Men of Mercy: The Complete Story

by Cross, Lindsay

  She plucked at a small loose thread on the back of the leather couch. “How exactly do you know my – my father’s enemy? I thought he worked for Cotter.”

  Merc’s lips twisted into a cruel snare of a smile, more of self-depreciation than anything else. “Once upon a time, I was young and stupid and I believed all the bullshit J fed me. He’d saved me when I wasn’t much older than a teenager. At the time, I thought it was because he was a good man, but later on, I found out it was because he’d seen me in action as a solider. He valued my skills and wanted to use me.”

  “So before him, you worked for the CIA?”

  Merc never told anyone about his lack of memory, not even his TF-S teammates, but there was something about the girl standing in front of him that made him want to tell her. “I don't remember anything before waking up in a hospital with J telling me he’d barely saved my life. He told me I was a foot soldier, but I never found my records. Who knows, I could've been black ops before then – a mercenary, an assassin – or I could have been some CIA recruit injured in battle, something I might not ever know.” Normally he’d feel that pang of self-loathing for letting J get away, but this time, looking into Caroline’s eyes, he had zero regrets for choosing her life over his past.

  “What you're saying is basically your entire life has been some sort of training and work as a soldier. Haven't you ever been curious about the outside world? Didn't you want to know what it was like to have a normal life?” Her probing question caught him off guard.

  “I wouldn't know how.” At her look of chagrin, he found himself frantically searching for an explanation. A normal person would probably want to do things like he'd seen on TV – go to the movies, go out to eat, come home, take out the trash, mow his one-acre lot in a suburb where everyone else’s house looked exactly the same. It was a life he'd never had and never wanted. “I know you can’t understand this, having grown up in a normal home, but I don't know how to be anything else other than a soldier.”

  She blinked then looked away for a moment. “You think this is normal?” When she looked back, her face was tinged with dark shadows. “I've been locked in a bubble my entire life, hidden from everyone else, from the public, from being normal. I’ve never been allowed the freedom to do what I please. I’ve never even... kissed a man. How pathetic is that?”

  Merc's heart lurched in his chest, and despite his better judgment, he went around the couch to stand directly in front of her. Her soft, perfect skin called out to him. He cupped her chin, tilting her head back. “You've been trapped as much as I have.”

  As if his thumb had a mind of its own, he rubbed back and forth, tracing her cheek. When she leaned into his touch, warmth blossomed in his chest.

  “I've always wondered what it would be like. Is it like on TV when the guy kisses the girl and she lifts her foot back?”

  Her blunt honesty rocked him to his core. He didn't know. How could he? His soldier’s life hadn’t exactly been riddled with free time. As far back as he could remember, he'd never been with a woman.

  What would it be like? For the first time he could remember, Merc wanted to know and he wanted to find out with Caroline.

  He lowered his head to hover an inch above hers, captivated by her spicy sent. “Do you want to find out?”

  Her nostrils flared and her breath fanned across his face, a caress to his scarred and rough skin.

  “Because I do.” Unable to resist a moment longer, Merc touched his lips to hers, hesitant at first and unsure. Then she groaned and wrapped her small hand around his neck to tug him down to her and he lost himself.

  A waterfall of desire crashed over his entire body and Merc caved, bending at the waist to wrap his arms around her and lift her against him as he took her lips in a fevered kiss. He tasted every ounce of her, every drop of sweetness, every nuance of the sweet vanilla flavor of her lips. He couldn't get enough.

  Opening against her, he slanted his head and took her mouth deeply, his tongue mating with hers as her fingers tugged and dug in his hair. He'd never felt anything so rapturous as Caroline Cotter.

  Groaning, he leaned back against the couch, squeezing her to him harder as he sought to take her mouth even deeper. Caroline whimpered and, afraid he'd hurt her, he started to pull back until she dug her nails in and held him to her, taking his lips just as forcefully.

  His hands found their way to the curve of her hips, sliding around to palm her perfect ass in those yoga pants. He lifted her higher, wrapping her legs around his waist, taking her mouth more easily as he buried one hand in her hair, his every intention to devour her whole.

  In that moment, nothing existed but Caroline. Not his mission. Not his need for revenge. Nothing but the girl in his arms.

  She moaned low in the back of her throat, practically clawing him as she climbed up his body. The friction proved too much and Merc broke away, gasping for breath as he lowered his head to gently nip at the curve of her neck. He licked and nipped his way down her shoulder and back up, along the delicate curve of her jaw, and placed a kiss to her chin before devouring her lips once more.

  “Miss Caroline?”

  Caroline didn't stop, just continued to kiss him with the same amount of passion as before, but for Merc, the spell had been broken. He lifted his mouth from hers, but couldn't tear his gaze away. Her lips were swollen and lush, and the soft little pants she made to catch her breath nearly brought him to his knees.

  “I'm so sorry to bother you. I thought you might be hungry and I could serve you in the study. Just ring when you're ready.” Francis bowed out of the room and softly shut the door behind her.

  Merc eased Caroline down to the floor, savoring every inch of her body as it rubbed against his. When she stood on her own two feet once more, he tipped her chin back, one arm still wrapped possessively around her waist. “You okay?”

  She bit her swollen bottom lip and nodded. Blood flooded his cock, its length digging into his pants and pressing against her stomach. But Caroline didn't seem to mind or even notice. She was focused once more on his mouth, and he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  Dammit, if she didn't stop looking at him like that he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. It was taking every ounce of willpower he possessed not to pin her to the wall and take her lips again. “Caroline, you need to rest.”

  She didn’t move, seeming locked in a daze and Merc realized what a shit position he’d put them in. He’d been caught kissing the girl he’d been assigned to protect. Francis could jeopardize his position. Even worse, getting emotionally entangled with an asset could jeopardize his ability to protect her. Fuck, he was stupid. And weak.

  He’d been in the business long enough to know not to get involved. Ever.

  “Go now.” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Need clawed at his insides, and if she didn't get the hell out of the room, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from taking her.

  Merc knew without a doubt he’d made the right decision before, back at J’s palace, when he’d clung to Caroline and saved her life. But now, watching her flee, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d chosen wrong this time.

  He should have held on to her.

  Chapter 13

  Nightshade ran all the way back to her room, passing by a startled Ethan, who she completely ignored. Heart pounding, she slammed the bedroom door and collapsed face forward onto her sister’s bed, which was so soft it nearly wrapped completely around her.

  The silk coverlet rubbed against her sensitive skin in a way that only seemed to make her wilder. Her lips throbbed in a sweet, agonizing way she knew could only be solved by one man.

  Merc.

  A man who was supposed to be her enemy. A man she was supposed to use to infiltrate Cotter's life. A man who had taken her first kiss and left her desperate for more.

  Heat unfurled in her belly, her womb clenched, and she squeezed her legs together trying to ease the unfamilia
r ache. She’d never felt anything remotely like this. Her nipples ached and throbbed, the blood pounding through her veins practically screamed out his name. If he hadn't set her down – if he hadn't ordered her to leave – she had no doubt she would've completely lost control. And from the incredibly large hardness she’d felt pressed against her, she knew he’d been skating that same edge too.

  He'd taken her lips with such ferocity, she had no doubt he must have had a lot of practice at it. Instant white hot jealousy flared when she thought about Merc kissing another woman. He didn't belong to her and never would, but right now she would take a knife to the heart of any female who dared to approach him with lust.

  And now that Nightshade had experienced it, she could recognize it from a mile away. In fact, she remained intensely aware that Merc was somewhere in her house, pacing around the dark confines. She knew all she had to do was unlock her door and find him, and they’d finish what they’d started. But she also knew that if she gave herself to him now, something inside her would change and it might affect her mission. It might affect her ability to concentrate. And if it came down to Merc or her teammates and her sister – she would not choose him.

  Nightshade bolted from the bed at the thought of any violence falling on him again, even violence at her own hand. She darted into the bathroom, yanked open the extravagantly large shower and flipped the water on straight cold. She stripped naked and plunged inside. The icy water stole her breath, but didn't cool her insides. Instead, the hard spray abraded her nipples and seemed to highlight the places on her neck his mouth had been.

  Frustrated and angry at herself for wanting him so much, wanting a man that she should hate, she soaped the loofah and scrubbed her skin raw. She hit the tender, scarred-over wound where her father had shot her and groaned. But the pain was a reminder of what she'd been through to get here. With an almost masochistic need, she scrubbed the sore again, hissing in a breath at the fresh wave of agony and repeating the process simply to distract her body from the desire that urged her to run back downstairs and seek out Merc.

  Dropping the loofah, she braced her hands against the smooth white marble of the luxurious walk-in shower and hung her head, allowing the cold water to pelt against her back. Remember, Nightshade. Remember your sister. Remember your team. Remember the pain Cotter has caused your family.

  She stayed in there until her fingers and toes started to prune and turn blue. She ripped a fluffy white towel from the wall and dried off quickly, then slipped between the sheets of the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

  Cold seeped inside her now, its familiar icy fingers comforting. She put some distance between her mind and her body and analyzed the situation. She had to stay away from Merc – it was the only way. Her reaction to him was too unpredictable and explosive.

  Tomorrow when Cotter left for work, she'd sneak back into his study, hack into his computer, and steal the files. By the time he returned that evening, she'd have a loaded pistol waiting for him. And then she'd never have to worry about seeing Merc again.

  The next morning, Nightshade woke with a renewed sense of purpose. She went straight into Caroline's closet and rummaged through her sister's clothes until she found something normal. Well, Caroline might consider it normal. To Nightshade, the pale pink capri pants and tight navy blue t-shirt made her feel like an Easter egg more than a trained operative.

  At least the clothing would allow her to move about freely and wouldn't get in the way like all the loose flowing dresses and matching sparkly high heels she’d bypassed. Luckily, in the very back corner, tucked behind a pair of boots, Nightshade located a worn pair of tennis shoes, which she slipped on with relish.

  In the bathroom, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and braided it so she didn't have to worry about her hair getting in her face or her way. Then she paused a moment, staring at her reflection and seeing her sister. Perfect.

  She emerged from the room ready to do what she could to avoid Merc and find the senator’s hidden server.

  She jogged downstairs, light on the balls of her feet, ready. But she stopped dead in her tracks ten steps from the bottom, tendrils of worry creeping around her shoulders.

  Harriet and Francis stood sentry at the bottom of the stairway. Harriet had her hands on her generous hips, Francis had her arms crossed beneath her nonexistent bosom, and a man — at least Nightshade thought it was a man — stood with a hip cocked out in garish neon-green pants that tapered to his ankles. He clutched a bright pink handbag in one hand, a purple and green polka-dotted one in another. His hair was gelled back with something that would allow no movement, even in a stiff wind.

  Fernando.

  Harriet started up the steps, lifting her long dress with one hand and wagging her finger with the other. “Oh no. You’re not escaping breakfast, Miss Caroline. You completely skipped supper and you need to eat to fully recover. Go on up to your room. I'll bring the tray and Fernando can get started.”

  Francis waved her hands in the air, reminding Nightshade of a crane about to fall off a cliff. “Your father said you were exhausted, but you’ve never slept this late before. Ten o'clock. Half the morning’s wasted. Poor Fernando, he's been here for over an hour, but I refused to let him disturb your sleep.”

  It was ten o'clock? She'd never slept past six a.m. a day in her life. It had to be exhaustion.

  Fernando's caramel-colored gaze drifted slowly from her head to her toes and back up. “My dear, what have they done to you? Those shoes…”

  Nightshade glanced down at her feet in confusion. The tennis shoes were a little bit ratty. They had a few old stains dotting the surface. But compared to the five-inch heels that dominated the rest of her sister’s closet… “What? They’re comfortable and I’m not going anywhere today. What does it matter?”

  Fernando slapped a hand over his chest, his eyes widening to the point she was afraid they might actually pop out of his head. “You can’t be serious. I know you’ve been through a traumatic experience, but you’ve never let your style slip like this.” He snapped his fingers and Nightshade jumped. “Don't worry, I'll have Nina go to all your favorite shops. Although,” he tapped a finger on his pouty lower lip, “you’ve definitely lost some weight…”

  “Why does everyone keep going on about my weight? I haven’t lost that much, besides, what does it matter? I’m alive. I’m home. I kind of like my new look.” She’d never worried about weight, except when she was trying to bulk up and add strength, or her clothes, unless she was heading to a remote location with freezing temperatures.

  Fernando completely ignored her and shooed her to the stairs, driving her absolutely crazy.

  “I’ll pretend like you didn’t just say that. Go on, up to your bedroom. If I can get your new measurements to Nina in time, you’ll have a whole new wardrobe by this evening. Perfect for the celebration your father’s planning in your honor at the end of the week.”

  Nightshade froze halfway up the stairs. Her stomach dropped. This was definitely not part of the plan.

  Chapter 14

  Nightshade had no choice but to play the part and dutifully march upstairs with Fernando nipping at her heels like a teacup Chihuahua.

  “You really hurt my feelings.” Fernando sailed around her, hips swaying as he walked and pulled open her bedroom door with a flourish.

  “I'm sorry. I'm not sure how.” Nightshade darted inside, silently praying whatever torture they had planned would be over quickly so she could get back on task.

  “Your wedding of course. You brought in that nobody girl to do your hair and makeup for what would have been the biggest wedding of my entire career!” Fernando slapped the back of his hand against his forehead and fell onto her bed.

  Harriet, who’d entered the room behind them, huffed and quietly shut the doors. “Probably because she didn't want to look like some kind of puffed up peacock. That wedding was an elegant affair, or at least it would've been.” Harriet yanked a handkerchief from her sleev
e and dabbed at her eyes.

  Nightshade awkwardly patted the older woman on the shoulder. Unsure of what to do.

  “Puffed up peacock? I create works of art, and when I have a canvas as beautiful as Caroline, it could be nothing less than a masterpiece.”

  Harriet's tears dried up just as quickly as they’d come, and she rounded on Fernando. “So you're telling me you wouldn't have tried to stick feathers and diamonds in her hair and cover her face with heavy makeup? You wouldn't have had her in some huge monstrosity of a gown?”

  “Me? Me who has taste envied by Christian Dior?”

  Harriet stabbed a finger in his direction. “I knew it. It's exactly what you would've done.”

  Fernando was on his feet and leaning into Harriet's red face. “Of course she would've had feathers. If you knew anything about the latest styles, you’d know that feathers are all the rage. She would've been beautiful, perfect, and landed me on the cover of Wedding Magazine.” Fernando's golden skin flushed equally as red as Harriet’s.

  Before things got even more heated, Nightshade dove in between the two, pushing a hand out in either direction to keep them separated. “Fernando, everyone here knows your sense of style is nothing short of…dramatic. And Harriet, I'm so sorry about the wedding. I know you must have been worried about me.”

  Fernando and Harriet melted back, and Nightshade relaxed her arms but remained between them.

  “The wedding will take place, and this time, Fernando, you will be there.” If she could appease Fernando, get him off her back and make the rest of the household think Caroline was falling in line, the rest of her mission could proceed.

  In a surprise move, Fernando grabbed her outstretched hand, clasping it flat between his palms. “I had every single one of my followers on Twitter helping to look for you. We all worried about you.”