by Dana Marton
“Let’s hope I’ll never have to do that again.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about Blackwell,” she said quietly. “You were right.”
“Just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you, and all that.” Humor glinted in his cerulean eyes, his tone and expression lighter than she’d ever seen it.
Her heart gave a hard thud. She wanted him to take her into his arms but didn’t know how to ask. He’d just saved her life, hers and Maddie’s. Didn’t seem like she should be asking for more.
“Bathroom is yours. You can take the guest room after that,” she told him as she walked into her bedroom. Then she pulled all the covers on top of her and let exhaustion claim her at last.
She woke a little before seven, shivering. She found him in her room in the armchair by the window, sleeping with his long legs stretched out in front of him. He wore his own clothes again, instead of what he’d been given at the hospital, and they were dry. Must have put them in the dryer at some point.
Moonlight poured in the window unobstructed, lighting his face, the hard edge of his jaw barely softened by sleep, the rough stubble testament to relentless days of hunting a killer. Her heart turned over. He was a mixture of warrior and protector and sheer exhaustion. And sexy.
Her gaze settled on those lips that had kissed her into near incoherence not that long ago.
He woke as she stirred. Blinked slowly. “Everything okay?”
“I’m freezing.”
He pushed to his feet and came over to the bed. Waited. When she didn’t object, he slipped in beside her and took her into his arms.
This was nice. Okay, way more than nice. He tightened his hold on her, and she burrowed into his heat.
He kissed her forehead. Then the bridge of her nose. Then dipped his head lower to her mouth.
His lips were warm and gentle. And exactly what she needed. Heat suffused her as he caressed her lips with his own, then increased the pressure just a little until she opened up and let him in.
The heat built with every stroke of his tongue, then raced across her skin as he moved his hands over her body. It wasn’t the kind of sexy seduction splashed across the silver screen by Hollywood. They were new to each other, unsure, awkward. They were both fully dressed.
Heck, she was dressed for the Iditarod.
Not for long. Because soon the heat became too much, and she reached for the hem of her sweater. He helped to remove it. Then the long-sleeved cotton shirt under that. He hesitated at the plain cotton bra.
She stifled a groan as he stared at her chest. Her first sexual encounter in years, and she was wearing grandma thermal underwear. He didn’t look appalled. In fact, his gaze heated.
He claimed her lips again, his hand moving to her breast, outlining the bra, then cupping her gently. He trailed kisses down her neck, to the top of her breasts, his hands hesitating on the material as he fought with himself.
He looked up with a tortured look in his eyes. “You need rest.”
“I need you,” she said simply, and that was all the encouragement he needed.
The bra disappeared in the next second, and his seeking lips wrapped around her nipple. He nudged, nibbled, drew on the tight bud until her back arched, pleasure zinging through her, more heat gathering at the core of her.
She was falling for him, and she was helpless to stop it.
She was half out of her mind by the time he kissed his way down her abdomen. He stripped away her pants, trailing kisses down her legs, then up. She was more than ready for him, grabbing his shoulders and trying to urge him up, wanting him to line up their bodies at last.
“I don’t have protection,” he said in a strangled whisper.
Neither did she. It’d been forever since she’d been with a man. She groaned in frustration, shutting her eyes tightly. But her eyelids flew wide open when he touched his mouth to her core. He grabbed her legs by the ankles, pushed her knees up, opened her to him.
By the time she thought of protesting, she was flying high on pleasure, threshing her head on the pillow, calling out his name.
Pleasure broke like a cresting wave as she called his name on a sob, and she sank into utter bliss, the whole world disappearing around them.
When she slowly returned to reality, he came up next to her and held her.
“I don’t know how to be normal,” he whispered into her hair.
“I’m okay with outstanding. Which this was, by the way.” She smiled against his chest.
He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
She did. He meant in life, in general. “Well, don’t look at me for pointers.”
She was smiling, but he stayed serious.
“I want this,” he said. “I want you. For more than tonight. I’m the worst person to take a chance on, but I want you to anyway. I’m going to try my best. I swear.”
“Yes,” she said.
~~~***~~~
Epilogue
Spring came early and warm, the trees budding into a profusion of leaves. Ashley went to New York with Maddie and Jack and had a show opening that was the talk of the town. She sold half her paintings that first night and all the rest by the end of the week. She’d been uneasy with the travel but not scared. Having survived a second trip under the ice, having survived a serial killer, having faced her fears at last had changed something.
While in New York, as a surprise gift to Maddie, Jack had taken them to see a Disney musical. And, with a minimum of squirming, he sat through the long show of princess ballerinas in pastel tutus bouncing around the stage. After that, Maddie was pretty much in love with him.
When they returned home to Broslin, he also had a surprise for Ashley.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he led them out back, after making sure everyone was bundled up.
“A hike through the woods.”
He took her hand.
Maddie bounded down the path in front of them in the twilight. Since she stopped to examine every ant and funny-looking leaf, she didn’t get too far ahead.
Unease spread through Ashley. “We’re not going back there, are we?”
Jack looked at her. “Trust me.”
And she found that she did, so she followed him to the boulder by the creek. The hole in the ground was piled high with large, flat packages. Her macabre paintings wrapped in construction paper—she knew without him having to say anything.
“How about a bonfire?” he asked.
She looked at the heap and nodded, while Maddie squealed in the kind of frenzied delight only six-year-olds could produce. Ashley could barely catch her to press a kiss to the top of her head.
Jack took care of everything but let her throw the match. And as the paper, then the oil in the paint caught on fire, she realized she’d needed to do that.
Maddie skipped around the fire, tossing old acorns into the flames. Jack went around and picked up whatever police tape still clung to branches here and there and burned those. Then he came to stand behind her and folded his arms around her. “Are you okay?”
“I haven’t…seen anything lately.” She stared into the flames, feeling a tremendous weight lift with the smoke.
“You know my theory,” he said quietly next to her ear. “When you were in that coma, you knew you hadn’t been able to save Dylan. Guilt held you back. Maybe part of you that wasn’t ready to return, wasn’t ready to let go of Dylan, didn’t. And in this in-between place, with unresolved emotions, others entering the place could connect with you. Others who weren’t ready to go screamed out against the unfairness.”
She thought about that for a long minute. “And this time I did choose life. I chose it fully. Dylan was there. He wanted me to come back.”
“I’m glad. But I would have brought you back even if you resisted.” He nipped her ear.
Love welled up in her heart.
These past weeks had been crazy. Jack had stopped by often, and spent the night when h
e could. All his darkness was falling away from him, and, as attracted as she’d been to the old Jack, the new one simply took her breath away. When they were together, she felt more alive than she could remember ever feeling.
They were good for each other. They were healing together.
He held her, and they stayed like that, gazing at the bonfire and Maddie, who buzzed around it like a mad hornet, now making airplane noises.
When the fire died down, leaving nothing but ashes, Jack filled up the hole with dirt. The ground lay flat again, no sign of all that had happened there in the middle of winter. By summer, grass and weeds would grow over the scar in the earth, would make it as if nothing bad had ever happened there.
They walked back to the house, Maddie running up ahead again, excited because she had a play date with a little girl who lived across the road. A nice family with three kids had bought the farmhouse there. So Ashley and Jack walked Maddie over there, chatted for a few minutes, then came back home. Jack put on coffee.
“Any plans for later?” he asked.
“I think I’m going to paint.”
“A landscape?”
She’d gone back to those again. “I think I’ll paint you,” she said on impulse. She’d been wanting to paint him for a while now.
“I have a better idea,” he said as he came over to her and nuzzled her neck. “Let’s do naked things.”
“I could paint you naked.”
The wolfish smile he shot her took her breath away. “I love you.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She reached up to unbutton his shirt, pulled it away from his skin. And smiled. She appreciated his body, both as an artist and as a woman. She felt happy with him. Happy and free.
When he was bare on top, he reached for her sweater and tugged it up, over her head.
“Hey,” she protested without heat. “Customarily, the artist stays clothed.”
“I strip, you strip.” He laid down the law.
“Fine, if that’s the kind of tit-for-tat guy you want to be.”
Mirth lit up his eyes. “Actually, I’d prefer more tit than tat,” he said and snatched her bra away. His gaze filled with naked heat.
Pleasure tingled down her spine.
She reached for the buttons on his jeans, tugged his pants down, waited until he kicked them away, then reciprocated. She hooked a brazen finger into his boxer shorts. “These definitely have to go. The color clashes with the background I’m thinking about painting.”
“I’m supportive of your art. You know that. I wouldn’t want to mess up anything.”
He stood still as she pulled his boxer shorts down inch by inch, kissing his body along the way as she squatted in front of him. He was hard and thick with wanting her, and it felt pretty amazing to be wanted with such unabashed need.
But he had his hands on her, pulling her up, before she could think too much about that. “My turn.”
Her knees nearly gave out as he stripped her naked, drawing his long, seeking fingers over her hip bones and thighs, leaving kisses in their wake.
When she was sure she couldn’t take more, he straightened and caught her up in his arms, heading off to the bedroom with her. “On second thought… I believe artists study their subjects before the actual painting process. I think we need a little more up-close studying.”
She wasn’t about to argue with him.
Not when the way he made love to her was art in itself.
He spoiled her rotten in bed. She tried to do the same to him, a resolution difficult to keep when she felt like her brain was melting.
Every touch, every kiss, every look took her higher, her body swimming in pleasure even as emotions filled her heart to the brim.
“I want you,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, his muscles tensing. And he filled her, both body and heart, to bursting. “I want you now and forever.”
She clung to him as the waves of pleasure crested.
“I love you. You have me,” she told him.
“Forever?” He pulled back a little to watch her face for the answer.
Now he wanted to be detail oriented? Now, when her brain and body were in shambles? “Forever. Obsessed cop.”
“Loopy artist.” The smile he flashed took her breath away. “My loopy artist.” And then his lips descended on hers.
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Thank you so much for choosing my book to read! Authors live and die by their online reviews. Would you consider leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads? Just your honest opinion. Even a single sentence would make a real difference to me. Thank you!!!!
Captain Bing’s story is next. His wife was called years ago, and they never caught her killer. This has been pretty hard on him, and he’s done a pretty good job at shutting down. Oh, but there’s already a woman on her way to Broslin who is about to change everything. If you’d like to be notified when their story is released, please visit my web site at DanaMarton.com and sign up for my newsletter. I only send out a one page note when I have a new book out, usually four times a year, so I promise not to overwhelm your email!
If you don’t want to wait that long to read another romantic suspense story from me, check out AGENTS UNDER FIRE, a romantic suspense trilogy available now on Amazon.
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Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks to Linda and Toni for a fabulous edit, Kim Killion for the amazing cover, A.G. Devitt for his contribution to the novel, and my wonderful Facebook friends for reading the early version and giving me feedback. Thank you!!!
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Dana Marton. All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author. DanaMarton.com
First Edition: 2012
Excerpt from AGENTS UNDER FIRE
Book 1: GUARDIAN AGENT
Chapter One
Dark waters lapped the century-old palace’s foundation, eager to claim the forgotten building on one of Venice’s backstreet canals. At four in the February morning, tourists still partied on in the distance, drunk on love, youth and full-bodied Italian wine.
Gabe Cannon could hear both the water and the faint beat of the music, but he couldn’t hear the half dozen men in the building with him. His new commando team spread out like ghosts moving through the night.
“Target on the roof,” the team leader’s voice whispered in his earpiece.
He stole up the crumbling stairs, ready for the rogue soldier who needed to be brought in before he caused more damage. He’d known Jake Tekla ten years ago in the army--a decent guy back then, but war could change a person, could even twist a man’s mind.
Static hissed in his earpiece before the words, “Kill order authorized. Repeat, authorized to shoot on sight.”
His instincts prickled. Standard procedure called for an attempt to capture first, and see what information they could gain during interrogation. Usable intelligence trumped a quick kill, every time. Then again, he worked for a private security firm now: XO-ST. Xtreme Ops Shadow Teams. They did things differently than his previous employers, the U.S. Army and the FBI.
Gabe reached the roof. Plywood patches formed a psychedelic pattern in the moonlight—an unexpected break. Not having to sneak around on crumbling Mediterranean roof tiles would make this much easier. He stole forward and eased into the cover of a crooked chimney stack.
He caught a silent shadow at the door he’d come through--Troy, one of his teammates, joining him. Odd how Gabe had been last into the building, but first on the roof. Maybe the others had pulled back on purpose, testing the new guy. Another person might have been annoyed, but he’d expected this much. He wasn’t afraid of havin
g to earn his stripes.
Dormers, chimneys and ridges blocked visibility. Clouds kept drifting across the moon. Scan. Move forward. Take cover. A night game of hide and seek in a labyrinth, with a fair chance that the ramshackle roof could open up under his feet any minute.
Then he stole around a dormer and spotted the target at last. Jake Tekla blended into the night in black fatigues, similar to Gabe’s, black ski mask in place. He looked much slighter than Gabe remembered. Being on the run had taken its toll on him. The man crept toward the edge of the roof, his focus on the jump he was considering.
No visible weapons.
Yet another thing that didn’t add up. Not for a government-trained, seasoned soldier.
Gabe inched closer, watching for a trap. He flicked the safety off his gun. Come on. Turn. He moved another step closer then stopped with his feet apart, gun raised, silencer in place.
His target sensed him at last and spun around.
Oh, hell.
Gabe caught the curve of a breast in the moonlight, and his finger froze on the trigger as he stared at the woman.
She could be a trap--Tekla’s accomplice or a decoy.
He had a kill order.
Most of the men he worked with squeezed the trigger each and every time, preferring to err on the safe side. He’d been like that once. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He pushed the North Village incident from his mind.
The woman stared at him for a moment, then her instincts kicked in and she ran. Or tried. He lunged after her, caught up in three leaps and brought her down hard. She was lean, yet soft, every inch unmistakably feminine. But none of that feminine softness showed in her fighting spirit. She shoved against him with all she had. She had to know she was conquered, yet she refused to yield, stirring some of his base instincts.
“Stop,” he hissed the single word into her ear as he did his best to subdue her.
Plywood gave an ominous creak on the other side of the ridge--the team moving into position to cover the roof and inspect all its nooks and crannies. Something stopped Gabe from calling out even as the woman did her best to scratch his eyes out, fighting in silence. Enough small things about this op had triggered alarms in his mind for him to want to see what he had here before he called the rest of the team in.
