Texas Hero

by Merline Lovelace

  Over Jack Carstairs, for pity's sake! The stubborn Marine who'd considered her too young, too starry-eyed, to know her own mind. The noble idiot who'd walked away from her. The man who'd already bro­ken her heart once.

  If she let him do it again, she'd be a fool! A total, one-hundred-percent, feather-headed fool!

  No way was she giving in to the heat that had flamed under her skin at his touch. Or following up on his startling admission that he'd take her to bed again in a heartbeat, given the same circumstances.

  She had herself convinced, completely convinced, until she shoved her hands in the pockets of her skirt and felt a slip of pasteboard. Her throat tightening, she pulled out the business card the travel agent had pressed on her earlier. She stared at the embossed printing until it blurred. Crumpling the card in her fist, she whirled, crossed the room and yanked open the connecting doors.

  Jack was standing at the window, hands shoved in his back pockets, staring out at the darkness. Her abrupt entrance spun him around.

  "I have to know." She bit the words out. "Did you ever love me?"

  "What?"

  "Tell me, dammit. Did you love me?"

  So bad, he'd hurt with it. In every inch of his body. Jack couldn't admit the truth then. And it was too late now. Far too late.

  ‘‘What difference does it make?'' he said quietly. "What's done is done."

  "Bull!" She flared up, as fiery and passionate as the girl he'd once known. "It makes all the differ­ence in the world. I want to know. I need to know."

  ‘‘What you need is to go back to your room before one of us says something we might regret."

  "Like what?" She advanced on him, her chin tipped to an angle he recognized all too well. "That we still want each other? That you get still hard and I still get hot every time we bump knees or hips or elbows?''

  "Ellie, for Christ's sake!"

  "What? Are you worried I'll bring up the fact that you wanted to kiss me down there on the river before dinner? Or admit that I ached for you to do it?"

  She stopped in front of him. Her breasts rose and fell under the scoop-necked top. A pulse beat wildly in one side of her throat.

  "I'm still aching, Jack."

  Her total honesty humbled him, just as it had nine years ago. She held nothing back. She never had. Desire jolted into him, as hot and fierce as any he'd ever felt for her. He went rigid, fighting the shock, fighting himself.

  Ellie couldn't miss his reaction. Triumph leaped into her eyes. She moved closer, determined to get at the truth whether he wanted it out or not.

  "I have to know."

  She raised her arms, slid them around his neck. Her breasts flattened against his chest. Her hips canted, pressing her belly into the bulge that pushed hard and hurting against his zipper.

  "Did you love me?"

  He couldn't lie to her. He'd never lied to her. But neither could he fully articulate the tangle of emo­tions she'd roused in him. He hesitated for long mo­ments, then offered her the only answer he could.

  "I would have laid down my life for you."

  Her throat closed. He had laid down his life for her. The only real life he'd ever known. At the same time, he'd spurned her offer to do the same.

  "But you wouldn't let me sacrifice my reputation or my career for you."

  His jaw locked. "That was different."

  She stared at him, torn between a sharp, sudden urge to whack him alongside the head and the over­whelming need to kiss the mule-headed stubbornness right off his face.

  She waffled between the contradictory impulses for several moments before muttering a curse that would have shocked her students and her colleagues. Tightening her arms, she hauled herself up on her toes and fastened her mouth on his.

  Jack stood stiff and unyielding under her assault, but he didn't break the contact. He didn't even try to break the contact. Her pulse leaping, Ellie angled her head to fit her mouth more fully against his.

  Memories of other nights and other kisses ex­ploded inside her head. Deliberately she blanked her mind and concentrated fiercely on this moment.

  When she finally pulled away, Jack might have been carved from gray Texas granite. His jaw was set. The cords in his neck stood out in stark relief. His blue eyes were dark, shuttered, hiding his thoughts.

  Ellie felt the first twinge of remorse, followed swiftly by self-disgust. She'd done it again! Thrown herself at the man. Shame coursed through her, but pride kept her head high as she offered a stiff apol­ogy.

  "I'm sorry, Jack. That was stupid of me. I had no business complicating an already awkward situa­tion."

  His stony silence signaled complete agreement.

  Ellie forced a smile. "You'd think I'd have learned to exercise some restraint in nine years."

  Actually, she had. She'd acquired a good deal of patience and restraint. She'd dated a fair number of men over the years. Had even thought she could fall in love with one or two. Yet she'd never attacked any of them.

  Only Jack.

  God, she was such a fool!

  "I'm sorry," she whispered once again.

  Writhing inside, she kept the smile plastered on her face and her chin high as she turned and headed for the connecting doors.

  Let her walk.

  The words thundered in Jack's head. He had to let her walk. If his years of experience as an undercover operative hadn't already underscored the need to maintain a clear head, Lightning had laid the issue square on the line. Jack was to keep his mind on the mission and his hands off Ellie. Period. End of dis­cussion.

  She got one step, maybe two, before he made a sound halfway between a snarl and a curse and went after her. Snagging her elbow, he yanked her around.

  "We can both be sorry."

  The force of his kiss bent her backward. For a moment, Ellie thought her spine might crack. Recov­ering from her startled surprise, she threw her arms around his neck and fit her body to his.

  Unleashed, his hunger was like a live, ravaging beast. It devoured Ellie. Consumed her. Thrilled her to her core.

  This was a different Jack, she thought on a rush of wild excitement. Not the tender, passionate lover who'd teased and tormented her. Not the skilled tutor who'd schooled her in pleasures she'd never imag­ined. This Jack made no attempt to disguise what he wanted.

  Ellie.

  Naked.

  Under him.

  Afterward, she could never say who dragged whom down to the plush carpet. All she knew was that she was on fire by the time they hit. Every inch of her body flamed with heat. The areas Jack paid special, savage attention to blazed white-hot. Her lips. Her breasts. Her belly. The tight, aching nub between her thighs.

  He stripped off her clothes first, then his own, all the time doing things to her that had Ellie alternating between groans and breathless little pants.

  She didn't lay passive. Submissiveness didn't form any part of her character. Her hands kept as busy as his. So did her mouth and tongue and teeth. Awash in a sea of sensations, she rediscovered the texture of his skin, the wiry tickle of his chest hair, the satin-smooth heat of his engorged shaft.

  When he worked his hand between her thighs, she was wet and ready. So ready. Still, he primed her. The heel of his hand exerted exquisite, maddening pressure on her mound. His fingers worked a steady rhythm inside her. Ellie stood it as long as she could before lifting her body in a taut arc.

  "Jack! Now!"

  "No." Deliberately, he eased the tormenting pres­sure. "Not yet, Ellie. I've laid awake too many nights remembering how you—''

  With a muttered curse, he bit off the rest of the sentence. A red flush mounted his cheeks.

  Stunned, Ellie stared at the rugged planes of his face. He'd thought about her. Dreamed about her. Laid awake remembering her touch and her taste. The realization melted away the years. With them went much of the long-buried hurt and anger.

  "I've laid awake, too," she whispered. "Too many nights to count."

  His eyes searched he
rs. His jaw was clenched so tight Ellie thought it might crack. Just when she thought she'd have to take the initiative again, he groped for his jeans. For an awful moment, she thought he'd changed his mind. Frustration and cha­grin welled to fill her throat with a taste like chalk.

  To her infinite relief, he'd only paused to dig a condom out of his wallet. He'd protected her all those years ago, she remembered on a warm rush of emotion. He was still protecting her.

  He sheathed himself with quick, jerky strokes, then rolled back to her. One hand tangled in her hair, bringing her head up for his crushing kiss. The other parted her legs and positioned his rigid member. Ellie opened for him joyously, eagerly, her heart singing a welcome even as her hips lifted to meet his initial thrust.

  They made love with all the fury and twice the skill of their youth.

  The first time was fast and hard. Mouths greedy, hands groping, hips grinding, they rolled over and over on the plush carpet. Ellie climaxed twice, mind-shattering orgasms that left her whimpering. Jack held back as long as he could, determined to draw out their pleasure, until Ellie took matters out of his hands. Hooking a leg, she climbed astride him, wrapped her fingers around his shaft and held him steady as she sank down, inch by satiny inch.

  The second time was slower, lazier and took place in bed, thank goodness. Ellie knew she'd sport a nice complement of carpet burns in the morning.

  The third time left her completely sated and limp with exhaustion. It was well past midnight when she fell asleep, her arm flung across Jack's chest and her nose buried in his neck.

  She awoke the next morning to find him sitting in the chair across the room. He was dressed all in black, unshaven, and looked more dangerous than she'd ever imagined he could.

  Chapter 8

  One glance at Jack's tight jaw and grim expression sent a single thought ripping through Ellie's sleep-fuzzed mind.

  He was going to leave. Again.

  With a flash of pure pain, she sensed that he was already regretting last night. As he'd pointed out sev­eral times, he was there to protect her. Only to pro­tect her. Getting involved with Elena Maria Alazar— again—compromised not only his ability to do his job, it could very web cost him the career he'd carved out since leaving the Marine Corps.

  Her chest squeezed so hard and tight she could barely breathe. Yanking at the tangled sheet, she bunched it over her breasts and wiggled up to rest her bare shoulders against the wrought-iron head­board. With some effort, she managed to keep her crushing sense of loss out of her voice.

  "You're already dressed, I see. Are you going out?"

  "I've been out."

  "Have you? Where?"

  Her cool, almost disinterested query irritated the hell out of Jack. He'd spent three hellacious hours, first down at the river, searching for proof that some­one had, in fact, fired at Ellie last night, then con­vincing the San Antonio PD detective honchoing her case to haul his butt out of bed. Jack wanted a cast of the fresh scar he'd found in the stone steps. Maybe ballistics could turn up information as to the type of bullet that had gouged it.

  Finding evidence that a killer had taken aim at Ellie was bad enough. Seeing her naked and sleepy-eyed, sporting what looked suspiciously like a whisker burn on the curve of her left shoulder, mag­nified Jack's self-disgust and guilt a hundred times over.

  He'd been sent to San Antonio to keep her safe, for God's sake! And what the hell did he do? Spent half the night rolling around in the sack with the woman whose life might well depend on his focus and ability to concentrate.

  If the killer had tried again...

  If he'd hit when Jack was otherwise occupied...

  If Ellie had been hurt...

  His gut twisting, he practically snarled at her. “I told you I recognized the sound of a round fired from a silenced gun when I heard one."

  She looked confused for a moment, either at his savage tone or the information he'd imparted.

  "Last night," he growled, "on the Riverwalk, right when the fireworks went off. That was a shot."

  The fingers gripping the bunched sheet went white at the knuckles. ‘‘Are you sure?''

  "I'm sure. I found the gouge in the stone where the bullet hit."

  The last of the sleepy flush left her cheeks. She stared at Jack, her eyes wide with dismay. Speculat­ing that they might or might not have heard a gun­shot was one thing, he knew. Having the brutal fact confirmed was another.

  He hated the fleeting look of fear and helplessness that chased across her face. Hated even more driving home the fact that she was a target.

  "From the angle of the mark," he continued tersely, "it looks like the shell ricocheted off the stone into the river. Detective Harris and an SAPD crime scene crew are down there now, trying to lo­cate the shell and run it through ballistics."

  Some of the helpless vulnerability left her face. "I can help with that! I'll lay odds my team's equipment is considerably more sophisticated than the police de­partment's."

  Dragging the sheet with her, she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and groped for her clothes. Jack's harsh voice stopped her cold.

  "Someone wants you dead, Ellie. Very dead. You're not leaving this room until I find out who."

  "But..."

  "The matter's not open for discussion or debate. Just so you know, I've requested backup to augment your security detail. I've also called in an expert from the company I work for to provide additional elec­tronic surveillance and defensive countermeasures. Both team members are en route as we speak."

  "Jack, be reasonable. I can't just cower here in my hotel room. Ballistics is my area of expertise. I can help. I want to help."

  "I told you, the issue's not up for negotiation."

  Her chin went up. "I'm not negotiating. Give me ten minutes to shower and dress."

  Scooping up her clothes, she yanked the tail ends of the sheet free of the mattress and headed for the bathroom. Jack spit out a curse and followed. The shower jets were already turned to full blast when he pushed inside.

  Her clothes lay in a scattered heap on the tile, along with the discarded sheet. Whirling, she snatched a towel from the nearest rack. Jack had a feeling he'd carry the image of her copper-tipped breasts, flat belly and the dark, seductive triangle be­tween her legs around in his head for a long, long time.

  "I said ten minutes!"

  "And I said you're not going anywhere."

  Steam curled through the open stall door. The jets drummed against the glass. Ellie made a heroic at­tempt at calm and reasonable. And failed.

  "I'm not one of your troops. You don't bark or­ders at me and expect unquestioned obedience. I'm an expert in my field, just as you are in yours. I'm going to—"

  "You're going to stay where I put you."

  "Put me?"

  "Don't force me take extreme measures."

  Scorn flashed in her eyes. ‘‘What are you going to do? Lock me in the bathroom?"

  ‘‘I was thinking more along the lines of handcuff­ing you to the bed."

  ‘‘Oh, give me a break! I know you too well, Car­stairs. You wouldn't resort to such Neanderthal tac­tics."

  His gaze raked her near-naked form. A grim smile settled in his eyes.

  "Oh, yeah, babe. I would."

  Without warning, the tension in the steam-filled bathroom took on a whole different edge. Ellie felt it right down to her bones. A sudden wariness that had nothing to do with bullets or ballistics sent her back a step. A feminine instinct older than time screamed at her to cover herself, placate the angry male before her, defuse the situation.

  Being Ellie, she did just the opposite. Another in­stinct, sharp and urgent, demanded she stand her ground. This was Jack, she reminded herself furi­ously. She'd let his hardheadedness defeat her once. She couldn't let him ride roughshod over her again. Not if she wanted him to consider her his equal. In and out of bed.

  Spray from the open shower enveloped her in a fine mist. Steam invaded her lungs. Blinking a
way the drops that had collected on her lashes, Ellie looked him square in the eye.

  "I wouldn't mind doing the bed-and-handcuff bit, as long as we take turns as the cuffee. But not right now, Jack. Right now I'm going to take a shower, get dressed and haul myself and my equipment down to the river. You can accept my decision and come with me, or..."

  She let the sentence trail off, stalling for time while she tried to decide just what the heck or she could throw at him.

  Jack obviously had a few ideas of his own. His eyes narrowed. The hot mist had soaked his hair and raised a sheen on the stubble darkening his cheeks. He looked wet and angry and menacing as he took a step forward.

  "Or what, Ellie? You'll fire me?"

  "Oh, no! I'm not letting you walk away from me again."

  The retort spilled out before she could stop it. Recklessly, Ellie laid the rest of her tumultuous emo­tions on the line.

  "We started something last night, Carstairs. Cor­rection, we restarted something. I for one think we should see it thought to the finish this time."

  Her heart slamming against her ribs, she waited to hear Jack's take on the matter. He declined to give one. Instead, he spun on one heel and made for the bathroom door.

  Ellie's toes curled into the tiles. Fury and pain lanced into her in equal measures. "Jack! Dammit, you can't just—"

  "Someone's at the door." He threw the words over his shoulder. "I'll see who it is, then we'll finish this discussion."

  She hadn't heard a thing over the pelting water and the heat of her emotions. Muttering under her breath, she kicked the bathroom door shut, then stepped into the shower stall. When they finished this discussion, she wouldn't be bare-assed and still sticky with the residue of their lovemaking.

  When he peered through the peephole and identi­fied the individual on the other side of the door, Jack didn't know whether to curse or give a heartfelt grunt of relief. He settled for twisting the dead bolt and greeting OMEGA's chief of communications with a curt acknowledgment.

  "You got here fast."

  "Lightning put his personal jet at our disposal."

  Mackenzie Blair breezed in, toting her heavy field case. She wore the uniform she favored for traveling, Jack noted: a dark blue T-shirt emblazoned with U.S. Navy in four-inch gold letters, snug jeans and serious running shoes. Few of OMEGA's special agents could keep up with the woman when she hit her stride.