Into the Crossfire (12 page)

they were forty pounds of muscle. The old man started thinking twice about using

his fists on me."

"Good for you," Nicole said fiercely. Sam Reston had grown up to be the

kind of man no one beat up on, not without serious consequences.

"Another good thing happened when I was twelve. My brother Harry Bolt

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arrived and then three months later my other brother Mike Keillor. Harry had tried

to defend his baby sister and his mother against his mom's meth-head boyfriend.

The fucker--pardon my language."

Nicole nodded and waved the expletive away with her free hand. Fucker

sounded about right for a man who hurt little girls. "Fucker beat Harry's little sister

and mom to death. Harry went wild. Put the guy in the hospital but not before he

got both legs broken. He was fostered out to the Hughes. I saw Old Man Hughes

smile as Harry walked through the door on crutches and I knew exactly what he

was thinking. I wasn't an easy target for his rage any more. He needed an outlet

and here comes Harry, crippled, fresh meat. That night I took a knife to Old Man

Hughes and I told him that if he so much as touched the new guy, I'd cut his

miserable hide to ribbons, starting with his balls. I meant every word, too, and I

think he knew it. By that time I was as tall as Hughes, though he had a lot of

weight on me. But it wasn't muscle, it was all gut. Harry healed and Mrs. Colley

shoved as much food down his throat as he could eat and by the end of that year,

he was as big as I was. Harry and I were really tight. And then Mike came. It was

his eighth foster home. The three of us banded together, looked after each other

and we all shipped out as soon as we could. Me to the Navy, Harry to the Army

and Mike to the Marines."

Nicole opened her mouth to say something but he hadn't finished. He

brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, lips warm against her cold skin. Sam's

story had chilled her to the bone.

"Now, the reason I told you all of that is so that you can understand

something. Me and my brothers came out okay because we looked after each

other, no matter what. All three of us know, up close and personal, what it means

when no one looks out for you. When no one cares. And we know, deep down in

our bones, what it means when someone cares and does the right thing. We all

have jobs where we see, daily, the effects of not caring for your kid or your wife or

your parents or your friends."

His face suddenly sharpened, the skin over those high cheekbones

tightening, eyes boring into hers.

"So, Nicole, you will forgive me if I don't find it a turnoff that you love

your father so much. That you're sacrificing important things to make sure he has a

dignified death and you're making sure that he's right where he wants and needs to

be. You're doing the hard thing, the right thing, and I admire you for it. I was

blown away by you the first time I saw you, but by God, it's worse now that I

know what's behind that gorgeous face."

Sam took her hand and, shockingly, brought it under the table, between his

legs. He folded her hand over his penis. His huge, rock-hard penis. At her touch,

she could feel the blood coursing through him, turning his penis even harder,

thicker.

The feel of him beneath her hand brought a rush of blood to her own sex,

which clenched involuntarily, once, twice.

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She was utterly incapable of movement, of thought.

"Not want you?" Sam's voice was raspy now, as if he found it difficult to

get the words out. He breathed out hard. His jaw muscles bunched and his nostrils

flared. "I've wanted you since the first second I saw you. I couldn't do anything

about it because I was on an undercover job but I sure as hell thought about it,

night and day. Christ, Nicole, I want you so much I can hardly breathe. I want you

so much I can't think. Say you'll come back home with me. Now."

She couldn't remove her hand because his big one was curled around it,

keeping it over his penis. This was utterly insane. Nothing like this had ever

happened to her before.

There was no air in the room.

No, the answer was no, of course. She had to say no. How could she go

home with him, just like that? This was crazy, she'd never done anything like that

in her life.

She'd had her share of lovers but she was incredibly picky. It took several

evenings out and if there was a false note, if she was uncomfortable in any way

with the idea, she just said no. She was good-looking, she got asked out a lot, but

then a lot of men were jerks. She'd said no a lot since puberty. There were tons of

reasons to say no right now to Sam, if only she could get her brain working again

to think of them. Like her hand, like her breasts and between her thighs, it was hot,

melting in a sudden surge of pulsing desire.

No, of course not, are you crazy? she said, only the words didn't quite come

out that way.

Somehow, what came out was, "Yes."

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Yes!

Sam stood up abruptly, tilting his chair over. He barely heard the clatter as

he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. He threw it onto

the table--it was more than enough, but even if it wasn't, Bashir knew he'd be good

for it later--and grabbed her hand.

Nicole was looking utterly shocked at what she'd said, big blue eyes wide in

dismay, that luscious mouth a shocked O.

Sam couldn't stop to think about that. He couldn't think about anything,

actually, except getting her into his bed. Or wherever. It didn't have to be a bed.

Against the door or the wall or on the floor or the couch would do just fine. He

didn't give a shit.

The important thing was to get into her as fast as possible and stay there as

long as possible. Till next year, if what he was feeling was any indication.

It was as if he'd never had sex before, ever. He was so excited he could

barely feel his hands and feet as he walked to his car, moving fast. Luckily, he had

his arm around her waist when Nicole stumbled on the gravel.

Sam held her fast. She'd never fall when she was with him, but he was

ashamed that he'd been half dragging her along.

"Sorry," he mumbled and slowed his stride. He was a runner, and he was

used to getting from A to B fast. He moved fast on principle and when he was

aiming toward something he wanted, he picked up speed.

Had he been running? God only knew. His senses were so blasted he wasn't

getting any input except from his dick, which was communicating what it wanted

loud and clear.

He tried to slow down, even out his stride, but damn, it was hard.

Later, he'd reflect on what it meant for him to be out of control of his body.

It was unthinkable. He'd learned self-control in the hardest school possible--his

early years. And then the Navy and SEAL training had taken those skills and

honed them to machine-like perfection.

He was in charge of himself--always. Aware of his surroundings and his

place in any given setting. He was rock steady. For a while he'd been a fucking

sniper, for God's sake. Snipers could control their own heartbeats, certainly their

breathing. And their hands never trembled.

Right now, he was barely aware of the outside world, only of the beautiful

woman by his side. Everything else was fog. He was tunnel visioning, like

untrained soldiers in battle, hands trembling.

Ten feet from his car, he took out his key fob and unlocked the doors. It

took an effort not to simply throw Nicole into the passenger seat. A couple of

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seconds later, he was in the driver's seat, hands curled whitely around the steering

wheel. He was so excited, he was almost panting.

Sam looked over at Nicole and winced.

She was pale, eyes wide with what he recognized as dismay and not desire,

hands in her lap clutching each other so hard she was white-knuckled. A vein

pulsed in her neck.

Fuck.

She was scared of him.

He had an idea of what she was seeing. A large, very strong, very fit man

with clenched jaws and narrowed eyes, emanating aggression.

Fighting and fucking are closely related, certainly for a man like him. He

was dominant on the battlefield and dominant in the bedroom. That was his nature

and he'd long since grown used to it.

But he did not want Nicole Pearce scared of him. Shit, no. She was the

classiest lady he'd ever gone out with, bar none, and the most beautiful, too. And

by some miracle, it turned out she was kindhearted. Women like that didn't grow

on trees. They were so rare, in fact, that he'd never met anyone even remotely like

her.

She needed to be treated gently, like a lady, but goddamned if his blood

wasn't up. He recognized it, oh yeah. Now that he was in the car, ready to make it

to his house and to his bed as fast as the law would allow, he realized he'd

somehow gone into combat mode.

The slight panting was to pull in oxygen for a major effort. His body was

preparing itself for something big--fighting or fucking, it didn't care. It just knew

that it had to be ready and that it was going to be rough.

At every level, Nicole was perceiving this, perceiving that he was a male

with a broad streak of violence to him and a major case of almost out-of-control

lust focused tightly on her.

She'd have to be crazy to go home with him in this state. But if she said no

right now, he'd simply howl at the moon.

Sam knew he had to do something, and fast.

First, relax. He uncurled his hands from the wheel, sat back and consciously

unclenched his muscles. Forced himself to breathe slowly. Forced his face muscles

to relax. Closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Opened them.

For the brief time he'd been a sniper, he'd learned a lot. He didn't love the

mechanics of sniping like Mike did. Mike loved his guns like children. For Sam

they were tools, and not particularly interesting ones at that.

But still, sniper training included big chunks of bodily control. They'd

taught him how to slow his heartbeat. They'd been taught to let their bodies go into

a weird form of hibernation, where they could stay utterly still for days at a time,

bodily functions set at minimum, turning over just enough to stay alive.

He reached deep inside and dialed himself down. Way down. Over the next

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minute, like the ticking of an engine cooling, he slowed his heart rate, his

breathing, even stilled his thoughts.

No more fevered images of Nicole Pearce under him, deep blue eyes slitted

in ecstasy, long slender legs open for him, soft cunt accepting him.

No no. Instead, he filled his head with quiet pools of emptiness and gray

nothingness, willing his body to cool. The first time he'd been told that SEAL

training taught you to do that, he'd laughed. It sounded too much like something

beamed in from Woo-Woo Land. Sam had wanted into the SEALs more than

anything else in the world because he wanted to be the hardest man in a world of

hard men. When told part of that included becoming like Yoda, he'd scoffed.

But it had worked then and it was working now.

Nicole's hands were now still in her lap and a little color had come back to

her face. She'd lost that shocked look, as if she'd suddenly found herself face to

face with a wolf.

Their eyes met. Christ, her eyes were beautiful. Such a deep, intense blue,

framed by ridiculously long lashes. How the hell could she keep her eyes open

with lashes like that?

"I want you. A lot," he blurted out. Oh shit. He'd wanted to say something

soothing, maybe even suave, not that he was known for his smoothness. Usually

he was pretty blunt with women.

She looked like the kind of woman who'd appreciate a little suavity. It

seemed that right now he didn't have any in him. Desire had fried his circuits.

"Sorry." He winced. "I mean--"

Nicole huffed out a little breath. She wasn't smiling, but her face had

lightened. "That's okay. I kind of got the message when you dragged me out to

your car without stopping to ask for the check."

His back teeth clenched. "Sorry," he said again, then stopped. Quit while

you're ahead.

"Yes, I can see that." Her voice was soft. They looked at each other,

gauging each other, the cabin of the car utterly quiet. Sam controlled everything-his breathing, his movements. Stillness would have to be his gift to her, a sign that

he could control himself later, in bed.

He hoped.

Nicole lifted her left hand from her lap. How could absolutely everything

about her be so frigging beautiful? Her hands could figure in one of those soap

commercials. Pale ivory skin, long, slender fingers. Some kind of complicated ring

with several kinds of stones on the middle finger, not the ring finger, thank you,

God.

Nails manicured but short without that white square-top craziness and not

painted black or purple. That and black lipstick were real turnoffs for him, made

him think of fucking a zombie. Gah.

There was nothing about Nicole that was a turnoff.

Nicole's hand was so gorgeous he had to freeze his muscles not to grab it.

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