“Say please.” She sucked on his lower lip, hips hovering above his penis.
“Please.” Both hands on her hips, he moved her down onto him. “Fuck me.”
Lost in the sensation of him filling her, she rocked over him. Eyes closed she immersed herself in the rhythm of moving over him, of his hands moving from her hips to her breasts and back again, of his hard chest beneath her palms.
“Can you feel me?” With him deep inside her, she reached behind and grabbed his balls. “Do you feel my touch?”
Hands back on her hips, he bit his lip and nodded. His back arched, fingers imprinted in her skin. He yelled her name, head back against the pillow.
He was deep within her, so deep. Hands on his chest, she lost herself in the sensation of his hands moving over her body as she moved over him with an intensity that sapped her strength.
She felt his body stiffen beneath hers and heard him call out her name as her body shuttered in orgasm. He bit her shoulder, hands molding to her flesh.
They laid in silence for minutes, listening to each other breathing.
“Tell me I didn’t break you,” she whispered against his shoulder, too limp to move.
“Not broken.” He held her in place. “Do not move. Please don’t move.”
Fear bolted through her at the idea of hurting him. Again. No self-control.
“Michael,” she whispered against his chin. “This was a bad idea.”
“Good idea.” He grinned. “It’s hard to remember what I can’t do sometimes. With anyone else, this would be a terribly embarrassing conversation.”
“You will never be with anyone else.” She bit his shoulder for saying such a thing. “You belong to me.”
“So true.” He pulled a strand of her hair from his mouth and dropped his hand against the back of her neck. “Likewise.”
She curled her body next to him, arms wrapping with his, head on his chest, leg curving over his waist, hair brushing over the bare skin of his arm.
“Tell me something now while you’re half-way to dreamland,” she said. “Nothing better than sleepy, sex-induced confessions.”
“I love you. Always have. Always will.” His fingers moved to her back. Up and down. Gentle.
“Keep telling me that, every day for the rest of our lives. Never stop telling me that,” she whispered against his neck.
“Committing any crimes later you want to warn me about?” He smiled against her forehead.
“No comment.”
“That’s what I thought.” His fingers drew lazy circles against her bare shoulder.
She smiled against his chest, enjoying the simplicity of being with the man she loved again. She traced his tattoo and thought of the words written in the eagle’s wings...death before dishonor. He was her hero, always would be. She only hoped she didn’t blow it with her reckless disregard for rules and common sense.
Chapter Eighteen
Huddled in the front of Marshall’s truck, she and Devon squinted through the dirty windshield toward Fiddlesticks Tavern. Marshall chugged an energy drink before laughing at the two of them.
“I’ve never seen two women so intent on getting themselves into trouble,” he said.
“We’re not getting ourselves into trouble,” Devon answered, “we’re going to watch you getting yourself into trouble, remember?”
“Yeah, we couldn’t think of anyone else who looked…um…the part.” She laughed at Marshall’s pained expression.
His long black hair skimmed the shoulder of his black t-shirt covered by a black leather vest. He rubbed his palms over the knees of his black jeans as he laughed at them.
“The things I do for beautiful women,” he muttered.
“We’d go with you but…we can’t after Tuesday night’s fiasco in the park,” she said. “I wanted to wear a wig, but Devon thought I looked ridiculous.”
“You did look ridiculous.” Devon shook her head. “But I don’t.” From beneath the seat, she produced a short platinum blonde wig and shoved her dark hair beneath it. “See? I look stunning.”
“What? You can’t leave me out here by myself.” Envy for them going inside beat loud in her heart.
“Control freak,” Devon muttered. “I’m the photographer. I know how to get secret shots.” She clipped a small camera into the cleavage of her purple blouse. “You just sit here and soak up the information we transmit. Even a hot shot network It Girl should be able to handle that.”
“Keep your feet off the dash,” Marshall instructed with a wink before stepping from the truck.
“Devon,” she reached for her friends’ arm, “you can’t go in. What if the guys who attacked us are in there and recognize you?”
“They won’t. Stay here. Text us if you sense trouble out here, okay? By the way, I’m glad you got some sleep. You look more human than you did this afternoon.” She slammed the door in her face before she had a chance to answer.
Crouched low in the seat with her laptop opened on
her knees, she watched as Marshall looped his arm over Devon’s shoulder. When her cell phone rang, she nearly screamed.
“Shane,” she answered.
“You sound pissed,” Michael said. “I guess I’ve failed on my mission as your keeper for the night.”
“Michael,” she said, caught off-guard. She’d felt guilty as hell for sneaking out at midnight, but he’d been sleeping so soundly and the idea of Devon getting a jump on the story had bothered her more than it should.
“Yeah, I woke up alone in a big bed with a dog gnawing on what I think is a stuffed squirrel. Where are you?”
“Do you need help?” God, she was the worst wife ever. He probably needed assistance, medication, or something. Damn it. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay.” He sounded irritated at the question. “Where are you?”
Keeping her gaze on the backs of her friends until they disappeared into the biker bar, she sank lower in the seat. “It doesn’t matter. I’m being forced to remain in the truck like a child.”
“Ah, I see. You’re missing out on getting into trouble. No wonder you sound pissed.” Amusement replaced the irritation in his voice.
She moved the laptop to the driver’s seat and pressed record. She could see the inside of the bar from the two secret cameras Marshall and Devon wore. Chewing her lower lip, she reached for her battered floppy hat that had seen more action than most humans had in one lifetime.
“I can’t really talk right now. I’ll be home soon. I walked Dude before I left so he’s good.” She leaned her back against the passenger door without taking her eyes off of the laptop screen.
“What are you doing? Why are you whispering?”
“I’m not whispering.” She cleared her throat and pulled the brim of the hat lower onto her forehead. “What are you doing? Let me guess...you caught up with Marshall and Devon, right? Liven up my evening…tell me where you are.”
She smiled when the screen showed Devon holding up a peace sign in front of the hidden camera. Marshall leaned his head on Devon’s lap and grinned.
“They’re really going to blow this,” she muttered.
“Who is blowing what? What’s going on?”
“It’s complicated. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.” She shifted in her seat and turned up the volume of the laptop so she could hear what was being said.
“You’re safe, though, right? No thugs lurking nearby?”
Well, that was questionable. She squinted at the backs of a few thug-like individuals lurking outside the door of the bar.
She blew out a long breath before answering. “Marshall and Devon are undercover in the bar and I’m outside with a laptop recording their every move. We’re hoping to catch the moneyman behind the human smuggling ring. Okay? Satisfied?”
“I can think of only one reason why you’re not inside yourself and it must be because you’re worried those men who attacked you could be there. Maybe Gannon? Am I right?”
“I really need to
go.”
“I’ll call back if you hang up. A vibrating cell phone will drive you crazy after awhile and I know you can’t turn it off in case your friends need you. Tell me I’m right.” He sounded too smug for her comfort.
“You know…on the phone you don’t sound any different from the same pain in the ass Colonel who used to give me hell on a daily basis.” She smiled despite her annoyance. “You’re right. Now will you hang up and let me work?”
“No.” He laughed softly. “I need to ask my wife a question.”
She leaned her head back against the passenger window and indulged in listening to his laugh. “I like it when you call me your wife.”
“Will you wake me up when you come home? If I’m sleeping, will you wake me up so that I know you’re home safely?”
She pulled her hat off and crumbled it in her lap. “Damn it, Michael, you make me so mad. Here I am sitting in Marshall’s truck outside of a seedy bar trying to be a cool tempered look out and you call me acting like a caring husband. You know, I think it’s better if we stop the mushy stuff. It’s not us. You’re breaking my focus.”
“Cool tempered look out?” He laughed. “God, I love you, Hope Shane Cedars. Promise me that you’ll never change, not for me or anyone.”
“You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever known.” She smiled at the memory of his naked body.
“Thank you. High compliment.”
“I should divorce you but that might make you happy.”
Someone who resembled the mayor pulled up on a motorcycle. She blinked again. It had to be him. The mayor of Denver? No way. Yet...she squinted again…it had to be him. She had met him a half a dozen times since returning to Denver.
“Um…I hate to change the subject, but I believe the break I’ve been looking for just pulled up and I need to let Devon know,” she said with more than a little regret.
“Stay safe, babe.”
“I’ll wake you when I get home.” A look at the laptop screen showed that Devon and Marshall were aware of who had just joined them inside. Now if they could only get a shot of money exchanging hands…of the person he was meeting…maybe they could wrap this thing up sooner rather than later.
She folded her cell phone just as she noticed a familiar shape walk toward the entrance. Maybe she hadn’t seen his face, but every nerve in her body screamed that that was the man who assaulted her.
Fear for Devon clogged her throat as she typed a text message warning her to be careful. No reply. Okay, she knew she had control issues. Being stuck in this car with a laptop paled significantly to being inside following the mayor and eavesdropping like the pro she was.
From the footage, she could see the mayor meeting with the mystery man, which solidified her suspicions. Nerves snapped over her spine. Goosebumps rose on her arms.
When she saw the mayor hand an envelope to the mystery man, the thrill of getting the story snapped through her veins like lightning. Oh, this was even bigger than she had ever imagined. This was huge. This would blow the lid off a smuggling ring that ran from San Diego to Denver. The mayor of Denver? Insane.
This would go national.
Humming to herself, she tapped her fingers on the laptop.
Devon sauntered out of the bar, her platinum wig catching the streetlights like a lighthouse beacon. She rolled her eyes when Marshall followed, his strut nothing short of absurd.
“They’re coming out,” Devon said in a rush when she pushed her way onto the seat. “I think we should follow the guy who received the payoff, find out who he is, where he lives, what do you say, It Girl?”
“Quit calling me It Girl, I hate that.” She saved the recordings before closing the laptop. “What do you think, Marshall? Who should we follow?”
“The mystery guy, of course.” He shot her a grin that spoke of his true rebel nature. “We know where the mayor lives. What did you think of his get up, by the way?”
“The man does not look good in leather.” Devon snorted and tossed her wig onto the floor. “I’m so happy you came back to Denver. Life had gotten dull without you around to stir up trouble.”
“I’m not stirring up anything…just reporting the facts.” A knot formed around her shoulders. “Here he comes.”
She shoved her trademark red hair deeper beneath the hat. Seeing the way he sauntered toward his car brought back the memory of him sliding his gun up her thigh.
“I can’t believe it’s only been a few days,” Devon whispered as if reading her mind.
“Me either. Seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Are you sure this is one of the guys who attacked you?” Marshall asked.
“I have a feeling…” She folded her arms over her chest and watched the taillights drive from the parking lot. Beside her, Devon had already removed another camera from beneath the seat.
“And that feeling tells you that we’re on the right track?” Marshall asked.
“It does.” She rested her hand on Marshall’s forearm. “Don’t let him see us. I want to catch this guy in a criminal act. I think it’s Gannon.”
“Same silver jag from this afternoon.” Devon snapped a photograph of the license plate.
“Looks like he’s headed toward Cherry Creek,” Marshall muttered. “It’s gotta be Gannon.”
She chewed the inside of her lip. “Why would he do his own dirty work, though?”
“Less loose ends?” Devon offered as she kept filming the car.
As they followed the Jag into Cherry Creek with its gated communities and high brick walls running along the streets, she knew this man was definitely the link she’d been searching for.
When he pulled into a gated driveway, they stopped along side the road. On impulse, she crawled over Devon and jumped from the truck. She needed more.
“What are you doing? He’ll see you,” Marshall said.
“I need to see his face, know for sure,” she said as she exited the car.
She jogged to the gate. She saw the man exit his car, stop and look over his shoulder toward her. Gannon. It was him. His motion lights gave her a clear view of the man who was threatening her stepson, her husband...the man who had shoved a gun up her dress and kicked her to the ground...the man who was trafficking sex slaves.
She clenched her hands at her sides, hid in the shadows and fought back the anger that rolled through her like a hot wall of lava. She smiled in the darkness when he hesitated before backing toward the house. Maybe he couldn’t see her, but she felt certain that he could feel her there. And the idea of him being afraid—even a little bit—satisfied her more than she could admit to anyone.
* * * *
He jolted awake, hands twisting in the sheets at his side. Sweat laced his body. Lungs heaved for air. Disorientated, he looked at the large bed, felt the soft sheets, heard the soft pattering of rain against the skylight, saw Dude staring at him from the doorway with his speckled ears perked up and eyes sharp.
Hope’s loft. Denver. The United States. He willed his pulse back to normal. He had had this recurring nightmare for months. But it was no dream. It was a memory.
“You okay?” Her hand fell against his chest. “Need a pill or something?”
He twisted his head against the pillow and blinked at her a few times before registering that she was real. It hadn’t been a dream. He was home in his bed with his wife. For the first time in recent memory, reality surpassed fantasy.
“You’re home,” he whispered as he tried to regain his mental equilibrium.
“Yeah, you and Dude were snuggling when I came home so I thought I’d let you be.” Her sleepy smile reminded him of the early days. “Do you need your meds? I have no idea where I put that list Becky gave me.”
He smoothed his hands over the sheets again, noticing how soft they were. It had been years since he’d been in a bed this comfortable with sheets like these and a woman like that. Correction. Until Hope, there hadn’t been a woman like that.
Despite the pain rippling through hi
s muscles, he grinned at the tangled mass of hair that fell around her bare shoulders, the sleepy look in her eyes, and the groggy sound of her voice.
“You always want to give me a pill. I think you’re obsessed with keeping me drugged,” he said.
“Seems like an easy solution to stop the screaming.” She sat up, the sheet falling to her waist as she stretched her arms above her head and squinted toward the light filtering across the room from the windows and overhead skylight.
“I was screaming?” He liked watching her wake-up--naked, off-guard, softer, messy, and 100% his. No one else vying for her time or attention. Just the two of them.
“A nightmare, I think, but then it changed to something more like agony.” She scrubbed a hand over her face before focusing on him. “What do you need me to do? Want me to rub your back? Get your meds? What?”
Morning sex seemed like too much to ask for when he hurt like hell and needed to somehow get himself to the bathroom. Not exactly Mr. Romance at the moment, he sighed. “I’ve missed seeing you first thing in the morning. You’re much tamer.”
“Tamer?” Eyebrow arched, she smiled and slid a finger down the middle of his chest. “I thought you liked my wild side.”
He caught her hand and held it against him. “You know what I mean. I don’t have to share you with anyone. I’m happy waking up with you again. It’s good.”
She leaned over and kissed his shoulder before sliding her hand free. She twisted away from him and felt around on the bedside table. “I can’t believe it’s morning. I haven’t slept through the night in months...maybe even a year, I don’t know. I didn’t even charge my phone...wasn’t thinking straight, I guess.”
He traced a finger down her bare back. She stopped moving.
“Don’t go,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere...just...” She looked over her shoulder and sighed. “Sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what time it is...no clock. I use my phone for everything so...that’s all. I wasn’t planning on leaving you.”