Heart Strike

by M. L. Buchman

  He kept her pinned to the glass as he dug one hand up into her soaked hair and the other cupped that spectacular form that her gluteus maximus muscles had made of her behind. He pressed himself against her. This time he was the one who groaned first.

  Not during his very first time with a girl named Cindy, which had been awkward and over too fast, nor the second a year later with her sister, which had been utterly fantastic and had turned into a much longer relationship, had he felt anything like this, and he hadn’t even entered her yet.

  And with that thought, he couldn’t wait any longer.

  He’d dropped a foil packet in the soap dish when he entered the shower. He rolled the protection on while he kept Melissa in place with a kiss.

  There was no need to ask. No need to whisper her name as a question. Nothing had ever been so right in his life. Not flying, not joining Delta, not serving with his team.

  He lifted her hips and took her against the thick glass.

  The moment he entered her, the careful, thoughtful version of himself that he knew so well slipped away. Instead he drove into her, held her hard, and kissed her harder.

  They didn’t rise together, a soft, gentle coupling in time with the waves on the sea. They simply flew. Fuel at max, temperatures at redline. There was no grace, no gentleness, not even thought. And his Ice Queen melted against him and gave back tenfold everything he gave to her.

  It was chaotic, a distant part of Richie noted. It wasn’t the right way to court his lovely Ilsa.

  But the man who had Melissa Moore wrapped around him didn’t give a good goddamn. He didn’t care about taking her somewhere special. He didn’t wonder if he was being too rough or too gentle—the latter something he’d actually been accused of.

  He wanted her and he took her.

  She lay her head back against the glass, both legs about his hips.

  He buried his face against the base of her neck and kept driving ahead long after she cried out the first time, or even the second.

  When he found his release, it was an internal explosion that locked his entire body rigid as the energy throbbed and rushed out of him. He held her tight as the shudders coursed through both of them.

  He’d never been like this with a woman before. Never simply taken with no thought beyond himself. He kept his face buried against Melissa’s neck as she continued to buck and shudder.

  There was a place inside him that wanted to weep there against her neck. That somehow knew he’d found a place of perfection.

  “What the hell did I do right?” His voice was heavy and rough to his own ears.

  “Oh.” Melissa brushed her hands through his hair, her arms still clamped about his neck, her voice little more than a breathy gasp. “I could make a long, long list.”

  “I meant to be here with you. It’s the best place I’ve ever been.” He raised his head just enough to kiss where his forehead had rested against her shoulder and then leaned his head there once again. He kept one hand cupped behind her to support her, as both of her legs were about his waist, and ran the other from her breast, down to hip, out along powerful thigh, and back.

  He felt the shift. It was tiny, infinitesimal, but with their current embrace, there was no mistaking it. A sliver of ice had appeared and he didn’t understand it.

  * * *

  Melissa felt as if she was fracturing inside her head.

  Melissa The Cat, Richie’s Ilsa, could purr for months over what they just done. Richie was the best lover she’d ever had by far, and not just the incredible foreplay of the soapy massage.

  She’d been fully aware of his own surprise when the warrior had been unleashed. Her only surprise was that the considerate guy had let him loose at all. That guy was every woman’s dream of a thoughtful, caring man.

  Then there was the man she’d thought was the soldier, the dangerous and confident Delta operator with the hint of green in his eyes.

  There was a true warrior hidden deep within Richie Goldman, and he was a devastating lover. His raw power and need all the stronger because of the contrast with the man Richie chose to be—because there was no question that every decision Richie made in his life was conscious. Except perhaps unleashing the breathtaking lover on her.

  And while Melissa The Cat was thrilled to find such a one, Melissa Moore wasn’t interested in anything deeper. The sex was great, but Richie had returned and still nuzzled against her neck and said that it was the best place he’d ever been.

  That she was the best place he’d ever been.

  If it was still the nameless warrior, she’d know it was just the sex and she’d be fine with it. But it wasn’t; it was Richie, and he wasn’t just talking about the sex.

  He’d obviously sensed the shift in her, for which she was sorrier than she’d expected. But he didn’t let her go. Instead he sat down carefully on the shower stall floor without breaking their connection, she still straddling him with her legs around his waist, her breasts pressed hard against his chest. The shower’s warm spray pattered over them as if washing away all sins. If only it was so easy.

  “Hey, lover.” She brushed a hand down his smooth cheek and kissed him lightly.

  “Hey,” he responded, but kept his eyes averted.

  “Look at me.”

  And that simply, with no evasion, he did. His light brown eyes looked at her as if she was far more special than she really was.

  “Maybe you should stop looking at me.” There wasn’t need there, but rather a knowing. As if he knew more about her than she did herself.

  Rather than stopping, he smiled softly and brushed his lips over hers. “I’m so sorry.”

  “If you’re apologizing for the best sex of my life, I’m gonna smack you, Richie Goldman.” Crap! She hadn’t meant to say that.

  “I wasn’t.” Then he blinked in surprise and whispered, “The best of your life?”

  “Yes, damn you!” She really hadn’t meant to say that…even if it was true.

  “Cool!”

  And there was her geek.

  “I have to admit that it wasn’t the best of my life.” His tone might have been joking but she couldn’t tell. She seemed to be a complete sucker for Richie’s straight lines.

  She tried to pull away to see him better, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around her back. If she wasn’t his best, at least he should have the decency not to point it out. She shoved again, but he didn’t let go.

  “You were better than that,” he explained happily, clearly enjoying his own sense of humor. “I don’t even remember anyone else. How could I when you so overshadowed every one of them?”

  Melissa made a raspberry sound of disbelief. “Such a smooth talker.” Except Richie wasn’t. Not the mild-mannered genius, who was always frank and forthright. Nor the wild lover, who didn’t speak at all. Maybe he was just trying to confuse her. She certainly hoped so, because if he was speaking truth, she was in far deeper water than she had any interest in.

  He leaned in to nuzzle her neck again but she tugged on the back of his hair to keep him looking at her.

  “Then what are you apologizing for?”

  “For whoever hurt you so badly that you’d freeze up in my arms after what we just did together.” No joke this time. No merry twinkle. No half laugh at his own wit. Instead she was facing the soldier who was angry on her behalf. He could speak and he was pissed. More than that, if she read him right, Richie was equally furious in his own way.

  No one except her brother had ever thought to be angry on her behalf. And absolutely no lover.

  Unable to face his eyes any longer, she pulled his head back against her shoulder and tried to ignore how right it felt to hold him so close.

  Melissa knew she wasn’t merely in over her head. She was down deep in a blue hole without even a scuba tank.

  * * *

  “
What the fuck!” Chad’s shout rang about the bathroom. He was holding aloft Melissa’s bra, and his face was suffused red with his fury.

  Richie did what he could to hide Melissa’s nakedness, at least her back was to Chad. She kept trying to twist to see what was going on, but Richie wouldn’t let her turn.

  “God damn you to hell, bitch. I—”

  “Get out!” Richie bellowed it so loud that Melissa covered her ears. His own hurt as his shout rang inside the shower enclosure.

  “Out!” Richie shouted again, and Chad strode out, still clutching Melissa’s bra in his fist.

  Richie scrambled to his feet, then pointed at the stall and barked out a command, “You, stay!”

  He was halfway to the door when he heard Melissa call his name. He turned to look, and she was pointing at him, at his nakedness.

  He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist as he stormed out of the bathroom, closing the door and then the bedroom door behind him.

  Chad had turned to face him in the middle of the suite’s living room.

  “Don’t you see what she is, man?” Chad’s whisper came out as a hiss.

  He waved her bra again.

  “I’ve seen a thousand like her. I’ve been with a thousand like her.”

  “Like what?” Richie was impressed that he managed to keep his voice low and even.

  “You saw her today, just like Carla said. The way she took over at the hangar, she wants to rule this team and won’t accept anything less. And you she’s just using to fuck her way onto the team. She’s so easy that she practically spread her legs for you the second she picked you out of the crowd. Leaning back against you oh-so-cute when Fred showed up. In just four days, she’s spread herself for you. She’s a goddamn—”

  Richie knew what the next word was.

  Apparently so did his fist as it shot out and crashed into Chad’s jaw.

  It was like punching a goddamn rock; his head barely moved and Richie’s hand stung like hell.

  “I’m telling you—”

  “Out!” Richie got right up in his face.

  When Chad started to speak again, Richie slammed a blow into Chad’s solar plexus, which had the advantage of being softer than his jaw, though it had about as much effect. If it came to a fight, the next step would be bone-breaking on both their parts—Delta training wasn’t big on fisticuffs.

  Chad glared at him, then up over Richie’s shoulder.

  Melissa. Of course she wouldn’t stay put when told—she was Delta.

  “Out. Now.” Richie kept it soft and low this time.

  Chad didn’t say a goddamn word, just turned for the door.

  “Leave her clothes here.” The words grated hard enough in his throat to hurt.

  Chad looked down at his hands, dashed Melissa’s bra onto the carpet, then stormed out without turning. The slam of the hotel door must have echoed down the hall and at least two floors above and below.

  “I don’t think he likes me much.”

  Richie turned. He would have appreciated the skimpiness of the hotel towel at any other time, but at the moment he had another problem.

  What the hell was wrong with Chad? This wasn’t some fit of jealousy. Chad had been on the verge of calling Melissa a whore.

  Please god, don’t let her have heard that.

  He twisted back to stare at the door as if he could see what was going on with Chad.

  Sure, it had been fast between he and Melissa.

  But it had felt so right.

  And something that felt that right couldn’t be wrong.

  Could it?

  Chapter 11

  The flight to Colombia was silent. Melissa could feel Richie thinking, but he wasn’t volunteering anything, not a word.

  She’d followed as quickly as she could but missed what they said to each other. She’d opened the door only to see the massive blow he delivered to Chad’s chin. Despite being twice Richie’s size, having his right leg behind him by chance was the only thing that kept Chad upright. The second blow had winded him so badly that he had tried to speak but didn’t have control of his lungs. He was lucky that Richie hadn’t killed him with the power of that blow.

  And Richie hadn’t spoken a word since.

  It was her fault. She never should have fraternized with a team member. But Kyle and Carla did. And Richie had felt…perfect. She didn’t have another word for.

  She glanced at him again, but he was wholly focused on the flight.

  His natural state was nerd, only flipping into warrior when called for. Now he was gone beyond the veil and she didn’t know if that side of him could even speak.

  Kyle and Carla had tried asking him some questions, but he hadn’t answered them either. Carla had made a patting motion for patience and Melissa could only hope that it would be enough.

  In Colombia, Agent Fred had arranged for two pallets of condoms to be waiting for them.

  “Condoms?”

  “With the collapse of oil prices, Venezuela is broke,” Fred had explained. “They also top the South American charts for HIV and teen pregnancy. Abortion is illegal, so condoms are a rare, expensive, and highly sought-after import. Over seven hundred dollars a box on the black market. I’ve got a guy in Maracaibo who will take delivery and promised to undercut the competition by a third. The fact that he’ll make a fortune I can’t help, but at least it will help some people in the city.”

  “Technically legal, black market, and helpful. You done good for a spook,” Melissa teased him, hoping to get a rise out of Richie.

  Though he’d stood nearby, not a word.

  The flight back had been even quieter.

  After landing back in Maracaibo, everyone was still so tired that the hotel seemed like too much trouble. Besides, it was just now sunrise and they hadn’t posted a phone number. They had to be at the hangar, at least during daylight hours.

  Chad and Duane rolled in shortly after they’d handed off the shipment of condoms. The two of them looked as awful as she felt. Chad’s dirty look was acid. Surprising herself, she flipped him the finger and then turned her back on him.

  They tossed down blankets on the hangar’s concrete floor for padding and passed out in the cool shade inside. Kyle took first watch. Melissa had made sure that she was on the side of Richie away from Chad before she collapsed.

  The loud roar of the rare jet climbing out of Maracaibo didn’t wake her for more than a second or two.

  But the approach of a heavy truck engine had her and everyone else rolling to their feet. A glance at her watch showed she’d slept barely three hours. Midmorning.

  Melissa slapped her hip to check that her weapon was there. It had been a relief when Duane had opened the weapon’s cache; she’d felt naked without one. She’d drawn the Colt M1911. She had two spare magazines in her pants’ thigh pocket and a battered but very serviceable M16 tucked under the edge of her blanket. They were almost as ubiquitous as the AK-47 on the black market, so it was reasonable that she would have one.

  They’d also carefully paired their weapons by power and capacity, so that subteams could unleash the widest variety of attack if needed. She and Richie, Kyle and Carla, Duane and Chad.

  The truck stopped and a heavy fist pounded against the steel door. Carla and Kyle moved to either side, she and Richie moved up to the door, and Duane and Chad lay down behind the SUV and the truck so that they could shoot under them or roll into the open as needed.

  Melissa propped her weapon on the inside of the door behind a handy angle in the ironwork so that it would be close to hand. She then cracked the door open with Richie out of sight just past the inside edge of the doorjamb. He had his rifle shouldered.

  “Mornin’, y’all,” a big male voice boomed into the hangar before she could even see who stood out in the bright sunlight. “I’m looking to charter t
hat purty little plane of yours we saw flittin’ down out of the sky this morning. Took me a bit to find you, let me just say.”

  Melissa glanced over at Richie.

  “Jackson, Mississippi,” he whispered. “Moved around a bit, but he sounds authentic.”

  The man was as she expected once she could see him: fifties, overweight but fighting it, going to bald. Rumpled khakis, worn loafers, and a loud Hawaiian shirt. He mopped at his brow with a white handkerchief. It was as if he was a stereotype of himself.

  A woman stood close behind him and couldn’t have been a much greater contrast. She was a narrow woman, like she’d been caught in a giant vise and squeezed. She was native but dressed in black designer slacks with a sharp crease, practical but expensive flats, and a simple, white, Ann Taylor blouse that offset her dark skin. Wraparound shades had not been tucked up into her long dark hair—which was pulled back into a severe ponytail making her face appear even narrower—but instead kept her eyes hidden despite the hangar’s shadows. Her leather portfolio, as slim as she was, made it so that she’d have looked in place at a Miami business meeting, but not in a rusting Maracaibo hangar.

  The man shifted in surprise when Melissa shoved the doors wide enough apart so that they could see each other clearly. Richie leaned against the frame, so his rifle was still out of sight in his hand, but his handgun was on clear display. Then Carla and Kyle moved into view, farther back in the shadows but still carrying their rifles.

  “I caught me a fish, a big one,” the man continued in the face of Melissa’s continued silence, obviously so surprised that he was trying to pretend none of it was happening. “Gotta get her to my guy in Miami. He always mounts my big catches.”

  “We don’t normally carry such cargo.” Richie stood up just enough for his rifle to show, though he didn’t raise it.