She cleared her throat. “Did the others make it?”
“Stu’s fine. We got Dylan. Doug was shot—”
“Oh, my God!” She froze, looking at him in shock.
He shook his head. “Only in the arm. He should be okay.”
She blew out her breath and rinsed out the washcloth before returning to her task. There were speckles of blood near his hairline and next to the outer corner of his left eye. “What about Karl and Molly?”
“I don’t know.” His voice rasped and he cleared his throat. “Karl was supposed to take Molly back to my cabin instead of meeting up. They should’ve both gotten away clear. At least I didn’t see them.”
He raised his eyebrows at her.
She shook her head. “Neither did I.”
Leaning closer, she peered at the dots across the bridge of his nose. His eyes were neon blue, beautiful and watchful. Almost painful to meet.
She cleared her throat. “Why did you bring me?”
“To get the diamonds.”
“I know that.” She wrinkled her nose at him as she gently wiped his forehead. “I meant, why me? Why not Becky or Haley Anne or even Walkingtall?”
“Because I wanted you here,” he said. “Because this is your town, too, now.”
For a moment she stared at him, her hands arrested. Her town? Did he really think that?
Did she?
She sat back, focusing on her hands as she rinsed the washcloth again. The water had turned pink. “What will you do when the storm clears?”
“Go after Beridze.”
“Alone?” She glanced up, worried. “Maybe if we just give him the stupid diamonds—”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “No. Beridze isn’t getting what he wants and he’s not leaving my town.”
“You’ll kill him?”
“Not unless I have to,” he said calmly. “I’m going to arrest him. Make sure he spends the rest of his life in prison.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Just like that?” he asked. “No arguments?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “I trust you to do what’s best, Sam.”
“Thanks. All done?”
“Just…” She dabbed at a smear on his chin, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.” He took the washcloth out of her hand and dropped it into the pot. Then he leaned forward and cradled her face between his palms and kissed her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The blood on his face should’ve disgusted May—it had Sam, that was for sure. But instead of turning away from him, she’d heated water and washed him with a tender gentleness that had made his heart hurt.
May, his May, was sharp and pointy on the outside and so soft on the inside.
“I want you,” he whispered against her lips. He didn’t know how to tell her what she meant to him—what he wanted her to mean to him. What they could be together. So he only repeated what words he had: “I want you.”
She didn’t reply, but she opened her mouth beneath his and that was answer enough for the moment. He took what she offered: the slick, soft inside of her mouth, her sharp teeth, and the tongue that slid against his.
He shoved his fingers into her hair, pulling her closer, and felt the short strands alternately soft and bristling, against his palms. Like her.
Like her.
His cock was pulsing against his zipper and he wanted her. He laid her down on Hopkins’s old carpet, shrugging out of his parka so she had something beneath her head.
She stared up at him, her eyes dark and mysterious, as he pulled off her boots and coat. She lifted her hips so he could tug down her jeans and the long underwear he’d lent her this morning. He smiled when he saw she was wearing sexy little red panties.
She sniffed, but then her eyes softened.
“Here,” she whispered, hushed, like a little girl telling a secret.
She unbuttoned the chambray shirt she wore, eyes lowered, a smile flirting with her mouth.
He couldn’t resist that mouth. He bent and kissed the corner, as she murmured in protest, “Wait a minute.”
But he couldn’t wait. He mouthed down the column of her neck as she fumbled with the buttons wriggling beneath him. He nearly laughed until her shirt parted and he realized she was wearing the tiny red bra that’d fallen out of her suitcase this morning.
He reared back to get a good look: May lying on his parka, waiting for him, wearing that sexy bra and a scowl on her face. The deep red of the bra made her skin look like new fallen snow—so pretty it made his eyes hurt.
He traced the upper edge of the bra where tiny little rhinestones sparkled. “My, my, Ms. Burnsey, what you wear beneath your clothes.”
She scowled harder. “I like nice things. There’s nothing wrong with—”
She gasped as he bent to run his tongue along her breast where it met the bra’s edge, and he smiled against her silken skin to think he’d made her lose her words. He followed the bra cup down between her breasts. There was a thin little cord holding the two cups together, and on it was a little silver bow. He caught it between his teeth and tugged gently, but it didn’t taste near as good as her skin, so he kissed back up the other breast, staying right outside the bra.
Her breasts quivered beneath his lips, warm and alive. That bra was pretty, all right, he couldn’t deny it, but when he palmed one breast all he felt was foam and nylon. He traced up the red strap, so thin and delicate, to where her collarbone winged into her shoulder.
“Sam,” she protested.
“Shhh,” he replied. No point in hurrying this, and besides, he kind of liked the idea of teasing her.
Just a bit.
He slipped one finger beneath the strap, pulling it down her shoulder until it hung, useless on her arm. He was amused to see that the bra cup on that side moved not a bit.
“Bet they have NASA scientists design these things.”
She blinked up at him adorably—though he was smart enough not to tell her. “What?”
“Never you mind,” he whispered, running his tongue experimentally beneath the cup.
It was warm in there and he could taste the salt of her skin.
He slid the other bra strap down, then pushed the bra down beneath her breasts, cupping them in his hands.
Her nipples were already drawn tight.
He bent to suck one into his mouth and felt his cock jolt against his jeans. He reached down and unzipped and unbuttoned himself, shoving his jeans down a bit to let his dick free.
May moaned and clenched her thighs around his left leg, and he realized that he had no condom.
“Fuck.”
“What?” Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dazed.
“Nothing.” He moved to her other nipple. He’d just make do because he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop this.
He shoved his upper leg into her mound, grinding gently as he rubbed his bare cock against her thigh. He pulled back to look at her tits. Her nipples were a deep, rosy brown, gleaming wet in the firelight.
He took her hands and guided them to her breasts. “Pinch them for me.”
She bit her lip, looking shy for once as she did as she was told.
He watched for a moment, feeling his blood pounding, his breaths deepening, then he slid down her body. Her belly was so smooth, so soft, as he mouthed around her belly button. He framed her hips, feeling his need growing. He could smell her core, and he knew if he told her that she’d be horrified, but the truth was the scent of her made him horny as hell.
He caught the sides of her panties with his fingertips and dragged them down her hips and off her legs. She was wet already, the black curls sodden.
“C’mon,” he whispered, “make a place for me, darlin’.”
She spread her legs wide and he could see her pussy now, dark red and glistening, her clitoris swollen, and he grinned, fierce and feral.
He gathered her legs in his arms, scooping them over his shoulders, and cradled her ass in his hands.
r /> He glanced up once to see her watching him, her hands still, and he shook his head, unable to smile. “Keep pinching yourself.”
She swallowed, her throat fluttering, and then he closed his eyes as he licked into the heart of May.
She moaned, and he felt the sound vibrate against his tongue. He kissed all around her clit, sloppy, openmouthed kisses that smeared her slick over his face. He was rutting against the parka on the floor as he licked her, driven half insane by her smell, by the sounds she made as he ate her out, by his own want building. Her legs were moving restlessly on his shoulders, and he gripped them tight as he drove into her center, tongue-fucking her. She went completely rigid, trembling all around him, and then she screamed.
God damn.
He let down her legs gently and knelt up over her, hastily smearing his right hand in her come before fisting his cock. She was moaning continuously, her fingers still twisting her nipples, as she lay before him, her legs sprawled, her pussy sodden, and he’d never seen anything in his life so hot. But it wasn’t until he saw the slit of her eyes, knew that she was watching him with his hand on his cock that he broke.
He bowed, the orgasm like a punch in his gut, and grunted, winded as his come streaked across her belly and thighs.
“God,” he gasped, half-falling on her. He fumbled to clean the mess he’d made of her. She must think him a complete jerk, but his hand touched hers and he looked up.
Her eyes were half closed, and she had a wicked little smile curling her lips as she licked her fingers. It took him a minute—wasn’t like his brain was functioning too well at the moment—but then he realized she was licking his come off her belly.
Jesus Christ, if he hadn’t just come, he would’ve blown.
He bent to kiss her and tasted his own semen on her lips, which was kind of gross, but really hot, too. “You’re going to kill me.”
May laughed, her eyes crinkling, her face flushed, and he knew suddenly that he loved her. That he always had loved her and always would love her until the day he died.
He kissed her laughing mouth, wanting to keep this moment forever.
When he raised his head she was watching him, a puzzled look in her eyes. “Sam.” She raised her hand and touched the side of his face. He wondered if she knew how much she revealed by that gesture alone—if she’d draw back if she knew.
Her hand dropped and the moment was gone. She shivered.
He got up and put himself back together then bent and picked up the pot of water. He went to the door and tossed it out before packing the pot with more snow.
When he turned, she was struggling with her bra.
He set the pot by the fire and knelt in front of her. “Here.”
“I can do it,” she snapped.
“I know.” He gently batted her hands aside and bent to kiss each nipple. Then he pulled the cups of her bra up over her breasts.
When he glanced up, she was watching him.
She hastily looked away and reached for her panties.
“Wait.” He grabbed one of the washcloths from the pile she’d brought out earlier and wet it in the melting snow. “Lay back down.”
She arched an eyebrow, but she did as he said. There was something he liked about May following his directions. She so rarely agreed with anything, the victory was all the sweeter when she did.
Carefully he wiped her thighs, ignoring her muffled exclamation. The water was cold, but he knew she’d appreciate it anyway. He washed her gently, this most delicate part of her. It made him feel good. Protective. When he was done he helped her into the shirt, socks, and long underwear again, but when he reached for her jeans, she shook her head.
“Leave them.”
He looked at her.
“Just…” She held out her arms to him.
He lay down next to her on the hard floor and gathered her into his arms. He’d never felt more at peace.
Then she turned her head to look at him and said, “Tell me about Afghanistan?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Maisa watched Sam. She knew that asking about Afghanistan was going to sink her deeper emotionally with this man.
But maybe that was okay.
Maybe for once she should stop thinking so much and just let things happen. That was kind of hard for her, actually. She was the type who liked lots of control, lots of information. Except what if she simply couldn’t control this thing between them?
It was a scary thought.
And still she wanted to know what had happened to Sam in Afghanistan—even if it meant taking their relationship a step further. What made him look so haunted when she’d found that photo. Why she’d known, deep in her bones, that he’d needed to be comforted this afternoon after he’d killed that mafiya thug. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the two weren’t linked at all and had nothing to do with his stint in the army.
Oh, damn it. Forget all her reasons and reasonings. She just wanted to know.
Wanted to know Sam.
Her hand, laying on his chest, clenched at the thought, and Sam, who hadn’t said anything this whole time, she realized now, covered it with his own.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, and his voice was dead flat.
Well, that was intimidating, but it wasn’t like she was easily scared away or anything. She raised her head to look him in the eye. “I want to know if you killed anyone over there.”
He blinked, maybe at her terrible bluntness. “Yes.”
She laid her head back down on his shoulder so she could hear his heartbeat and know that he’d survived whatever had happened. “Tell me.”
His hand tightened for a moment over hers and she wondered if he’d resist her.
Then he sighed. “It was a long time ago, May.”
She kept silent, waiting.
“There were five of us,” he began at last. “Well, five that went out. We were part of a larger unit, stationed in one of those valleys over there, but just five were sent to a little village, really just a bunch of huts. There were rumors that the Taliban had a cache of arms buried there.” He brushed his free hand through his hair. “You have to understand. We would go looking for arms or insurgents and most of the time we’d just be scaring farmers—old men, women at home. People trying to go about their daily lives in a war zone. Usually we never found anything and ended up being screamed at by housewives.”
She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady, because she knew the time he was talking about was different.
“There was Zippy and Enrico, Frisbee and King, and me. I was in charge because I had rank as a lieutenant. It was my mission.”
He paused and she could hear him swallow.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“There was a farmhouse and a little corral with some goats, a few chickens, and a cow—an old, bony thing. A little boy came out to meet us. He knew ‘Hi’ and ‘Okay,’ and that was all of his English. I gave him a pack of gum. He followed us and we went to look at the outbuildings—really a bunch of sheds. Nothing there. Didn’t expect any different.”
He took another breath, slow and shaky.
“Enrico had been bitching about his feet all day—we’d had to hike forty-five minutes to get to that place—and he sat down to pull off his boots. They shot him with one boot off. Turned out there were Taliban in the farmhouse—I don’t know if they were holed up there or if we’d surprised them or what—but they started shooting. Enrico was dead. Zippy got hit in the hip. Frisbee and King dragged him into one of the sheds while I radioed for help.”
He stopped and she waited, but he didn’t say anything more.
When she raised her face she saw that his eyes were wet. She swallowed, shocked. “Sam…”
“They all died. That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it?” His words were hostile, but his tone continued flat. “The shed wasn’t worth a damn as cover—bullets went right through it. Frisbee was shot in the neck and died pretty much instantly. Ki
ng was hit in the jaw. But Zippy, well, Zippy bled out. I put pressure on the wound, but it just kept on bleeding and it was too high for a tourniquet. Took him two hours.”
“How did you survive?” She’d never tell him, but she was happy—fiercely happy—that he had lived, even if his friends had not.
She felt him shrug. “Dumb luck, mostly. There really wasn’t a good reason I made it out and not them. We were all trained well, all experienced soldiers. They got shot. I didn’t.”
His grip had loosened as he talked and she turned her hand taking his thumb between her fingers, rubbing it. He had callouses at the first knuckle and at the base.
“It got close to nightfall, and I figured they’d rush me when it got dark and I’d be gone, too, because there wasn’t anywhere to go. I could try hiding in the hills, but it wasn’t like it was my home turf—and in the dark? Nope. I was ready for it, too. Made my peace. Was going to make it damn hard for them if nothing else, and what do you think but backup arrived?” He inhaled and his voice got hard and she heard something in it she’d never heard from Sam: sarcasm. “Took out everyone in the farmhouse, probably the kid as well, and there I was not even a scratch on me and my CO thumping me on the back, telling me what a great job I’d done. Why, that farmhouse and the half-dozen Taliban were instrumental to the war. Turned out there wasn’t any cache of arms, though. And in another month we left that valley. For all I know the Taliban took it back over.”
He sounded… he sounded almost defeated, and that was just wrong. Sam West wasn’t a man to be defeated.
She raised her head and kissed him on the jaw. “You did the job you were given, shitty as it was, you know that, right?”
His mouth twisted. “My CO, know what else he told me?”
“What?”
“He said sometimes you had to sacrifice to win.” He turned his head to look her in the eye. “Sounds pretty vague, doesn’t it? Sacrifice? But the sacrifice he was talking about was specific: it was Zippy and Enrico, Frisbee and King. It was their lives I sacrificed, not some abstraction.”
“But it wasn’t your fault. You were ordered—”