Breaking Point

  But Zach couldn’t look her in the eyes. Her words had struck hard. He felt the anger leave him, along with breath and will and any defenses he’d had left. He made it inside to the sofa, then sank onto the cushions and buried his face in his hands.

  “Zach?” She sounded worried. “Are you okay?”

  Hell, no, he wasn’t okay. He’d come close to strangling her, had done some serious damage to a bottle of whiskey, had broken down in front of her and cried like a baby, and had just had the skin peeled off his psyche. How could he be okay?

  Welcome to rock bottom, McBride. How does it feel?

  Pretty shitty, actually.

  She knelt down before him, her hands soft against his shoulders. “Zach, please. Say something. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me to go to hell if you want.”

  “Why would I do that?” He raised his head, reached out to smooth a strand of hair off her cheek, looked into her worried eyes. “You’re right. You’re right about all of it. I would fix it if I could, Natalie. I just don’t know how. I don’t know how.”

  She gave him a sad little smile. “You don’t have to figure that out alone.”

  He shook his head. “I’m done with therapy. I won’t go—”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I’m not talking about therapy. I’m talking about you and me.”

  It took him a moment to understand. “After tonight, can you really say you want to get involved with me?”

  “Oh, Zach, look at us. We’re already involved. You just keep running from it.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, turned his head away. “You deserve better, Natalie.”

  “I was right. You are a big chicken.” She took his face between her palms, forced him to meet her gaze. “I love you, Zach McBride. You’re not alone in this anymore. You fought the Zetas for me. I’m going to fight for you—even if the one I have to fight is you.”

  Breath left Zach’s lungs in a rush. He stared at her, wondering if she’d lost her mind. “I’m not worth—”

  “We’ll take it slow.” She drew his face down and kissed him. “One day at a time.” She kissed him again. “One hour at a time.” Again she kissed him. “One kiss at a time.”

  He closed his eyes, gave himself over to her kisses, fairly certain he was too dead inside, too empty, too wrung out for what she seemed to have in mind. But her mouth was sweet, her tongue insistent.

  Heat. A spark. Desire kindled.

  He opened his mouth to her, let her shape the kiss, her lips never leaving his, even when her clever hand slid inside his briefs and stroked him to life. Then she hitched her nightgown up to her hips, climbed onto his lap, and settled herself over him, her gaze holding his as she took him inside her.

  Mingled moans. Whiskey and pheromone. Burning need.

  Zach’s heart pounded, not from the horror of his nightmares this time, but from desire, life surging hot and strong through his veins, his breathing hard and fast, every nerve ending in his body alive.

  His tripping pulse. Her cries. A quicksilver rush of bliss.

  And Zach was reborn inside her.

  She sank against him, out of breath, boneless, and he held her, kissing her hair, stroking the silk of her skin, breathing her scent. Then he lifted her into his arms, carried her upstairs to her bed, lay down beside her—and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  “ WE’VE GOT THEM, sir.”

  Arturo’s head came up from the porn video he was watching on his laptop.

  One of Wulfe’s men came in, carrying a file, which he set down on the coffee table in front of Wulfe. “Here are the schematics of the building. It will take some time for us to learn which loft they’re in. We’re already working on it, checking to see which units were available last week that are no longer available today.”

  Wulfe set down his newspaper, picked up the file, and scanned its pages, his head tilted back to allow him to see through his bifocals. His hair was mostly gray now. He was getting old. They were all getting old. “Excellent work.”

  “The building has top-flight security—twenty-four-hour guards, video surveillance, biometric scanners encoded with thumbprints.”

  “Figure out who is helping McBride on this case, who besides McBride has access to the building. Then all we’ll need to do is collect a thumb.” Wulfe set the file down, his gaze meeting Arturo’s. “You see the difficulty you’ve caused, Arturo? Now some poor idiot is going to lose his thumb—and his life—because you couldn’t get the job done in Mexico.”

  Arturo felt his face burn.

  CHAPTER 29

  ZACH WOKE THE next morning to find Natalie curled up against him, her head resting on his chest, one of her legs tucked between his. The sheets were tangled around their legs, leaving the creamy curve of her hip bare. He watched her sleep, his body relaxed, his mind blissfully empty.

  A part of him hated himself for breaking down like that in front of her again. This time he’d fallen completely the hell apart. He’d cried, for God’s sake, shed actual freaking tears. What kind of man acted like that?

  But Natalie hadn’t turned away from him in disgust. She hadn’t been repulsed by him. Just as she’d done in Altar, she’d caught the pieces of him, held them in her arms, then helped him put himself back together.

  I love you, Zach McBride. You’re not alone in this anymore. You fought for me. I’m going to fight for you—even if the one I have to fight is you.

  He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, to deserve love from a woman like Natalie. She was right when she’d called him a chicken. He was afraid of so many things. Losing himself to nightmares and alcohol. Failing at his mission and letting Cárdenas kill again. Being unworthy of the trust his country had placed in him.

  But what frightened him most at this moment was the very real possibility that he’d fallen in love with Natalie.

  He stroked her hair, made room for her when she snuggled deeper into his chest, cherishing the feel of her soft body against his. And for a moment he let himself imagine that this was how every day of his life began—with her sleeping naked beside him, the scent of sex still lingering on their skin, a feeling of contentment inside him. They’d get up, make love in the shower, have breakfast together, kiss each other good-bye, the promise of home getting them through the day.

  And then that night, or one just like it, you’d come home in a body bag—or a pizza box. Great idea, McBride.

  God knew he didn’t want to do that to her. She’d already lost everyone she loved. And yet most of the DUSMs he knew had families. Was it so wrong to work a dangerous job and to have a family, too?

  Being a deputy U.S. marshal shouldn’t mean you don’t get to have a life.

  Isn’t that what Natalie had said to him in Altar?

  He tried to imagine himself as a husband, a father. It didn’t seem as impossible as it had even a week ago. Of course, the only condom he’d worn had broken, which meant that he might already be on his way from here to paternity, whether he could imagine being a father or not.

  What are you going to do if you’ve gotten her pregnant, buddy?

  He wasn’t going to worry about that now.

  He looked down at her beautiful face, a tangled knot of emotions swelling inside his chest—longing, protectiveness, doubt, possessiveness, hope. He held her tighter, the feel of her precious. And for a time, he lay there, listening to her breathe, inhaling the stillness, wishing he could stay like this forever.

  But, of course, he couldn’t. He needed to check in with Rowan, find out where she planned to transfer Quintana, and get back to interrogating the son of a bitch. He glanced over to check the alarm clock, his gaze falling on Natalie’s photograph of Beau.

  A good-looking young guy with dark brown hair, a solid build, and an easy smile, Beau looked into the camera, unaware that his life was about to end, the love he felt for Natalie unmistakable in his eyes,

  Zach understood why Beau had braved the flooded, debris-strewn streets of New Orleans to come for h
er. He knew what Beau must have felt when he’d heard that she’d almost been murdered—shock, seething rage, a bone-deep need to protect and comfort her. And he knew that Beau’s last thought must have been of her.

  Zach met Beau’s gaze, found himself whispering to a dead man. “I’d die for her, too.”

  NATALIE WOKE TO the delicious feeling of kisses trailing down her back, Zach’s big hand caressing the bare curve of her hip. “Mmm.”

  “You’re finally awake.” His hand slid in delicious circles upward along her side and around front to cup her breast. His skilled fingers teased her nipple, pinched it, tugged it, his touch sending sparks deep into her belly. “Good.”

  She could smell on his minty breath that he’d already been up and had brushed his teeth. She wanted to do the same. Reluctantly, she drew away. “Hold that thought.”

  She climbed out of bed, walked naked into the beautiful marble bathroom, the tiles cool against her feet. She grabbed her toothbrush and quickly brushed, holding her hair back as she rinsed her mouth. She finished, set her toothbrush aside, then turned toward the door—and froze.

  Still naked, he stood in the doorway, his gaze sliding intimately over her, his erection standing against his belly, his testicles hanging full and heavy beneath. There was something deeply primal about his aroused body, about the heat in his eyes, about the way he watched her.

  He walked slowly toward her. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

  Beautiful.

  That’s how she would describe him—beautiful, erotic, so powerfully male.

  She met him halfway, rose on her tiptoes, and kissed him, her arms sliding behind his neck. He groaned, his tongue greeting hers.

  And then she got an idea—a silly, naughty, exciting idea.

  Suppressing her own laughter, she deliberately turned them in a slow-motion waltz until her back was toward the door. Slowly, she stepped back from him, smiled up at him from beneath her eyelashes—then turned and ran.

  She dashed toward the bed, jumped in, and scuttled to the far side, looking back to find him watching her, a predatory gleam in his eyes now. Excitement shivered through her, the thrill of being pursued making her pulse trip.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He walked in slow strides toward her, his muscles shifting. “You can’t get away from me. You know that, don’t you?”

  Quashing the giggle that welled up inside her, she drew back against the headboard, curling her legs beneath her, covering her bare breasts with her hands, her heart pounding harder as he drew near.

  “Why are you covering yourself?” He stopped at the edge of the bed. “I’m going to see it all, touch it all, taste it all. I’m going to do whatever I want with your sweet body, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  Then he lowered himself to one knee on the mattress.

  With a squeal, Natalie leapt from the bed, but she didn’t make it far. A strong arm caught her around her waist and drew her back onto the bed. She fought just hard enough to make him use his strength, turning onto her belly, trying to crawl away.

  “You think this will stop me?” He laughed, a dark masculine sound. “Save your strength. You’re going to need it.”

  His weight pinned her to the bed. Powerful thighs pressed against her hips as he straddled her from behind, forcing her legs tightly together. He caught her wrists, drew her arms behind her back, one of his hands holding them there while the other grasped one of her buttocks, spreading her, exposing her to his view.

  It was a position of utter submission, one that gave him total power over her and left her no means to resist.

  But she wasn’t willing to surrender yet. She twisted and writhed, the thrill of being overpowered more arousing than she could have imagined. Then she felt the head of his cock rub against her labia. Liquid heat gathered inside her, her body longing for him, even as she pretended to resist.

  “I can see everything—those sexy, bare outer lips . . . the pink edges of your sweet inner lips . . . And this . . .” His thumb brushed over a part of her no man had ever touched, the sensation both alarming and arousing, and for a moment she was afraid he planned to penetrate her there.

  She gasped, shocked.

  But he didn’t enter her there. Instead, he nudged the thick head of his cock between her labia and thrust deep, his groan drowning out the sound of her whimper.

  With her legs held together like this, there seemed to be no room inside her. She could feel every inch of his steel-hard cock as he moved, from the engorged head that almost touched her cervix, to the thick base that stretched and stroked her sensitive entrance, to the taut skin of his testicles as they brushed her labia.

  She moaned, bit a pillow, lost in the heat of these intense, new sensations. She’d never believed all that G-spot hype, never believed that a woman could climax through penetration alone. But now she knew she’d been wrong, his thrusts caressing some secret place inside her, the ache unbearable and sweet.

  She whimpered and panted into the pillow, desperate for release. She wanted to raise her bottom, to spread her legs, to do something to bring the sweet torment to an end, but she couldn’t move. Helpless to do anything but take him, she was left hanging on the edge of an orgasm that seemed to hover just beyond her reach.

  Then, when it seemed she could take no more, the tension inside her drew to its full height like a great shimmering wave and crashed over her, carrying her helplessly along as it surged through her, drowning her in pleasure.

  She cried out, arching back, Zach’s sure strokes making her pleasure last until she lay, weak and panting, her face against a pillow.

  He released her wrists and withdrew from her, pressing kisses along her back. Then gently he turned her onto her back, catching her legs and settling himself between them. It was then she realized he hadn’t yet come, his erection lying hard against her.

  But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t lust or playfulness she saw on his face, but a look of tenderness and torment, his brow furrowed, his gaze soft, his lips parted, his breathing still fast.

  He smoothed the hair off her face, his gaze traveling over her features. For a moment, she thought he had something to tell her. But when at last he spoke, it was only to say her name. “Natalie.”

  He adjusted his hips, nudged himself slowly inside her, and the pleasure began again. But this time he took it slowly, his gaze never leaving her face, as he brought her to a second shattering climax, his groans mingling with her cries as he at last claimed his own release.

  AFTERWARD, THEY TOOK a long, hot shower together, getting water all over the marble floor, Zach feeling more alive and more at peace with himself than he had in years. While Natalie dressed and made breakfast, he checked in with Rowan, who told him Quintana was being transferred to a more secure federal facility—this one run by ICE, Immigration and Customs Enforcement—within the hour. He’d be available for interrogation by early afternoon.

  Zach found Natalie setting the table, the scent of her cooking making his mouth water. She was wearing a short denim skirt that showed off her legs, together with a lacy V-neck tank top that made the most of her beautiful breasts, her dark hair still damp, her sweet face free of makeup.

  She glanced up and smiled, those adorable dimples appearing in her cheeks. “Hungry?”

  He held her gaze, grinned. “Starving.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “I hope you like eggs Benedict. I made sausage, grits, and fresh coffee.”

  “Mmm.” He sat, unable to take his gaze off her while she poured the coffee then sat across from him.

  How in the hell had he gotten so lucky? She was smart, brave, beautiful, sexy as hell, had a playful side in the bedroom—and she could cook. No man deserved all that in one sweet package, let alone him.

  Don’t question it, McBride. Just go with it.

  He took a bite of the eggs and another. “Delicious.”

  She smiled, clearly pleased. “I’m glad you like it.”


  He jabbed his fork at what looked like a thick, white pool of Cream of Wheat. “So this is grits?”

  “You’ve never had grits?” She gaped at him. “How did you get to be thirty-three years old without ever tasting grits?”

  Amused by her reaction, he scooped some onto his fork and tasted it, nodding in approval. “Tastes like . . . corn?”

  “That’s what it is—a corn mash or corn gruel.”

  So the mystery of grits was solved once and for all.

  They ate their breakfast slowly, talking about everything and nothing at all, the moment so like Zach’s fantasy from early this morning that it was like waking to find himself living in his own dream. But dreams rarely lasted.

  He washed the last bite of eggs down with a gulp of strong black coffee, then glanced at his watch. “They’re transferring Quintana to the ICE facility outside town this morning. I’ll go in this afternoon to continue interrogating him.”

  The sunshine left her face, her expression anxious, shadows in her eyes. “Will you be gone late?”

  He reached over, took her hand. “If you want me to arrange for someone to be here with you while I’m away, I can do that. I don’t want you to be afraid.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that. Okay, well, it’s partly that. But also, I just hate to think of you being anywhere near him. I don’t know how you keep from beating the tar out of him after what he put you through.”

  “It’s not easy.” Then Zach told her about yesterday’s fruitless interrogation and how he’d allowed himself one punch to the bastard’s gut before reining in his rage. He didn’t tell her what Quintana had said to him. “Sometimes I want to forget that I’m supposed to be one of the good guys. If I ever get my hands on Cárdenas . . .”

  He let it go, the subject clearly upsetting to her.

  “Tom called while you were on the phone. He wants to know what I’m working on. I had to tell him I didn’t have anything. That’s the first time that’s happened.”