Slow Burn

by Cheyenne McCray

  And then she was gone again, her mind spinning like she was on some kind of carnival ride. Her body rocked beneath his. He kissed her hard before he reared back, a loud guttural sound coming from his throat as he climaxed. He thrust several times more, making her cry with every pulse of his cock.

  He nearly collapsed on her, but managed to hold most of his body weight off of her. His skin was slick with sweat and she realized hers was, too. She could feel the sweat in her hair and see it in his. She barely noticed a small ache in her arm.

  For a long moment he stared down at her. He looked as if he couldn’t put into words what had just happened between them. Instead of speaking, he lowered his head and took her mouth in a tender kiss, with a depth of caring that shook her entire body.

  He eased out of her and then came to rest on his side. She was boneless, still lying on her back as she looked at him.

  “There are no words.” She smiled, answering his silence. “But in doing my best, I will say that was incredible. Amazing. Unbelievable.”

  “I’d say you’ve got it down pretty damn good.” He stroked the side of her face with his fingertips.

  She found the strength to roll onto her side and face him. She reached out and caressed his jaw, his stubble rough under her fingertips. The way the firelight played on his features, he looked dark and mysterious.

  One of the things she liked about him was how open he seemed to be. He could be intense, like when he’d been the night they took down Salvatore, but he was easy to talk with, too. She liked him, really liked him. And then she realized she cared for him so intensely that it almost stole her breath away.

  The thought that she was his came back to her. That feeling had come out of nowhere, but she knew it was true.

  She’d had something of a crush on him for so damned long, and now she was in the arms of the real thing. She couldn’t imagine a single place she’d rather be.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Salvatore ground his teeth while he avoided the gazes of the five other prisoners, and he shifted in his seat in the transport van. At the same time he tried to keep from brushing his arm against the shoulder of the prisoner next to him. John was a six-foot-three murderer with sleeve and neck tattoos. The man must have weighed a solid two-fifty, all muscle.

  The chains connecting the cuffs at Salvatore’s wrists and ankles rattled as he tried to get more comfortable on the hard vinyl seats.

  From the corner of his eye he saw the armed ICE agent watching them, weapon clearly visible. What a fucking stupid acronym—International Customs Enforcement. They could have come up with something that didn’t sound so benign. Not that he cared. He’d be a free man in a matter of days.

  The cuffs chafed and the orange jumpsuit made him itch. It had to be the laundry detergent they used. He’d always been sensitive to some kinds of detergent. Christie had known the right brand to use.

  He clenched his fists as he thought about his wife. This was her fault. Fucking bitch.

  Five real criminals in the van with Salvatore had committed any manner of international crimes from murder to running drugs to stealing high priced vehicles in the U.S. and spiriting them across the border into Mexico. Like Salvatore, the men were also facing trial in federal courts.

  As far as Salvatore was concerned, he didn’t belong with these common murderers and thieves. What he did was specialized. He was a respected businessman, associated with the Jimenez Cartel, and had helped make the cartel, including El Verdugo, wealthier in the creative ways he had laundered money.

  The hour or so drive from the Florence prison to Phoenix seemed to take forever. The van hit a pothole, rocking the vehicle’s occupants. Salvatore’s shoulder bumped John’s arm and the big man shoved Salvatore away with a hard jab to his ribs.

  Salvatore winced and his eyes watered from the pain. He’d have a bruise, but he wouldn’t let the monstrous man have the satisfaction of knowing that.

  He let his thoughts turn toward the last bit of news he’d had about Christie. According to Paco Esperanza, Christie had disappeared. They’d followed the SUV she was in from the hospital, where it had been part of a caravan.

  When all three SUVs split up, the one Christie had been in had lost the tail they’d had on it. They hadn’t been able to find her since.

  However, with the cartel’s extensive network in Tucson and Phoenix, they were bound to find her. Especially with her uniqueness.

  Of the world population, only two percent were natural redheads, and the rarest combination in the world was red hair with blue eyes. Her shade of red didn’t come from a bottle and her large eyes were an unforgettable blue.

  He had liked that about her—that she was almost as rare as the chocolate cosmos that were only found in Mexico and only bloomed at the end of the summer and in the evening. The flower was extinct in the wild and a single clone was now reproduced by propagation. If the flower could have been taken out of Mexico, he would have collected it, too.

  He liked to collect rare things, and Christie had been one of his precious belongings.

  A flash of fury burned through him and his body went hot. His gaze met the agent’s guarding them. The anger searing Salvatore must have shown clearly because the agent narrowed his eyes and shifted the weapon in his lap.

  Salvatore looked away. The hatred for all federal agents combined with the hatred for his wife. The woman he’d loved almost as much as he loved his money. He had been raised Catholic and taught to love God first, his wife second, and if they’d had children, he would have been told to place them third and his own parents fourth.

  He clenched his hands tighter. God had done nothing for him. God had failed him. His parents had been murdered, and his wife had given him no children. All he’d had was his money and his wife. Now she had a piece of paper that said they were divorced and she planned to testify against him.

  Fucking bitch.

  Everything had been stripped from him. It was good he had siphoned money into offshore accounts that the cartel didn’t know about. Only one of his cousins knew, and he would remain silent.

  Another pothole jarred Salvatore’s teeth and threw him harder against the monster next to him. John let out a louder growl and rammed his elbow into Salvatore’s side so hard that Salvatore nearly fell into the aisle. Pain made his eyes water and he managed to right himself in his seat.

  When he got out of this mess, and he would, the first thing he’d do was order the death of this bastard. John had done a good job of making Salvatore miserable whenever he could, while in the prison. Salvatore would make John pay.

  Salvatore saw the Phoenix skyline growing closer. A cold chill chased away the heat of only moments before.

  His mind started playing the “what if” game. What if they didn’t find Christie before she could testify? Imprisonment could be for the rest of his life if Christie was in the picture.

  What if she was out of the picture, but the prosecution convinced the jury that Salvatore was guilty and put him in prison for twenty years for money laundering and other charges?

  He ground his teeth. No, that was not happening. The evidence the Feds had found wasn’t proof of anything beyond reasonable doubt. He was certain of that.

  And Christie’s testimony would never happen. She would die.

  Soon. Very soon.

  Despite the monster next to him, Salvatore found his mood lightening. The cartel had his back. El Verdugo would find some way to buy off a juror or two, maybe bribe the judge, and Christie wouldn’t be alive to testify.

  He had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Christie felt like singing, but settled for humming to herself while she finished washing and drying the breakfast dishes and putting them into the cabinets. The last three days with Trace had been amazing and she wished it didn’t have to end.

  It was early morning and they had to leave shortly to meet with Stillwater and the other FBI agents.

  Thoughts of the reaso
n why they were leaving this sanctuary on Mt. Lemmon caused her mood to falter. She did her best not to think about it. She needed to enjoy the moment a little longer.

  The precious days in the cabin had gone by much too quickly as far as Christie was concerned. She’d enjoyed every minute of the time she and Trace shared. They’d talked, gone for walks, and curled up in front of the fire with hot chocolate topped with mini marshmallows.

  They’d made love more times than she could remember. She’d definitely lost track of the number of orgasms she’d had.

  The thoughts made her feel light and happier than she’d felt in as long as she could remember.

  To prepare to leave the cabin for another few weeks, Trace had cleaned out the ashes from the fireplace and dumped them outside, shuttered the windows, and checked the insulated water pipes, among other necessary duties.

  Chill air swirled into the cabin and goose bumps prickled her skin. She stopped drying a bowl as she glanced over her shoulder to see Trace entering with a huge armload of firewood. He used his boot to close the door behind him. She couldn’t help but smile and when he looked at her he returned her smile before heading to the fireplace.

  The firewood hit the wood floor with several thumps as he set it down. He shrugged out of his jacket and set it aside, then started stacking logs beside the fireplace. She nearly sighed with pleasure as she watched his extraordinary backside, his triceps and biceps flexing with every movement he made. His back and shoulders were so powerful, and his ass and thighs were perfect.

  He wore his shoulder holster over his T-shirt, ever ready in case trouble was to find them. She didn’t want to think about the kind of trouble he was protecting her from.

  She turned back to finish drying the dishes and putting them away. She had just put the last dish in the cabinet when he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his stubble rough against her skin. He kissed a slow path from her shoulder to her ear, tickling her while sending zinging sensations straight between her thighs.

  A happy little sigh bubbled inside her. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Mmmmm…” He held her tighter to him. “Is it working?”

  She laughed and turned in his arms. He lowered his head and kissed her with a slow, easy passion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss, loving the taste of him and the way he pulled at her lips with his teeth.

  He raised his head and smiled. “How does your arm feel?”

  “Much better.” She tested it and didn’t flinch when she felt a very slight twinge. “I’m healing pretty fast.”

  “You certainly are.” He kissed her again before releasing her. “We’d better clear out so Stillwater doesn’t have a stroke if we’re late.”

  “I take it you were able to get a clear signal.” Christie let her palms slide over his biceps. “What did she have to say when you called her?”

  “Don’t be late.” He trailed his fingers down her chest to her breasts. “I am so tempted to say to hell with that.”

  She felt need rising in her like a heated spring. “I would love to give you a reason to make us late.”

  “I would, but we’re on a timeline.” He gave her a quick kiss. “Too many people relying on us to show up on time.”

  Christie stuck her lower lip out in a mock pout before becoming more serious. “What’s going to happen when we get with the FBI?”

  “Stillwater said she’d fill me in when we get there.” Trace ran strands of Christie’s hair through his fingers. “One thing they’re not going to be happy with is that I don’t intend to let you out of my sight.”

  “I have final say.” Christie raised her chin. “They can’t force me into hiding, so they can’t keep me from insisting on having you there.”

  “My RAC could.” Traced frowned. “But she won’t.”

  Christie tilted her head to the side. “What’s an RAC?”

  “Resident Agent in Charge.” Trace released the strands of Christie’s hair that he’d been caressing. “Sofia Aguilar is one tough boss, but a good woman. She gave me the green light when I talked with her.”

  “Guess we shouldn’t leave Agent Stillwater waiting.” Christie gave Trace a quick kiss. “Anything left to do before we go?”

  He shook his head. “Everything is either locked, sealed up, put out, shut down, turned off, put away, or loaded. All you need to do is grab your jacket and we can go.”

  “I’ve really enjoyed our time together.” She only wished it was something that would last longer than it took for her to testify and return to Indiana.

  “I have, too.” He rested his hands on both her shoulders, still taking care not to squeeze her injured arm. “More than you can imagine.”

  “Believe me.” She pushed her finger against his chest. “I can imagine a lot.”

  He grinned and took her hand. “Come on. Let’s head on out of here.”

  After he helped her into her jacket, he tucked her hair beneath the ball cap again. He brushed his lips over hers then opened the cabin door.

  Outside felt cool and fresh and the sky was watercolor yellow, pink, and blue-streaked with the new morning sun. Something in the air made it almost impossible to believe that anyone could be trying to kill her. The thought felt so distant, so unreal, like she couldn’t be touched.

  She glanced at Trace as they walked toward the SUV. With him at her side, she felt safer than she’d ever felt in her life.

  The farther down the mountain Trace drove, the tighter the knot became in his gut. He didn’t remember ever feeling quite on edge like this before. On the mountain, he’d been always on the watch even though he was positive she was safe there. But now that they were descending back into the open, things didn’t feel safe at all.

  The road was dappled in shadows and sunlight, the patches of snow having melted over the past few days. According to weather reports, a winter storm would be moving in later in the week.

  A storm of another kind was already here…waiting…waiting on the horizon for some slip up, some screw up. He couldn’t let anything happen that would endanger Christie.

  When he’d checked in with Stillwater this morning, she’d said she had something to discuss with him regarding Christie but wouldn’t elaborate over the phone.

  He glanced at Christie. The hat covering her vivid hair was too big on her and fell low on her forehead and over her ears. She was so damned cute in the hat. Hell, she was cute in anything.

  And nothing at all.

  His body hardened at the thought of her naked, beneath him. He clenched his jaws and sang a few bars of the Barney song in his head just to get his erection to die down.

  He glanced at Christie again to see her looking at him. She tilted her head to the side. “Is everything all right?”

  “I guess I can’t say it enough.” He reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve enjoyed the past few days with you.”

  “I know what you mean.” Her smile was brilliant. “It’s been three of the best days I ever remember having.”

  He squeezed her hand tighter as he turned his attention back to the road long enough to make sure they were on course before meeting her gaze again. Her smile could have melted even the most hardened of soldiers.

  The rest of the way down the winding mountain road, everything they had to say seemed to flow through their connected hands. It was as if no words were needed. It was an energy that traveled between them, a sensation that filled him with heat.

  His palm was warm from hers as they slid their fingers apart when they reached the rendezvous point with Stillwater. He pulled into the parking lot behind the old motel. The morning sun was still low in the sky.

  He convinced Christie to stay put in the SUV for her safety while he climbed out and walked up to Stillwater. Three other agents stood in the background and two black SUVs were parked behind them.

  Agent Stillwater’s bl
ack hair appeared to be pulled even tighter away from her face than ever, stretching her dark skin over her angular features and giving her an even harsher look than normal. With the severity of her hairstyle, her cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut glass.

  Stillwater had her arms crossed over her chest, and she wore a disapproving expression. “We’ll take it from here, Agent Davidson.”

  Trace hooked his thumbs in his jeans as he eyed Stillwater. “I’m assisting with Christie’s protection.”

  “If I have to contact your superiors, I will do that.” Stillwater snapped each word. “You risked her life taking her up that damned mountain and I’ve had enough of your interference.”

  “I’ve told you before, it’s not up for discussion.” Christie’s voice came from behind them. “Agent Davidson stays with me or you can screw your protective detail.”

  Trace frowned and looked over his shoulder then was relieved to see she hadn’t gotten out of the SUV and instead was speaking through the window she’d opened. The determined look on her features showed she intended to back up her demand.

  “Christie, it’s not safe.” Trace gestured for her to raise the window. “You can be seen.”

  “Not until Agent Stillwater accepts my condition.” Christie had a stubborn and determined look about her.

  Even as he was concerned for her, Trace liked this new Christie who had found herself since leaving her ex-husband, refusing to be walked on or ordered around.

  He looked back at Stillwater whose jaw was tight as she made a movement indicating Christie should buzz up the window. “All right. Now get that window up.”

  Christie’s expression was half triumphant and half irritated at being given another order. She didn’t argue though, and soon disappeared behind tinted glass.

  Trace studied Stillwater as she clearly regrouped. Her determination to exclude him from the protective detail was a matter of politics. She was running the show and she wanted to run it her way.