Sabrina leaned forward, placing her palm to his chest. His heart began to thump with anticipation before he realized she was simply pushing him out of her way.
Stalking across the room, she positioned herself next to the bookshelf…her desk conveniently between them. “I can’t do that, Chase. I won’t do that.”
Of course, she couldn’t make things easy. Nothing about Sabrina McAllister was easy. But that was one of the things he enjoyed about her. She certainly offered a challenge. She kept his blood flowing hot and his mind working overtime in order to try and outfox her maneuvers. It was almost as good a high as flying…without the fear of death.
“At least we both know where we stand. You’ll change your mind, Sabrina. And when you do…I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm.” Now that would be a sight worth fighting for; his wife writhing beneath him, begging for release.
Rina looked up at Chase, imploring him with her eyes to understand. “Please, Chase, I need you to leave me alone. Let me do my job. Let me put this behind me.”
DONALD WATCHED the man pull into a parking space in front of his apartment. He couldn’t seem to stop himself.
Ever since last week when he’d delivered that note in person, he’d been watching Major Charles Edward Carden.He’d watched as the man had opened his front door, looked around and seen the note sitting on his front stoop. And part of him had liked the brief flash of surprise, fear and frustration he’d seen in the other man’s eyes.
They were the same emotions he’d lived with every day since the casualty notification officer had arrived on his doorstep to tell him that his daughter was dead.
Opening that door, seeing the man standing there silent, somber, in uniform…he’d known. Just as Major Carden had known when he’d seen the note waiting for him.
Still he woke up every morning, forgetting she was gone, expecting for the phone to ring, to hear her voice…Then came the surprise and pain every day when he remembered it hadn’t been a bad dream.
The frustration that no one seemed to remember or care about the sacrifice his daughter had made. No, everyone talked about the flyboy, not the woman who’d died so he and the senator could escape unharmed.
And fear. Fear that he’d never find himself again. That until he made things right for his Amy nothing could ever be right.
He’d lost his job with a commercial security firm weeks ago. They’d said they just couldn’t keep him on…he’d exhausted his bereavement leave and vacation and wouldn’t come back.
Margaret didn’t understand. She’d gone on with her life, or was trying to. He didn’t blame her. He would have, too…if he could.
He’d stopped calling home. Better she think he chose to stay in the seedy motel room on the outskirts of Las Vegas because he had a gambling problem or had found some hooker. Better for her. At least then he could insulate her from the truth. She didn’t need to know their Amy’s death had been unnecessary, preventable.
But he wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t return home to D.C. He wouldn’t leave until someone, anyone, Major Carden acknowledged his little girl’s death.
If that meant spending days lurking around the base so he could watch Carden’s every move…If that meant spending nights in his car just so that he wouldn’t miss a moment of seeing his baby girl’s killer walking open and free in the sunlight…
Then that’s what he’d do.
For now.
CHASE SAT DOWN at the bar table across from Jackhammer, waving silently at Sadie as he settled into his chair.
“Find out anything?”“No. Look, man, I think it’s time to tell someone about this.”
He’d expected the argument from his friend, they’d had it already.
“And tell them what? We haven’t found anything concrete.”
“Yeah, well maybe you let someone else, someone whose job it is to investigate this kind of stuff, come to that conclusion.”
At first he’d simply been pissed that someone thought they could mess with his life. He’d fought against the increased guilt that the notes and their messages produced inside.
“It’s probably just some crackpot antiwar advocate looking to use my story and medal ceremony to make headlines and interrupt the President’s schedule.”
Jackhammer cocked an eyebrow and stared hard at him.
Yeah, he didn’t really think that either. The notes hit too close to home for them not to have some teeth behind them.
“What’s the worst that can happen? Someone makes a scene at my award ceremony for the medal I don’t want in the first place. There are worse things in this world.”
“Something tells me the air force wouldn’t exactly jump for joy if that happened, buddy boy. Especially considering you haven’t told anyone about this yet. At least if they know they can’t blame you for blindsiding them with a PR nightmare starring the President of the United States.”
Chase winced. He wanted to take care of this himself. Because whoever was behind it didn’t deserve to go to jail…not on top of possibly losing a loved one. The letters had an edge of manic desperation that he could understand. It was why he’d given Jackhammer the short list of army personnel and had taken the list of family members. He really thought it was one of them. He just had to figure out which one.
He wanted to be the one to handle it. It was the least he could do. He owed the dead that.
“Have you told your girlfriend? I bet she’ll be pissed if her perfect ceremony gets shanghaied by someone with an embarrassing agenda. You won’t be the only one looking like an ass.”
And frankly, that was one of his biggest concerns. Whether he wanted her to be or not, Sabrina was in the middle of this.
He just didn’t want her in the line of fire of whatever went down. If he went to anyone, she’d be given the information. And she’d consider it her duty to put herself square in the path of any flying punches—real or verbal.
“Give me another couple of days. Long enough to look at all of the families on my list. If I haven’t turned up anything then, I’ll go to my commander.”
He could tell Jackhammer wasn’t entirely thrilled with his request.
“I have just over a week before the ceremony.”
“Five days, man. If you haven’t come up with anything by then I’m reporting it to your commander and I don’t care if you like it or not.”
“Fair enough.”
So for the next five days he’d be busting his butt gathering intelligence. Only one of the families on his list lived close by—in Arizona. He’d maybe take his private plane on a trip that way.
The others would require he spend hours on the Internet and call in a few favors…he’d trade on his current notoriety if he had to.
There were six total—the one in Arizona, two in California, one each in New York, Maryland, and Texas.
He’d eliminate the CA ones first and work his way east.
At least one good thing would come of this—he’d be able to do exactly as Sabrina asked and leave her alone for a few days.
Maybe by then she’d realize it was the last thing she really wanted.
9
THE DAMN MAN had done exactly what she’d asked. And it was driving her bonkers. Rina hadn’t seen or heard from him in almost two days.
He hadn’t come into her office with that damn knowing smile and his ocean-deep eyes full of mischief. She hadn’t seen his face or even heard the deep rumble of his voice.And she missed it. She missed him.
He crowded her thoughts. She found herself waiting, on edge, for the moment he’d ramble back into her life. Waiting for the moment she’d feel…alive, electrified, free.
She shouldn’t want it. Didn’t want it. Couldn’t help but want it.
Finally, unable to take any more, she headed over to his apartment Friday night. The more she waited, the more she wanted…the less she’d be able to restrain her reaction to him. This way she’d have some control over herself, her emotions. At least that’s what she told herself.
But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right, of knowing she couldn’t resist him.
“Have you signed those papers yet?”
Chase had opened his apartment to her, a paint roller in one hand, the door firmly lodged in the other. He stared at her for several moments before finally stepping back and letting her inside.
“Have you?”
“No.” Chase turned away.
“What do you mean, no?” Rina couldn’t control the physical responses ping-ponging through her body. The reaction was immediate. The moment she’d stepped inside his space, been surrounded by him, a craving had settled bone deep.
She’d wanted him to stay away. But she needed this sensation more. The past two days had been stressful, grueling and wearing on her spirit. She’d felt strangled, by her job, her responsibilities, her fear—despite the fact that she’d tried to ignore it—that he’d listen to her and leave her alone. Never in her life had she needed Chase’s infusion of passion and confidence more.
He ignored her, walking across the room toward an open door.
“Where are you going?”
He stopped for a split second, not turning around to answer her, instead throwing a response over his shoulder. Holding up the paint roller, he said, “I’d think that would be obvious. I’m going to finish painting.”
Saying nothing more, he disappeared into the next room. Rina stood in the middle of his living room, his newly painted living room, and stared after him.
If she went in there she knew exactly what was going to happen. Her, Chase, in a room with a bed—sex would be inevitable. But if she was honest with herself, isn’t that why she’d come over here in the first place?
She didn’t want to fight it anymore. Didn’t want to fight him anymore.
What she did want was the way he made her feel by simply looking at her with those blazing blue eyes, like she was the best thing to happen since frozen pizza dough. What she wanted was the sensation of finally being free, the sensation she only ever experienced when she was with him.
She stopped in the doorway to his bedroom and looked around. The brand-new, huge bed topped with a nice, fluffy mattress sat in the center, draped with plastic. The only other piece in the room was a matching mirror set off toward the corner.
“If you’re just here about the papers then why don’t you leave? I’m a little busy.”
Rina sauntered into the room and, with rolling, purposeful steps, headed straight for him. It was sex. Great sex. But nothing more. It wouldn’t change anything. She wouldn’t let it.
Leaning up on tiptoe she placed her hand at his waist for balance and whispered, “I have a better idea,” against his skin, using his own words against him.
He stilled, paint roller tight in his fist.
“And what would that be?”
Reaching for the roller, she pulled it from his hand. He easily let it go, reaching for her as he turned to face her.
“Painting.” Rolling a dark brown stripe down the side of his cheek, Rina couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on his face. It was priceless.
And she never, ever, would have followed through on the impulse with anyone else. Somehow she knew no one else in her life would understand. But he would.
Chase grabbed for her wrist, holding tight, not enough to bruise, just enough to keep her from striking again while he wasn’t looking. Good thing, too—she wasn’t above using diversionary tactics.
Mischief and an answering happiness echoed in his deepening blue eyes, making her heart seem lighter than it had in…a very long time.
She threw back her head and laughed. It felt wonderful.
“You do realize this means war, right?”
HER WRIST IN ONE HAND, Chase watched her laugh. It was an amazing sound, one he’d begun to fear he wouldn’t get to hear ever again. She’d finally given in. It was a good thing, too, because he was about on the edge. Every day without seeing her had turned a little more gray.
Glancing down, he saw the paintbrush handle sticking out of a puddle of chocolate paint on the tray at his feet and remembered how adorable she’d looked last weekend with it peppering her honey-blond hair.Reaching down, he snatched it, dabbed a tiny dot on the end of her nose—or rather what he’d meant to be a tiny dot—and smacked her on the ass.
She yelped and jumped backward, almost plastering herself to the still-wet wall. The gleam of battle entered her eyes, stoking the arousal that streamed ever faster into his blood.
Sabrina would always give as good as she got.
She pried his fingers off of her wrist, twisting from his grasp in one fluid motion. She came up with the roller, but that was fine with him. His brush had distance.
She gave a lightning glance around her, not letting her eyes stray from him for more than a fraction of a second. A mile-wide grin split her face. He knew the moment she spied the pan of paint lying on the floor across the room—her smile got wider. With a coil of muscles, she dashed to the side. He was only a step behind and he probably could have stopped her. But where was the fun in that?
As she reached the second tray, she swooped down, loaded the roller with an almost golden color of paint and swirled to meet him. Crouching into a fighter’s pose, she waved the thing in his direction and taunted.
“Come on. I dare you.”
He might be a well-trained fighter pilot, but he usually had the aid of million-dollar equipment when he went into battle. Sabrina was a brown belt in karate, or so he’d been told. He hadn’t a doubt in his mind that she could take him down.
But it would be a hell of a lot of fun when she did.
He lowered his stance, grounding his body through his center of gravity. He could rush her, but there was the possibility she could really get hurt. Not enjoyable at all. Instead, he waited for her to move, knowing that her patience wouldn’t last long. She was a woman of action, always had been and always would be.
After about thirty seconds of watching her, he was rewarded when she charged, and slapped the roller clear down the center of his face.
He heard her giggle but couldn’t open his eyes to see her expression.
“Now that’s funny.” She taunted him, her body close enough for her breath to warm the skin of his back through the cotton of his T-shirt. He sensed her, just by listening to the creak of the floor beneath the shift of her weight on the balls of her feet. Her scent, paint-covered strawberries, eddied and swirled, stronger and lighter as she moved around him—a step back and away, a step forward.
He turned his head to follow her, letting her know he could pinpoint her even with his eyes painted shut. “Says the girl with a chocolate-colored nose. You better check and see if it’s cold. Or is it wet? Either way maybe you should see the vet.”
She spun around behind him; he could hear the bounce of her feet against the hardwood floor. He was wiping the paint from his eyes when she landed a loud, wet smack to the seat of his jeans.
“Hey!” He jumped forward, almost pitching over.
“That’s what you get for smacking my ass. I don’t suggest you do it again.”
Oh, that was it. Whirling into her next attack, he got a cheekful of paint-covered nap. She hadn’t expected him to turn so she’d clocked him good. The spot stung.
And his body ached. For her.
Swatting the roller out of the way, he grabbed for her, pulling her into his already aroused body.
His arms closed around her. It felt so good to hold her again, to know that she belonged to him, and only him. His mouth crushed down to hers, taking from her, forcing her to give.
To his utter amazement, she didn’t protest. Instead, she opened for him, her own hands curling into his neck and dragging him closer.
A high-pitched sigh of surrender escaped her lips, cut off before it was fully out by the thrust of his tongue into her mouth.
His hands tore at her clothes, jerking fabric, ripping seams. He didn’t care. She could borrow some of his, or
stay naked for the rest of their lives.
Her own fingers pushed and pulled, knocking him off balance and sending him sprawling onto the bed he’d moved to the center of the room. Plastic crumpled beneath his back as it stretched and pulled.
“Your new bed.”
“I don’t care.”
“You will when it’s covered in paint.”
He stared up into her eyes, flashing green rimmed in gold. “No. I won’t.”
Her hair hung sideways from the clip she’d used to pull it up. Reaching for it, he released the hold, letting the dark blond sheet fall down around them both. It was beautiful and shut out the world. Nothing else mattered but them.
She moved to pull away. He wasn’t sure why but he wouldn’t let her go. Not now. Not ever. Sabrina Carden was his.
The vehemence of the thought, almost unrecognizable as his own, surprised him. And scared him. Because he wasn’t entirely certain he had the ability to make it true. Sabrina was a strong woman. An independent woman. A woman he could not bend to his will by sheer simple force.
If she was to be his…she’d have to make that decision on her own. And tonight was just one more step in coaxing her there.
Her eyes clouded, desire warring desperately with hesitation.
Chase grasped her hand, pulling her closer to him, tugging her down beside him. She didn’t resist. Didn’t even put up an effort. Instead, her body landed atop his own, “Oh hell,” whooshing from her lungs.
He managed to get out, “Not hell. Heaven,” before his lips found hers. He remembered the sensation, had felt it several times since he’d come home. But tonight, it was different. Tonight she was just as she’d been eleven months before, uninhibited, demanding…alive.
There was no holding back, no second-guessing. She was free and, in letting that part of herself go, she released a hold he hadn’t even realized had been over him.
His hands found her body, pulling her close for the sheer unadulterated pleasure of feeling her skin next to his own. He wallowed in the sensation for several moments before pushing her away.
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