Into the Crossfire (13 page)

Her hand was moving, floating in space. He didn't take his eyes from her

face, though he could easily see her hand in his peripheral vision. Slowly, she

placed her hand over his on the wheel. It felt cool, and soft.

The contrast between their two hands was amazingly erotic. His hands were

large, tough, scarred. Hers were like some marble statue by the world's greatest

artist.

He became, if possible, even more still for a breath, two. Something must

have reassured her because she smiled, faintly. She squeezed his hand, a light

caress that shot straight to his dick, then put her hand back in her lap.

"Are we going to do this?" she asked, her voice low.

Fuck yeah! Sam locked the words in his throat instead of yelling them out.

"Yes. I hope." His voice came out hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in years.

He cleared his throat, then locked his mouth shut. Do not jinx this, he told himself.

Anything that came out right now would be wrong.

Her eyes dropped to his groin, where a blue steeler was trying to punch its

way through the lightweight wool of his expensive suit pants. Unlike the jeans, the

suit pants simply outlined him.

"I can see that."

Blood pulsed in his dick, and it moved in his pants. She couldn't miss it. It

was like his dick was reaching out to her.

There wasn't anything he could do to hide the hard-on. Sometimes when an

erection became inconvenient, he could think it back down, like slowing his

heartbeat. Life was full of downer thoughts, images that could dampen desire.

Nothing like that could work now, though. There wasn't any thought in the

world that could make his dick go down with Nicole Pearce a foot away from him,

contemplating letting him fuck her. His dick actually hurt and his balls were curled

right up tightly against him, waiting to blow.

She searched his eyes, looking for something. He imagined she was looking

for signs of violence. There was violence in him, sure, always had been, but never

toward women or children. He'd never hurt a woman or a child and was grateful

that his military career had never forced him to, because he wouldn't have been

able to.

But beyond that, he could never hurt Nicole Pearce. He'd rather shoot

himself in the chest. He just hoped with all his heart that he could keep in control

in bed with her, which was another matter.

Control.

He'd spent a lifetime in control of himself and had to grip himself tightly to

keep it, because it felt like it was slipping away, like sand through a fist.

Finally her lips turned upward in a faint smile. "Okay," she said softly.

All right! It was like letting a greyhound out of the gate.

A second later, they were shooting down the road, Sam trying to make it to

his apartment as fast as legally possible. He wished he had one of those James

Bond cars that could fly.

62

After twenty minutes at top speed, they were driving along the waterfront,

the sun starting to set in a bloom of red on the water. It was a beautiful evening.

With any other woman, he'd remark on that. He'd driven countless women

to his house or their house, knowing they were going to fuck, and he'd always

been capable of keeping up a light conversation.

He couldn't get any words out now, though. None. It was like his throat was

seized up.

She didn't seem to have any problems with that. He liked that she was

comfortable with silence. She looked out at the vastness of the Pacific, the lower

edge of the boiling crimson sun lighting gently on the horizon.

"It's a lovely evening."

Sam made a strangled noise in his throat and she turned to look at him.

"Where do you live? Where are we going?"

An ordinary question, deserving of an answer. He was going to scare her

again if he couldn't even fucking talk.

He wrestled with himself, grabbed at a little self-control.

"Coronado Shores. Bought an apartment there over a year ago." He had to

actually think about driving. Red lights, green lights, brakes. He was a good

driver, had a natural feel for it, but right now he had to work hard not to press the

accelerator to the floor and the hell with everything. Probably drive them straight

into a goddamned light pole. "I was essentially a Navy diver and when I moved

back here, I knew I wanted to live close to the sea."

That was part of it, but he didn't say the whole truth--how he'd spent

countless afternoons on the dunes a couple of miles down, spending as much time

as possible away from Old Man Hughes's fists, watching Navy SEALs go through

their brutal paces. He'd longed to be one of them, part of a team of men with all

the skills to make the world safer. Over the years, watching the hard men become

harder by the day, he knew what he wanted to do with his life.

And now, in his post-military life, living in Coronado Shores meant he

could run along the beach down to the training area and watch the new recruits

rolling in the freezing surf and know that there would always be a new generation

of men to watch over his country.

Nicole was looking around her with interest as they drove into Coronado

Shores, passing by the first of the big condominium complexes. His was the last,

La Torre. "I've been meaning to explore this part of town but I never got around to

it," she said softly.

"That so?" He was surprised. The area was a popular outing for San

Diegans.

She looked at him with a faint smile. "We've only been here a year. Since

we arrived I've been really busy with Dad and Wordsmith. I've barely explored

San Diego, just poked around a little, mainly in our part of town and the

downtown area near our building."

"I'll show the area to you," Sam offered. "Be happy to. I know the city like

63

the back of my hand." Afterwards. When we come up for air, whenever that will

be.

She looked at him, a sideways dark blue glance that held a slight note of

sadness. It hit him like a sledgehammer that she wasn't really expecting to see him

again after tonight.

Oh no, he wasn't buying that. No way.

That big song and dance about her not having room for a man in her life?

Fuck that. Sam would fucking plant himself at her fucking feet if that was what it

took to keep seeing her.

"We're here," he said, veering sharply into his condo's driveway, then

plunging down into the underground garage. He drove into his slot and killed the

engine.

His condo had 140 units and the garage was usually busy 24/7 with people

coming and going. Oddly enough, though, right now it was deserted. The only

sound was the ticking sound of his engine cooling.

They sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other. Nicole swallowed.

Do something, dickhead, he told himself.

Clutching the wheel tightly, because he didn't trust himself to touch her, he

leaned over to her, slowly. She was still a moment, then moved her head to meet

his, hands in her lap. Their lips met over the central console.

The first real taste of her was electric. He felt it down to his balls. The

merest taste, a brush of the lips, then, heads tilting, a deeper taste.

Oh God, it was like drinking fine wine. His nose was against her cheek.

Close up, she smelled even better. They should just bottle up that smell and call it

Desirable Woman. Men would follow women wearing it over cliffs.

He opened his mouth and licked her tongue, feeling her in-drawn breath

from his mouth. Oh Jesus. One more second and he'd tilt her seat back, climb on

top of her, lift her skirt, rip her panties open and drive into her.

He could barely breathe from the excitement. They had to take it inside. He

didn't give a shit, but presumably Nicole would mind being caught humping in the

front seat.

He lifted his head, watching her eyes slowly open, like huge dark blue

headlights. She looked dazed, the skin over her cheekbones flushed. She was

aroused. Not as much as he was--that would be impossible--but she was definitely

turned on.

"Let's go up." He was whispering. Everything felt fragile, as if the moment

were of glass and could shatter at too loud a sound.

"Okay," she whispered back.

There was no small talk in the elevator going up. Nicole couldn't utter a

word, her throat was too tightly closed. What was there to say, anyway? She

couldn't have made any small talk that wouldn't arrow right back to what they

were about to do.

64

Sam Reston stood beside her, looking as if he were about ready to explode,

with an enormous erection tenting his pants. Any possible comments she might

make about the weather or the building or the food they'd just eaten would be

inane.

The very air felt charged, as if something enormous, something dark, surely

momentous, possibly dangerous, were coming closer with each second.

This hadn't actually happened to her before--going to a man's house on a

date having already accepted the idea of sleeping with him. Ms. Cool always kept

her options open, never promising anything. A number of men who thought going

to bed with her was a done deal had been left hanging. She made no promises and

always reserved the right to say no if she became uncomfortable with the idea.

She wasn't going to say no now. She couldn't. It was as if Sam were

this...this dark wizard who'd somehow cast a spell. Cast a glittering net over her so

she couldn't escape, couldn't go back, could only go forward. The way an arrow,

once loosed from the bow and embedded in flesh, can only be pushed forward,

never pulled back.

There was this huge, rushing stream of dark sensuality, flowing directly

toward his apartment and his bed, and she was caught in it.

At the thought of being in Sam Reston's bed, her vagina tightened, hard. Oh

God, she was so aroused, she could feel the lips of her sex rubbing together as she

moved.

This was absolutely new territory for Nicole. Another country altogether.

One so far away from her knowledge of herself she could have been on an alien

planet.

She couldn't say anything. Her voice would betray her agitation. She was

barely holding on to a semblance of control, trying to keep her breathing regular,

but it was all but impossible when she realized they were minutes away from bed.

At the thought, at the heated images in her head of Sam Reston's broad,

naked shoulders above her, dark eyes staring into hers, long legs twined with hers,

her vagina clenched again, her stomach muscles pulling sharply.

Heavens, she was minutes from orgasm, just from riding in the car and

walking beside this man! Her heart pounded, her knees were weak.

This was ridiculous. Insane. Nicole was not highly sexed. Even in Geneva,

footloose and fancy free, with all the money in the world and a city of diplomats

and bankers at her feet, she hadn't dated that much. Certainly hadn't slept around.

She was hard to please, easily bored. Cool and in control, always.

Not now. This rough former soldier had somehow shaken her so hard she'd

come away from her moorings. She was so filled with nervous excitement she had

to stop herself from drumming her fingers on her purse.

She looked up, once, then looked away. He was watching her, dark eyes

fixed on her, unwavering in his attention. Most women wanted their dates to pay

attention to them, but this was way beyond first-date vibes. He was a soldier, and

he was fixed on her as if she were a mission.

65

She'd never been in an enclosed space where the silence had weight and

density. The silence felt like a living thing in the cabin, alive and sinuous, thick,

snaking around them like an invisible fog.

It robbed her of breath and, obviously, of all common sense because she

found she wanted to jump Sam Reston's bones. It was hard to think of a more unNicole-like thought, but there it was.

He exerted a pull she'd never felt before, though it was true she'd never

gone out with anyone like him before, either. Her dates up until now had been

elegant metrosexuals. Certainly not big and tough like Sam, incapable of playing

those sophisticated man-woman games she was so good at. Sam didn't hide his

desire in any way. He wasn't playing in any way. It was as if his desire were a

huge emery board, filing away a layer of her skin until she was rubbed raw.

She chanced another glance up at him then away again, fast. He was still

focused on her, jaw muscles jumping, eyes narrowed into slits.

Her heart jumped and she had to remember to breathe.

Nicole stared blindly at the door panel because if she looked at him again,

she'd move toward him or reach out to touch him and he looked like he was barely

controlling himself. She barely had herself under control. When the doors

swooshed open, Sam put a hand to her back and her knees nearly buckled.

A large well-lit expanse of highly-polished hardwood floor stretched out

left to right. At each end of the corridor were huge plate-glass floor-to-ceiling

windows filled with a crimson glow. One side of the building gave out over the

ocean, the other side onto the bay.

Sam took her elbow and moved them right, walking them down to the end