Midnight Man (19 page)

“Hey wait, where the hell are you—“ Bud said as John pressed the ‘off’ button. He waited grimly to get himself under control, until his breathing slowed and the red mist of rage in front of his eyes cleared.

Someone seriously wanted Suzanne dead?

They’d have to go through him first.

He headed upstairs. From now on, Suzanne wasn’t going to be more than a hand-span’s length from him.

* * * * *

It was late afternoon when she woke up. The sky outside the large wood-framed window was the deep blue of the evening sky at high altitude. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen. The pine trees cast long blue-black shadows that told her the day was coming to an end. She’d slept the day away.

Something warm and hard gripped her hand and she slowly turned her head on the pillow, knowing what she’d see, her heart tripping a beat anyway as her eyes met John’s.

Her breathing slowed and she felt calm, certain. They’d been moving toward this from the instant they’d met.

It’s time
, she thought.

He was sitting in the rocking chair by the head of the bed, holding her hand, watching her. Had he slept? There was no way to tell. He looked as he always looked—strong and indestructible.

He’d changed into a black tee shirt, which hugged his deep, powerful chest, stretched tightly over the huge biceps, and a pair of thin gray sweatpants grown soft with washing. She could clearly discern the massive thigh muscles.

He was hugely erect and that could be clearly seen, too. Her gaze was riveted on his groin. His penis came away from his stomach to lengthen, pulsing, and then flatten against his abdomen again.

Amazing, that she could do this to him, that she held such power. The ancient power of womanhood. The crying and the deep sleep and perhaps even the whiskey had done her good, had cleared her mind, filling it with a deep sense of certainty. She was now in another world, an ancient one, as old as man, where ties are forged in blood and iron. A world where the laws were lost in the mist of time, but no less strong for that.

They were bound by the most ancient law of all.

He had fought and killed for her. She was his.

Chapter Ten

It’s time
, John thought.

He had watched over Suzanne while she slept, holding her hand.

To give her comfort, because the animal part of a human knows when it’s safe to let go and when it’s not. It was why soldiers always post guards at night, even when there is no imminent danger. So the other soldiers can sleep at ease.

Suzanne slept deeply, giving herself over completely to unconsciousness, because at some level she knew he was there to watch over her.

But he held her hand for his own sake, too. To comfort himself. To know completely and totally that she was safe. Bud’s news had shaken him to the core. The danger stalking her was real and he could lose her almost as soon as he’d found her. So he held her hand to reassure her and to reassure himself.

He wanted her more than ever.

He had to be real careful here, the desire was all tangled with a powerful drive to make her his. He couldn’t let his feelings spill over into violence. Guarding her sleep was reassuring but it wasn’t doing anything to slake his hunger.

His entire body was tense with lust; he was walking a thin line of control here. The powerful feelings coursing through him must have slipped his leash, edged over to her. Suzanne’s breathing changed and she stirred in the bed. He watched.

Waiting. Wanting.

Suzanne eased smoothly from deep sleep to consciousness, eyes fluttering open slowly. She looked out the window at the gathering night, and then turned her head on the pillow. When her eyes met his, light to dark, it was like a punch to the stomach. He exhaled sharply, the sound loud in the silent room.

They could have been the last human beings on the planet. Just the two of them, man and woman, the oldest tie there was. She was his and she was in his cave.

His.

He reached out with his free hand to trace her mouth, the outline, where the skin turned from pink to ivory. She didn't move in any way, large gray eyes watching him, but he could feel the stir of air against his finger as she breathed.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I was too rough the other night. I don’t want to be rough.”

Her eyes searched his. She didn’t speak. He listened to the sound of her breathing in the quiet room. “You won’t be,” she murmured finally and his heart kicked its rate up.

It’s time.

She knew, too. She felt it too, this rightness, this inevitability.

Don’t let me mess this up.
John sent up a silent prayer to whoever it was who watched over soldiers. Take it easy. Go slow.

His finger moved from her mouth to her cheekbone, tracing the fine line of it, skimming over the barely-visible scab where a shard of brick had grazed her cheek. By a miracle, the bullet had smashed into the wall, not into her.

So close. So damned close.

The skin of his hand was dark and rough against the pale smoothness of hers. He moved his hand gently over her cheekbone, letting his fingers roam. The outline of her face, a shapely oval, down over the delicate jawbone, up over her mouth again, then back down to the smooth expanse of her neck. His finger dwelled on her pulse point, feeling the slow steady beat of her heart and as his eyes rose to meet hers, he could feel the exact moment her pulse speeded up. Moving his hand down, his finger caught on the high-necked flannel nightgown and he waited, every muscle in his body clenched, his cock pulsing with anticipation.

They watched each other; John totally unsure of what he should do—what he could do—next.

Suzanne reached up with her hand and touched his, moving it aside. He wanted to howl with frustration. If she didn’t want this now, he’d… but no. That wasn’t it.

She’d moved his hand aside so she could unbutton the neckline herself, slowly. He watched, fascinated, as one by one she slipped the little pink and white buttons through the buttonholes, unbuttoning them all, stopping when the buttons stopped, below her breasts. She lay her hand on her stomach, watching him. Waiting.

His call.

He knew exactly what to do now. Trying not to be too eager, trying not to shake, trying hard not to—shit!—rip the cloth…

“Sorry,” he muttered.

She laughed. Yes, thank you, God. That soft sound was actually a laugh. She was laughing at his clumsiness and she was right to. He chanced a smile himself. Her lips turned up in a wide smile in return.

She shook her head. “You’re going to have to start buying me underwear and nightgowns if you keep this up.”

Oh, yeah. “Yes,” he said fervently. “Panties by the dozen, a gross of nightgowns. Yes.” He opened the nightgown and went still.

“Oh, John.” Her voice was a mere whisper and the smile was gone. She saw what was in his eyes as he spread the wings of the nightgown. She was laid out for him like a feast…

Pretty didn’t even begin to describe it. She wasn’t lushly built, like some women he’d had, who now seemed grossly overblown because this—this—was exactly what he wanted. This was what turned him on so badly he was trembling.

He just sat and stared, hoping some blood would eventually make a return journey from his cock to his brain. Opening the nightgown had been like opening an exquisite present to himself. Her smooth skin was so pale she probably never took the sun. She glowed like a pearl in the evening light, something so rare and delicate he was almost afraid to touch it.

Her breasts were round and firm, smaller than his cupped hand. He reached out and ran his finger—just the tip, so gently he was barely grazing her skin—over her right breast, following the line of a blue vein as visible as a river from a helicopter. He circled the aureole, excited as hell to see that she got goose-bumps and that the nipple turned deep rose and hard.

Take it easy, take it easy.

He just sat there for a long moment, getting his breathing under control, hand curled around her breast.

“We’ve got to get this thing off you.” He removed his hand because otherwise he’d tear the thing off and he knew for a fact that Fork in the Road didn’t run to delicate pink nightgowns. “Can you do it?”

“Okay.” Watching him closely, Suzanne sat up, bunched the pink material in her hands and pulled. She wasn’t wearing panties. John watched, fascinated, as the gown uncovered long, lovely legs, round hips, a tiny waist, then was pulled up over her head, tossed to the side and then yes! There she was. Naked.

Just for him.

The other night he hadn’t had a chance to see all of her. He’d stripped her and entered her before her clothes had fluttered to the ground. He’d been way too far-gone to notice anything at all other than the tight, wet heat of her. But now, ah, God, now here she was. If he hadn’t been hard as steel, ready to explode, he’d have spent the next couple of hours just looking and touching that soft soft skin, noticing the sharp indentation under the rib cage where her waistline narrowed, then curved out again, marveling at how delicately she was built. How did all of her organs fit inside?

He’d think about that later. Now he wanted—no, needed—to touch his mouth to her.

Leaning forward, he placed his lips on her neck, where the pulse was fluttering wildly. He could feel how the touch of his mouth excited her.

It was good to have these signs, her wild heartbeat, the fast breathing, and the hard little nipples. God knows his excitement was hugely visible.

But there was another way to see if she was as aroused as he was. He licked the pulsing vein in her neck, a long slow lap of his tongue as he moved his hand downwards. Past the soft breast, where the heartbeat could be seen and felt in her left breast, over the rib cage, across the flat little belly, down, down…

The hair here was soft, almost silky and not stiff and crinkly as most women’s pubic hair was. She took the hint of his hand cupped over her mound and let her legs fall open. He slid his fingers down and around and touched her lips there. Soft, warm and yes, wet. His hand trembled as he spread the lips and inserted a finger, frowning at the difficulty and at her sudden intake of breath.

She was so goddamned tight.

He eased his finger in slowly, realizing that he must have hurt her the other night. His cock was for sure bigger than his finger. Even with his finger, he was having to enter her by degrees. The other night he’d just crashed his way in and started fucking her as if she were a ten dollar whore and he was a sailor on shore leave after a year at sea. He winced at the memory.

He pushed in further and she closed around his finger like a fist.

He withdrew his hand a little then penetrated her again, barely inside the entrance.

“You haven’t fucked much, have you?” he asked hoarsely. She didn’t react to his hard words. He was used to soldiers’ talk—there wasn’t any political correctness at all in the Teams—but beyond that, he was too blasted by lust to look for other words, prettier ones, and softer ones. Just the blunt truth—you’re so damned tight I can tell you haven’t been fucked much.

“No.” Her voice was low, an almost soundless whisper.

“That’s changing.” There was a tightness in his chest. He could barely get the words out. His voice was harsh, strained. “Starting now.”

Two quick swipes of his hands and he was naked. Then he was stretching out on the bed next to her, spreading her legs wider with shaking hands. He mounted her, opened her with two fingers, positioned his cock and thrust blindly…

He stopped at her sharply indrawn breath, just an inch or two inside her. He was hard as a rock. He wanted to just plunge in so badly he was shaking with the effort to stop. But this is where he’d messed things up before. Once was bad enough. Twice and he’d lose her. He couldn’t do it this way. He pulled out.

Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled them over, holding her upright with his hands.

“Oh.” She looked startled, as if the idea of being on top of a man had never occurred to her before. The folds of her sex opened to ride along the base of his cock, her knees straddling his rib cage. They looked at each other and she smiled faintly. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and clutched his biceps. “Well.” She stirred a little along his cock, riding him gently up and down, testing. “This is interesting.”