought about her grief for Jimmy and couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him. “But what happened wasn’t your fault. You’re not God. Or a superhero. And I’m sure as hell not sorry you’re alive. I doubt any of the friends you lost that night would be, either. They’d be as glad as I am that you made it out.”