The one good thing he could do for her was not weigh her down with his ghosts. She deserved a man who could lift her up, not drag her down. A man who could help her heal, not a man who needed healing himself.
His gut knotted at the thought of some other guy touching her, making love to her. The lucky sonofabitch had better, by God, understand that she needed special attention, special handling.
He couldn’t think about that. Not and keep his sanity. Not when she was liquid and warm and so very, very pliant in his arms.
He breathed deep. Breathed her in.
She’d settled. Seemed content now to lie beside him, her breathing even and deep.
Asleep, he realized.
And told himself he needed to sleep, too.
And he would have. He would have slept, would have left her be.
If she hadn’t sighed just then.
If she hadn’t lifted her hand, touched his face, covered his lips with her fingertips…like she was checking.
Just checking to make sure he was here.
That he still held her.
In the dark.
And in the dark, with his pulse jumping and his heart racing, he told himself, one last time. He needed one last time…
Just. One. Last. Time.
He kissed the ultra-soft pads of her fingertips, knotted his fingers loosely in the silk of her hair and drew her head back. Kissed her. Long. Sweet. Deep.
She responded with her tongue. All woman. All need and hunger and heat.
With a lazy grace, she pushed to her knees beside him. Watched his face as she lifted her blouse up over her head, tossed it to the floor.
Her breasts were bare. Pink and perfect and heavy. Her waist was small, her hips a gentle flair of soft flesh and smooth skin as she shimmied out of her skirt and panties.
A dream. A goddess. A reason to reduce his world to this bed, to this moment, and shut out everything else as she went to work on his shirt.
He lay submissive. Let her happen to him. Let this amazing woman, as soft as velvet, as fierce as fire, strip him to the skin. Skin that was sensitized and tuned to the glide of her hands, the heat of her touch, the…God…the silky wetness of her tongue as she bent over him, took him in her mouth and reduced him to begging.
He arched his hips and she took him deep. All suction and sensation and golden hair trailing over his belly.
“Amy…” Her name eased out on a groan as she loved him—imperfect, inexperienced, and all the more incredible for the knowledge that she wanted to gift him with something she’d never given any other man.
“Amy…” It was as much as he could manage as her glorious, untutored mouth drove him to the brink of insanity.
He reached for her, held the hair back from her face and watched her make love to him. It was beyond erotic. Beyond exotic.
It was a sweet and selfless giving. Rich and rare and ruthlessly thorough.
He didn’t want it to end. Knew it had to.
He pulled her head up. She shook her head no and took him in again.
He couldn’t help it. He laughed. In pure, prurient joy.
It was exactly the wrong thing to do.
She stopped abruptly. Lifted her head. Looked up at him, uncertain. She was on her hands and knees. Straddling him. Looking like a wild creature about to bolt.
“No. Oh, no.” He cupped her face in his hands, reading the insecurity in her eyes. “You are wonderful. I laughed because…hell, I can’t believe what a lucky sonofabitch I am.”
Her doubt faded. Replaced by a shy smile. “I…I…ah…I’ve never…you know.”
He drew her toward his mouth. “I know. You were wonderful.” He kissed her gently. “Thank you. Thank you.”
She snuggled on top of him. Her hair fell across his face, her lush breasts crushed against his chest.
“Turnabout’s fair play,” he whispered, brushing aside her hair and nipping her earlobe.
“No. You rest. You’re hurt.”
Again, he laughed. “Never too hurt for that.”
He urged her to her knees, guided one on either side of his ribs. Then, caressing her thighs, he eased her slowly forward until she was straddling his shoulders.
“Dallas…”
“Shh,” he whispered, then shattered her hesitation when he gripped her hips and lowered her to his mouth.
She tasted like everything woman. Honey and sex and sensuality. And the sounds she made. They called to something deep inside him. Something basic and carnal and more necessary than breathing.
He was wild for the need of her. Wet and slick and hot and vulnerable.
She came with a soft cry, a shudder that wracked her entire body. A whimper as she braced her palms on the wall above the bed and let the sensations take her.
Limp and languid, she slid down his body, shaken, trembling and spent.
It was enough. More than enough for him.
And that was something new for Dallas Garrett. He gave, yes. But he took too…and he was still pulsing and rock hard.
Didn’t matter. As he held her, as she drifted off to sleep, he felt more fulfilled than he ever had in his life.
Until he thought about the fact that very soon now, he had to let her go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
How are you, Gabe? Really? Truth now. Don’t whitewash things for me.”
Gabe glanced up into Juliana’s eyes and experienced the pain he always felt when he saw them.
They were Angelina’s eyes. They could have been sisters instead of mother and daughter.
And Angelina could have been alive today if it weren’t for him.
He rolled a shoulder, averted his gaze to the towering windows running the length of Juliana’s study because he couldn’t stand to bear to witness to a sorrow she tried to hide with soft, forgiving smiles.
The morning sun broke through the beveled windowpanes like lasers, glanced off the gleaming cypress flooring in dancing prisms of blue, yellow and green.
“You know me, Juliana. I’m fit and fine.”
The silk brocade settee was feminine and old. Expensive as hell. He felt like a bear sitting in it. Hell, everything in her house made him feel like a bull in the proverbial china shop. From the draperies to the tapestries to the dead king’s furniture, everything was refined and regal—like Juliana. He was cob rough and clumsy with the delicate china coffee cup that he balanced on his knee.
He drank it dry, set the cup on a Louis XIV side table.
“She chose her life, Gabe. They both did.” Juliana walked to the settee, sat down beside him, knowing instinctively that he was thinking of Angelina. Blaming himself. Hating himself for her death and for Armando’s.
She took his hands in hers. “We can miss them. We can mourn them. But we can’t die with them.”
He’d wanted to. God, he’d wanted to.
“I wanted to be the one to kill him,” Gabe said, staring down at their joined hands. Hers were silken smooth and graceful, his were big and hard, calloused and scarred. “I wanted to kill him myself.”
“I know. But he’s dead. And you were involved in making it happen. The important thing is, he’s gone. Erich Adler will never harm another soul again.”
He didn’t dispute her, but Erich Adler’s death had come too late for him. The man who had ordered Angelina’s assassination, had damaged Gabe forever.
Retribution was not sweet. It was only necessary. And empty.
“We have to be going.” He made himself meet her earnest smile. Squeezed her hands. “I don’t want to be anywhere near here when the local authorities respond to the call I made to El Bolson this morning.”
They would suspect. Whenever any unexplained event involving multiple deaths of multiple bad guys happened in this part of the world, he and his men were always suspect.
Of course, for over a year, Gabe had been a “dead” man as far as anyone knew. So he was in the clear. Reed and Lang, however, needed to lie low for a while. And he needed to facilitate making
that happen.
“I understand,” Juliana said, sounding cheerless at the thought of him leaving. “What of your friends? They are welcome to stay for as long as they have need.”
Gabe shook his head. Thought about correcting her on the issue of Garrett, Amy and Jenna being “friends.” Wasn’t sure what stopped him.
“Thank you, but no. I don’t want to implicate you in this any further, and sooner or later someone is going to drop by and question you about your American houseguests. Besides, they need to get back to the States ASAP. It’s better all the way around.”
“You’ll use my helicopter, of course.”
Yes, they would need her chopper. The Piper had mysteriously disappeared during the night. Juliana’s doing. She handled things. Efficiently. Quietly.
“Be very careful,” he said, concerned about leaving her, more concerned about staying. Either way, he was making her a target. “There may be reprisals.”
“I know you, Gabe. No one will be able to trace what happened down there to you, let alone to me.”
He nodded. Squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll let them know they need to get ready to go.”
She rose when he did; her hand on his arm stopped him from leaving the room.
“Please don’t be a stranger.” Her eyes pleaded with a sincerity that damn near broke what was left of his heart. “You’re all I have left of them.”
She should hate him. She should hate life. Her husband was dead. Her daughter was dead. And Gabe should have saved them both.
And yet Juliana loved him.
He nodded, knowing that a stranger was all he could ever be. But when she moved against him, nestled her head against his chest, he couldn’t keep his arms from winding around her. Holding her close. Rocking her, providing the only comfort he could give.
“Go with God, Gabriel,” she whispered and let him go.
Gab worked his jaw until it ached. He and God weren’t exactly on the best of terms these days. A mutual agreement. A rift that he wasn’t certain could ever be healed.
Buenos Aires, later that day
Jenna held back, wanting to be the last one off the helicopter. It was a helluva a step up from the Piper, that was for certain. Plush and roomy, quiet and smooth. The Bell 427 had room for eight and a chopper pilot who knew how to get the most out of the air miles. He’d delivered them to Buenos Aires in record time.
Still, she was damn glad to be setting her feet on terra firma again—even if it was in the form of an asphalt tarmac, well away from the main terminals at the international airport.
“Angelina Foundation” was painted in bold black lettering on the side of the small chopper hangar. “Angelina” was also painted on the side of the chopper.
She’d been wanting to ask Jones about it all during the flight. But there was something about him today. Something even darker and fiercer than usual and, conversely, something profoundly heartbreaking about him. Ever since they’d landed the Piper at Juliana’s villa, he’d been a different person.
Deep feelings. Huge emotions. He had them. And Juliana had set them off.
Jenna wouldn’t have figured it. Not of Jones. Not of the man who had made it his mission to badger and berate her from the moment he’d set eyes on her.
“Today, McMillan.”
Jenna blinked, realized that none other than the big man himself was standing on the tarmac, looking up into the chopper, waiting for her to get out.
Moment of truth time. She had some things to say to him. Things that weren’t going to be easy.
“Sorry.” She scrambled out of her seat belt, walked bent at the waist, keeping her head low, toward the cockpit door.
“Daydreaming about all the awards you’re going to receive for the story about your big adventure?
There was more disgust than question in his tone.
She breathed deep, let it out. Accepted his hand and let him help her to the ground. It was huge and hard and scarred. She wondered what other scars he carried.
Told herself to forget it. She’d never see the man again. And why that thought brought a little pang of regret, she had no idea.
The air smelled like ocean and jet fuel and the South American summer. Heat waves shimmered over the asphalt as they walked toward the open hangar door, fifty yards away where Amy and Dallas waited for them.
“About that.” She stopped. Squinted against the sun and looked up at him.
“About what?”
“The story. There isn’t going to be one.”
He stared, his expression unchanged. Distrustful.
“Some things…are just better left alone.” She offered a tight smile. When he said nothing, she used one of his tried and true taunts on him. “This is the part where you’re supposed to show appreciation.”
His hand on her arm stopped her when she would have walked away. A hard grip. Almost angry. “Why? Why would you do that?” Almost demanding. His distrust revving up several degrees.
“What is it with you?” she demanded, mad as hell suddenly. She jerked her arm, tried to break his grasp. His fingers tightened like steel bands.
“Why can’t you just accept a gift when it’s offered to you?”
“Because I’ve learned over time that there’s always a catch. What’s yours?”
“You’re paranoid, you know that? Why can’t you just accept what I tell you at face value? You don’t seem to have any trouble accepting anything Juliana gives you.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to hit her. Whatever nerve she’d touched, it was raw and bleeding and she’d riled it up big time.
“Look,” she said, regretting bringing Juliana into it, but it was too late to take it back now. “I know you consider journalists an inferior life-form, but here’s a news flash for you. I care. I care about what happens to people. I care when bad things happen to good people. Hell, call me crazy, but I even care when bad things happen to you. And I figure, if I write this story, no matter how much I try to cloak it in generalities and reference ‘unidentified’ sources, that there are others who might not accept that and come down here and start digging for more.”
He considered her. “Others who don’t have the moral integrity that, say, you do.”
Bastard. He was mocking her.
“Yeah. Others liked that.” Sarcasm dripped from each word.
She was good and pissed now. But she also had one other thing to say to him. So she drew a bracing breath. “Whatever you think of me, do know this. I’m sorry about Alvaro.”
She stopped, swallowed hard. Whether it was delayed stress, fatigue, grief or all three, she didn’t know, but she felt watery suddenly. And very, very responsible. “I’m…very, very sorry about Alvaro. He was a good man. I never knew…I never guessed that I was digging into something that would get him killed. That would get Raul killed. And those people. Those poor, poor people.”
Tears filled her eyes as she thought of the victims of MC6’s special brand of torture. It was small consolation that they were no longer in pain. They’d had families. Futures—until the most vile of the vile had stolen everything.
“Just…forget it. Let go of my arm, okay?” She was done, finished, empty. She didn’t want to fight him anymore.
For a long moment, he stood there. Looming over her like, hell, like some avenging angel. The sun glinting off the sheen of his thick brown hair, his broad shoulders casting a long, dark shadow. His mouth compressed, his jaw unyielding.
Maybe in another lifetime, she’d have wanted to get to know him. Know what he hid behind that warrior’s face.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “For killing the story. I appreciate it.”
She saw something in him then that she hadn’t seen before. Humility.
It stunned her. Almost dizzied her with the rush of emotions that small glimpse into his inner self revealed.
It didn’t mean she liked him. He was still a badass with a bad attitude.
But then he did the damnedest thing. He
touched a hand to her hair, pulled her close and kissed her.
Like he meant it.
Like he enjoyed it.
Which was pretty amazing in itself, because she enjoyed it too.
Then he let her go.
“Because I’ve been wondering if that mouth was good for anything but sass, that’s why,” he said, answering the question that was still forming in her befuddled head.
Why did you do that?
Then he left her there, standing in the sun, staring at his broad back as he headed for the hangar.
She touched her fingers to her lips. Felt the burn. Then she snapped out of it.
“Well?” she yelled. Was it good for something else?
He kept on walking. Lifted his right hand. Wobbled it back and forth: So-so.
Smart-ass. He was the ultimate smart-ass.
Yet, for some reason, she was smiling and had no idea of why when she followed him out of the sun.
The busy terminal buzzed with life around them as Dallas and Amy waited for their flight to West Palm while Jenna would head to Wyoming.
“I need to go home,” she’d said as she and Amy had hugged and cried and said their good-byes with heartfelt promises to keep in touch.
The only one left to say good-bye to was Jones.
“Guess this is the end of the line.” Dallas balanced on his crutches and extended his hand.
The big man took it. “Take care of that leg.”
They shook—a world of meaning in their firm grips: Thanks. Well done.
Dallas couldn’t help but grin, shake his head. “I hope to hell I don’t see you again, because if I do, it can only mean one of us is in deep shit.”
Jones actually smiled. “You can guard my back anytime.”
The supreme compliment. One warrior to another.
Dallas nodded. “Same goes.” Then he held back and waited while Amy said her good-byes.
She hadn’t managed to say a word before Jones preempted her. “No thank yous, okay? I didn’t help you, remember? I made sure you didn’t interfere.”
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