Hunted (9 page)

Time hadn’t stopped, but there was something odd about it. It had only been about eighteen hours since he’d followed Molly into the woods and stumbled upon Chandler hanging in the trees.

Not such a long time.

But yet he felt a familiarity with Chandler that he hadn’t felt with people that he’d served with for ten years.

Maybe it was because he’d known her as a child. Maybe it was because she had the same spirit and spunk that Mack always demonstrated, and that Ethan had always admired.

Maybe it was because she wore pretty underwear, her skin was soft and her hair smelled delicious?

“Are you going to close earlier than eight?” Ethan asked.

“I might close a little earlier if nobody else comes in. You want me to make you up some sandwiches for dinner, just in case?”

“That might be good.” He set his plastic sack down on the counter. He still had the bread and peanut butter from his own supplies but there was no need to resort to that if they could get something better.

“How about some chicken salad on wheat, fruit and maybe a couple pieces of chocolate cake?” Roxy asked.

Ethan remembered the look on Chandler’s face when she’d dug into her pie. “Sure. Sounds perfect,” he said.

It took Roxy less than five minutes to assemble the to-go order. She put it all in a small insulated bag that she pulled from underneath the counter. “Here. This will keep it cold until you are ready to eat it. Just leave the bag in the room when you leave.”

Ethan pulled out forty bucks and threw it on the counter.

“That’s way too much,” she said.

He waved his hand. “It’s not really enough.”

She stared at him. “I hope everything works out for you and your woman. I’m a pretty good judge of character and you two look like good people.”

Your woman.

Chandler was willing to be.

No strings attached.

And he could feel his moral high ground crumbling every time he glanced in her direction.

* * *

W
HEN
HE
GOT
to the room, she was sleeping. He stood and watched her for several minutes, marveling at how beautiful she was. How many men had been infatuated with her? How many had tried in vain to earn her interest?

But somehow she’d remained unattached.

As if she was waiting for him.

Dream on.

He lay down on the floor and closed his own eyes, waking sometime later when he heard her groan.

He sprang up.

There was no danger. She was still asleep. Or mostly so. Her eyes were still closed and her breathing deep, but she was rubbing her sore shoulder.

“Chandler, wake up. You need to take some pain relievers. Chandler,” he said again, a little louder.

One pretty eye opened. “What?”

He opened the sack, pulled out the medication, opened the bottle and shook two pills into his palm. He handed them to her along with a bottle of water. “Here.”

She took a small sip of water and then swallowed the pills. Then another big drink. “Thanks.”

“How bad is the pain?” he asked.

“It’s okay. I think I might have rolled over onto it. Now that I’m awake, it’s going to be hard to go back to sleep.”

It drove him crazy that she was hurting. “Want to play cards?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “Poker?”

“Sure.”

“What else is in the sack?”

He pulled out the chips, the candy, the cashews. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

“All of it. First hand is for the licorice.”

“So that’s how it is. This is serious.” He opened his duffel and pulled out the deck of cards.

She sat up in the bed and scooted back so that her spine rested against the headboard. She motioned for him to hand her the cards. When he did, she shuffled the deck, fanning the cards out on the bed like some Vegas dealer.

“Who taught you how to play cards?”

“You, Mack and Brody. Then my dad. And then finally, my college roommate. I think she majored in poker and minored in shopping. Fun girl.”

She put the cards down and motioned for him to cut. He did. “Deuces wild,” she said, right before she starting dealing.

She won the licorice with a queen-high straight.

He held on to the potato chips with a full house, tens and threes.

She snatched up the salted cashews after winning the next hand with a pair of aces.

He got the candy bar with four sevens.

She won the wine with two pairs, kings and fives. There was a brief moment of panic before she realized it had a screw top, not a cork. She got plastic cups out of the bathroom and poured a glass for each of them.

He opened the chips and offered her some.

“Delicious,” she said.

Gorgeous,
he thought.

She ripped open the seal of the salted cashews. “I love these.”

He felt good that he’d guessed right. “As much as a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich?”

She chewed and considered. “You know why I love that sandwich so much?” she asked, her voice suddenly serious.

He shook his head.

“A week after my mom died, I had to go back to school. I was in second grade. I got up and got dressed and when I went downstairs, my dad was standing at the stove. And I could tell that he’d been crying. But he turned to me and he made himself smile. He said, ‘Chandler, I may not make it exactly like your mom did but I’ll do my best. Don’t you worry, honey, I’m going to take care of you. We’re going to take care of each other.’”

Ethan could feel his throat tighten. “You and your dad will find your way back to each other.”

Chandler didn’t answer. She simply took a big drink of her wine. Finally, she put her empty glass down.

“We’re out of items to win,” she said brightly.

He could tell that she was making the effort to get past the past few minutes. “Not true.” He opened the insulated bag that Roxy had packed and showed it to her. “Chicken salad sandwiches. Fruit salad. Chocolate cake.”

She looked closer at the cake. “Chocolate is sort of sacred. I’d feel bad if I won your piece. We can’t bet on that.”

“We played over a candy bar. That had chocolate in it.”

She shook her head. “But this is homemade chocolate
cake.
With chocolate icing and what looks to be a layer of chocolate mousse in the middle. Comparing this to the candy bar is like comparing ice cream to frozen yogurt. Similar but definitely not the same.” She poured herself another glass of wine.

Ethan looked around the room, searching for something of value. “Peanut butter and bread?” he asked. “I can get them out of the truck.”

She shook her head, then lifted her chin. “How about strip poker?”

Chapter Nine

“No.” The word hadn’t exploded out of his mouth but pretty darn close. What was she thinking?

“Come on,” she said. “We’re pretty evenly matched. If we lose, we take off something. But if we win, we get to put it back on. In fact, we can bank points to offset future losses. For example, if you win three in a row and you don’t have anything to put back on, you can bank those points to cover your next three losses.”

It was the craziest game of poker he’d ever played. But her eyes were shining again and she seemed to have moved past her momentary unhappiness.

He couldn’t believe he was about to agree to this insanity.

He handed her the cards. “Your deal.”

She got off the bed, slipped on her shoes, and put on her jacket. Then she got back on the bed and picked up the cards.

“Hedging your bets,” he said.

“Oh, no. I was just chilly.” She laughed.

“Right.” He picked up his cards and had nothing. He threw down three and she dealt replacement cards. He ended up with a pair of jacks.

It wasn’t enough to beat her three fours. He took off a shoe.

The game went back and forth for forty minutes, with both of them taking off and putting back on shoes and socks and belts. They drank their wine, emptying the bottle. Chandler ate half her piece of cake; Ethan focused on the potato chips.

It was fun.

Up until the point that Chandler lost four hands in a row. She took off both shoes and both socks.

“Your feet are going to get cold,” he teased, dealing the cards.

Then his full house, sixes and twos, beat her two pairs. She took off her jacket.

On the next hand, he was dealt a flush. A hand of hearts. And he considered throwing several in, to make sure that he lost the hand. He had the tips of his fingers on the cards but he couldn’t make himself do it.

“I’ll hold with what I’ve got,” he said.

She took three cards.

“Flush,” he said, laying down his hand on the bedspread.

She chewed her bottom lip. “Pair of fives,” she said.

Their eyes met. And she slowly started to unbutton her blouse.

“Look,” he said. “You don’t have to—”

“Play by the rules? I do,” she added softly.

She got to the last button and he realized that he was holding his breath. And it came out in a rush when she took off the cotton shirt in one smooth movement.

He’d seen her bra before. But still, he wasn’t prepared for the sight of her perfectly round breasts covered by the little bit of lace and silk.

Her skin was pale, with just a slight rosy hue.

“Deal,” she said.

No,
his mind silently screamed. He was playing with fire. He shuffled the cards and realized that his hands were shaking.

He dealt himself a pair of threes. When it came time to discard, he threw them in. She was going to get to put her shirt back on.

She threw in three cards and he dealt her the replacements.

“I’ve got nothing,” he said, laying down his hand.

“Me either.”

He looked to see who had the high card. He had an ace. She had a king.

She started to unzip her jeans. He reached out a hand to stop her. “Look, Chandler, we have to stop.”

She shook her head and within seconds, she was sitting before him in her dark blue underwear. And he could not keep his eyes off her.

She picked up the cards to deal. He grabbed her wrist. Her skin was warm and soft. “No,” he said.

She dealt the hand.

He looked at his cards and shook his head when she asked if he wanted any cards. “I’ll hold on this,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Me, too.”

The room felt hot and small and when he looked out the window, all he saw was white everywhere. It felt as if he and Chandler McCann were the only people in the world. It felt right.

He turned his cards over. Full house, kings and fours. She flipped her cards over, one at a time. Two pairs, tens and threes.

“Full house beats two pairs most days,” he said softly.

“Most days,” she repeated as she unsnapped her bra.

And her beautiful breasts were there for the taking, with nipples the loveliest shade of rose.

And he desperately wanted her.

He moved fast, sending the cards flying off the bed.

“Game over,” he said, right before he started taking off his own shirt.

* * *

H
E
UNDRESSED
WITH
frightening efficiency, as if to say that once he’d made up his mind, nothing was stopping him.

It was an exhilarating feeling.

And when he stood before her in all his splendid glory, she felt a surge of lust run through her body. She’d known she wanted this, but now that it was truly happening, she wanted it with an intensity that was all-consuming.

She started to take off her panties.

He held up a finger. “Let me.”

And he did. With his teeth.

Skimming and nipping and dragging his hot tongue against her needy, quivering body.

And she’d thought that he might take her quickly. But once she was naked and up tight against him, he seemed to settle down, settle in.

With both of them on their sides, he took his hands and framed her face. And then he kissed her. Gently. Languidly. As if she were the precious dessert that he had coveted for a very long time.

His tongue was in her mouth and she was arching against his body. It was perfect.

And the kisses went on for a very long time until finally, he rolled her on her back, bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth.

She lifted her hips.

“Not yet,” he murmured.

She was going to implode.

He kissed and licked his way down her body until finally his mouth settled on her. And in minutes, she was shaking with need.

Finally, he lifted his head. His eyes were dark, his face serious. “I’ve got condoms in my bag.”

She shook her head. “I’m on the pill to regulate my periods. I’m healthy,” she added.

“Me, too,” he said, his tone guttural. He used his hands to spread her legs wide. And then he was inside, gently pushing, letting her adjust, making sure it was just right.

And then he started to move.

And it was really just seconds before she came with a rush so intense that she was surprised she didn’t pass out. She arched her back, taking him deeper.

“Watch your shoulder,” he warned.

There was no pain anywhere. Only pleasure.

When her climax was over, he held her, letting her rest. “Okay?” he asked after a moment.

“That was better than cake,” she whispered, her lips close to his shoulder.

He chuckled. “Then, hang on, honey,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He started to move. Long strokes in and out. He cupped his hands under her thighs, opening her, and she felt him even deeper.

It was erotic and wonderful and while it didn’t seem possible, she felt her need build again. And when he pressed his hand between them, touching her most sensitive parts, she exploded one more time.

Then, with a growl close to her ear, he pounded into her, skin slapping against skin, until he threw his head back and emptied himself inside her.

* * *

E
THAN
WOKE
UP
when it was dark outside. The blinds were still open and he could see that it had finally stopped snowing. He thought they’d probably been sleeping for a couple hours.

Making love to Chandler McCann had been the most intense experience of his life. More intense than flying night missions over enemy territory. More intense than righting his helicopter after wind caught the blades wrong.

She was beautiful. After he’d come inside of her, he’d caught his breath, then managed to pull out and get cleaned up. Then he’d crawled back into bed, tucked her against his body, her back to his front, and they’d slept.

She was still sleeping. He wrapped his hand around her long hair and moved it to the side. Then he brushed his lips across her shoulder.

She moaned.

He nibbled on her ear.

She stretched, her pretty body arching slightly.

He licked her neck.

Her eyes were open now. She pressed her sexy bottom up against him.

He pushed her gently to her stomach and spread her legs. And then he took her from behind.

She was hot and wet and when she pressed back against him and came in jerky spasms, he couldn’t control his reaction. He pounded into her and when he came, he collapsed on her, rolling them just enough to the side to keep his weight off her.

“Good evening to you, too,” she said several minutes later.

He only had the energy to smile.

“What time is it?” she asked.

He lifted his wrist. “Just after seven. Are you hungry?”

She scooted up in bed and he saw her wince slightly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fabulous,” she said. “I just put a little too much weight on my shoulder.”

“You could probably take some more ibuprofen.”

“I will. In a minute.” She settled back into his arms.

It was dark outside but there was so much snow everywhere that there was a soft grayness to the evening. The trees, some with leaves that had not yet fallen, were heavy with snow.

What was it Roxy had said?
Snow like this always makes it seem as if time has stopped.
To him, it made it seem as if life were really a Larry Donovan novel. That somehow, some way, the rest of the world had ended and the only survivors were Chandler and him.

And it was okay.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Chandler asked.

“The quiet,” he replied, willing to only tell a half-truth.

“The cabin was quiet, too.”

“Yeah, but I’d only been there a few weeks. I was still getting used to it.”

“War isn’t quiet?”

War was sometimes tedious and even boring because there was always a good amount of waiting. War was also interesting and complicated and actions begot spontaneous reactions.

“War can be quiet. Or noisy as hell.”

It had been everything that was important to him.

But then came Operation Wind Jammer.

Had the mission gone off without a hitch, lots of important people, people at the very top, would have been drowning in accolades. The press would have been
impressed
and a few stars might have been added to the jackets of his superior officers.

It might even have been spectacular. The capture of enemies that had eluded U.S. forces for nearly a decade.

A final stake in the ground, if you will.

But it had gone badly. And the enemy had been ready for them. And even though he and the others had regrouped quickly, they’d lost eight. Embedded reporters had been critical and the twenty-four-hour news stations had reported at great length about a twenty-first-century army that had been bested by a bunch of ragtag insurgent rebels.

He’d mourned the loss of his fellow soldiers and had been ill-prepared when suddenly there was a JAG officer at his door informing him he was under investigation. Ugly, ugly words. And after months of scrutiny and months of answering the same damn questions over and over again, he’d been cleared. They’d pulled him off the desk duty that they’d assigned him to and let him back in the helicopter.

But he’d decided it was time to leave for good.

“My dad thought it was cool that you were flying helicopters,” Chandler said.

He’d enlisted right out of high school, hadn’t really known what he wanted to do but had been certain that he wasn’t going to stay in some small town in Oregon and work at the local factory where his stepfather worked. Then he’d heard about flight school and had worked his butt off, making sure that he was on the short list of candidates. He wouldn’t have denied that it mattered a great deal because Baker McCann had always loved helicopters. That, combined with the fact that he really believed it was a way that he could help his country win a crazy war in a faraway place, was enough to have him scramble for a spot on the exclusive list of flight school participants.

He’d done well. Had a natural affinity for flying and had quickly risen through the ranks, earning promotion after promotion, and finally, fourteen years in, had achieved his goal of becoming a standardization pilot. In that role he was responsible for working with hundreds of other pilots, assessing their competencies, ensuring that skills remained sharp, that the pilots in his brigade were simply the best. With his last promotion to a CW5, he’d been at the top of his game.

And then one night, in a dusty little town in a country where the war was supposed to be over, it had gone south. Helicopters had taken fire. More hits than could have reasonably been assembled unless the enemy had been waiting for them. Special Forces troops had been left unprotected. Casualties had mounted.

The rumbling started soon after. Information had to have been leaked. It was a relatively short list of people who had been in the know.

Unfortunately, his name had been on that list.

And for some reason, at the top of that list.

He pulled away from Chandler and sat up in bed, his back to her. “We should probably get dressed.”

He could feel her stretch. “You’re right. I’m going to use the bathroom first.” She scooted off the bed, stopped long enough to grab her clothes and left the room.

He continued to sit on the bed for several minutes. He was grateful that she hadn’t probed about his military service, hadn’t wanted to know more about what had prompted his decision to leave.

After a minute, he got up and quickly dressed. Then he opened the bag that Roxy had packed. Everything was still nice and cold. On the bed, he made a quick picnic. A sandwich and a dish of fruit for each of them. Then he split his piece of cake in half since Chandler had already eaten most of her piece. He handed out the plastic silverware and napkins that Roxy had thrown in.

He looked up when she opened the bathroom door fully dressed. She smiled when she saw the cake. She walked over to the window and lifted the edge of the blind. “It stopped snowing,” she said, turning to look at him. Her eyes were serious.