“We have some things to settle,” she said.
“Such as?”
“The last thirteen years.”
“I’d rather forget them.”
“I can’t forget, Simon. What happened? Why did you leave without me?” She’d been going over and over the possibilities and only one thing had occurred to her. “The kid who was buried in your grave…Was there some kind of…accident?”
“Don’t you mean, was I responsible for his death?”
Lexie shuddered. She really didn’t want to know the answer if it was yes, but she couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Were you?”
“No.”
His answer was flat, emotionless, like his expression. Lexie believed him. She sensed that he was closing himself off from her. Once that happened, he would never tell her anything, so she moved closer and tried to connect with him by placing a hand on his chest. His heart immediately sped up and she felt him soften toward her, despite the determination she remembered so well.
“Please, Simon, I need to know the truth.” Touching him made her a little breathless. She stepped in even closer, looked up into his face, now only inches from hers. “When they told me you were dead, I wanted to die, too.”
Simon grabbed her by both arms. “Lexie, don’t ever say that. You don’t know anything about death.”
She could feel every one of his fingers leaving a print on her flesh. Energized from the contact, from the wanting he stirred in her, she asked, “And you do?”
“Too much.”
“Now you have to tell me or my imagination will just make things up.”
“Reality can be worse than anything you could imagine, believe me.”
“My God, Simon,” she whispered, moving into him and laying her head on his chest as she used to. Tears filled her eyes as she asked, “What terrible things happened to you that you can’t even talk about them?”
But suddenly knowing didn’t seem as important as her being close to him. He wrapped his arms around her, pressed her to him so that she could hardly breathe. Her heart fluttered and a gasp escaped her.
How could she be so susceptible to him after so long? She felt exactly as she had thirteen years ago. Exactly as she had dreamed of ever since. She’d ached for this feeling that she’d had with Simon alone. She couldn’t let it go. No other man had so stirred her emotions. Or her passion.
So when he kissed her, she couldn’t resist.
And when he picked her up and carried her into the old shack that was barely more than half-rotting boards with a single window, she didn’t protest.
And when he placed her on the sleeping bag near the cast-iron stove and covered her with his body, she didn’t stop him.
Simon was a bigger man, weighed more than he had the last time—the only time they’d made love, but Lexie reveled in the difference, felt as if she couldn’t get enough of him pressing against her, kissing her.
His kiss went so deep, she swore it touched her soul. She could drown in it. In him.
Closing her eyes, she let herself float, let herself dream. When he touched her through her clothing, she couldn’t stand it, wanted to feel his flesh against hers, and so she pushed him back and sat up so she could pull off her coat and sweater. He did the same, and by the time the sweater was off her head, she saw him stripping down, the moonlight from the single window making his flesh look like silver-blue marble.
Even in the moonlight she could see that the marble was not without flaws. For a moment, she froze, staring at the network of scars that started on the right side of his chest, slithered partway down his abdomen, and picked up halfway down his thigh.
She gaped at the souvenirs of whatever nightmare he had endured, then vowed to help make him forget it when he was with her.
Her fingers fumbled with the hooks of her bra and the next thing she knew he was kneeling and pulling off her boots, then her jeans. She was nude but for the damn bra, and he leaned forward and swept that off as easily as he had everything else.
“I’ve waited for you for so long,” she whispered, running her hands on either side of his head. The crisp cut of his short hair prickled her palms and the sensation spread down her arms to her breasts.
He groaned and ground his mouth against hers as he swept his hand down her middle to her center, already wet with wanting him. He stroked her lightly, each time his fingers entering her more deeply, each time her legs spreading wider until she was fully open and arching up into him.
He found her as easily as if she was home to him. Their union felt like home to her, as well. She closed her eyes and arched harder so that he could go deeper. Her fingers clawed his back as though she could bring him closer, somehow make him part of her, somehow make it impossible for him ever to leave her again. Too quickly he propelled her to another place where the dark sky inside her mind lit with pinwheels of light.
Only when her cry softened to a sob of contentment did he let himself finish, riding her hard and deep, coming only after she dug her fingers into his buttocks and cried, “Now, Simon, now!”
Then he collapsed on her and she took his weight with gratitude. She felt as if all was right in her world, and hoped that this time, it would last forever.
Lexie had always known she would love Simon forever, and now she was convinced of it.
AS DAWN STREAKED through the cabin window after a night of continued abandon and little sleep, Lexie allowed her doubts to creep in.
Still snug in the sleeping bag with Simon wrapped around her, as if he never meant to let her go, she looked around the shack and noted what appeared to be the same rickety wooden table and two chairs, the cot with the same thin mattress they’d used last time. Nothing had changed.No, everything had changed.
Simon’s eyes were open, glued to her face. She pushed him until he let go of her, then found her clothes. Luckily sometime during the night, Simon had stacked the stove with wood and there remained embers to keep her warm as she dressed. Simon watched her every move without rising, without saying a word. His expression had closed again, as if he thought she were going to give him her back and walk out on him.
Not likely. Not until she had what she’d come for. The truth.
Suddenly Simon rose and got something out of his supply bag. Coffee. Nude, he set about making a pot on the wood-burning stove. Lexie’s breath caught in her throat as sunlight revealed the full beauty of his body. His muscles looked as if they’d been sculpted, his abdomen was flat, his waist trim, his shoulders massive. And his butt—her favorite part of him—was rock hard. Blushing when he turned her way and she noted that wasn’t the only part of him that was hard, she amended his butt to her second favorite body part.
“Are you going to have some coffee before you go?” he asked as if she were someone who’d simply stopped by rather than the woman he’d made love to half the night.
“I was hoping for more.”
“Let’s see, I have beef jerky. And—”
“Not food. The truth, Simon,” she said, pulling on her socks. “I was hoping for that.”
His expression tightened. “You don’t really want to hear it.”
Or he really didn’t want to tell her. “Let me decide for myself. How, for example, did you get those scars?”
Rather than answering immediately, he reached down, picked up his jeans and stepped into them. Finally, he said, “Human trafficking.”
The breath caught in her throat. “Someone removed your organs?”
“Worse. They removed my soul.” He didn’t sit; rather, he paced, barefooted, the short length of the cabin. “I saw one of the victims killed that Christmas Eve. He was just a kid, younger than I was. He’s the one buried in my grave. He was trying to escape and they shot him dead. I should have run. Maybe they would have shot me, too. That would have been better than what they did to me.”
“What who did to you?”
“I don’t know. I was knocked out, drugged, and when I came to, I was on a transport ship bound
for Africa with a bunch of mercenaries working for a private army employed by the U.S. government.” He grabbed his sweater and pulled it on. “They had a contract saying I’d agreed to go with them, to work for them for the next five years. Only it wasn’t me who signed the papers.”
“Work? You mean…fight?”
“If I hadn’t, I really would have died. Maybe I should have.”
“Don’t say that!”
Her heart thumped against her ribs and Lexie knew that she really didn’t want to hear…and that she had to.
“I had to do things that changed me, Lexie. Things you would never understand. I had no choice. I did as I was told and learned to use weapons and my own cunning to stay alive. It was a nightmare of a life—kill or be killed. I couldn’t escape. I had no way to get out, no money. My salary was put into a bank account I couldn’t access until my tour of duty was over.”
“Five years, not thirteen.”
How could he have stayed longer? How could he have chosen that life over one that he could have had with her?
“After my contract was fulfilled, I knew I could never come back here and face you. How could I after the life I’d been forced into? So I reupped. Believe it or not, Shadow Ops was a legitimate private military corporation, hired by the Department of Defense to do work for the CIA. They sent us to Somalia, Afghanistan and Iraq.”
“We could have been together for years, but you chose to stay in something you hated?”
“I’m a different person than the one you knew.”
“But you still have a soul or you wouldn’t have worried about who you might hurt coming back here.” Tension and doubt filled Lexie with confusion. She felt the same radiate from him. “We could have been together years ago, Simon. But you abandoned us.”
“Us?”
Realizing her slip, Lexie said, “Me…your dad…”
“Why would you include him when you know how I felt about him?”
“But after you died…after we thought you died, he cleaned up his act.”
Simon’s gaze seared her. He didn’t believe her.
Lexie knew she could go on lying, but he would no doubt eventually learn the truth. Torn between wanting to protect Katie and wanting to tell Simon they’d had a daughter together, she chose the latter and prayed it really was the right thing.
“About six weeks after we buried you, I learned I was pregnant. We have a twelve-year-old daughter, Simon. Her name is Katie.”
His shocked expression would be comical if it weren’t so tragic. Lexie’s chest tightened as she waited for his response. One that didn’t come. Why didn’t he say something? Didn’t he care that they had a daughter?
Suddenly furious, meaning to get out now, she pulled on her shoes and grabbed her coat. Simon took hold of her arm and stopped her from heading toward the door.
“Tell me.”
“She’s a good kid. Smart. Smart mouth, too, sometimes. Old for her age. She’s had to be with only one parent who has to make a living to support her and take care of her. She looks pretty much like I did at that age, except for her eyes. Those are yours.”
She gave him time to process the information. Minutes ticked by and he didn’t respond. Didn’t say how happy he was to learn he had a kid.
Maybe he wasn’t.
Lexie pulled free, cursing herself for falling into Simon’s arms so easily when obviously the last thirteen years had left him devoid of normal human feelings.
Chapter Six
Simon moved fast, blocking Lexie’s access to the door. “I thought you wanted to talk.”
Now all she wanted to do was get away from him before she dissolved into tears. “I’m talked out.”“Maybe I’m not.”
“Maybe you’re too late, Simon.”
She should have known better than to think he cared about a kid he’d never seen, never even knew he’d fathered. She should have known better than to think he cared about her. After all, he’d made no declarations of love during the night.
It had been a mistake to tell him about Katie.
“We’ll talk later, then, I promise,” he said. “At least let me take you home.”
“I have my own vehicle.”
“I’ll follow you, check the house before you go in.”
“Why?”
“To make sure you’re safe.”
“And how long can I count on your doing that?” she asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “For a few weeks? Days? Just this morning and then you disappear again for another thirteen years? Let me out. Now.”
His expression tightening, Simon moved away from the door and Lexie left without looking back.
What a fool she’d been to sleep with him! Driven by hormones and nostalgia, she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life. How had she imagined that Simon Shea was the same person he had been thirteen years ago?
Lexie fumed about her stupidity all the way home. Only when she parked the SUV did her tension switch gears. The fog had lifted and the sun shone brightly. Nothing to alert her. Nothing to fear.
Even so, she held her breath and moved fast and was inside her house in a minute flat.
Only when she let go of her breath and turned from the front door did her heart begin to pound. Even with nothing but faint dawn light edging through the windows, she could see that the place was a mess. Cushions had been pulled from the couch, drawers from her desk. Papers were scattered everywhere. She was about to call the police, when a scraping sound coming from somewhere nearby stopped her.
Whoever it was hadn’t left!
She turned to get out of the house, but the lock confounded her shaking hand, and by the time she got the door open a crack, she was grabbed from behind. She kicked back and used her elbows to help twist her way out of his grip and ran toward the rear door. No sooner did she reach the kitchen than her attacker caught up to her and tripped her. She went down hard and he was on her, searching her again.
Lexie fought, beating at him with both fists, trying to knee him, but missing. And this time there was no Simon to pull the bastard off her.
Then he got hold of both her hands.
“What do you want?”
“The key,” he demanded. “Hand it over and you’ll never be bothered again.”
His voice was low and husky coming from behind the knit mask that hid his face.
So she’d been right about the key. What could be so important about it that someone would attack her twice to get it?
“What key?”
“Don’t play dumb. You know I mean the one found on the grounds of Drake House.”
“Oh, that one.” She thought quickly. “I threw that key away.”
Gripping both of her wrists together with one hand, he reached in his jacket pocket for something. Her eyes were adjusting to the dim early-morning light and she saw him pull out a roll of duct tape. The next thing she knew, he was taping her wrists together.
“Where is the damn key?” he demanded.
“I told you it’s gone.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“What does it open?” Lexie asked, hoping he would say something that would give her a clue. “A safe-deposit box filled with money or bonds or jewels? Is that why you’re so set on getting it?”
“Stop playing games. If you don’t want to get hurt, tell me what I want to know.”
Remembering that her attacker had hit her before, Lexie went stiff. Still, if the key was important enough to commit a crime to get, she couldn’t just turn it over to this bastard.
“I asked around. No one claimed it, so I threw it away,” she lied, hoping she sounded convincing.
“Where?”
“In town. The trash can between the police station and the library.”
Now he was securing her ankles together with the tape. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why would I want to keep a key I couldn’t use?” Lexie tried not to panic, but keeping an even head wasn’t doing her any good. “I swear I don�
�t have it anymore. Why is an old key so important?”
He placed a piece of the duct tape over her mouth. “Maybe I’ll have to wait until your girl comes home and ask her about it.”
Katie? He was threatening Katie now? Behind the duct tape, Lexie screamed.
Too bad no one could hear her.
SIMON WAS DEVASTATED. He’d missed the last dozen years with a kid who was his and Lexie’s—years that he wouldn’t ever want his child to know about. Perhaps, he thought, it would be better if Katie never knew about him, either.
Saddened by the thought, he sat in his truck down the road from Lexie’s house, waiting for lights to go on somewhere. Despite her harsh words, he’d finished dressing quickly and had driven like a maniac until he’d gotten her SUV in sight. Well trained in the art of subterfuge, he’d followed at a discreet distance, and when she’d hit the gravel road, he turned off his truck’s lights so that she wouldn’t know anyone was behind her.Still no light in the house.
Getting a bad feeling, Simon left his truck and walked in closer to the house, his gaze shooting from corner to corner. He couldn’t see anything wrong, but his gut told him otherwise. When he got close to the front door, he saw that it was open, if just a crack.
His gut tightened.
Lexie would never leave her front door open, not after the attack the night before. He should have forced her to let him go with her, rather than staying in the background as he had.
Listening intently, Simon thought he heard a sound like a muffled voice from another part of the house. Removing a knife from his jacket—carrying a weapon on him for thirteen years was a hard habit to break—he slowly edged the door open until he could see inside. The living room was a mess, but it was empty so he edged himself in and followed the low murmur of a male voice.
“Your girl will tell me what I want to know.”
The answer was a muffled protest.
Christmas Delivery Page 6
