Don’t Walk Away
The woman he loved held a knife at his throat.
He was on his knees, on a filthy street and she stood behind him. Close. So close he could smell her skin. So close he could reach out and touch her…finally. After all of this time…
He could still remember how she had felt in his arms, how she had felt against him, under him. Damn, he’d loved her—loved her still. Wanted her still. Would have given anything to pull her into his arms.
Except there was the small matter of the knife in her hand. And he suspected she probably hated his guts. Somehow, he doubted the knife was her way of telling him how much she missed him.
He wanted to see her. But he held still. Her hand was shaking. He could feel it, feel the sharp edge of the blade pressing into his skin. If he moved too quick, she just might lay his neck wide open.
“Bastard.” It was the first thing she’d said since she’d come up behind him. It was dim in the narrow alley tucked between two low, squat buildings, Ethan Raintree had no trouble recognizing her voice.
“Hello, Celeste.”
Code Word: Storm
“You tried to gain entry again last night?”
“Yep. And I have a lump on my head to prove it.”
Normally, nothing could keep her out of a secured building, but Michael Bender wasn't your usual arms-dealing, bank-robbing, terrorist scum. No, this slimeball sold his services to the highest bidder, and he used the spirit world to do his evil work.
Making matters worse, he left behind no proof and no footprints, which had made charging him with any crime impossible for regular authorities. But ACRO had the resources to nail his ass to the wall, and now that they were certain he’d been responsible for several consulate bombings and political assassinations, he’d become ACRO’s number one target.
They’d been after him for months, and now that Annika had trapped him, he'd used his supernatural talents to make his house impenetrable—anyone trying to break in was going to get their asses kicked by things they couldn't fight...or see.
Sure, Annika could charge her body up to dissipate a ghost's energy, and usually, that was enough. But apparently, the entities Mike had enslaved could actually manipulate electricity, and the last time Annika had gone up against them, they'd drained her power and whacked her on the head with a brick.
“Understood,” Dev said. “I've got backup on the way. Play nice.”
The way her boss had said, “Play nice,” sent tingles of both dread and anticipation up her spine, because she knew exactly who he'd deployed for this mission.
“Creed,” she breathed, hating the way his name rolled so sensuously off her tongue. “You're sending that—”
“I know there's no love lost there,” he interrupted, “but you two need to deal with it.” The sound of Dev tapping on his computer keyboard came over the secure line, followed by a curse. “Gotta go. Creed should be there any minute. Don't kill him.”
DEADLY DESIRES
By Sydney Croft and Shiloh Walker
Copyright © 2013 by Sydney Croft and Shiloh Walker
Initial copyright 2011
Stories Initially Published in The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance
Cover Art by Angela Waters
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and aren’t to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Don't Walk Away
By Shiloh Walker
Chapter One
The woman he loved held a knife at his throat.
He was on his knees, on a filthy street and she stood behind him. Close. So close he could smell her skin. So close he could reach out and touch her…finally. After all of this time…
He could still remember how she had felt in his arms, how she had felt against him, under him. Damn, he’d loved her—loved her still. Wanted her still. Would have given anything to pull her into his arms.
Except there was the small matter of the knife in her hand. And he suspected she probably hated his guts. Somehow, he doubted the knife was her way of telling him how much she missed him.
He wanted to see her. But he held still. Her hand was shaking. He could feel it, feel the sharp edge of the blade pressing into his skin. If he moved too quick, she just might lay his neck wide open.
“Fucking bastard.” It was the first thing she’d said since she’d come up behind him. It was dim in the narrow alley tucked between two low, squat buildings, Ethan Raintree had no trouble recognizing her voice.
“Hello, Celeste.”
*
Hello, Celeste, he says.
She glared at the back of his head, hardly able to believe her ears. Her hand was shaking and she could hardly breathe. This wasn’t happening.
Hello, Celeste.
Ethan.
Ethan Raintree was here. This wasn’t really happening, was it? Couldn’t be happening, because if it was…
No.
Her throat burned, ached, and her heart raced. Her hands were sweating and the one holding the knife was shaking something awful. She needed to move. Or say something. Do something.
Oh, shit. This was happening, wasn’t it?
He was here. In Belle, Texas. Why?
She’d only know the answer to that, though, if she actually asked him. Does it matter?
Yes, she realized, it did. If she wanted those answers, she had to say something. Except she didn’t know what.
*
“Bastard.”
“You already said that. Are we going to stay like this all night or are you going to use that knife?” Ethan asked. Part of him wondered if she could.
“Don’t tempt me,” she whispered. There was an underlying thread of steel in her voice. His heart broke a little at the sound. She’d been so soft once, so untouched. No more. The ugliness of his world had bled over into hers.
Yes. She could use the knife. He hated that he might be responsible for that. But would she? Ethan didn’t know. In that moment, he didn’t know if he’d even stop her.
Tense moments passed but eventually, she lowered the knife and backed away.
Slowly, Ethan came to his feet and turned to face her. The sight of her now did the same thing to him as it had the first time he’d seen her—it was a punch straight to his heart, straight to his soul…and even as he wanted to cuddle her close, protect her from the entire world, all the blood drained straight from his brain down to his cock and he wanted to take her, mark her, brand her…claim her.
She’d caused that reaction then; she caused it again now.
He still wanted her. He still loved her. Ethan imagined he’d go to his grave loving her. Wanting her.
Nearly eleven years had passed since he had first met her. Ten years since he had walked away. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he hadn’t had much choice. After he’d destroyed her life, leaving her alone was the least he could have done.
A decade…she’d changed.
He had as well, in some ways. But he still loved her. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here, on this day, in this sad, run-down excuse for
a town—Belle, Texas.
Belle was French for beautiful, but the town was anything but. Small and bedraggled, it was ugly as sin, poor as dirt and still struggling to catch up to the current century. But Ethan wasn’t here for the ambience. He was here because he’d known she’d be, too.
It was the anniversary of the day her grandmother had died. Every year on the second day of July, like clockwork, Celeste traveled to Belle to visit her grandmother’s grave.
Ethan knew. Every year for the past nine years, he’d been here on this day if at all possible. Before he had left the Army, he’d missed the date twice. During the five years since then, he hadn’t missed it once.
Up until now, she hadn’t ever seen him.
Judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t overly pleased about running into him. What in the hell was I thinking? he wondered.
She’d been leaving the small diner at the center of town and when she’d glanced his way, instead of melting back into the crowd, he’d lingered, just long enough for her to see him. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised she’d come after him or not, although he had been when she’d taken his feet out from under him a few minutes ago. He might have asked about that, if she hadn’t looked at him with such venom in her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, glaring at him. Anger flashed in the depths of her dark eyes.
Ethan jerked a shoulder in a restless shrug, uncertain how to answer. Did he tell her it was because he’d known she’d be there? That he’d come so he could see her, for just a few seconds? And he’d been doing it for years?
Stalker, much?
Celeste narrowed her eyes and said, “You know, I’m pretty sure the Army Rangers aren’t in big demand around these parts. So what in the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m not with the Army anymore,” he said.
She blinked, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she looked a little caught off-guard. She recovered quickly though and gave him a cocky smirk. “Well, that would explain how you ended up on your knees in an alley, I guess. You getting rusty, Ethan? Letting somebody like me sneak up on you?”
“I heard you behind me.” And if he’d turned around just five seconds earlier, she wouldn’t have taken him out like that. He hadn’t because he’d needed a few moments to level out. By the time he’d thought he could look at her without letting her see his every emotion written on his face, she’d already got the jump on him.
“Bully for you.” Her grin took on a mean slant and she said, “So did you let me put you down? If so, why don’t we do it again? Maybe after a few dozen repeats, I’ll feel better.”
If he believed that, he just might have let her. He stared at her, hungry for the sight of her, and so much more. He wanted to feel those long, slender fingers running through his hair, curling around the back of his neck and stroking his skin as he kissed her. Then he wanted to wrap the dark wealth of her hair around his wrist, tug her head back and stare at her, just stare at her for a long, long while before he stripped her naked.
Then he’d make love to her, long and slow. Or maybe fast and hard, first. It had been so damn long—
Focus, Ethan. Focus!
Celeste stared at him, her eyes dark and guarded. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said quietly, shaking her head.
“Like what?”
“Like you used to look at me. Like you thought I hung the moon and the stars.”
“I did.” They hadn’t had much time together during their relationship, only stolen moments when he could get away for a day or two, and one memorable trip to Cancun when he had been on leave. That was right before it all fell apart. Right before he found out who she was.
Celeste Harper was a bit of a pampered princess.
He’d always known that, from the first time she’d walked into a nameless bar in the depths of Mexico City—a place she never should have gone. She’d gone out slumming, he supposed. When Celeste decided to do something, she did it right. She’d gone into that bar with her bodyguards, unconcerned with their disapproving looks and she’d sat right down, ordered herself a margarita.
Not too many men had dared approached, not with the bodyguards standing so close. Ethan, had he been wise, would have steered clear of her, too. If he’d been the smart guy he was supposed to be, he would have known she was trouble—a princess didn’t belong in a seedy little hell hole like that, especially one who wore a white silk dress that cost more than most people made in a month.
Hell, in Mexico, that dress probably cost more than most people made in a year.
She’d had two shadows at her back, but paid them so little attention Ethan had decided she was used to having silent bodyguards.
The bodyguards—shit. Even if he had been too dazed by Celeste, he should have taken a look at the two of them and run in the other direction. But he had glanced over and figured he knew why she had them. Princesses didn’t leave their castles without a couple of knights to watch over them. Instead, he had looked, wanted…taken. It wasn’t until much later that he realized who she was.
“Celeste Harper” was actually “Celeste Harper Jeffers,” the only daughter on Paul Jeffers. Although Ethan didn’t personally know the man, he’d heard of him; a drug lord whose specialty lay in creating derivatives of the date-rape drug, rohypnol.
Celeste had no idea about this.
Until Ethan had told her.
*
He shouldn’t still look that perfect, Celeste thought, more than a little disgusted at the way her body was reacting to him. It was like she was twenty-two all over again—that naïve little fool—and caught up in his spell.
“You never thought I hung the moon and stars,” she said, keeping her voice low and level when all she wanted to do was scream.
Lids lowered over his disconcertingly pale eyes, shielding them from her. He didn’t say anything, but that wasn’t a surprise. Ethan had never been one for explaining himself, or trying to convince people to listen. He said what he needed to and if people listened, fine. If not, he didn’t give a damn.
He’d tried to convince you. And he did give a damn…
He’d come to her. Asked her to come away with him. But she hadn’t heard a word he said. Hadn’t listened. Hadn’t wanted to believe. At the time, she couldn’t have believed him. She could admit that much now. Still, he hadn’t cared that much. If he had, he would have stayed, would have come back—
You pushed him away!
Shut up, she told herself. That quiet voice, even after all this time, tried to insist that Ethan hadn’t done anything wrong, that it had been a weird quirk of fate that had brought them together.
Just walk away. That was what she needed to do. Desperately. Walk away from him, get back on the bus and head back home. Of course, she didn’t really know where home was.
It certainly wasn’t the small house in Mesquite where she was currently living. She’d been there the past four months and was planning to move soon. Where, she didn’t know. All she did was wander now, living off the money left from her mother. Roaming mostly throughout the state of Texas—never once returning to Mexico. She loved it, but she couldn’t go back there. Never again. It wasn’t home, couldn’t ever be again.
No place was home. Not anymore.
Not for ten damn years, ever since she’d realized the truth.
Ever since Ethan had told her the truth…and shattered her life.
Watching him from under her lashes, she tucked her knife back inside her boot. There had been a time in her life when she never would have known how to handle the blade, but the past ten years had taught her a lot of things. She just wished some of those lessons would have included things like how to deal with seeing Ethan again.
She spent a few seconds smoothing out her jeans, and wished she could do something about the way her hands shook or her heart raced at the sight of him.
Slowly, she straightened and stared at him. For the past ten years, she’d wondered how she’d feel if she saw him agai
n. What it would be like to look at the man responsible for shattering everything she’d valued in her life. She’d clung to the notion that if she ever did, she’d pummel that perfect face of his bloody.
The bottom of her stomach gave out on her as she realized something.
She didn’t want to beat him bloody. She didn’t want to shriek, yell, punch. She wanted throw herself at him and feel those arms come around her, feel him tangle his fingers in her hair and pull her close. She wanted to hold him, wanted him to hold her.
This wasn’t a man she could blame for the death of her father.
This was the man she’d fallen in love with…the man she still loved. The man she missed.
Oh, no.
This is bad, bad, bad…
Setting her jaw, she crossed her arms over her chest. She bit the inside of her cheek. She made herself think about how terrible the first few years of her life had been after she learned about her father. She dredged up every bad memory that she could link to Ethan’s existence.
Nothing was working. She still wanted to run to him.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Baring her teeth at him, she asked in a cool tone, “So…was it you?”
Ethan cocked a brow at her. “Pardon?”
“Was it you? Are you the one who killed my father?”
The only reaction she saw was the faintest flicker of his eyelashes. His face never changed, no anger, no guilt, no surprise showed in his eyes. Nothing.
“I wasn’t involved with anything connected to Paul Jeffers,” he said. Then he lifted a brow and inclined his head. “Well, except for you. I was connected to you. That ended the day we ended.”
Was he lying? If he was, would she even be able to tell? She narrowed her eyes and watched him closely, looking for…she didn’t even know what. What did she expect to see? A glaring red sign that read: I’m a liar. Or maybe one that said: Yes, I did it. I killed him. You’re right to hate me.
Except she didn’t hate him. Damn it. She wanted to. Why couldn’t she hate him? And why couldn’t make herself not believe him?