“Mark. What. Happened?”
He unbuckled his belt. “A couple of things. I got my first field office assignment.”
“Well? Where?”
“D.C.,” he said.
She squealed with delight and jumped into his arms. He caught her easily, as he always did. “Why didn’t you say so when you walked in?” They’d been hoping they wouldn’t have to move.
“Well, I expected a kiss, instead there was the broken pot and—”
She kissed him before pulling back. “You said a couple of things. What else?”
He held her loosely around the waist. “J.P. Blackmon, you remember him?”
She nodded. “He served with you in Afghanistan. Ethridge was somehow involved with him.”
“That’s J.P. He was at Quantico today. He wants me to do my time as a Special Agent and put in for the FBI Hostage Rescue Team.”
“Isn’t that something like their SWAT team?”
“It is their SWAT team. I can apply after two years because of my military service. We’d still be based in D.C. What do you think? Is that something you could live with? I’d be gone sometimes, maybe a lot.”
He’d be good at something like that. She considered what it would mean to her and Tony. For only a moment. “Yes. Do it.” Then she kissed him lightly on the lips. “It’s the right thing to do.” The same thing she’d said to Victor Fuentes when the intelligence officer thought she was his wife and asked if she understood why he did what he did. Mark would always do the right thing. She loved him and wanted what he wanted.
“You’re sure? Because I’m perfectly happy—”
She cut off his words with a kiss. A long one which, as usual, he returned tenfold. He broke the kiss and buried his face at the juncture of her neck. Little nips along the tendon there made her gasp and squirm against him.
“You still haven’t answered. Yes or no?” She pulled back to rest her forehead against his.
“You haven’t either,” he sighed melodramatically. “I’m feeling very insecure.” He swooped her up and dropped her onto the bed, then pulled off his pants.
She loved his body. Strong and beautiful. Despite the scars of his past. “You don’t look at all insecure.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t we put my ring on the bedside table. It can be an incentive.”
She let her gaze roam down his body. “You don’t look like you need an incentive.”
“Oh, not for that. I’m always up for that.”
“Ha ha,” she replied.
“The incentive is for you to agree to marry me.” He climbed on the bed, straddled her hips, unbuttoned her blouse and gave her one of his wicked smiles. “I like what I see.”
“Your answer first, Mark.”
“Pushy woman,” he said with a grin. “How about we make a deal?”
“What kind of deal?”
“A compromise. Since you asked first, a day early, I might add, you have to answer first. I love you, I love your son. Please marry me.”
“Only if you promise to believe me.”
He nodded.
“I love you, John Mark Williams. Loving you is not gratitude. I wish we’d met some other way, but we didn’t. My love for you is unconditional, it’s real and it’s forever.”
“Is that a yes?”
She laughed. “Yes!”
“Why don’t we quit talking?”
THE END
I hope you enjoyed Mark and Laura’s story story. Please support me by leaving a review at Amazon and/or Goodreads. Thanks!
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Sam Mackenzie’s sister has her own story in the Florida Romantic Suspense series. Her book is called Take a Chance on Me.
Turn the page to read the beginning of Against the Wind, the first book in my Florida Romantic Suspense series.
Excerpt: Against the Wind
Chapter One
Saint’s Island
North Florida Gulf Coast
“Blair.”
The sound of Michael’s voice saying her name after such a long time stunned her. With the wind howling across the open deck behind him, she grasped the doorknob for balance.
The man she thought she’d never see again stood outlined against the storm-darkened sky. The angles of his body appeared more pronounced, his cheeks leaner, the dark brown eyes she thought she remembered so well, darker.
“Is your grandmother home?” His question skidded along her nerves.
Of course. He and Grandma Alice had kept in touch while Blair hadn’t. Couldn’t.
Her choice made it impossible.
She forced an answer past her lips. “She’s in Europe.”
“Are you here to board up?” He shouted to be heard over a sudden gust that lashed at them, precursor of the hurricane churning in the Gulf.
“And to get some of her things.”
He braced one hand against the doorframe, close to her shoulder. Several days’ growth of beard made him look rough, disreputable. Twin brackets of pain around his mouth startled her.
“Are you okay?”
A smile kicked up one corner of his lips, but didn’t reach his eyes. “Just a little sore from an accident.”
He glanced over his shoulder, first at the oyster shell drive, then at the sand dune that blocked the view of the crashing surf of the Gulf of Mexico. The wind snatched at a jacket he held folded over his arm. Blair reached out to grasp it, but touched his arm instead, startled at the feel of her fingers on warm flesh. It had been exactly six years and three months. To the day.
Not long enough.
He looked at her with an unfathomable expression, then glanced down to where her fingers held his arm. She dropped her hand, remembering she had no right to touch him anymore. “Come in.”
He walked past her and lowered himself slowly onto the couch. Very un-Michael like.
Blair shut the door with exaggerated care. She would deal with him, with his mind-numbing reappearance, by focusing only on what she could handle. She would treat him as she would any guest in her grandmother’s house. “I think Grandma has some aspirin.”
“That’ll work.” His chest rose and fell with a quick breath. He’d always gone too fast, wanted too much. Lived too hard. And she’d wanted to be with him.
“I’ll get it.”
Fumbling, Blair managed to get the childproof cap opened. She handed him a glass of water and the tablets.
A gust of wind whipped around the southeast corner of the house, screaming as it tore toward the north and west. Hurricane Nell would visit the barrier island in a few short hours.
Blair twisted her hands together, conscious of her shaky legs. She needed to move, to get away from him. “I have to pack some things and board up the windows.” To emphasize her point, she picked up the hammer she’d put down on the coffee table when she’d heard his knock.
“Where’s Drew?” Michael’s voice sounded harsh.
“He couldn’t come. He’s on some assignment.” Why would he ask about her brother? “You should know the Bureau wouldn’t give him any time off to help me.”
He took a deep breath and let it out. “So you’re alone?”
“Yes.”
He stood and walked toward her, his face pale, the man she’d known hidden behind the cool stranger he’d become. “Let me do it, Blair.”
From the looks of him, she shouldn’t. But no one ever told Michael Alvarez what to do. At least she never had, so she handed him the hammer, explained where the plywood was kept, and watched him don his jacket and walk out into the wind.
Blair wanted to call him back and ask why he was here, but she couldn’t force the words past her lips. It didn’t matter why he’d come. He was here. She focused on that.
Anything to keep from remembering how things had ended for them. She pulled Grandma Alice’s pictures from the walls of e
ach room and took the albums from the living room closet. After packing everything in large, brown plastic bags, Blair turned on the television.
A windblown CNN reporter huddled under a bright yellow rain slicker, microphone to his mouth. “Hurricane Nell, moving over the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico and heading northwest, is now packing winds of one hundred twenty miles an hour. A mandatory evacuation of low-lying areas and barrier islands along the northwest Florida Gulf Coast has been ordered. Landfall is expected within eight hours.” Across the bottom of the screen she read that she and every other beach resident had to leave within two hours.
Blair grabbed the manila folder with her grandmother’s important papers and turned off the television. She’d better help Michael. They needed to get off the island soon or they’d be stranded by the rising tide and predicted storm surge.
Wind slammed the front door shut as she pulled the hood of her rain slicker low over her face. While the rain had started only moments ago, it was the wind that bore out the forecast. Blair shouldered her way down the stairs.
She headed toward the back of the house, where she’d heard Michael hammering. The house stood on supportive pilings behind a dune that would protect it from Nell’s storm surge. At least Grandma Alice always said the dune had protected her. Watching the wind whip at the sea oats, blowing a haze of sand toward the house, Blair wondered if her grandmother’s confidence was justified.
Once down the steps, she walked around her car, curious to know where Michael had parked his. She remembered the Jeep he’d had years ago, the way he loved to drive. Not carelessly, but fast, every ounce of his concentration on the road. Did he still drive that way? Did he still live that way?
As she stepped out from under the protection of the house, sheets of rain, blown off the Gulf by Nell’s relentless power, pelted her.
“Michael!” Wind and rain swallowed her words.
Just how bad had his accident been? Had it been a wreck in his Jeep or some speedy sports car? “Michael!” She walked around the end of the house, fighting the force of the storm.
And saw him, lying on the sand, next to a sheet of plywood.
She rushed to his side, letting go of the slicker hood, letting go of the distance she needed to keep between them.
He lay on his right side, hugging his left shoulder. Even in the muted light of the storm-tossed afternoon, she could see he was pale. “Michael?” Rain pounded her face, blurring her vision.
He jerked his head toward her, eyes squinted against the rain. “My shoulder,” he gasped and struggled to sit up, his face a mask of pain. “Wind caught the plywood. Wrenched it from me. Strained my shoulder.”
Blair steadied him as he stood, then they stumbled around the house and up the steps. By the time they reached the living room, Michael was shivering so hard his jaws were clenched. He leaned back against the door, eyes closed.
Blair wiped the rain away from her face. Michael looked cold and exhausted. She kicked off her soaked tennis shoes and braced her left shoulder beneath his right arm. “Lean on me.”
“I’ll knock you over, niña.”
The endearment he’d used so many times before caught her unaware. “You need to lie down.”
He didn’t argue, but he didn’t let himself relax completely against her, either. They made their way down the hall, Michael’s shoes squishing with each step. Once inside the guestroom, she propped him against the wall and squatted down to take off his shoes. Teeth clenched, he helped.
She pulled off his jacket before unbuttoning his soaked, short-sleeved shirt. She’d pulled the shirt out of his jeans, when steely fingers grabbed at her hand.
“No.” The word was a hoarse whisper.
“You’re wet, Michael. You have to get dry and warm.”
He looked at her, his brown eyes wary. His mouth tightened and he released her fingers.
She reached behind him, grimacing when she felt what she thought he was hiding. A gun—a big mean one—in the small of his back. With typical coordination, despite the shivers, Michael pulled it away and held it pointed down.
She pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw what really concerned him.
The surgical precision of an inches-long cut did not cover the round, red scar low on his left side, above the waist of his jeans. Blair’s eyes stung with building tears at the sight of yellow bruising along Michael’s ribs, radiating up and around his right side. A bullet wound. She’d never seen one, but she knew. In Michael’s life, it had to be, and explained why he looked so tired, why the accident with the plywood had hurt him so badly. With his help she managed to pull off the shirt.
Shaken, knowing this had been part of her fear all those years ago, she concentrated on the practical—getting him out of his clothes. She struggled with the wet denim, trying to unfasten the single button of his jeans. The zipper was easier, but the wet fabric stuck. Helplessly, she looked up at him, only to see his jaws clenched tighter.
He opened his eyes, so hot, so full of pain, and looked directly at her. “I’m hurt, Blair, not dead.” The old Michael would have said the words teasingly. This Michael didn’t.
They got the jeans off and he stumbled toward the bed.
Trapped by memory, too aware of reality, Blair indicated his soaked boxers. “Can you—?”
“Turn around. I’ll take them off.”
Six years and three months ago, she wouldn’t have turned away. He wouldn’t have asked.
She turned back when she heard him get into the bed and pull up the bedclothes. With exhausted eyes steady on her, he said, “Don’t ask questions, Blair.”
He hadn’t changed. Nothing had changed. She looked down at him. “I wasn’t going to.”
“I see your questions.”
Because she didn’t want him to see the feelings she’d kept buried for so long, she moved away. “I’ll get a towel for your hair.”
The phone rang, shrill and loud, making her jump. She bent to the bedside table and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Blair, are you okay?” Her brother’s voice rose over the crackling line.
“Yes, fine.” She struggled for words. “Drew, did you—”
She caught Michael’s movement. He put his finger to his lips, signaling to her.
He didn’t want her brother to know he was here.
“What is it?” Drew’s voice pulled her attention back to the phone. “Blair?” He sounded more insistent.
She looked at Michael, at his pale face, at the way he focused on her. “Sorry, connection’s bad. I’m almost through boarding up the windows, then I’ll leave.”
“How bad is the weather?”
“Very windy, rainy. There’s a mandatory evacuation.”
“Get out.” Drew said.
She looked into Michael’s eyes, searching for answers. When she didn’t find any, she turned away. “I plan to. I’ll finish boarding up and grab Grandma’s pictures and some papers. Then I’m out of here.”
“Good girl.”
“I’ll talk to you later.” A long silence followed her statement. “Drew? You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Do you remember Michael Alvarez?” Drew’s question rose over the worsening static on the line.
Blair spun around, her gaze fixed on the man in the bed. “Michael Alvarez?”
Michael shook his head, his dark eyes steady on her.
“Why do you ask?”
“He’s—” Drew paused as the line exploded with noise. “I didn’t think he’d get in touch with you.”
“Why would he?”
The connection popped. Finally, Drew said, “Never mind. Finish up and get out of there. Call me when you get home.”
She hung up, never taking her eyes off Michael, and asked, “What’s going on?”
Note From the Author
Thank you for reading Whatever it Takes. I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to
hear from you. Please drop me a note at [email protected]
Reviews help other readers find books. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative. To leave a review, please go to Amazon and/or Goodreads
Please add me to your BookBub recommended authors list by logging in to your BookBub account here: http://www.bookbub.com/
Each book in the Shadow Heroes series is a stand-alone novel with its own conclusion and limited overlapping characters
Dancing in the Dark
In the Arms of a Stranger
To the Limit
Whatever it Takes
•A list of all my books is available on the next page. I hope you’ll enjoy them all.
Best wishes and happy reading,
Virginia
Book List
The books in each series are stand-alone novels. They each have their own conclusion and limited overlapping characters
Look for these at all Amazon Bookstores
Against the Wind (2012). Florida Sands Romantic Suspense, Book 1.
Just One Look (2014). Florida Sands Romantic Suspense, Book 2.
Take a Chance on Me (2016) Florida Sands Romantic Suspense, Book 3.
Dancing in the Dark (2013). Shadow Heroes, Book 1.
In the Arms of a Stranger (2016). Shadow Heroes, Book 2.
To the Limit (2017). Shadow Heroes, Book 3.
Whatever it Takes (2018). Shadow Heroes, Book 4.
About the Author
Virginia Kelly is the author of romantic suspense and romantic adventure novels. Her books have been nominated for several awards including the RWA Golden Heart, the Holt Medallion, the Golden Quill, the Aspen Gold and the National Reader's Choice Award.
Virginia writes about dangerous heroes (sexy, protective, gorgeous ones, of course!) and the adventurous women willing to take a chance on them. Adventure, steamy scenes and happily-ever-afters are a must in her books.
Whatever it Takes (Shadow Heroes Book 4) Page 23
