“Business is…busy. Plus, I thought you’d prefer that I didn’t deliver your supplies anymore.”
“Well, I don’t.”
Was this why he was here? To complain about who delivered his freaking cargo? “Then I suggest you find another air service to do business with.” No way would she continue to torture herself every week seeing him, remembering how they’d made love, how much she cared for him.
“I want you, Jesse. Only you.”
She couldn’t dare hope. Sloan was a complicated man. Just because he’d shown up in her office didn’t mean that he wanted her. He could want fish and chips from the Salty Dawg for all she knew. But in all the years she’d known him, he’d never left his place in the woods. She’d never brought him to town. Not once. “I don’t understand.”
“The last few months have been really hard without seeing you. I spent the first few days after you left drunk off my ass. When I sobered up, I finally started thinking, and I realized I didn’t like the man I’d become. In my bitterness and grief for my team, I’d lost faith in human nature and no longer wanted to be a part of this world.” He ventured a step closer to her, taking one of her hands in his, and searched her eyes. “I hurt you because I was afraid of losing you and what that would do to me. So I pushed you away, and I still lost you. Jesse, I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. Please, forgive me?”
A sob lodged in her throat. Who was this man? That was probably the most he’d ever said to her in one stretch. Had cutting his hair changed him, like Samson in the Bible? Made him, in this case, sweet and tender? She shook her head as her throat clogged with tears.
“Just hear me out. Please. I did unforgivable things,” he continued in a rush. “The only excuse I have is that you scare the shit out of me. Have since the moment we met. I’ve blazed into war-torn countries, been shot at, but nothing in my life has terrified me the way you do.”
“I-I—”
“Don’t say anything.”
Good, because she didn’t think she could speak as emotions overwhelmed her.
“After I started thinking, I began to write. I’ve suffered writer’s block since June and couldn’t figure out why. On some subconscious level my brain knew that I’d fucked up on an epic scale.” He tucked a strand of her hair back, his finger slowly tracing the shell of her ear. “You once accused me of using you as the muse for Jack. You’re right to an extent. Physically Jack is you, but in all the other aspects, she’s me. Logan is you. I finished the book, and it’s sitting on your desk. I want you to read it.”
“But—”
He placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. His eyes heated, and he had to swallow before speaking, “I’m staying at Land’s End. Read the book and then, if you want to, come to me. If you don’t…I’ll understand.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jesse watched him leave. Part of her wanted to call him back, tell him she didn’t need to read the book. That she wanted him, beard or no beard. But that impulsive part of her always cannonballed into the deep end of the pool before she knew how to swim.
Slowly she took off her jacket, hung it on the hook, and then walked into her office, which was off the small reception area. There on her desk sat a box, the kind that held the reams of paper she delivered to Sloan. She worked the top off and set it aside.
The title page read:
The Final Mission: Justified Angel Contract Killer Series
He was ending the series? No. He couldn’t. There was so much for Jack to do, people to save, and, Logan to fall for.
She turned over the page and found the dedication:
For Jesse
The lump that had formed in her throat earlier came back. She had to take a minute to fetch a bottle of water, before sitting down at her desk and reading. And once she started there was no putting it down.
There, in print, was her night with Sloan four months ago, but from Sloan’s perspective. Knowing now that Jack was Sloan, Jesse saw the series completely differently.
There were too many bad guys in Sloan’s life, which had driven him to live off the grid. Jack could take them out. She was invincible until Logan, then everything had spun out of control. She began to care. A dangerous thing for an assassin. Deadly. Logan refused to leave her alone. He battered at the walls Jack had built around her until one night, imprisoned alone with Logan, all her defenses came crashing down.
Jesse inhaled their story. It was her story. Hers and Sloan’s. She’d done all of that to him. Destroyed his defenses and made him care. Brought love back into his life. He was no longer willing to just exist.
His words rang with truth and seduced her with their vulnerability. By the time she was finished, tears streamed down her face.
He loved her. Erich Sloan actually loved her.
Quickly, she gathered up the pages and placed them back in the box. Grabbing the book, she locked up the office, and ran for her car.
Where the hell was she?
Sloan paced the length of the room. It was late, well early the next day, and he hadn’t been able to sleep knowing that Jesse had The Final Mission. The only copy. Maybe he should think about getting a computer and a backup drive?
What if Jesse didn’t get it? No, she’d get it. She was a huge fan of the series, but what if she didn’t like it? What if, after reading The Final Mission, she didn’t want him?
Words were all he had. He’d laid out his heart in the pages of that book. He didn’t know how to tell her how much she meant to him, how much she’d always meant to him, and why he’d been such an ass. Not that it excused any of his behavior.
Christ.
He ran his hand through his hair surprised again, when it ended at his nape. He felt naked without the beard and long hair. She had to get that too. He’d bared himself for her.
Yet she hadn’t come.
He stopped pacing and faced the windows. Kachemak Bay glowed in the moonlight. Glaciers, craggy mountains, and the glistening ocean lay in front of him. It was stunning, one of the best views Alaska had to offer—and there were many—but he couldn’t appreciate it. Not without Jesse. Would he appreciate anything ever again without her in his life?
A soft knock sounded in the quiet. He didn’t know if he’d imagined it or not, but he rushed to open the door just in case. Jesse stood there, clutching his book to her chest, her eyes wet. The tracks of her tears ran down her cheeks.
Oh, God, I’ve ruined everything.
“Can I come in?” she prompted, her voice raspy with emotion, when he just stood there looking at her.
He pulled her in to the room, shutting and locking the door behind her. He wasn’t letting her leave now that she’d actually arrived.
“Goddamn it, don’t cry.” He took the book from her arms and tossed it onto the desk.
She made a squeak of distress. “Don’t treat The Final Mission like that.” She moved toward the desk to rescue the book, and he grabbed her, his hands clutching her upper arms.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “All that matters is you.” He stared into her eyes wishing he could tell what she was thinking, what she was feeling, other than seeing the fucking tears. “Please, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Well, you did make me cry. I’ve cried a lot over you in the past, and I’ll probably cry more in the future. You’ll have to get used to it. I cry every now and then, not often, but it happens.”
“Okay. I’ll deal.” Hope began to heat his cold heart, and he gently wiped away her tears. “You came.”
She nodded. “I couldn’t stay away.”
He cupped her face. “Break your promise to me, Jesse. Please. Tell me you love me again, that I haven’t ruined everything.” He held his breath, hoping against hope that her showing up meant what he prayed it meant.
“I love you, Erich Sloan.” She smiled through her tears, and he could see all the love she felt for him. He didn’t deserve any of it, but he sure as hell would take it anyway.
His k
nees gave out and he fell at her feet. He grasped her tight, his head pressing into her stomach as emotion choked him.
She ran her fingers through his shorn hair. “I’ll need you to grow this out again, along with the beard. You know that, right?”
He made a sound that was part laugh and part sob. If he weren’t careful, he’d be crying along with her.
“You’ll have to marry me in order to make those kinds of demands,” he said. And since he was on his knees anyway, he released her and took her hand. “You’ve bushwhacked me, woman. The only way I’ll recover is if you’ll marry me and promise to spend your life with me.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. I’m on my knees. How much more serious do you expect me to be?” He frowned.
She soothed his frown away. “Where would we live?”
He blanched. Oh, God. Civilization? “I could probably handle Homer as long as we spend a lot of time at the cabin.”
“Like maybe weekends and holidays?”
“Really?” His eyes widened. He hadn’t expected her to give him that much time.
“I love your cabin on Whisper Lake. I have very fond memories of the place and the wild man who lives there.” She ran her hand over his smooth-shaven jaw. “Think your wild man can handle my wild woman?”
He shook his head in disbelief as joy radiated from his heart throughout his body. He was giddy with it, and he didn’t think he’d ever been giddy. He liked this feeling. “Your wild woman has already tamed this wild man.”
It was her turn to shake her head as she pressed her lips against his in a soft kiss. “I’m sure there’s a way to coax him out to play.” She licked her lips.
Sloan stood and gathered Jesse up in his arms. “If wild is what you want, wild is what you’ll get.”
She squealed as he tossed her onto the bed.
He fell on top of her, his arms holding her tight against him. “You didn’t answer my question.” From this moment on, there would be nothing hanging between them.
“Tell you what. I’ll marry you as soon as you can get Cin’s permission.”
He smiled. “Done.”
She raised her brows. “You don’t seem concerned about that. She’s a tough nut to crack.”
“She loves you. When she understands how much I love you, there’ll be no problem.”
“You love me?” she gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Of course I do. What did you think this was all about?”
“You never said the words.”
“I wrote you a hundred thousand words in less than two months.” He gestured to the book lying on the desk. “That’s not an easy feat.”
“I need to hear them too. Often. Not just read them.”
He relaxed into her, his mouth hovering over hers. “Every day. I promise to tell you how much I love you, every damn day.”
“Every damn day,” she repeated back to him.
He kissed her, sealing the promise. One he’d never give her a reason to break.
THE END
FIREWEED
Tiffinie Helmer
Chapter One
Go away.
West McAllister prayed as he watched the woman walk up the path. He waited, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that his body shook with it.
This shed was the perfect place for him to hold up and rest for a bit. Give him a breather so that he could continue outsmarting the Alaska State Troopers and US Marshalls who hunted him down. If they caught him this time, he was dead for sure. He was lucky they hadn't killed him this morning.
He peered through the missing chinking of the weathered logs. The woman continued up the path with long confident strides as if homing in on him.
Come on. Turn around.
She was attractive in that natural sort of way. Red hair restrained in a messy pony tail with wavy curls working their way free, softened the strong bones of her face. She was tall and fit and what he'd always pictured Amazon women to look like. He'd put her around five-eleven, maybe even six feet. He loved strong, capable women as he didn't feel like he'd break them in bed with his six-five, two hundred and forty hardened frame.
West crouched in the corner—difficult for a man his size. His hand curled around the wooden handle of a shovel he didn't want to use. But he wasn't going back to prison. There was no room for him to escape out the back door to the building, and no windows.
She shouldn't be here.
The shed had looked abandoned, housing a random assortment of buckets, tools, and harnesses. Not that much different than a shack his grandfather would have had on the farm in Idaho where he'd spent time as a kid chasing cows and chickens without a care. The property he was now on resembled a farm, but Alaskan style. He'd seen the 'No Trespassing' sign proclaiming the area a wildlife rehabilitation habitat. Perfect for him as he was now a convict. Make that an escaped convict. So 'wild' and in need of 'rehabilitation' definitely applied.
The door creaked open on its rusty hinges. He held his breath and didn't move a muscle.
The woman bustled in, her faded blue t-shirt stretched tight across her ample breasts. Her worn jeans looked as soft as buckskin as they hugged her ass and long legs. She had a figure that had him remembering the pinups of the forties his grandfather had collected. Buxom was the word. The pant legs of her jeans were tucked into scarred Xtratufs, and she had a gun strapped to her belt along with a knife scabbard.
He could use both weapons. They'd go a long way in helping him survive the days, probably weeks, ahead. Good thing it was summer in Alaska and he didn't have winter to contend with. Though he had more daylight to hide from than he'd prefer. It wasn't like he could walk into the store in Seward and buy what weapons he needed. Hell, he had no money, was wearing prison garb, and would be picked up faster than a whore with a ship-full of sailors docking into port.
The woman gave him her back, reaching for a wheeled cart set up with old coffee cans and began opening the buckets, scooping grain.
All he had to do was grab her from behind, liberate her weapons, leave her unharmed, and get the hell out of here. He inched from the corner shadows of the corner and before he could blink, she swiveled and aimed the gun at him.
"Don't move or you’re a dead man," she ordered in a voice dark like molasses. It backed up the unwavering hold she had on the gun.
He'd never been good at listening. In one quick move he knocked her arm aside. The gun fired, but the bullet thudded into the log wall behind him. Before he recovered from the shock that she'd actually shot at him, he was deflecting a kick to his groin. Just in time, he moved so the force of her booted-foot connected with the inside of his thigh instead of his balls.
Shit, that would leave a bruise.
He barreled toward her like a linebacker, and they crashed out of the shed, falling on the gravel pathway and rolling into the sweetly-scented newly-cut grass.
He had one hand on her wrist, keeping her from shooting at him again, while trying to subdue without hurting her. Right, he'd have an easier job wrestling a grizzly. She didn't fight like any woman he'd ever met. She fought like a man. One without a code. He was pinched, scratched, bit, kicked, and punched. But she didn't scream. It was like she concentrated all her energies on defeating him and if he wasn't careful she would.
Her thighs split open and her legs vised around his hips.
Holy shit, she had a grip.
She rolled with him. He grabbed her other hand and tried to breathe as the strength of her legs squeezed the air out of him.
He twisted and pried the gun out of her hand and held it under her chin, forcing her head back. "Enough," he panted. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You expect me to buy that?"
"I just need your help."
"People who ask for help don't do it with a gun."
"I'm in an...unique...situation."
"I'd say."
He felt the sharp point of the knife at his waist. Fuck. He'd forgotten abo
ut the knife she carried on her belt. This woman was cagey. He started to like her and as crazy as it seemed, his smaller brain liked her too.
"Really?" She raised a brow.
And that sardonic brow turned him on even more.
"I could gut you right now," she said. Eyes the deep blue of Resurrection Bay flashed with intent.
"I could shoot you," he countered.
"You said you didn't want to hurt me."
"I said I didn't want to, not that I wouldn't if I needed to." He couldn't help pressing his erection against her heat. It had been a long time since he'd been between the legs of a woman and this woman would be an experience he didn't think he'd ever forget. "Yaouch!"
"You poke me, I'm going to poke you. Now get off of me."
"You'll have to unwrap your legs from around me first, though I am enjoying how well we fit together."
She made a disgusted sound. "You're coming on to me? While holding a gun on me."
"Sorry, really didn't mean to. Sometimes a man's body thinks for itself and you're a...very attractive woman."
She sucked in a breath and something like panic flashed in her eyes, but her voice was full of bravado. "Well...just stop it."
"Trying."
"Try harder."
He attempted to think of lost puppies and crotchety old women, but being held so tight between her legs there was no settling him down. "Loosen your hold on me. Slowly." He sharpened his tone and pressed the barrel of the gun under her jaw, forcing her head to the side with the pressure.
She swallowed and blinked in rapid succession. She was doing a good job of hiding her fear. While he didn't want to scare her, it seemed a necessary evil. If he didn't find a place to lie low—a change of clothes at the very least—and some supplies he was a dead man for sure.
"You're forgetting I have a knife on you," she said.
"Believe me, I haven't forgotten." How could he when she'd nicked him enough to burn, which meant he was bleeding. He just didn't know how badly. "Maybe you don't understand how desperate I am. I will kill you. But I would rather not destroy such a beautiful face."
Wild Women of Alaska Collection Page 17
