“Components appear to be compact, maybe a lipstick or package of gum to carry it in.”
I guess it really was just my dirty imagination since the bomb was out and visible. He must have passed it through as components and assembled it post-security checkpoint. And based off of Blane’s comments, I was guessing Tommy had either been convincing as a cross dresser or he’d managed to get some unsuspecting female to do his dirty work.
The new era. Not only do you have to suspect ulterior motives of the normal variety when a guy chats you up or asks you on a date, now you have to check and make sure he isn’t a terrorist too.
I hated being single and thirty.
And I hated that sexuality could so easily be used as a weakness for a woman.
But most of all, I hated, hated, hated fucking terrorists.
APPARENTLY, UNCLE SAM’S VERSION OF a debriefing takes about five and half hours of isolated time in a back room in the airport of your making. In this case, Dulles International Airport was the closest one where they could divert our landing. The agent talking to me was nice, friendly even, seemingly well aware that’d I’d been through something that was not only terrifying, but completely not of my making.
He seemed to realize that I wasn’t some secondary terrorist, who only took down the primary terrorist as a ploy to confuse and distract, while I carried out the real plot to spend five plus hours of my life in a little room answering every question possibly composed by combining several words of the English language.
Though, considering the fact that I had been right, and the asshole had used some poor woman to get through security, dropping what looked like a cosmetics case in her bag filled with all the things he needed for a handy dandy explosive, I couldn’t blame them for questioning me extensively.
Had I seen Tommy prior to our flight?
Did I see him with another woman?
Was I really in love with the Air Marshall on our flight?
Okay, so I made up the last one, but I’d sure as hell been asking myself that very question.
I hadn’t seen Blane. Truthfully, I hadn’t seen anyone other than Agent Jimbo and his sidekick Bob (not their real names, they were far more complicated and too hard to remember for my trauma addled brain).
I assumed he was somewhere similar, perhaps a few doors down. But I didn’t really know. It was completely possible he’d been given a warm meal, a bed to sleep on, and perhaps, a medal of some sort. After all, he was the hero. At least the one on the employee roster.
I was just the crazy woman who’d forced myself into involvement in something that normal people would avoid.
Agent Jimbo had left me alone in the room for probably the fifth time about fifteen minutes ago, and I was about to lose my shit.
I needed some caffeine. I needed some sugar. And what I really needed was a combination of the two in the form of Coke.
The creak of the door opening pulled my head up, and thankfully, I was met with the straight-toothed smile of one Agent Bob.
“Sorry that this took so long,” he apologized, placing a document in front of me and sliding a pen across the table. “I know this isn’t exactly the warm welcome you would have liked after what you went through, but we’ve been implementing some new policies, and they’re pretty strict about protocol after an attack of this magnitude. Our first priority is to make sure the threat is completely contained, no matter how unpleasant that may be.”
“I understand,” I offered solicitously before correcting, “Well, not really, but I figure this is the kind of thing that I either understand or I don’t, and by don’t, I mean I absolutely do anyway.”
“Smart,” Bob offered with a smile.
“Oh yeah, that’s me. Smart. The girl who runs towards the terrorist.”
He chuckled a little, and then explained the paper in front of me. “This just says that you swear under penalty of perjury that you’ve given us only truthful information to the best of your knowledge. Besides that, it offers our agreement to pay for any expenses in your travel changes, as well as accommodations and dining for the night.”
“But I’m allowed to get onto a flight for tomorrow?”
“Yep,” he nodded. “We’ve already got you on a 4:45 PM flight to Tampa. If that’s not alright, you just tell me, and we can get you on something else.”
“A government agent is going to be in charge of all of my travel arrangements? Did they tell you that would be part of your job description when you accepted the position?”
“I pretty much do whatever they tell me to, ma’am,” he offered with a small smile.
“Smart,” I said, using his previously trademarked phrasing.
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, the curve of his lips moving further toward his eyes.
“You don’t really have to ma’am me,” I told him, realizing a little too late that I’d begun to flirt. “I feel old enough as it is.”
Ah, geez. Way to fish for a compliment.
I was kind of disgusted with myself.
“You’re not old. You’re beautiful.”
And like an even bigger idiot, I ate that right up.
“Thanks,” I said with a shy grin, completely morphing into some other woman.
He rose to his feet, gesturing to the door as I stood up and rounded the table. “This way.”
“Thanks,” I said again, looking up through my lashes as he pushed the door open for me.
And damn near ran right into Blane.
“Hey,” I barked out, startled as I looked up directly into some seriously stormy blue eyes.
Chase (that was Bob’s real name) stood there staring for a minute, Blane’s anger rolling off of him in some serious waves.
“What’s going on?” I asked hoping to tame the beast.
“What’s wrong with you?” he almost shouted, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from Chase, down the hall, and backing me up against the cold wall.
“What’s wrong with you?” I yelled back, getting up on my toes so I’d be a little bit more on his super-sized level.
Great.
Once the threat of death ended, it seemed to take our niceties with it.
I knew it was probably just the emotion talking—a swirling cocktail of relief, disbelief, and unanswered questions—but we were both lashing out. And we were taking it out on each other.
“Your boobs have grown. You would have thought your ability to listen would have expanded with them. I told you not to get up, not to go up there.”
“What happened to, “You’re so courageous, you did what your instincts told you”?” I asked snidely, decidedly ignoring his comment about my boobs. They were definitely a little bigger.
“Someone had to talk you off the ledge. And sure, once you were there, you handled it well, but if you’d just stayed in your seat—”
“You sent me up there the second time!” I shouted in disbelief.
“That was different—”
“Ha ha. Fuck you. I travel a lot for work. This and that,” I mocked, wagging my head back and forth.
“Well I couldn’t fucking tell you what I do while we were on the plane,” he semi-shouted back. “That’s considered SSI.”
“SSI? What’s that? The next big crime drama?” My face was incredulous.
“Sensitive Security Information.”
“Ah, right. SSI. Yeah, I’d say your security is sensitive right now,” I threatened, a certain gleam in my eye as I pushed my body even further into his personal space. “How many years in federal prison for maiming an Air Marshall? At this point, I’m thinking it’d be worth it.”
I glanced up, thinking that Agent Bob would be able to give me an answer, but he was gone.
Of course, taking my attention off of Blane only seemed to make him angrier.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure he got your number from your file,” he commented sarcastically, obviously realizing who I’d looked up to find missing. He turned to walk away, but I stopped him with a strong hand on his
forearm.
“Agent Bob?” I questioned crazily. He didn’t know who Agent Bob was. That was only in my head.
“Who?” he asked, confused, confirming what I already knew. “His name’s Agent Mabie.”
“Whatever. I was calling him Bob. But he seems pretty by the book. Why would I worry about him looking up my number anyway?”
“You were flirting with him,” he accused. “I heard you.”
“Oh please,” I said with a squish of my face. “I was tired flirting. I couldn’t even tell you what color his eyes are.”
“What?”
“I’m just tired. Jesus, I’ve been in that room for five plus hours—”
“Five and a half,” he supplied.
“I know, and I was just happy to be getting released. It was nothing. What the hell do you care anyway? And what are you doing here? I figured you’d be, I don’t know, having a cold beer with the President, or whatever the hell it is Air Marshalls do in these situations.”
“I was waiting for you,” he admitted, his cheeks turning the slightest bit pink.
Wow, a manly blush. Another new one.
“Why?”
“Whit,” was all he said, but the way he said it, said it all.
“Maybe I didn’t want you to wait,” I offered, narrowing my eyes in annoyance.
“You wanted me to wait,” he stated, his confidence now absolute.
“No,” I lied obviously.
His arms collapsed, his hands already resting on the wall beside my head, and his forehead met mine.
I wanted to thank him for saving my life. Tell him how glad I was that fate put him on my flight. I wanted to tell him I’d missed him. That seeing his blue eyes look up at me from what was supposed to be my seat felt like winning the lottery.
I wanted to tell him that he was the only guy who’d ever made my heart beat faster and skip a beat at the same time. That a man, clearly only posing as a boy, had turned my head, the spin he’d set in still going on after a decade without so much as seeing him.
But I didn’t say any of it, soaking up the silence and solace of his innocent connection instead.
I wasn’t ready to let go. I desperately didn’t want to watch him walk away again.
“Come on,” he said, making it seem like he had read my mind. “I’ll give you a ride to our hotel.”
“How do you know my hotel is your hotel?” I questioned as he stepped away.
“Because whatever hotel is your hotel is going to be my hotel.”
“Huh?”
“I’m staying wherever you’re staying. I’m not ready to let go yet.”
“Let go of what?” I asked, even though I already knew.
Like a complete and total girl, I wanted to hear him say it.
The outside corner of his mouth lifted, taking his smooth cheek with it, and he didn’t disappoint. “You.”
AS WE WALKED THROUGH THE airport together headed for the car he’d somehow acquired, I glanced down to belatedly realize my shirt was still soaked in blood.
“Um,” I mumbled, putting pressure on Blane’s hand at my back and slowing to a stop. “I could really use a new shirt. I’m thinking this one is scaring the kids.”
He looked up to see several people looking in our direction, avoiding the blatant stare apparently not one of their strong suits.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s probably a good idea. There’s a store right up here,” he indicated with a point. “I’ll buy you something and you can change in the bathroom.”
“Okay,” I replied, moving forward again at the command of his warm palm. “Make sure you get it big enough to fit over my big boobs,” I commented with a pointed raise of my eyebrow.
He laughed, admitting, “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“Perceptive.”
“Perceptive because I realize what’s PC and what isn’t, or perceptive because I obviously noticed the change in your attributes?” he teased, his head tilting more with each word he spoke.
“I’d almost forgotten I had this nerve without you around all these years to step on it.”
“It’s the good kind of pain though, right?”
“Is there a good kind of pain?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. Like a deep tissue massage. Or a really good spanking during sex.”
“I’ll be sure to let everyone know you like to be spanked when I put the ad on Grindr,” I taunted, purposely misconstruing the meaning of his words.
He stopped me as we came up to the store, turning to face me and cupping my cheek with his large palm. “See? I know pain can feel good because you just proved it. Nothing hurts better than your brand of verbal abuse.”
“Abusive relationships are unhealthy,” I blathered on. “The experts say you should avoid them at all costs.”
“Yeah, well,” he agreed with nod. “That’s true. But they’ve never felt how good it is to be abused by you.”
“That sounds like it could be an R. Kelly song.”
“Jesus,” he breathed through a throaty laugh.
“Nah. Doesn’t sounded like Jesus’ style. WWJD? Not this.”
His smile deepened as his laughter continued, the wrinkles beside his eyes flexing with each individual chuckle.
“Stay here,” he instructed, pulling me over so that he could see me from inside the store.
I just glared.
He laughed again, smaller and quieter but just as genuine, and headed inside with his eyes on me the whole time.
Noises buzzed and jingled in my periphery, vying for my attention without any results.
I couldn’t look at anything but him.
Because this time when he walked away, I knew he was actually coming back.
THREE SUCCINCT RAPS ON THE door were all I could manage, but the rustling of someone on the inside of the room proved it was enough.
I waited patiently for one second, and then impatiently for the next three.
The door opened slowly to reveal a sleepy-eyed, shirtless, god-like version of my every fantasy.
His eyes worked their way up from the floor until they met mine. It took an instant for recognition to flash, the cerulean veins of his irises standing out when it did.
“Whit? What’s going on? Is everything okay?” he asked, concerned, the deep blue of his pajama pants only enhancing the intensity of his eyes.
We’d separated immediately upon arrival at the hotel, not out of want but necessity. The car ride had lulled me into submission, making it startlingly obvious just how bone-weary I was from the whole ordeal, and I’d longed for the tranquility of my bed.
And it had been good for the first two hours. Heart beating fast and cold sweat running down the sides of my face, I’d awoken from a nightmare. Surprisingly a terrorist hadn’t been the antagonist, but instead it was me, walking away from everything I’d ever wanted and not being able to get it back.
My fists clenched and unclenched at my sides, the courage I needed to speak building with each squeeze. “I absolutely hate that you abandoned me. We needed each other that year. You needed me, and I needed you, damn it.”
His throat worked rigorously, and his fists mirrored mine.
“I’m not the same guy I was back then.”
I didn’t think about my answer, or ponder whether what I felt was what I should say. I just spoke. “Too bad.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“I liked him.” I wanted him to be the Blane I knew and loved. I just wanted that Blane to be there.
Our bodies slammed together too fast to know who moved first, he pulled me inside, and then kicked the door slammed behind me.
My hands found his hair immediately, seeking purchase in the strands to ground me to the moment. Deep breaths contracted my chest, forcing it closer to his with each swallow of air.
His scent attacked my nose, overwhelming my other senses and kicking them into overdrive.
His touch felt closer, his skin softer.
&nb
sp; In that moment, I knew without a doubt that Blane Hunt had me in his arms, and the look in his heated eyes told me he planned to do all the right things.
Breaking free, I shoved him back onto the bed and slid the tips of my fingers down his body. Stopping only when I met his waistband, I bit the flesh of my lip and rolled my eager hips into his.
I felt like an animal, wild and insatiable, my every fantasy slamming into the forefront of my brain and demanding to be fulfilled. I wanted to live him. Ride him, ravage him, and make him feel every single fucking thing I felt.
Anticipation electrified my skin, flashing through my every nerve ending torturously—begging and crying and demanding to be assuaged.
My hands slapped down on his thighs, fingernails clawing and claiming and calling for his aggression.
And boy did he answer.
My back hit the bed and his hips met mine, thrusting and pushing just enough to simultaneously ease and intensify the building pressure in my womb.
His lips had yet to meet mine, and that was the first thing I planned on changing. But I wasn’t in charge anymore, and while his lips went to work on my collar bone, my set of nerve-filled flesh sat bereft.
My hands closed in on his toned back, and the tips of my fingers squeezed out of pure reflex.
This was Blane.
Shirtless.
On fucking top of me.
Just the thought of it had an extra pulse throbbing between my legs.
His lips came up my neck, over the crest of my jaw, and finished by hovering just a millimeter away from mine.
“Whitney,” he whispered, the muscles in his arms standing out in stark relief as he held himself nearly weightless above me.
But the sound of my name on his lips, like that, at that moment, scared me to death.
If you asked me what I was afraid of, I’m not sure I’d be able to tell you. But it was a deep rooted feeling. One that hinted that if I let him talk, if we got into our normal conversation, this wouldn’t happen.
And I really wanted it to happen. I needed to be close to him, and it wasn’t just the need to feel alive. It had more to do with facing something I’d longed to have for the entirety of my adult life, and then coming so close to never ever having the chance to have it.
Hate Page 17
