Playing for Keeps (Texas Scoundrels) (35 page)

“Which means...”

“There’s a pretty good chance that I could have twins.”

He smiled. “How soon will you know?”

“Around the time we hear the heartbeat.” If she were carrying twins, the man’s ego would know no bounds. Not that it did, anyway, but the last thing she wanted to do was create more of a monster.

“So you’re saying that every time I knock you up, there’s a chance you could have multiples?”

“Nice, Jed.” She laughed. “Knock me up? Really?”

His smile widened into a grin. “We could end up as a reality show.”

“Uh...no.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.” He dipped his head and traced the outline of her ear with the tip of his tongue. “But, I love you, anyway.”

“That’s good to know.” Heat pooled in her belly and she shuddered against him as he slid his hand down her body to her heated center. “Because I love you, too,” she said as she widened her legs for him.

He caught her mouth in a hot, open-mouthed kiss that had her body igniting and coming vibrantly alive under his touch. As they made love into the early morning hours, Griffen knew without a doubt that loving Jed had changed her...for the better. She still wouldn’t exactly call herself a risk taker, but she’d certainly stopped waiting for that other shoe to drop.

 
The End.

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Enjoy an excerpt from

PLAYING TO WIN

A Texas Scoundrels Novel

Book 2

Coming Soon...

I know I will be called upon to perform tasks in isolation, far from familiar faces and voices . . .

The Special Forces Creed

Somewhere in Afghanistan...

FORD GRAYSON FORCED himself to concentrate on anything but the bastard methodically stripping the flesh from his back. For over five years he’d been held prisoner, believed dead by his government, and by those he loved. God help him, he would find a way to escape.

The sting of the lash seared his skin, or what was left of it. The punishment, an example to others, dealt because he’d struck a guard, violated more than the Geneva Convention, it violated the laws of man.
 

They could have shot him, but they enjoyed their games of torture too much to dispose of him quickly and painlessly. Regardless of his vows to gain freedom for himself and the others, he almost wished they had shot him.
 

The desert sun blinded him, so he kept his eyes closed, his body flinching with each stroke of the whip against his skin. He tried to numb his mind and failed. Instead, he thought of other places, other people. He thought of home. Warm summer breezes coming off the lake in his hometown of Hart, Texas. The sounds of the city, of downtown Dallas. And how much he missed his wife.
 

Visions of Mattie filtered through his mind. Her struggle to keep the tears at bay whenever he deployed, and how she always lost it once she thought he couldn’t see her. The way her cat-green eyes simmered with desire. The way she melted into him that last chilly winter morning when he’d deployed on his last mission. God, he’d give anything to hold her in his arms again.

The smell of diesel fuel burned his nostrils, the exhaust fumes from the idling truck choked him, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. They’d tied his hands and feet to stakes in the dusty courtyard, spread eagled and face down, his shirt stripped from his body. Blood oozed from the opened wounds, winding down his back and mingling with the red, talcum-like dust that had covered him since he’d first arrived in Hell.

The sound of pounding feet and raised voices filled the courtyard. His torturer flicked the whip one last time, but Ford concentrated on the voices. From their shouts and his scant knowledge of the language, he caught enough key phrases to garner they would be moving the prisoners again. He no longer had any idea if he was still in Iraqi territory, or if they’d been moved to another region sympathetic to the Taliban. Most times they were transported in the quiet of the desert night, driven around for hours, sometimes, he thought, in circles just to confuse the prisoners. The hiding places varied, from abandoned homes and tents in the desert, to old deserted bunkers or caves in the mountains. From the urgency he detected in the voices of his captors, they feared discovery.
 

Someone cut his bonds, then dark skinned hands roughly dragged him to his feet. The scum who’d whipped him, the one Ford swore he’d kill with his bare hands once the opportunity presented itself, grabbed his overgrown hair and yanked up his head. Ford glared at the son-of-a-bitch.

“I should have killed you,” the guard, Shalah, said in French.

“You can try,” Ford returned in the same language.

Shalah laughed, a sound just short of menacing. “You are too brave for your own good, Lieutenant. I would have enjoyed breaking you.”

“I’ll see you in Hell first,” Ford said in English, then spat on the guard.

His reward was a rifle butt to his gut. The air whooshed out of him and he doubled over. Before he could regain his breath, the guards shoved him in the back of the covered truck and closed the flap.
 

“You never learn, my friend,” Jacques, another of the prisoners commented, as he pulled Ford deeper into the truck. “That one enjoys tormenting you.”

“He’ll die,” Ford said, wincing when Jacques examined the fresh wounds. “They’ll all die.”

“
Oui
, but I may have a plan for our escape,” Jacques said.
 

Ford ignored the burning pain and gave Jacques a level stare.
 

“We are the only ones being taken away,” he explained. “From what I overheard this morning, we are being traded for weapons.”

“Traded? To who?”

Jacques shook his head. “I am not certain,
mon ami
.” The French chemist poured water from a canteen over Ford’s back. “This one is too deep,” he muttered in his native tongue. “But it cannot be good for us, no?”

Ford grit his teeth and forced the throbbing and burning pain from his mind as he digested the information. Jacques LeCuvier had value to the enemy. When they’d first brought the Frenchman to the camp, Ford hadn’t expected the delicate chemist to last more than a week, but for the past two years, Jacques had continually proven him wrong.
 

I would have enjoyed breaking you
.
 

“If we’re the only two being traded,” Ford said, “that means fewer guards, my friend.”
 

“
Oui
, but they have guns. All we have are these,” Jacque said, holding up his smallish hands.

A slow grin curved Ford’s mouth. “That’s all the weapon I need.”
 

This was his chance, maybe even his last chance—and he’d be damned if he’d let the bastards live another day.

Three weeks later...

FORD PACED THE small space, anger and frustration his constant companions. He wanted to go home. He wanted to reclaim his life. Unfortunately, Colonel Benson, the base commander had kept him caged in the military installation in Brussels for the past week. He hadn’t even been able to make a goddamn phone call. Criminals had more rights, and he was mad as hell.

Proving his identity to the American Ambassador to Kuwait hadn’t been easy, but after
 
two days of telephone calls, faxes and meetings, the military had finally sent Colonel Benson to confirm his identity. That process had taken another forty-eight hours of intense interrogation before Benson had been satisfied he was one of the good guys. They’d finally shipped him out to Brussels where he’d been held another week for debriefing. He’d told them everything he knew from the moment the plane carrying him and his men had been shot down over the Mediterranean Sea, to his capture behind enemy lines. He’d recounted his years in captivity, including LeCuvier’s part in blowing up the chemical plant on the Pakistani border, and their subsequent escape. Ten days later, he and Jacques arrived at the Embassy in Kuwait by traveling at night, mostly on foot.
 

And how had his government rewarded him? By caging him like a goddamned animal.
 

Ford swore viciously and shoved his hands through his newly cropped hair. He continued to pace the sparsely furnished room, scowling when he passed the rack. His sea bag rested on the top, packed and ready. He’d been told he was being shipped out, but to where, he hadn’t a clue. He’d been at the mercy of a band of Taliban fighters for five years. Years of hell, years of suffering the whims of cruel jailors, with barely enough food to sustain a small child let alone a man. The room they’d given him now was little better than a prison cell, but least the living conditions of the past week had been better than that in the various camps and abandoned houses.
 

His head snapped around when a light rap sounded on the door. A young marine, no more than eighteen or nineteen, stepped into the room and saluted.
 

“At ease,” Ford rasped.
 

The grunt braced his feet apart and folded his arms behind his back. “Lieutenant Grayson, Captain Ravalli has arrived and would like a word, sir.”

Ford nodded, waited for the enlisted man to precede him from the room. He followed him down a long, narrow corridor, hoping maybe now he’d have some answers. Like why in the hell he couldn’t go home?

The marine stopped in front of a double door, knocked twice, then stepped aside. He saluted again as Ford passed in front of him, then quietly closed the door behind him.
 

“My God, it really is you,” Paul Ravalli said, his voice gravelly. The senior officer came out from behind a standard government-issue desk to clasped Ford’s hand, then pulled him into a bear hug.
 

Paul released him, then moved around the desk. Opening a drawer, he retrieved a bottle of Glenfiddich and poured two fingers worth into a pair of tumblers.

 
“Welcome home,” Paul said, handing one to Ford.

“Thank you, sir,” Ford said with a nod, then tossed back the Scotch. The alcohol burned his throat, settling into his stomach like a ball of fire. He hadn’t had a drink in so long, he’d almost forgotten what it was like. When Ravalli lifted the bottle in silent offering, Ford declined.
 

Paul perched on the edge of the desk and poured himself another. “It’s damned good to see you again,” he said, setting the bottle aside.
 

“And you.” Ford dropped into the chair the senior officer indicated. “Captain, huh?” When he’d first encountered Paul, he’d been a Lieutenant, like himself. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, well, you know how it goes.” Paul waved away the backhanded compliment. “Benson faxed me the reports of your activities. If I had my way, you’d be receiving a medal for what you’ve done. Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple. The Pakistani Army has claimed responsibility for the lab, and the U.S. is keeping the truth quiet.”

“I wasn’t looking for a medal when I went in.” Ford frowned. He’d been doing his job, the job his government expected of him. He’d sworn to protect his country, and that’s what he’d done. Sure, he hadn’t expected to be shot down or captured, but the mission had been to locate and disable enemy facilities by any means necessary. He’d done that, and thanks to Jacques LeCuvier, they’d taken it one step further and leveled the damned thing. He’d been on enough top secret missions to understand why his government wouldn’t claim responsibility, but allow some other group to revel in the glory.
 

Business as usual.

Ford looked at Paul, still as robust as Ford remembered him. The Captain hadn’t changed much in the past five years, other than his leap frogging promotions from Lieutenant all the way up to Captain.

“How are you holding up?” Paul asked before taking a sip of Scotch.

“Fine, sir,” Ford replied, trying to keep a tight rein on his patience. He wanted answers.
 

“Cut the ‘sir’ crap,” Paul said. “We’re friends, remember? We’ve known each other a hell of a long time, and been in places I don’t care to see again. Right now I’m your friend, not your C.O.”

“Then I’d like to see home,” Ford stated honestly.
 

“And you will. I’m personally putting you on a transport to Carswell Field.” Paul stood and circled desk to drop into a squeaky leather chair. Frowning, he hesitated for a moment before opening a filed marked
Eyes Only
. “A lot has changed since you went missing.” Slowly, he slid an eight-by-ten color photograph across the desk.

Mattie
.

Ford’s breath stilled as he stared at the photograph. God, she was just as beautiful as he remembered her. Petite and curvy, she had a bombshell body and the sweetest smile. But her eyes, she could make him hard with one look.