Athena Force: Books 1-6

by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann

  Her nails dug into his shoulders as she steadied herself, lower. Lower still, yes, as her body adjusted and sighed its acceptance of him. She sank against the hard expanse of his chest, slick skin melding to her.

  Sweat dripped down her brow, into her eyes, and he kissed it away. Thank heaven, for once her brain managed to shut up and allow her impulses to assume control. She moved. He groaned. Her body clenched in response, squeezed and milked him.

  “Enough,” he grunted, lifting and setting her onto the cottony softness of her towel. Before she could breathe or question, he knelt in front of her and draped her legs over his shoulders, her slippery skin siding against his corded expanse.

  Her head fell back with a thunk, hair snagging on the knotty cedar wall as she sank into deeper sensation, the warmth of his circling tongue, the rasp of his whiskers along the insides of her thighs. Sensation. So much. Almost too much when she wanted this to last.

  As if he heard her thoughts, he drew away, lowering her flat on her back. He thrust into her in a stretching sweep. Her feet traced up the backs of his legs higher, wrapping her legs around him higher still to open herself for a deeper connection.

  With rational thought gone, the floodgates on her emotions ripped free. A roaring mass liberated inside her—all the hope of clearing her mother’s name, the agony of Craig’s death, even her own loneliness, a loneliness banished by the excitement of night races with the uninhibited man over her.

  Everything lashed through her in a storm of passion and feeling that left her clawing down Diego’s back for anchor. He answered her with firmer thrusts that sent reason deeper into hiding. Hell, and why not? This howling hurricane of need scared her a little.

  But it excited her more.

  She threaded her fingers through the scant hair along his head and again mourned the loss. She would have liked to see that hair hanging from his face as he stretched over her.

  Would she ever experience that vision with him? Thoughts of the future threatened to chill her in spite of the rising temperatures in the small confines of their heated haven.

  She nipped him, tasted the salt on his skin. He pumped harder, faster in piston time with her racing pulse. Her nips turned fiercer, each reddening spot soothed with a frenzied kiss.

  “Don’t hold back,” he ordered, demanded.

  Challenged.

  How she thrived on challenge even as her mind protested against the total surrender of her body only seconds away.

  Gasping, she inhaled and savored the scent of cedar and them mingling in the steamy air. Her body stretched tight within, dizziness gripping her with a G-force sensation of the blood leaving her head to rush downward. If she had to crash and burn in this surrender, damn it, she wasn’t going alone.

  She glided her hands down his sweat-slicked back to cup the crest of his butt and urge him closer while her hips writhed against him in just the right position to bring—

  Sparks exploded behind her eyes in a shower of sensation riding the waves of her release and scream. Restraint ripped away, leaving her free-falling into a pulsing plummet of wind echoing with Diego’s growling shout of completion.

  Her arms flung wide as if to find hold or balance as she arched up to wrest every last imploding shimmer that brought her the welcome oblivion she’d sought. One hand slapped the varnished wooden wall. The other grasped air until finally she glided back to earth again.

  She couldn’t breathe. She thought maybe the gasping sensation came from the heat or the weight of Diego pressing against her chest. But then he levered off her and the constricting heaviness remained, swelled, pushing all the pain of the past four days and maybe even longer than that up to sting her eyes. She wanted to curl away and hide, embarrassed and overwhelmed and too damn exposed.

  Wordlessly Diego scooped her up onto his lap and held her naked body against his while, finally, she cried.

  Chapter 14

  An hour later, Josie stood flush against Diego in the outside shower stall and tried to hang on to the buzz of incredible sex a while longer before they returned to the house. Soon enough they would have to get dressed and start the day. Not that she was in a hurry by any stretch.

  Because that would mean meeting his eyes.

  Steam filled the small cubicle, spiraling up into the morning sky through the open top. Eucalyptus and cedar scents hung in the damp air—two new erotic smells she would always associate with this man.

  Leaning back against the planked wall, he tugged her closer, running his hands along her back. Slowly emotions returned to her spent body.

  Embarrassment for starters.

  Not about the sex. Although he likely wouldn’t be going around shirtless for a few days until the marks on his back faded. But after the sex…

  Her tears had nearly blasted her apart. She wasn’t a gentle crier. Probably because she didn’t allow herself much practice.

  Instead, she was all red eyes, mucus, shakes and words flooding out in choking bursts. She’d babbled about memories of Craig’s humor from test-pilot days, shuffling to her ache for Craig’s children, which had led too easily to more tears and ramblings about her friend Kayla and precious little Jazz who had a father, after all, in Bridges. A father alive and well and totally uninvolved.

  Then she’d cried over being a bad friend in telling him about Kayla and Bridges.

  Now she stood silent, still and abashed in his arms. The shower poured over them to the cement floor, swirling down the drain and rinsing away so much more than perspiration. She wasn’t totally steady. But she was better, which meant she would be on her own again soon.

  Shouldn’t that be what she wanted? God knows Diego didn’t seem particularly interested in cleaning up his own act to the extent of letting a woman into his life long-term. She would expect him to paint his walls, throw away his ugly couch. Rejoin the human race. And now she understood just how difficult that could be.

  She skimmed her fingers up his neck, tracing to his ears and pressing her fingers into the sensual pulse point. “Your beautiful hair.”

  “It grows fast.”

  She angled back, surprised. “So you’re planning to let it grow again?”

  “Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “The uniform looked so surprisingly right on you yesterday.” Her fingers continued to toy with his hairline. “I know in my head you wore it before and have even seen some photos of you from the past. But it wasn’t real to me…not until I saw you in it.”

  “That part of my life still doesn’t seem real to me, either. Sometimes…ah, hell.” He cupped her hips and rocked against her. “Screw discussing that. Let’s talk about the part where you got to see me out of that uniform.”

  She grazed her hand over him, pausing and curving to cup his weight. “You sure can be a hoo-hah sometimes.”

  “A hoo-hah?”

  She caressed, stroking until he stirred in her hand. “That’s what I said, Morel.”

  “Hey wait.” Water clung to lids fast going sleepy, as if he struggled to stay alert even while she worked to distract him. “At the bar that first night, you whispered hoo-hah under your breath and vowed it was your own private cheer. When all the time it’s really your name for a—”

  “Oops.” Laughing, she stroked up the growing length of him. “Busted.”

  He gripped her chin and eyed her with mock shock. “You actually called me a d—”

  Josie covered his mouth with her free hand. “I did.” She slid both of her hands over his wet chest. “But I changed my mind about you later.”

  “Well, I would hope so since we’re currently standing naked together in my shower.”

  “Actually, you changed that impression for me.”

  “Would that have been when I raced you across the desert?”

  “Partly.”

  “And the other part?” He swept her hair back from her face, gathering it into a wet twist.

  “When you made my sister smile.” A similar smile warmed her n
ow. “She doesn’t do that very often around me anymore.”

  “I thought you were jealous. My ex sure as hell always was even when I never once gave her cause.” His grip tightened on her hair. “Every time I returned from a TDY, she searched my bags, certain she’d find some feminine contraband to prove I was screwing around on her. Later, I realized maybe she was hoping to find something to justify her own actions.”

  Apparently they all had their ghosts to work through and she’d been selfishly focusing on her own.

  “Jealous?” she repeated, determined to do something for him after all he’d done for her. Reassurance wasn’t much, but it was about all she had right now. “Not really. I trusted that I had your undivided attention.”

  “That you do.” He dropped his chin to the top of her head while the water and rising sun beat down on them. “So why doesn’t your sister smile around you very much?”

  Her head landed against his shoulder again. Hiding? Yeah. “Since things fell apart with Mom, well, everything changed. We didn’t lose just one parent. We lost both.”

  “I thought your father was still alive.”

  “Oh, he is. But he pretty much checked out when she did, just in a different fashion. He hired a nanny and buried himself in work. Once we were old enough, he shipped us off to Arizona to Athena Academy. I shouldn’t complain really, since Diana went even younger than I did.”

  “I thought you liked it there.”

  “I did, actually. It was like an all-girl Harry Potter kind of school environment and camaraderie—without the wands and three-headed dogs, of course.” She grinned, caught up in her memories. “The opportunities there were incredible. By the time I graduated from high school, I spoke three languages, aced my college entrance boards. I can outshoot, outrace, outride just about anyone—”

  She stared down at the swirling water. “I’m rambling again. Suffice it to say, the whole Athena Academy experience taught me more than I would have learned anywhere else, opened doors and gave me lifelong friends who’ll never let me down. There’s a bond with all of us I’m not sure I can adequately explain.”

  “I’m sure your grandfather was proud to see you attend, since he was instrumental in starting the place. Maybe your dad had an instinct about the whole thing, family legacy fulfilled and all.”

  “Maybe,” she answered vaguely, then tickled her toe along the top of his bare foot. “Enough about me. Your turn again. What about your folks?”

  “Alive and kicking in Mississippi.”

  “Were they military, too?”

  “God, no. My parents are good, working-class, small-town Mississippi folk. Dad owns an auto hobby shop that specializes in rebuilding bikes, which is where I learned to appreciate a finely tuned engine. Mom runs a day care out of the house—although half of the kids are my nieces and nephews.”

  “Sounds noisy, normal and wonderful.”

  “They are.”

  She stared at his chest, drawing lazy circles through the whorls of hair. “I can see you racing your bike along the railroad tracks, shooting tin cans with your pals and all the while planning how you were going to head out. Do I have it right?”

  “Close enough. No one tried to hold me back. Hell, I was their damned hometown hero.” His sigh steamed through her wet hair. “Makes going back mighty awkward now.”

  “So you don’t go?” She knew, even though he didn’t answer. “I’ve been ignoring messages on my voice mail from my mother since the accident hit the news.”

  “She’s worried about you.”

  Josie nodded, avoiding his eyes. “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Worried about me?” After her big weep-fest, she wouldn’t blame him, the main reason she didn’t indulge in tears. The last thing she needed was to give people more ammo to suspect she was losing it.

  Especially now.

  He cupped her chin and lifted, looking down with steady, no-bullshit eyes. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I understand that hurt. But bottom line? No. I’m not worried about you. You’re strong. You’ll make it through this and come out even stronger.”

  And he was right. She knew it. She was just relieved he knew it, too.

  “Enough talk.” He shifted to press her against the wooden wall, water beating his back. “I have other ideas for how to spend our time this weekend.”

  Damn straight. Monday would come soon enough. “So show me, Cruiser.”

  Her legs slid up his and around his waist and she was more than glad to delve back into their common ground for a while longer. Because, yes, she would be strong again soon. And strong meant alone.

  Birddog wanted to walk away from the office window overlooking the flight line, but the scorched patch of desert cordoned off for investigation held him mesmerized.

  Absently he scratched a nail against a fleck on the window. Things weren’t supposed to have happened this way. He’d planned carefully. Craig Wagner had been a damned good pilot and an asset to the air force. Not a wave-making, stubborn pain in the neck like Josie Lockworth.

  He’d only wanted the test to fail to put her in place. He’d intended there to be a simple in-flight emergency that would stall the program for Josie and perhaps give Diego Morel a few nightmares about his own final, fatal project.

  Instead, someone had died. Not that it could be traced to him. He hoped. While he liked to consider himself invincible, he couldn’t afford to leave anything more to chance. No more warnings. And no more mistakes.

  She would have to be stopped.

  Dirt from the window and this whole damn mess itched along skin that he couldn’t seem to get clean enough. Tearing himself away from the view, he spun back to the office and into the bathroom to wash his hands again before settling behind the looming desk. He jerked open the bottom desk drawer and pulled out his two vices. A bottle of Scotch and a small snapshot taken on the desert base flight line.

  He poured himself a shot, bolted it back and refilled again. Fire flamed down his throat and into his gut, blazing almost as hot as the ones whipping through him after just one look at the picture. Long legs and brown hair radiated a blaze she never saw fit to share with him, someone worthy of her.

  He’d let Josie live at Red Flag. A mistake. He considered taking care of things quick and simple. He had contacts after all. During his time as head of the acquisitions team selling old F-16s to Malaysia, he’d been appointed a bodyguard, a man he’d later found had L.A. mob connections. Those came in handy on occasion.

  A simple call on his cell phone would take care of it. Birddog swept a tissue along the rim of his glass and considered the option of a quick hit—then decided to place that alternative in reserve. Better to exhaust other options first. Why risk another fatal accident with an investigation into Wagner’s crash already underway?

  Still she had to be kept out of the office. Once she returned to work, she would no doubt be prodding for answers with the help of that washed-up desert rat she’d been seeing.

  Birddog bolted back another shot of liquor, alcohol sanitizing gritty anger from thoughts of women attracted to unworthy men. He was damn near certain he’d covered his tracks, but Josie Lockworth would turn this into some kind of personal quest.

  He definitely needed her otherwise occupied.

  Flipping through his Rolodex, Birddog stopped at the Cs. Conner, Shannon.

  The number and purpose both branding his brain, Birddog slammed the Rolodex back and dialed.

  Slamming her car door, Josie started toward the standard military-shade brown building that housed her office. Only a few minutes more and she would be back on the right path for restoring order.

  First, she would file the Memo of Record about Bridges’s come-on. Second, return all the data printouts from her mother’s test. That hurt. But she had to focus on Craig’s accident now or she wouldn’t even be working at all. Maybe the answers to the past waited in the present.

  The never-ceasing grit-filled wind tore at her flight suit and brai
ded hair. She clapped her hand to her hat and ducked into the gusts toward the entrance.

  She hated that so much time had passed since the incident, but she hadn’t been able to focus on anything except Craig’s crash. Aside from the near-debilitating grief, there had been practical concerns at work. Questions. Investigations. She’d been running flat-footed for nearly a week.

  Except for the mind-blowing weekend of sex with Diego.

  He would probably be pissed when he realized she’d slipped out of his bed without waking him. But since the project was on hold, his role with the congressional oversight committee had ended anyway.

  And even as she recited the logical reason for him not to accompany her, she knew she was avoiding the truth. She needed to face this alone, and she couldn’t think with him around. The temptation to lean on him was too great. Hearing him snore had tugged at something deep inside her, more than an impulsive Josephine longing. Knowing that his obnoxious and kind of endearing snore came from his accident squeezed at her heart.

  So, yeah, she’d run like hell.

  Guilt tweaked. She had left him a note, damn it. It wasn’t as if she intended to cut him off altogether. Just keep him out of her workplace for a while. And maybe sketch a few boundaries against more probing questions in the shower that left her feeling naked in a way that had nothing to do with discarded clothes.

  Was it even possible to segment herself into clean delineations of practical Josephine at work and impulsive Josie with Diego? She would have to, starting now.

  Josie yanked open the door, mind already on the stacks of files to review, aerial footage to scrutinize, people to question. Deeper into the building she charged, the walls closing around her to swallow her back into the routine world she understood.

  The door to Bridges’s office swung open. His desk loomed behind him with stacks of what she suspected were copies of the same files she would be searching in a few minutes.

  She smoothed her face into what she hoped was an emotionless mask. She didn’t want to gift him with any hint of her intent about the memo.