The Dangerous Jacob Wilde

by Sandra Marton

  Were. He kept saying were.

  “Our work was dangerous. Not all the time. Sometimes, it was boring as hell. Anybody in that kind of life—cops, soldiers, firemen like your dad—can tell you that. One minute, you’re up to your ass in adrenaline and the next, you’re struggling to keep awake.”

  “There must have been times that were terrifying.”

  “There were. Only a fool isn’t afraid, Adoré, but you don’t really think about fear. You think about your mission. Getting in and getting out. Philosophizing about war is for historians. Talking about it is for politicians. Surviving it is for soldiers, and that means you and the guy beside you fighting to keep each other alive.”

  Addison waited. At last, she put her hand on Jake’s thigh.

  “But something went wrong,” she said softly.

  He nodded. Put down his glass. Rose to his feet. Walked to the windows, stared blindly at the scarlet sun.

  “A squad went out on fairly routine patrol. They were heading back when some old man waved them down, told them a high-level al Qaeda operative had taken refuge in a village maybe six, seven klicks away.”

  Jake jammed his hands into his pockets.

  “They called in the info. Problem was, waiting for backup could mean losing the target.”

  “So they went in themselves.”

  Jake nodded again. “Straight into an ambush.” His voice was so low she had to strain to hear it. “In a narrow mountain pass. They were being cut to shreds.”

  Addison got to her feet. “Jake,” she said, “you don’t have to—”

  “I do,” he said gruffly. “You need to know. Or maybe I need to tell you. Either way, it’s time I talked about it.”

  She stood next to him, wanting to put her arms around him, settling for laying her hand on his arm.

  “We went in after them.” He flashed a bitter smile. “It’s called an extraction. I guess that sounds better than the reality, which is that you’re going after men who are often already dead or dying.”

  “You rescued them.”

  “We got the wounded. And the lucky ones who hadn’t been hit. We got the dead, too. We got them all … at least, we thought we did.”

  He rubbed his hand and over the back of his head.

  “Except, we found out we’d left two men behind.” He turned toward her, his face gray. “You don’t leave men behind, Addison. Not even the dead—and certainly not ones who are still alive. So it was a no-brainer. We had to go back. I knew it. My crew knew it. We were all agreed.”

  “Couldn’t another Blackhawk have gone in?”

  “There was no other Blackhawk. We were it.” His voice became a low growl. “We needed to go back. But the son-of-a-bitch colonel in charge wouldn’t give the order.”

  The dying sun had painted stripes of scarlet over Jake’s cheeks, turning him into a warrior from an earlier time.

  “He must have had his reasons,” Addison said. “Maybe—maybe he didn’t want to risk more lives….”

  “He didn’t give a flying fig about lives. He was a congressman’s son.” Jake slammed his fist against the window frame; it shuddered beneath the blow. “Some kind of mix-up a couple of days before had dumped him on us instead of putting him behind the desk that was waiting for him.”

  “So he had no experience.”

  “He had no balls. His old man was one of the loudest voices demanding what he called fiscal responsibility. And Blackhawks cost a fortune, maybe six, seven million bucks. This bastard was scared stiff of Daddy. So he sat on his political ass and played with himself while time began running out.”

  The first time Addison had heard about Jake, that he was some kind of hero, she wouldn’t have been able to figure out how the story ended.

  Now, she’d shared his thoughts, his life, his bed.

  She knew what came next.

  “You went back anyway,” she said.

  “I argued with him. I screamed at him. Finally, I got him alone and swore I’d kill him if he didn’t give the order.” He flashed a cold smile. “And he knew I’d do it.”

  “So he gave the order.”

  “Yes. But we’d lost too much precious time. They’d already—already dealt with the men we’d hoped to save. They were dead—we could see their mutilated bodies as I brought us in. And they’d brought in heavier weapons.”

  “Oh, God, Jacob …”

  “They blew us apart. Killed my crew. And I—I killed them. Every last mothering one …”

  His voice broke. Addison stepped in front of him.

  “How can you blame yourself? It wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could. You did more.”

  “I should have ignored my orders,” he said bitterly.

  “But you did ignore them. You forced your commanding officer to take action.”

  “Too late. All of it was too late. They gave me a promotion I didn’t want and a medal I didn’t deserve.”

  “And him? The colonel??”

  Jake gave a bitter laugh.

  “He got a medal, too. And a promotion. To the Pentagon. Now his face is all over the media, and when they tell him what a hero he is, he looks modest and makes sure the camera gets him at his best angle.”

  Addison took her lover’s hands in hers.

  “My father would have been proud to shake your hand,” she said softly. “He’d have been as proud to know you as I am.”

  Jake made a strangled sound. Then he reached for her and wrapped her in his arms.

  How had he gotten so lucky?

  How had this miracle happened?

  A handful of days ago, he’d been a hollow man existing in a bleak world, tormented by memories that were destroying him.

  Addison had changed everything.

  He woke with her in his arms, fell asleep the same way. And he slept through the night.

  The dreams were gone.

  No more flames, clawing the sky.

  No more twisted metal, shrieking like a wounded beast as the Blackhawk was torn apart.

  No more men bleeding into the thin mountain soil.

  For almost two years, everybody—the doctors, the therapists, the nurses, his family, every last one of them—had told him he needed to deal with what was inside him.

  The wounds that he kept hidden.

  See a shrink, they said. Join a support group. Talk it out.

  And now, he had.

  He’d emptied his soul, let Addison, his Adoré, see the ugliness that had been killing him.

  And after she’d heard it all, she’d said she was proud to know him….

  God, how he loved her.

  Loved her with all his heart.

  He hadn’t told her that. Not yet. He was afraid to because this involved so much.

  It meant saying, I love you, I want to spend my life with you, and can you give up your entire existence for me?

  What if she said no?

  What if she liked him but she didn’t love him?

  He couldn’t bear to think about the possibility.

  He needed to get out of here. Get her out of here. Take her someplace romantic …

  Romantic, he thought, and he realized he knew the perfect place.

  He told her they were going out for supper.

  “Out?”

  “Out,” he said kissing the tip of her nose. “Put on something fancy. That black dress you wore the first time we met. Those shoes.”

  She batted her lashes at him.

  “You like those shoes, huh?”

  Jake grinned. “Enough so I went back and found the one you lost.”

  “Okay. Black silk dress. Stiletto heels. Give me half an hour.”

  “Twenty minutes,” he said, and he turned her toward the stairs, gave her a gentle swat on the backside and told his heart to slow down or he’d never make it through the night.

  She was halfway up the stairs when he called after her.

  “Addison?”

  She turned and looked at him.

 
“So you’re not, you know, homesick for New York?”

  Addison swept the tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips.

  “No. I’m not homesick at all. I—I like it here, Jacob. Much, much more than I’d thought I would.”

  He stared at her. She stared at him.

  Tell me you love me and you want me to stay, she thought.

  Tell her you love her and you want her to stay, he thought.

  “You’ll like Dallas, too,” he said.

  “What?”

  “That’s where we’re going for dinner.”

  “Dallas is a two-hour drive!”

  He grinned. “Not when I’m behind the wheel, remember?”

  She wore the black dress. The black heels.

  He thought about stripping the dress off her so that she was wearing just the heels and the thong and matching scrap of a bra he figured she’d be wearing underneath.

  Then he told himself to behave.

  He was taking her to a restaurant he hadn’t been to in years, and he could have her all to himself when they got home.

  He wore his new jeans, a new black T-shirt with a leather jacket over it—she’d admired it at the store that morning and he’d bought it, more for her than for him. He even polished his boots for the occasion.

  And he had on his black eye patch.

  Under it, in the socket where his eye had once been, he wore a silicone thing called a conformer.

  Eventually, he’d have an artificial eye made to put in its place.

  He’d been putting that off, or maybe not putting it off so much as not being ready to deal with looking in the mirror and seeing something designed to make him look more like the man he’d once been when he wasn’t that man …

  Hell.

  Why tiptoe through that mental morass? The simple fact was, it was time to get the eye made, and he would do it.

  He drove fast, but the time would have raced by even if he hadn’t because they talked all the way to the city.

  There was so much to learn about each other. So many things they had in common, even if with a slight twist.

  He loved football. The Dallas Cowboys.

  “Such a surprise,” she said with wide-eyed innocence, and laughed when he tossed the words back at her a minute later, after she said she loved football, too, but for her, it was the New York Jets.

  “Such a surprise,” he said. “Well, nobody is perfect.”

  They both loved dogs. Wood fires on cold winter evenings, good California red wine, crusty French bread and the beach very early in the morning.

  By the time they reached the restaurant Jake had chosen for this, their very first real date, he was struggling not to turn to her and say, I love one more thing, Adoré. I love you.

  That would wait until later.

  The maître d’hotel led them to a table with a view of a delicately lit garden.

  Addison was entranced.

  “Oh, it’s perfect!” she said softly.

  Wrong, Jake knew.

  Addison was what perfection was all about.

  The question was, did she love him? Every sigh, every smile, every touch of her hand told him that she did.

  Still, it was hard to put his heart on the line.

  And a lot to ask of a woman, to give up the life she knew for one she didn’t.

  Could she trade New York for Wilde’s Crossing?

  Could he trade it for New York, if it came down to that?

  He knew this was where he belonged. Not just in Texas, not just in Wilde’s Crossing, but on El Sueño, where the very land held the blood and bones of his forebears, those who’d fought, sweated and died for the privilege to call the land theirs.

  A few days ago, all he’d wanted was to get away from this place.

  He’d been a man on the run. From the past, from an uncertain future.

  From himself.

  He’d had to keep moving. Like a shark, staying in one place would have drowned him.

  Not anymore.

  He was in control of his life again. He was certain of it. From this point on, he could only move forward.

  His heart swelled as he looked at Addison. He’d brought her to the right place. Small. Intimate. Elegant, complete with a small dance floor.

  Jake pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

  “Miss McDowell. Will you dance with me?”

  Her smile lit the room.

  “I’d be honored.”

  He took her in his arms and knew, without question, that was where she would always belong.

  Dinner was wonderful.

  Addison knew New York wasn’t the only city in the world but she was a born and bred New Yorker.

  Nothing could match her town.

  It turned out that Dallas could.

  The restaurant was spectacular. The food was glorious. Wild mushroom bisque. Broiled sea scallops with braised radicchio. Champagne.

  And Jacob. Mostly, Jacob.

  Her Jacob.

  He was gorgeous. There wasn’t a woman in the room who hadn’t looked at him with lust in her eyes.

  And he was attentive. Funny. Charming. She loved dancing with him. He held her close; she could feel every inch of his long, wonderful body against hers.

  She could smell his scent, sexy and natural and male as she burrowed into him.

  And—and what are you doing, Addison McDowell?

  Well, she knew what she was doing.

  She was thinking about all that and she was turning herself on….

  “Addison.”

  She swallowed hard. Leaned back in Jake’s arms and looked up at him.

  “Yes?”

  He laughed. It was a soft, very sexy sound.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Adoré,” he said.

  She laughed, too.

  “What are you going to do about it?” she said.

  They were in the Thunderbird and roaring along the highway not more than three or four minutes later.

  Jake had dumped a handful of bills on their table and all but carried her from the restaurant.

  His mind was a blur.

  He hadn’t told her he loved her, but he would—just as soon as he could form a coherent sentence.

  Right now, he needed to make love to her.

  And, hell, even the way he drove, it would be more than an hour before they were alone.

  He thought about going to a hotel but humble as it was, okay, ramshackle as it was, the Chambers place—her place—had become their home.

  Except …

  Except, God, he was burning up with hunger.

  It was the same for her.

  She was sitting as close to him as possible, her hand on his thigh. She was trembling, and when he put his hand in her lap, slid it under her skirt, she made a sound that almost drove him insane.

  “Jacob,” she whispered, “don’t. You can’t—”

  He could.

  She gave a breathless little cry as he pushed his fingers past the bit of lace between her thighs.

  She was beyond hot. Beyond wet. He put a finger inside her, felt those honeyed walls close around him.

  She cried out.

  He groaned.

  She turned her face toward him. Bit his shoulder.

  The car bucked as he yanked the wheel hard and pulled onto the shoulder.

  It was late. The night was inky black. They were alone on the road.

  “Let me,” he said thickly, “Adoré, let me….”

  He stripped away the lace.

  She unzipped his fly.

  He lifted her and then she was taking him inside her, deep, deep, deep.

  She rode him, sobbing his name; he threaded his hands into her hair, brought her face to his so he could kiss her mouth, swallow her cries….

  And still, when they were finally at the ranch, they came together as soon as the front door closed behind them, tearing away the clothes that separated them, desperate for each other.

  At last, they made their way upstai
rs, to the bed that had become theirs.

  Jake’s last thought was of the woman in his arms, and of what he would tell her in the morning.

  That he loved her, that he wasn’t moving on …

  And that he wanted her with him, forever.

  The world was on fire.

  There were flames everywhere.

  Men were screaming. Dying. The Blackhawk was dying, too. It was a beast in pain.

  He? He was alive, but drenched in blood. So much blood. Not only his. The blood of others. Of others …

  “Jacob.”

  He was trapped. Caught in a snake’s nest of wires and cables. He tore free of them, began crawling.

  “Jake.”

  Someone was shouting his name. One of his men. Where? Where was he? He couldn’t find him. Couldn’t see him for the flames, the smoke, the blood that blinded him but he could hear him, screaming in agony, begging for help, for mercy, for Jake to save him …

  A hand landed on his shoulder. Tried to pull him back. No. He had to find his men. Had to find—

  “Nooo,” Jake screamed, and struck out….

  “Jacob! Please. Wake up. Wake up! Jake—”

  He came awake on a frenzied rush of breath and terror. His heart felt as if it were going to tear free of his chest. His body was soaked with sweat.

  At first, he didn’t know where he was.

  Then he remembered.

  The Chambers house. Addison’s house now. Her bedroom, gray in the soft wash of early morning light.

  He was on the floor, the top sheet and comforter twisted around his legs. The night-table lamp lay smashed beside him.

  “Addison,” he said hoarsely. “Addison? Dear God, Addison—”

  “I’m here, Jacob.”

  He fought free of the bed linens. She was crouched behind him, face white, eyes enormous. He reached for her, gathered her into his arms.

  “Did I hurt you, honey? Did I—”

  “No. No, I’m fine.”

  She wasn’t. She was shaking. Her teeth were chattering. He grabbed the comforter, wrapped it around her. “Sweetheart. I’m so sorry….”

  Jake drew her tightly against him. That this should have happened, that she should have seen him like this …

  “You sure I didn’t hurt you? Did I—did I hit you? I know I hit something ”

  “The lamp. Not me.”

  Thank God, he thought, and held her another few seconds. Then he held her from him and looked into her face.