Guarding Sky (NCIS Series Book 2)

by Zoe Dawson

  Okay, she wasn’t technically crying. She was sobbing, which was so much worse. But he was a Marine. Uncle Sam had trained him for anything. He could handle it.

  She shifted and wrapped her arms around his neck, choking on her tears, and he wanted to soothe her, help her get control.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. You did really good. Real good,” he murmured. Carefully, he moved her over to the sink and wet a washcloth with one hand as she sniffed and made those soft little distressed sounds. He stepped back and carefully smoothed the cloth down one of her cheeks and over her bottom lip.

  Her gaze lifted to his, and he thought, How could I have gotten so lost, so fast? I barely know her.

  He pulled her closer. She took a hard, shaky breath, and he felt her tears slide down his chest as her hand cupped his nape.

  Closer to all her soft, warm skin. Closer to her body. Closer to her mouth.

  He leaned in, kissed her temple, and her hand tightened, sliding into his hair. He trailed his mouth down her face to her mouth, brushing his mouth against her lips. “So, so good,” he whispered and wasn’t sure if he was talking about the sensation of her skin beneath his lips or her toughness. He lowered his mouth to hers and gave himself up to the second biggest mistake in his career and in his life.

  “I was so scared for you…Vin.”

  He nodded. He gently moved his mouth over hers, breathing her in—and she sighed in his mouth.

  Oorah. That was it. He cupped the side of her face with his hand and tilted her face up while opening his mouth over hers and pressing her back against the wall.

  Her breasts pushed against his bare chest, the cloth a thin barrier between what he knew lay underneath. He was aware of what she might have on because he’d touched her lacy things, and it only jacked him up more. Her hips settled into the cradle of his, one of her hands sliding down over his good shoulder, pulling him closer. He loved the hot sweetness of it, the way she softened against him.

  He slid his tongue into her mouth and felt the sharp need of desire take hold, the taste of her, the delicacy of her tongue sliding against his, teasing him.

  Yeah, this was good. Damn good. Really good.

  Her palm was soft and hot against him, sliding over him and pulling him even closer.

  Closer and closer. He felt the edge of her desperation, could taste her tears, the salty dampness of them where they flowed over her luscious mouth.

  He should stop.

  But he was powerless.

  He needed a guardian angel to save him.

  But his guardian angel was the one turning him on, ratcheting him up and taking him down.

  There was no rescue coming.

  Oh, God. Oh, dear God. She was drowning. He was…so beautiful, so courageous, so badly hurt. He scared her at the same time that he thrilled her beyond any man she’d ever met. It was the hottest thing she’d ever done—to sink into his kiss, to hold him close. She’d wanted to touch him so many times since he’d gotten her off that roof. The smell of him was like a balm to her soul. He was ripped beneath his shirt, soft skin over hard-packed muscle. She’d had no idea he was hiding that body beneath his suit.

  She pulled him close, loving the hard-ridged feel of him, the life of him.

  She needed it, even as she chastised herself for letting go. Just a taste, she vowed. But a taste had a way of leading to devouring, consuming.

  How was she supposed to come to her senses when he just simply blew them away? She’d never considered herself particularly sensual or sexual. She was used to men who were cerebral, not hot and toned. She worked in a sterile, cold environment with men who were more interested in research than in getting it on. As focused as she’d been. Her personal life was barren, closed and solitary. Just as she had striven to make it. Not full of heat and color, touch and taste.

  He was doing it again, like he’d done at the loft—just inhaling her and enjoying kissing. She wasn’t sure about males, but what she was certain of was that something came after the kissing. She’d had that miserable, embarrassing, messed-up “wham bam, thank you, Dr. Baang” sex. It had been awful.

  But this…what he was doing with his mouth…was heavenly. What would it be like with him? She shouldn’t want to find out, but she did. She so wanted to see what it would be like to be with him. She had an inkling it wouldn’t be awful.

  So new, so forbidden.

  He scared her more than anything on this planet, even the kidnappers.

  But he was sagging against her now, and her concern for him won out over the sensual torment of his mouth.

  She broke the kiss, and he leaned his forehead against hers. Now that she wasn’t buffeted by his sensual assault, she felt that familiar guilt spread out until she squirmed against the shame of easily giving in to him. Her work should be her focus, and she wanted nothing more than to get back to it, back to that sterile environment.

  She closed her eyes. Trying to forget the color and the warmth. “Is that your way of kissing it all better?”

  “Umm, is it better?” he asked, his words slurring a bit.

  “Yes. Thank you, Vin. For—”

  He sent his thumb over her mouth, effectively shushing her. “I keep telling myself this is such a bad idea.”

  “I agree.”

  “Yet you still participate. And you’re welcome. I was doing my—”

  This time it was her turn to cover his mouth. “Don’t say job because I know that’s not all you were doing out there.”

  His lips curved beneath her fingers, his eyes lighting up.

  “Did you mention there was some food in this place?” Sky asked.

  “Yes, food. Good idea. I’ll get some wood and get the fire going.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. You’re going to sit down and rest. I’ll get the wood and make the food,” she ordered.

  She dipped down and pulled out a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt. “Let me help you into this.” She slipped the sleeve of the shirt up his arm and carefully over the bandage, over his head. He put his arm into the other sleeve.

  She curled her arm around Vin’s waist, trying to tamp down her feelings for him. Feelings that would only cause both of them heartbreak. This was not going to go anywhere. It was a temporary thing. A crazy, out of control, temporary thing.

  She settled him on the couch and turned away. Keeping busy would help. Wood and food. It gave her something to focus on.

  Even as her mouth tingled and her hands ached for the touch of his skin, she turned away and headed out into the cold.

  In the bathroom, with the white bandage against his shoulder, he looked like a battle-scarred and dangerous warrior, fresh from the fight and hurt, vulnerable. Her heart just melted. She trembled inside, trying to look at him all at once. Breathe him in like the most delicious scent.

  When she’d broken down, the way he had held her had humanized him from that untouchable warrior, to the hot, tantalizing male sprawled out on the bed.

  The dark stubble on his face, the way he looked down into her eyes with that open compassion was fixed in her brain.

  She sat in a chair close to the bed. After she’d fed him vegetable soup and a PB&J, he’d felt a bit warm and she’d insisted he get some sleep. She ate while he was sleeping. He needed it so badly.

  She was worried with the way he seemed restless. An infection would be a complication. She wouldn’t hesitate to get him the needed medical help if that was the case, but the bullet wound would mean she’d have to explain and get NCIS involved. Vin wouldn’t want that, but she wasn’t going to jeopardize his life if it came down to that.

  He rolled slightly onto his stomach, with one of his legs drawn up, and he was so beautiful that even though she was hungry, she found herself forgetting to eat.

  He was particularly gorgeous, more powerfully built under his clothes than she would have guessed. He carried himself with such fluid, unconscious grace. The way he had moved across that roof, so sure-footed…if she hadn’t lost her balance and falle
n, he wouldn’t have even slipped.

  His shirt rolled up, revealing the rippled muscles of his abdomen, and a sigh lifted her chest.

  She finished eating and walked over to the bed. It was a king and had plenty of space. She didn’t think she could rest if he wasn’t close, to be there if he needed her. He had been there for her last night, and she wasn’t going to let her guilt keep her from offering him help if he needed it.

  She put her knee on the bed and crawled up next to him and lay down.

  Holy God.

  Everything came rushing back, and she wondered if it was some way for her brain to make sense of the night’s events. She couldn’t believe what she had seen, what he’d done. Her heart had stopped when he’d pulled his gun and pointed it straight at her, right after her heart had damn near jumped out of her chest when he’d…

  Vin, his knee planted in the man’s back, the fierce, violent twist that had broken the man’s neck. Vin drawing his gun. The booming dual blasts. Vin using the dead man’s shirt to clean the bloody knife, folding it back and slipping it into his pocket even as he rose to his feet, his other hand still holding the gun steady and aimed.

  The complete and total focus of Vin’s gaze, every move precise, everything fluid, a lethal dance.

  They had somehow found her, in spite of NCIS taking such precautions with three agents guarding her. Miller and Strong…oh, God, she was going to hyperventilate if she thought about them. She’d been in her room and she’d wanted some coffee. She was going to ask if one of them wouldn’t mind running down to the coffee shop to get her a cup. As soon as she’d opened the door, Vin had been in the shadowed hall, slamming an automatic gun-toting kidnapper against the wall and…

  Vin, attacking hard and fast, sinking his knife in the man’s stomach, wrenching the blade upward.

  Blood everywhere.

  She had no idea. Not really. Sure, she’d experienced kidnapping terror when she’d been young, but she’d been shielded from the savagery of the world. Shielded from everything, it seemed. It was part of her sacrifice. It didn’t just isolate her from relationships and a normal, balanced life, but it shielded her from the ugliness, too.

  She’d been touched by it. It had marked her and not just from the blood on her clothes. There was no going back to that complete isolation. She wasn’t even sure if she could manage it. Especially after the way Vin had kissed her.

  God help her, she wanted more.

  She got up and slipped her CD into the player on the dresser. As rain and intermittent gong reverberations filled the room, she lay back down. The peaceful sounds calmed her.

  He twitched in his sleep and turned over so that he was facing her. She reached out and felt his forehead. He was warm, but not overly so. She stared at his face until her eyes drifted closed.

  She felt safe.

  So safe.

  Beau stood in front of Chris’s desk, and there was a look on his face that made him sit up straighter.

  “We got a hit on one of those dead Russians.”

  “I haven’t got all damn day, Beau.”

  “He’s part of The Red Sickle.”

  Alarm rang in every nerve ending of Chris’s body. The Red Sickle was a band of mercs linked with political kidnappings, assassination, and small wars across Europe. They were brutal, notorious and relentless. NCIS had them at the top of their Most Wanted list.

  Vin was up against a band of international killers. Out there somewhere on his own.

  “Find them,” Chris said softly and then pushed back from his desk. He headed to the director’s office.

  He had to report what he’d learned to his boss.

  This was an all-out manhunt.

  NCIS had to get to those mercs before they got to Vin and Dr. Baang.

  Chapter Seven

  Sky’s cry jerked him out of a deep sleep. She was next to him, flailing, and when she hit his shoulder, he doubled over.

  “Sky. Sky.” He grabbed her hands and pulled her close, trying to keep any more damage to a minimum. She was wild-eyed, her body stiff and unyielding. “Sky, shhhh. It’s okay.”

  “Vin.” Her breathing was ragged, and she sent her hands over him to make sure he was here and whole.

  “Oh, God. It was just a nightmare.” She breathed out a sigh, and before he could open his arms to let her go, she snuggled against him.

  Now he was in even more trouble. He was on a bed, warm and too damn cozy with Sky after just telling himself he wanted her. Hot, wet and naked. On top of him, underneath him, all over him. Yeah. Damn.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She took a long, shaky breath. That must have been some nightmare.

  She was silent for a moment. “It was about you.”

  “It was?”

  “Yes. You were shielding me and…” Her voice caught. “Death Head killed you.”

  “It was just a nightmare,” he said softly. “Death Head?”

  “That’s what I call the guy who was strangling you. He was the one who found me in the attic and stabbed me with that drug. He looks like a Death Head.”

  “I bet it felt doubly good then when you clocked that bastard.”

  “Damn good, actually.”

  “Therapeutic even?”

  “Very.”

  “You saved my life. So, thank you for that.”

  She moved closer to him, and he really liked the way her body was snuggled up to him. He felt her head move against his shoulder as she nodded.

  “I’m going to make it as damn near impossible for him to find you as I can.”

  She tightened her arms around him. “This is all so awful. I keep seeing Agent Miller….”

  “Don’t torture yourself with that, Sky.”

  “What were their first names?” she asked, her voice thick.

  He didn’t say anything, not sure if this was good or bad for her. His chest got tight thinking about the two agents. But if she wanted to know. “Miller’s first name was Tom and Strong’s was Mike.”

  “Do you know anything about them?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes, I owe them that much.”

  “Tom loved basketball. We would play pickup games. He was really good, and I always wanted him on my team. We played really well off each other. Neither one of us was a ball hog—okay, I was, a ball hog, a little.”

  She buried her face in his neck, and he damned near groaned from the pleasure of her warm breath against his skin, and that she inhaled deliberately as if she was breathing him in.

  “His…personal life? Was he…married? I thought I saw a ring.”

  “Sky—”

  “Please, Vin. I want to know. It’s hard on you. I understand that. But I need to know. He sacrificed his life for me. Please.”

  “Yes, he was married to a sweet, gorgeous schoolteacher. He has…two girls. Lexi and Miranda. Randy for short, and she’s a pistol.”

  “Oh…God.” She pressed harder against him, and he sent his hands through her hair. “Go on. Mike Strong.”

  “Mike was a practical joker, and when I first came to NCIS, I worked with him briefly before I was assigned to my present team. He loved to laugh, was a die-hard DC sport fan. Went to any and all games he could and often dragged me along. He was engaged to be married next year to a researcher for the FDA.”

  After that she was quiet, and it wasn’t long before he heard her deep breathing. She’d fallen asleep in his arms. It was another sure sign of trust, and it rocked through him.

  Trouble. God, he was in trouble here, and it had nothing to do with being hunted by some very determined and brutal Russians.

  Before he’d met Dr. Skylar Baang, self-control was his middle name. He wouldn’t have kissed a charge or gone rogue. But damn, she’d done a number on him. She stirred against him, all that softness, her hand trailed up his neck to his jaw and lingered there as if she was half in, half out of sleep. Was she dreaming about him th
is time instead of having a nightmare? He liked that better. Dying any time soon wasn’t an option. She moved her hand up to his forehead and pressed it there. Apparently, she was happy with his temperature, because she fell asleep again with her hand still on his face. Trying not to move too much because he was afraid of what he might do, he thought briefly of extricating himself from her sweet grip, and while he was at it, he should try to find his brains.

  But he was still exhausted, so he drifted and drifted some more, then he slept.

  His rise up from the sweet oblivion of sleep was a lazy meandering of his mind, the limp relaxation of his body, the comforting sensation of Sky against him.

  His eyes fluttered open, his every cell coming fully awake, and the full extent of his current situation hitting him all at once. He’d turned in his sleep, and his body was completely against hers, from her breasts plastered to his chest all the way down to their thighs. The ease with which a man obtained an erection upon waking up only added to the sudden tension. His dick was hard, and now that he was aware of her, getting harder. She moved, and he gritted his teeth at the pressure on his groin.

  He was debating his best move when her eyes fluttered open, her face all but touching his, her hand resting on his temple and cheek.

  Her eyes widened, and she went to pull her hand away, but he caught it. “Don’t you need to check to make sure I’m okay?” he asked.

  She met his gaze directly. “You feel hot to me. Are you always this hot?”

  He was hot for her, but he didn’t think that was prudent to say right now. “I don’t have a fever, Sky. This is my normal temperature.”

  She felt his forehead. “I guess you don’t have a fever then.” She went to move away from him, but he tightened his arms.