by Karen Rock
She wanted him. Wanted this with an intensity that frightened her.
But she wasn’t meek anymore.
With a small push, she nudged him over onto his back, tugged off his shirt and straddled him. “Cassie,” he moaned and she smothered whatever he was going to say next with a deep kiss.
“Your turn,” she murmured, kissing her way down his chest and abs, not stopping until she knelt between his thighs. She nuzzled him there with her cheek and placed a kiss on the tip before she slid his shorts down and off.
His body was magnificently made and his erection was no different. He stood stiff and ready, his skin richly colored there. After skimming the taut shape with her hands, she wrapped her fingers around him and drew him to her lips.
The garbled sound he made marked the first and only time she’d rendered the controlled man incoherent. And it felt good. She lavished him with long, lingering swipes of her tongue, savoring the taste and texture. A low hum of pleasure escaped her when she took him into her mouth, mimicking the squeeze of feminine muscles all around him. His primitive, feral growl thrilled her to her toes.
Too soon, he gripped her shoulders, pulling her up to slide on top of him so that her soft flesh pressed against his hard length, so slick that all it would have taken was a slight movement of his hips to be inside her. The hard throb of him beneath her sent a hot, dizzy spike of want through her. She was more than ready for him again.
She tried to tell him she’d wanted to make him come with only her mouth. But words escaped her and she realized her whole body trembled. Her skin felt as if electricity sizzled over every inch of her. Whatever she and Mark shared, it was powerful.
Mute with hunger for him, she waited impatiently while he put on a condom. Looping her arms around his neck, she coaxed his mouth to hers then lifted her hips as he positioned himself between her thighs. He eased her down onto his hot, hard cock, filling her. She cried out as pleasure shot through her veins.
The sense of completion she felt with Mark rattled her to her core. It was a homecoming, their bodies fusing instinctively, parts of a whole rejoining at last. His taste, touch, smell, were as familiar and recognizable as they had been on their first night together. A bone-deep knowing. A rightness, a joy that only multiplied, magnified every time they touched, until there was nothing else in her thoughts but him.
He studied her through hazy, half-closed eyes and then he leaned forward and drew her nipple into his mouth. A gasp escaped her and she shuddered at the wet warmth tugging on the sensitive tip. Clutching his shoulders, she rose then sank down again. His growl of approval vibrated against her breast and he drew her nipple deeper into his hot mouth.
“Mark,” she moaned, breathless. “You feel so...” Her words dissolved on her tongue, replaced with a groan when he grasped her thighs, pulling her tighter against him, embedding himself deeper.
“So tight,” he whispered, grazing his teeth along her neck. “So wet and hot. Don’t stop.”
She didn’t, taking him in long languid strokes that he met with increasing urgency, both of them straining harder for the next stroke. Her body melted for him, all around him, making each thrust more mind-blowing than the last. Her fingers plunged into his thick hair and she held him tight, kissing him frantically. All the while he plunged faster and harder, commanding the moment, steering her, guiding her hips to where he needed them. She was relieved he had control, because she’d lost hers. Her brain spun while her body rode a wave of bliss unlike anything she’d ever suspected she could feel... Their gasping breaths mingled in the still night and their bodies moved faster, wilder against each other.
Her second climax hit her like a lightning bolt, fierce spasms shaking her to the core. She cried out his name and sank her nails into his shoulders. As the waves of pleasure slowed, he held her closer, burying himself deep. His breath rasped in her ear and his rigid body told her he neared his own release, so she rocked back on her knees and increased the contact, taking him deeper still.
Pleasure spiraled through her while Mark coaxed more out of her until, at last, he shouted, a bass note of pure male satisfaction. She collapsed on top of him, limp and gloriously spent.
After a moment, his jagged breathing slowed. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
She closed her eyes and breathed in his masculine musk. Felt the strength of his large arms around her and the tenderness of the fingers threading through the hair at the nape of her neck. She’d never felt more safe and cared for in her life.
“We really do need to stop meeting like this,” she teased to lighten the moment and motioned to the surrounding beach. She rolled over to lie on her side and her gaze met his amused topaz eyes.
One side of his mouth quirked. “I’m not complaining.”
“We do our best work out here—” she trailed a finger along the curve of his bicep “—though I wouldn’t mind trying out some other spots before tomorrow’s mission. Just to be sure.”
The sound of whirring helicopter blades cut through the quiet evening and Mark’s exultant expression tightened. He sat up and leaned an elbow atop his knees, his chin resting in his cupped palm.
Uncertainty rose. “Mark?”
She stared at his tense profile as he tracked the aircraft out to sea. Why was he retreating? He must be as affected by this exhilarating moment as she was.
When her hand drifted to him, he caught it and pressed a kiss to her palm without looking at her.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered, uncertainty filling her.
“Are you still flying tomorrow?” he murmured against her knuckles before his mouth trailed over them, the gentle caress making her head swim.
She pushed to her elbow when he released her hand, concern taking hold. “Yes. But that has nothing to do with tonight.”
“Yes, it does.” He sighed forcefully. “I shouldn’t have taken you out here. Shouldn’t have...” His rough voice trailed off and a muscle in his jaw jumped.
Her heart jerked. Did he regret being together? Believe he couldn’t—or shouldn’t—enjoy this pleasure? If so, she had to get through to him. The connection they shared hit her like a hurricane, stirring her blood to life. She wanted to comfort him. Comfort them both. Maybe if they lost themselves in each other, they would find the healing they both needed.
“Mark.” She put a hand on his rigid arm. “I want to be with you.”
The wind tossed the palm tree branches overhead and lifted his dark hair off his forehead. His rugged profile looked as hard as the rocky cliffs, the expression in his eyes as distant as the gleaming moon.
“I’m the last person you should want to be with,” he said quietly as his eyes followed the blinking lights of another aircraft.
She sucked in the salted air and gathered her courage. “I care about you.”
He turned to stare at her sharply, his expression tortured.
“If you really cared, you wouldn’t fly with me.”
Her stomach twisted. “You can’t ask that of me.”
“And you shouldn’t demand that I fly you.”
Silence, painful and tense, descended. At last, he nodded curtly then stood. “Let me see you home.”
Knowing it’d be useless to argue against his protective nature, she dressed and followed him back down the beach to the housing units, despairing. He cared for her. Why was he denying his feelings?
“Mark, talk to me,” she pleaded when they reached her quarters.
He studied her for a long moment then tipped his head and kissed her cheek. “We take off at 0600 hours. Good night, Cassie.” He pivoted on his heel and strode away.
Cassie stared after Mark until he vanished from view, wishing she could conjure him back. How come she had to choose between coming to peace with Jeff’s death and all the feelings she had for Mark? And why was he forcing her to
choose? She’d come this far, though, and she wasn’t backing down now.
9
CASSIE GRIPPED HER harness and pressed her trembling lips together as the helicopter sliced through the churning air the next day. In moments, they’d arrive on scene to rescue nine people from a floundering ferry caught on shoals off Barbuda. She needed to stay focused. Volunteering for this mission meant doing her job, honoring Jeff and seeing his world firsthand. And what a terrifying view it was... Would she be a help or a liability as Mark insisted?
Refusing to let doubt take hold, she tore her gaze off the back of his head, visible through the open cockpit. The inside of the cabin felt cramped, despite the two sliding windows on the left side of the fuselage and the helo’s capacity to hold twenty-six, according to Dylan, the cheerful rescue swimmer aboard.
Her tight lungs labored to breathe the cold, damp air infused with a hint of jet fuel and salt water. Her head swam, and her mouth flooded with saliva. She felt like she was going to throw up. She bit her lip and dug her fingernails into her palms. Steady, now. She had to succeed, to carry on Jeff’s legacy if only for one day. Complete the flight he hadn’t finished. Say goodbye.
Her eyes stung and she blinked fast. Mark’s anguished expression when she’d boarded this morning came to mind. Was he thinking about Jeff, too? Worried about her? It killed her that she was making a hard situation worse for him. She had to do her best on the job today and give him no reason to worry.
“CG helo, this is M/V Sea Monarch on Channel 16, over,” said a man with a subtle Caribbean accent over the radio. The captain of the floundering ferry ship. A ringing sounded behind his transmission. His alarm system, she guessed. It set off her own warning bells as she pictured the sinking ship. She felt a sense of foreboding that had nothing to do with the worsening weather they’d headed into today. “I can see you now,” the captain said. “What would you like us to do?”
The man’s voice sounded strained. Exhausted. Yet he conveyed the same level of control and authority as Mark.
“M/V Sea Monarch, M/V Sea Monarch, this is CG helo 6039 on Channel 16. How do you read me?” Mark said smoothly.
“Lima Charlie,” replied the captain, meaning loud and clear.
“Sir, we will be O/S in a few minutes. Please confirm the number of people on board, number of injuries, current wind direction and speed at the surface,” Mark directed.
“Nine confirmed. Three non-ambulatory including a man who’s pretty old and can’t swim and a wounded young man with a gushing upper thigh wound,” the skipper reported. “Plus our rafts are tied up and useless.”
Her stomach rolled itself into a hard ball, her pulse skyrocketing. A femoral gash meant a patient in danger of bleeding out. She double-checked her medical equipment, eyeing her supply of gauze pads and wraps. It looked inadequate for the life-and-death task at hand.
“Roger, Captain. Stand by as we make a couple orbits. We plan on sending our rescue swimmer. Where do you suggest we hoist him down?” Mark responded, sounding unruffled.
“Onto the ship,” the captain replied.
“Roger.”
She felt the helicopter turn and craned her neck for a glimpse of the struggling vessel.
Mark looked over his shoulder. Her heart jolted when his golden eyes met hers briefly, something she couldn’t read flickering in their depths. “I’m going to make two passes. You guys locked in?”
Dylan crouched at the door wearing a thick orange waterproof suit with neon yellow sleeves, and a life vest with an attached radio, mask and snorkel. A harness began at the top of each thigh and rose to circle his shoulders. Black fins dangled from his right hand. His grin transformed into a determined expression. “Affirmative, sir.”
Larry, the flight mechanic, slid open the door. Howling wind and sea spray blasted inside, the noise so loud it drowned out the Jayhawk’s rotor. The cold sting dragged over her skin like a knife and she huddled in her seat. Birds soared in the distance and a majestic sea scape sprawled as far as she could see, and then the carnage. The steel hull of the Sea Monarch loomed into view. It scraped against jagged rocks, tossed around like a Tonka toy in the hands of a gorilla.
More chatter continued on her headset as the team discussed something about hoisting areas, but it became white noise as her imagination ran rampant. She closed her eyes and listened to her heart beating, the throb of blood in her neck.
At a loud swoosh, her eyes flew open. An enormous wave slammed the stern of the Sea Monarch and shot skyward. It nearly washed the helicopter out of the air as water jetted past the open doorway. Cassie froze in place. Even the scream that’d leaped in her throat stalled. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. That was close.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
After a moment, Larry said, “That was a hundred feet above the pilot house.”
“A hundred and sixty feet above the waterline.” Dylan whistled and exchanged a nod with Larry, as if they agreed to some lethal pact.
She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. She was in way over her head. What if she lost it and couldn’t function?
The world tilted again when they whirled in a second revolution. Then they stopped in midair, hovering. The back of the Sea Monarch bucked and fell in the cresting ocean.
After completing another checklist, Rob, the copilot, said, “We’ll have a harness deployment of the RS with either basket or harness recoveries. If anyone requires a litter recovery, please advise ASAP, Dylan.”
“As for the hoisting area,” Mark cut in, “I like that spot at the top right of the pilot house. Larry, do you see what I’m talking about?”
“Got it, sir. Concur. Plenty of room. Dylan will have to level us off before we lower him over the stanchions.” As Larry spoke, he glanced at the nodding swimmer. “Sir, rescue swimmer concurs with the hoisting area.”
Dylan pulled off his flight helmet and yanked up the orange hood of his waterproof suit.
After a few more challenges and responses, Mark announced, “Rescue briefing complete.”
Dylan gave Cassie a thumbs-up and energy practically crackled in the air around him as he shot her a confident grin. He scooted closer to the open door and Cassie gripped her seat as the sensation of plunging out of the helicopter onto a ship in rolling seas overwhelmed her. How had Jeff done this?
Dylan donned his mask and snorkel. Larry double-checked his gear then brought him to the door. After attaching the hoist hook to the rescue swimmer’s harness, he called, “Rescue Checklist Part Two complete. Ready for harness deployment of the rescue swimmer to the vessel from ninety feet.”
Ninety feet!
“Check swimmer,” Rob ordered.
Larry eyed Dylan as the swimmer scooted to the door’s edge, his legs dangling outside. “Swimmer ready.”
“Roger,” Mark affirmed. Then, after a long beat of silence where everyone in the back of the cabin slid their eyes to one another, Mark barked, “Copilot, no pause button here. You ready to play ball? Your flight mech just said ‘Swimmer ready’!”
“Roger,” Rob blurted, sounding rushed. Was the pressure getting to him? From the forty-five-degree tilt of his head, his forward gaze at the boat’s rising and falling stern, he seemed focused... “Begin the hoist.”
The need to witness Dylan’s descent seized her. No cowering in the back. Not today. Overriding her fear, she unbuckled herself and grabbed Larry’s hand as he guided her closer and secured her with a tether.
Jeff.
This would have been his view, she thought, dizzy, as she peered over Larry’s wide shoulders.
Far, far below them the sea whipped in a furious frenzy. She felt suddenly chilled as she watched wave after wave crash over the now half-submerged vessel. The crew needed to abandon ship, but couldn’t.
Instead, Dylan would plunge to
its slanting deck. Would Mark get him and the deckhands back to safety in time?
“Larry” came Mark’s voice again. “We’re going right over the sodium lights and I don’t want to bash Dylan on one of those.”
“Roger,” Larry said, his tone crisp.
“Rob,” continued Mark, “instead of lowering the swimmer down and then moving in, move in and then lower the swimmer after you pass over the lights.”
“Pilot, FM. I agree. That would be best and Dylan wouldn’t have to give me the level-off signal,” stated Larry.
The boat pitched violently and the ocean swelled like a wild thing. Her heart clenched.
“Pilot?” prompted Larry through the ICS. Cassie saw Mark snap his face in his copilot’s direction, one eyebrow raised.
“Wilco,” Rob muttered at last, his tone low and uncertain.
“RS going down,” Larry said. She shuddered when Dylan dropped over the side of the helicopter and began descending. “RS going down,” Larry repeated. “RS halfway down.”
“Big swell coming. You got this, Rob?” Mark pressed after a stretch of silence, a note of impatience in his voice.
The copilot didn’t turn from the mirror outside his window.
“Big swell’s hitting the stern,” Rob mumbled as even less of the ship emerged through the wave. Who was he talking to? Himself? It sounded like he’d checked out.
“Forward and right fifty. Forward and right forty. Forward and right thirty,” stated Larry. The helo tilted and Cassie grabbed her scuttling medical bag.
Pulse racing, she eyed Dylan, an orange speck now, dangling on a thin thread it seemed. Suddenly, he swung toward the mast.
“Whoa, whoa,” Larry exclaimed, his words rapid fire. “Hold! Easy back and left, five. Back and left, five. Forward and right, five. Easy forward. Hold!”
The helicopter jittered too far sideways and plummeted, giving her that elevator stomach lurch that made whatever she’d had for breakfast—no, everything she’d eaten all week—rise in her throat.
