I step toward him. “It’s okay, I want—”
“It’s not okay, don’t you see that? This is wrong. I can’t … can’t take advantage of you. I can’t…” His jaw tightens and he steps toward me, his hand lifting to cup my cheek. “I can’t…” His hands fall to my tank and he pulls it up to cover my breasts, his fingers tracing my collarbones once he’s finished.
I watch his face, and there’s a war there, but I don’t know who he’s fighting, who the enemy is. Me? Yes, I know he still doubts me, but something — someone — else is a player in this war. He’s been hurt, that much is clear. I’ve never seen hurt so clearly take over another person’s features.
Stepping toward him, my gut tightens when he holds up a hand, then steps away. “I’m going to take a shower. Go ahead and eat. I’ll be back in a little bit.” He turns his back on me and heads to the bathroom, stopping at the door. “I’m sorry, Mia. So very sorry.” And he’s gone, the door closing quietly behind him.
Now, I’m at war. I want to follow him, step into that shower with him, holding him until that look on his face disappears. It’s such a paradox to see this big strong capable man look so, broken. To feel hands that fight with such strength touch me so softly.
Walking to the door, I press my cheek to it as the water turns on and the scrape of the shower curtain slides along its rod. Would he push me away again if I stepped in there with him? Could I take the rejection if he did?
“I’m sorry too, Jax,” I whisper into the door, hoping he can feel the words, if nothing else. And I am sorry. Sorry to have stepped inside that bank just seconds before he did. Sorry that my mother was who he thinks she was. Sorry that he can never fully trust me because of this person to whom I was born. And that’s the bottom line. He can’t trust me. He thinks I’m like her and the people he works for probably think the same thing. I will forever be under their microscope. Watched. Looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. If I get the opportunity to live very long.
Another tear falls and I wipe it away. It’s the last one I’ll allow. Jax is wrong. My mom wasn’t a monster, I know it deep in my soul. I have to prove it. Clear her name. Clear mine. I need to do it for her. For me.
And if I stay here, with him, they will take what’s in that box and I’ll never know the truth. The government will either hide it or spin it to their advantage. If I stay, I’ll be haunted by the questions forever. I’ll never have a moment’s peace.
With a sigh, I walk back to my pants and sweater that lay crumpled on the floor, pulling them on my weary body. Refusing to cry again, I pick up my bags, one filled with the only possessions I own and one still heavy with my mother’s bank box. Jax made one mistake. He didn’t take it with him into the bathroom.
I regret that his one mistake will become yet another thing that will haunt him. Because it will haunt him, I know it. I’m sorry for that.
But I heave it onto my shoulder and pick up the keys laying on the desk. With one last look at the bathroom door, I slip quietly from the room.
Deadly Target (Book 2)
Chapter 1 – Jax
Wrapping my hand around my cock, I try to make thoughts of her go away. The softness of her skin. The little gasping breaths. The look in her eyes when I touched her. The look in her eyes when I pushed her away.
Fuck.
Turning my back to the shower spray, I let the water pound down on my neck as I stroke the memory away. But it won’t go. The gray of her eyes darkening to the color of a storm. The pink of her lips swollen from my kisses. The scent of vanilla on her skin. How her fingers grasp at me, like she’s clinging to the only solid thing in her life.
And maybe I am.
If I believe in her innocence, I’m the only person in the world she can turn to. I’m the only person standing between her and an evil I don’t yet comprehend. She’s scared and grief stricken. She’s also brave and capable. But there is no way she can face whatever is in front of her alone.
She needs me.
And if I’m to protect her, protect the world from whatever is in that box, I need her too.
I slam the fist that had been jacking me off into the tile. And the way I protect her is to molest her? Take advantage of this sweet woman still grief stricken and filled with fear.
I’m the biggest son of a bitch I know. I need to get off this case. Turn her over to someone more capable of separating fact from his dick. Because that’s clearly not me. I scowl down at my cock, still thick from wanting, desperate for release. Closing my fist around the traitorous member, I stroke hard and fast.
Laura.
I’ll think of my beautiful wife; the woman I promised to love forever. The one I can’t imagine cheating on. I stroke harder, forcing myself to believe it’s her familiar body I’m plunging into. Her sweet mouth wrapped around my cock, her skilled tongue swirling around the tip. I picture her on her knees, one hand gripping me, guiding me between her lips. Her other hand caressing my balls, gently bouncing them in her palm. But when she looks up at me, her green eyes are now gray.
Promise me you’ll find love again.
“Sweetheart, no,” I rasp, stroking harder, faster, closing my eyes tight against the pain. But I know I’m fighting a losing battle. I’d been drawn to Mia from the second I opened that bank door. Hadn’t been able to stop myself from laughing with her after we’d collided. Couldn’t make my hand stop from raising to touch her cheek.
She’s the one. I know that with the same certainty I’d known Laura had been the one those many years ago. It’s a bone deep absolute knowing. Like it or not, Mia and I were plunged together for a reason, and it has much more to do than whatever is in that damn steel box.
Panting, I stop.
Stop jacking off. Stop fighting everything I’m feeling. Stop worrying about how I should feel or who I’d be hurting with those emotions.
I stand straight, letting the water rain down on my head, course down my face and over my body. I try to let it wash the fear away. Because that’s what this is. Fear.
Fear of losing another woman I love so very much.
Fear that I’m wrong and Mia isn’t who I hope she is.
How do I live with any of that?
“Laura, sweetheart, tell me what to do?” I say to the ceiling, and the most blissful calm I’ve ever felt pours into me. I exhale and raise my face to the water again, appreciating the sting against my eyes, even the burn as it moves into my nose. I open my mouth and am cleansed there too. Too bad I can’t open my skull and let the water scrub away the self-doubt, the uncertainty lingering in my brain.
Taking my cock in my hand again, I’m more gentle this time. I won’t fight my need for Mia any longer, but I won’t go to her hard and out of control. She deserves better than that. Better than me, but me is who she’s getting. Fate has deemed it so.
As my semen washes down the drain, so does the last of my hesitation. I look up at the ceiling again. “I’ll always love you, sweetheart. Always. But you were right. You always were so much smarter than me. I need to move on. You know there’s a part of my heart that’s home to only you, but I think I’m ready to give another part of it away.” I laugh. “After I get to know her more than twelve hours.”
Hell’s balls. How could so much have happened in such a small space of time? I’d gone from mourning my past to meeting my future, then running for that future’s life. In a matter of hours, the world has gone to hell and I don’t know why, can’t get back out into the field to find out. I can’t even risk a non-secured Google search to determine the type of documents I’m holding for fear I’ll bring some stranger dressed in black to my door.
I have no one to turn to. My team is dead or spread to the wind. And I have only one clue, one direction in which to go. South. To the next bank Mia’s mother directed us to. But I can’t even do that until Mia’s passport arrives tomorrow morning. Until then, I can do nothing but…
My cock twitches, coming alive at the thought, even though it should be sa
ted and taking a nap.
I have twelve hours to make love to Mia, to take her to the pinnacle of pleasure over and over. To meld our bodies together and see if the reality of our joining is as potent as the fantasy that keeps playing out in my mind. To watch her face as she comes. Feel her body convulse around mine. Taste her. Smell her. Crash into her until every part of both of us is sore. Then fuck her again because the soreness only makes things more alive, more vibrant.
Turning off the water, I grab a towel and rake it across my hair. I laugh and look up at the ceiling once more. “Close your eyes. I don’t think you want to see what’s about to happen next.”
Just saying those words causes me to hesitate again. I think I just hit on the crux of my fear. I don’t know what I believe about God or heaven, but what if the storybooks are true. The bible school classes my parents dragged me to when I was small.
Do angels truly watch over us? Then, holy fuck, how do I fuck someone else with my angel witnessing the entire thing?
I shake my head and water flies everywhere and I give my hair another good rubbing with the towel. Now I’m making up excuses. The mind is a tricky, twisted fucker that will play games until it drives you insane.
Wrapping the towel around my hips, I make the decision. I’m going to Mia, come heaven or hell, nothing is stopping me from making her mine. I will believe in her innocence and I’ll protect her with all the strength, experience, and training inside of me. And one day, I’ll let the lust turn to love and then, we’ll see where it leads us.
Reaching out for the door knob, I take a deep breath, inhaling as deeply as I can. I’m excited now. I’m about to get laid. After two years with my hand mistress, I’ll have a soft, beautiful woman beneath me.
Shit.
I hope I can get it up. I hope I can keep it up. I hope it doesn’t go off too quickly. What if I can’t make her come? God, what if she’s disappointed? Or yawns. Or thinks about her damn cat and starts crying again?
Stop it!
I’m psyching myself out again, and it’s gone on long enough.
With one more deep breath, I open the door and step into the room and…
Nothing.
No steel box. No black and white bag. No keys for the 4-Runner.
And no Mia.
I curse, a string of foul words that don’t end until I’m panting for air.
I’m a fucking idiot.
Mia’s gone.
Chapter 2 – Mia
My foot hurts. My ribs hurt. But the pain in my heart overshadows everything by the time I make it to the 4-Runner. My arms are shaky from carrying the heavy load. My legs are shaky too, but for another reason. I’m scared. So very scared.
I can’t do this alone. What had I been thinking? I have no passport. I don’t even know which direction to go. I’d almost gotten lost finding the damn SUV since I hadn’t paid attention to where we’d parked. But it’s more than that. I already miss Jax. And I can’t stand the thought of him opening that bathroom door and discovering me gone. Believing I’d made a fool of him.
He’s too good of a man for that. He deserves better.
Opening the vehicle’s door, I plop my burden onto the backseat and rest my head against the frame. The roar of a motor causes me to spin around, adrenaline shooting through me in an instant. But it’s only a white truck with a bunch of teenagers in it, the thump of their bass making my chest pound.
“Whoa, momma,” one of them yells out of the window as they speed past.
“What am I doing?” I mutter to myself and slam the back door and yank open the driver one. I slip behind the wheel and jam the keys in the ignition after finding the lever to make the seat pull up far enough for me to reach the pedals.
I’ll find a hotel, a place to lay low until everything calms down. Mom didn’t say I needed to fulfill her wish today or even within the next twenty-four hours. Maybe she just wanted to make sure the box was safe. Maybe instead of jumping on a plane and flying to Russia, I can make contact with this Sergei Aslanov person and make him fly to me instead. It might even be better that way. Safer for me for certain. I’m not an undercover agent able to mix into a crowd. I’d get lost the minute I stepped outside the Russian airport, even if I had a passport to get there. Heck, I probably wouldn’t even make it past customs. I’d look so nervous and scared, they’d arrest me on sight. Then, they’d find the documents and toss me into a Russian prison to rot for the rest of my life.
Turning the key, I put the 4-Runner in drive and pull away from the curb.
My chest squeezes and it feels as if it’s dumped it contents down into my stomach and all my insides collide. I feel sick. A projectile vomiting kind of sick. A heart wrenching, soul clenching sick.
I can’t leave him.
But I have to.
But I can’t.
I pull back to the curb and beat my forehead against the steering wheel. I am driving myself crazy.
Inhaling deeply, I lean back into the seat and close my eyes, placing my hands on my thighs. Meditation. It’s my favorite part of my yoga class. It always lets me clear my mind and fall far, far away from the daily grind of my life. The deep emotional space welcomes me, drawing me deeper into its embrace and soon, I feel nothing. Am nothing. Just one with the universe.
In this deep meditative space, my mind relaxes as does each muscle in my body. I imagine the warm sun on my face, waves lapping at my toes, sand embracing each part of me as I slowly sink into it.
I breathe in strength. Breathe out fear.
Breathe in trust. Breathe out doubt.
Breathe in love. Breathe out hate.
“I am strong and capable, deserving of all good things,” I whisper, sinking further into the light of meditation. I let it all go. The shame. Guilt. Hurt. Ego. I hold onto nothing. Nothing is true or false. Nothing is good or bad. Nothing is right or wrong.
When all that’s left is peace, I seek answers to my questions. “What should I do?” I ask the source of the light, my powerful inner self.
“Follow your heart,” my intuition tells me.
“Not helpful,” I grumble. “Hearts are traitorous bitches, driven by need. I want to be strong, not needy. Help me. Tell me logically what I must do.”
“Go back to him.”
I open my eyes. This isn’t working. I think it was my clit talking that time.
Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyeballs, I hold them there until it hurts. Then I blink myself back to the harsh reality of the evening. The harsh reality of my question.
Stay or go?
If I stay, I will sleep with him. Of that, there is no doubt. Well, maybe one little doubt, the one of him pushing me away, looking at me as if I’m some sort of lady demon come earth bound to suck out his soul.
God, of all the things I want to suck on him, his soul is at the bottom of the list.
Grabbing the steering wheel, I shake it, growling out my frustration. A dog barks and I stop, looking up to see a man walking his furry friend a few yards away. He looks at me funny. The dog does too.
“Get a grip, Mia,” I scold myself and watch the pair go scurrying off, the man glancing over his shoulder every few feet. I wonder if I bared my teeth, if he’d pee on the sidewalk. The image of that is funny and I start to laugh and laugh and laugh.
I really am going crazy, I realize, and force myself to stop. Can too many emotionally charged moments in such a short time really drive a person insane?
Checking my reflection in the rear view mirror, I see crazy eyes staring back and sink down into the seat. Yep. Certifiable, without question.
Keeping an eye on the man and dog, I see him pull a phone from his pocket. Crap! Is he calling the police? Men with straitjackets? I look around frantically, unsure of where to go.
Jax! My mind screams at me and I know it’s right. I can’t do this without him. More than that, I don’t want to do this without him. But I can’t stay here if the dog walker is calling to report a suspicious person loitering aro
und.
Calmly, I put the 4-Runner back into drive and pull away from the curb. I lift a hand in a friendly “I’m leaving so need to worry” wave and whip it around the corner to find a new hideout for the vehicle.
A few blocks over, I spot what I hope is a good place to park and get out, removing everything I’d just carried a few minutes ago. Locking the doors, I limp back to the hotel. Maybe if I hurry, he won’t even know I was gone.
Chapter 3 – Jax
I’m in shorts and a t-shirt in world record time and am shoving my feet into shoes as I head to the door. Un-fucking-believable.
Open the dictionary and you’ll find my picture directly beside a number of words: stupid, foolish, gullible, short-sighted, and what else? Oh yeah, sucker! And let’s not forget incompetent world annihilator. How the hell did I ever become a CIA agent when it’s pretty clear I have the mental agility of a bar of soap?
Yanking open the door, I charge outside and freeze. Mia is standing directly in front of me.
“Where have—”
“I’m sor—”
Our words tumble over each other.
Then my hands are on her. On her arms, her shoulders, her face. In the next breath, my lips are on hers, crashing us together. I pull her into the room and slam the door shut while she drops all the bags on the floor.
She groans when I push her into the door, and I whisper “sorry” against her lips, remembering her ribs.
She pulls me harder against her, wincing but not letting me get away. “Don’t stop. Please. Nothing else matters but this.” She shoves her hand under my shirt and pushes it up. In a second, it’s on the floor.
Her mouth is pure sin, her skin the richest of silk as I taste her again, devouring her lips and tongue. I taste blood and know her lip has split again, but I don’t care. She doesn’t care. Like she said, nothing else matters.
Pushing her sweater from her shoulders, I taste her skin, biting across her clavicle until I reach her throat and pull that sensitive flesh into my mouth. Delicious. The taste. The warmth. The thrum of her pulse between my lips.
Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense Page 11
