Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (35 page)

And yes, maybe Trace had let the bastard
get a little too close for comfort the last time, but he’d been after revenge,
wanting to follow the trail that would lead him back to the man responsible for
all of this. His emotional reaction hadn’t fared well for Josh, unfortunately,
and thanks to the lapse in judgment, Ian had nearly lost his own life in the
process because the
not-life-threatening
bullet
wound
that Ian had
initially claimed to have, was, in fact, that. Fucking life-threatening. It’d
hit a fucking artery.

Not that Marissa would ever know that.

And ever since that horrific day when
Trace had thought he’d lost the one thing he cared about more than anything in
the world, he’d been her shadow. Hiding in plain sight, unwilling to leave her
for too long. He’d remained in Maine until he’d had no other choice but to head
off on another assignment. Only then had he made sure that someone with more
skills than poor Josh was in place.

His assignment had lasted two fucking
months, but the minute he was back in Texas, debriefed and rested, he’d packed
his shit and prepared to head out once again only to learn that they’d moved
her. According to Bryce and Casper, that was the new plan: continue to move her
as they tried to make heads or tails of the entire clusterfuck.

When Trace had demanded to know where she
was, insisting he was the only one equipped to protect her that time, no one
had questioned him directly, but he was pretty sure his father had recognized
Trace’s reasons for going back. Trace cared about Marissa. More than he even
admitted to himself. It had been during his battle with his emotions that Bryce
and Casper, and even RT, had convinced him to sit on it. To try and lure the
guy out of hiding one more time.

Wanting nothing more than to end the
bullshit, Trace had somehow forced himself to sit back and wait for a solid
fucking week and a half. He’d gotten Marissa out of the Connecticut safe house,
but he had sacrificed the asshole who had set the bomb in the process, much
like the guy before that, the man who’d kidnapped her from a fucking safe house
and stopped for dinner, forsaking any possible chance of finding the man
responsible for it all. The man behind the instructions.

Trace brought the TV into focus, trying to
force the memories of that day away. He’d gotten Marissa out safe and sound, which
was all that mattered. The fuckhole Trace had encountered in the Connecticut
house hadn’t been willing to talk anyway, so the bullet Trace had delivered to
the man’s brain had been the only option. Trace had been on borrowed time, and
dragging the body down the hall and into the bathroom hadn’t been high on his
list of things to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to let Marissa see what was
left of the guy.

When she’d emerged from her bedroom,
Trace’s instincts had kicked in. They were down to mere minutes, and his only
hope was to get them both out of the house safely. He’d suspected the first guy
hadn’t been working alone, but Trace didn’t have time for another encounter, so
he’d approached her quietly, and then they’d run like hell.

To this day, he had managed to avoid
answering most of her questions. He wasn’t sure he’d be willing to give her all
the details, not wanting to subject her to the horrors that seemed to be going
on around her.

And now, the only thing he could think
about was keeping her safe from the evil lurking in the shadows.

□«»□«»□«»□

Marissa sat cross-legged in the big comfy
suede chair as she tried to focus on the television. Whatever Trace was
watching hadn’t captured her interest, but at least she wasn’t having an
anxiety attack. That was saying something.

Ever since her conversation with RT, she’d
been reliving the nightmare that’d claimed her life for the past year, as
though it were happening to her all over again. Being with Trace, watching him
as he moved around his house so effortlessly, had been the only thing to take
her mind off the fear. And at times, even that wasn’t enough to ward off the
chill that had taken up residence in her bones.

For a brief time, he had retreated to his
bedroom, closing the door behind him and effectively shutting her out. She’d
been somewhat grateful for the opportunity to be alone, choosing to shower
while she had the opportunity, but then when that task was completed, Marissa
had found the silence nearly unbearable. Strange, considering she’d spent so
much of the past year with only her thoughts as company, and it had never
bothered her as much as it had today.

She’d actually fought the urge to run to
Trace, to open his bedroom door and throw her arms around him, seeking the
safety and security she only felt when she was with him, but she had somehow
managed to leave him be.

Relief had swamped her when he’d
reappeared nearly two hours later, looking worse for wear, even though he’d
attempted to smile. Since that point, conversation had been slow, although
there were a million questions running on an endless loop in her brain, but she
refused to ask them. Trace wouldn’t answer them; she knew that much. So, she
had busied herself by cleaning up the kitchen and doing her best to preoccupy
her mind with whatever sitcom that was playing on the giant television mounted
on the wall.

It wasn’t working.

She wanted nothing more than to curl up
into a ball until the world around her righted itself and things could get back
to normal. For the last year, her work had taken a hit, her social life was
precariously thin, and her sex life, until the last few days, was obsolete. It
was as though she’d become a shell of herself, and with every minute that
passed, she’d found herself withdrawing that much more.

Until Trace.

Until he had put light back into her life,
a smile back on her face. He was the good she’d been searching for, the safety
she’d thought was lost. Except now she feared he’d put that invisible wall back
up, the one that had kept her away from him.

The only positive out of all of this was
the fact that Marissa knew she could still feel something. And that something
was completely focused on Trace. When he was around, she wasn’t sure she’d care
what was on television or whether the world around them had stopped moving. Her
entire focus was on him. At the moment, she considered him her lifeline.

Trying her best not to be obvious, Marissa
found herself glancing over at him repeatedly. She was absorbing every inch of
him with her eyes, and with each observant pass, her body temperature was
steadily increasing, effectively pushing the morbid thoughts away once again.

Marissa was having a hard time finding the
negative in that.

The man was… God, she wasn’t even sure she
could describe it. The way he lay prone on the sofa, his head propped on a
small throw pillow, his hands resting on his flat, chiseled—and very naked
—stomach had her attention focused there. He was wearing black sweat pants that
rode low on his hips, highlighting that muscular V that made her pulse rate
skyrocket.

She recalled watching him move around his
kitchen while she’d sat at the table drinking the water he’d thrust at her
shortly after she had joined him when he’d offered her lunch. When he’d shoved
the boxed meal he’d retrieved from the freezer into the microwave, Marissa had
been intently focused on his ass. A perfect, drool-worthy ass that looked as
though quarters could be bounced off the hard, defined muscles.

His back was corded, the defined muscles
visible beneath the black T-shirt he’d had on. His thick biceps had bunched and
flexed as he’d retrieved plates and silverware during his preparations. Had she
not been so fixated on him, she would’ve had the good sense to offer to help.
It was his own fault.

As if that hadn’t been enough, once he’d
emerged from his bedroom after disappearing for a few hours, she had been
surprised to see that he’d changed. Gone were the black tactical pants and in
their place were a pair of black sweat pants that clung to every muscle so
deliciously she shouldn’t have been expected to help. Especially since he’d
opted to go shirtless. Again.

And now, Marissa wanted to be the one to
run her hands over his short, spiky hair, just as he did every few minutes. A nervous
tic, maybe? Or perhaps he could feel her watching him. Either way, she wanted
to touch him. She could imagine herself propped over him on the couch, their
mouths fused together as the stubble along his jaw and chin scraped sensually
against her face as it had so many times over the last few days.

Slow
down, girlie.

Her subconscious might be offering
warnings, but her eyes weren’t willing to respond. He was too much temptation
all wrapped up in a sexy, sinfully delicious package, and Marissa desperately
needed a distraction.

Trace cleared his throat and Marissa’s
gaze darted back to his face. She was pretty sure she turned three shades of
red when she realized he was staring back at her. Unable to say anything, she
merely forced her attention back to the television, her hands knotting in her
lap.

Yeah, she wasn’t sure how long she was
going to be able to do this. After all, she might be fighting for her life, but
she wasn’t dead yet.

“You wanna talk?” Trace asked when he
found Marissa staring at him once again.

“About?”

“Up to you,” he told her, not bothering to
move from his position on the couch.

“Is that an offer to answer my questions?”

Trace glanced over his shoulder, meeting
her gaze head on as he considered that. He merely shrugged, figuring he had
nothing left to lose. If she wanted to question him, he had quite a few
questions of his own that needed to be answered.

“What happened to Josh?” she asked, her
voice soft.

Swallowing, Trace looked up at the ceiling,
deciding to go all in. “Josh and Ian had been assigned to keep an eye on you in
the Oklahoma safe house. The day that asshole grabbed you, Josh took a bullet
to the head.” Trace knew he was being harsh with his explanation, but he
couldn’t see any other way to describe it. He wanted Marissa to understand just
how real this was. How real it would be tomorrow when they ventured right into
the fray, putting her directly in the line of fire for the sake of drawing this
bastard out.

“And Ian?”

“He took a bullet to the shoulder. It hit
an artery. They did surgery to repair it, managed to save his life.”

“And you?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Trace sat up, unable to pretend any
longer. Resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his clasped hands between
his legs, he looked at Marissa. “When we found out, I went after you. RT and I.
By the time I got to the safe house, you were gone. We’d received an anonymous
tip that you were going to be taken.”

“Why didn’t anyone warn me?” she asked,
her eyes glistening with what Trace could only assume were tears. Or possibly
fear.

“We tried. Clay called, but they’d cut
your phone line by then. Your father called in some favors, had the locals do a
welfare check, but by the time they got there, you were gone. The tip we
received was bullshit. Or partly bullshit, anyway. But that’s not the point.

“One of the neighbors gave us the details
on a car they saw at the house. Dom and Austin hacked the cameras and we went
on the only leads we had. I found you,” Trace said, glancing down at the floor.
“You were drugged and put in the trunk. The dumb ass who took you had stopped
for dinner. RT came for you and I went after the man who grabbed you.”

“Did he…?”

Trace stared back at Marissa, reading her
facial expressions, understanding what she was asking. “He didn’t hurt you,
Marissa. Aside from drugging you and putting you in the trunk, he didn’t touch
you.”

Marissa seemed to process that for a
moment. “Were you hurt?” Marissa asked.

“Shot. A superficial wound,” he told her,
subconsciously reaching up and rubbing the arm where the bullet had gone
cleanly through the muscle. “I killed that bastard, too.”

He peered over at Marissa again, noticing
a tear trailing down her face. Unable to stand seeing her cry, Trace moved over
to her, dropping to his knees in front of her, cupping her face in his hands.

“This wasn’t your fault, Marissa. No one
could’ve predicted any of this would happen.”

“But I’m the one who was digging into
this,” she argued softly, her voice quivering. “I’m the one who suspected the
Adorites were involved but didn’t tell anyone. I’m the one who knew about the
guns. I didn’t say a word, but I swear, it wasn’t about the story, or breaking
it wide open. I honestly didn’t know where to look, what could’ve possibly gone
wrong. I wanted to save myself, didn’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

Her sob broke his heart.

“That’s what you do, Marissa. It’s also
what we all do,” he assured her. “We didn’t tell you for this very reason. You
can’t carry the burden. You can’t ponder the what-ifs. Nothing will change the
past. But we can move forward. We can find this bastard and take him down.”

“I want that more than anything,” she
replied, another sob interrupting her words.

“You deserve to get on with your life,
Marissa.”

“What does that mean?”

Trace knew what she was asking, knew she
wanted him to tell her where this thing between them was going. The fact of the
matter was, he truly didn’t know. He wouldn’t know anything until they got her
out of harm’s way.

“Do you care about me?” Marissa asked, her
voice stronger than before. “Has any of this meant something to you? Or am I
just a way to pass the time?”

Trace’s frustration flared hot and bright.
Sliding his hand into her hair, he tilted her head back, forcing her to meet
his eyes. “I’ve always cared about you,” he told her roughly. “This thing
between us, it’s not temporary. Not by a long shot. But I still don’t know what
that means. I won’t make you any promises, Marissa. Not until we take this
bastard down.”

Marissa nodded, her eyes locked with his,
tears lingering on her long lashes.

Trace wanted to tell her that he loved
her, that he would die before he allowed anything to happen to her, but he
couldn’t. He couldn’t put himself out there like that. Not yet.

They would have to be on their toes
tomorrow if there was any chance that they’d catch Duchein. And that was the
plan. They would take this bastard down, no matter what it took. But there
wasn’t any room for distractions. And what Trace felt for her, what he sensed
she felt for him, that was a distraction.

Marissa’s throat tightened as she
swallowed. “Make love to me, Trace.”

Those few words had Trace’s entire body
hardening, adrenaline flooding his veins.

Shaking his head, Trace decided to be
totally honest. “I’m not sure I can be easy with you right now.”

“I don’t need easy. Or gentle, Trace. I
just need you.”

When Marissa leaned forward, her lips crushing
against his, Trace’s control instantly snapped. Abruptly getting to his feet,
he pulled her with him, never breaking his mouth from hers. Their tongues
dueled, their combined need churning into something brutal and brilliant. Time
seemed to speed up and slow down all at once, and the next thing Trace knew, he
had Marissa pinned against the exposed brick wall, his hand cradling the back
of her head, his fingers threaded into her hair as he pulled roughly, taking
control of the kiss.

Her fingernails dug into his arms, but the
pain only spurred him on as he pressed his body to hers, grinding his rock-hard
cock against the softness between her thighs.

“Touch me,” he ordered, stealing a breath
before delving back into her mouth.

Marissa’s hand slipped into his sweat pants,
her soft, cool fingers gripping his cock roughly as she stroked him from base
to tip. Trace’s body ignited, a firestorm of emotion surging alongside the
pleasure of her touch.

Releasing her mouth, he moved his lips to
her neck as he lifted her T-shirt, jerking it over her head and tossing it to
the floor. He abruptly undressed her, admiring every inch of the smooth skin he
unveiled before standing to his full height once again and shoving his sweat pants
down his legs before stepping out of them.

Pulling her along with him, he stopped at
the end of the sofa, turning her away from him and nudging her forward. She
caught herself with her hands, gripping the cushioned arm and pressing her naked
ass outward, inviting him.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Don’t move.”

With single-minded focus, Trace retrieved
a condom from his wallet on the bar, sheathed himself within seconds, and
returned to her. Once again, he gripped her hair, pulling her head back as he
shifted his legs, sliding the head of his dick through her slick folds.

“You’re wet for me, Marissa. So fucking
wet.”

Taking a deep breath, Trace tried to calm
himself but feared, no matter how hard he tried,
that
wasn’t going to happen. This, right here, right now, wasn’t making love. It
wasn’t fucking, either.

No, this was Trace’s way of staking his
claim on this woman.

Marking her as his for eternity.

□«»□«»□«»□

Marissa’s body trembled with need. She
craved Trace, the feel of his hands on her, his mouth, the ruthless truth she
saw glimmering in his eyes. Everything about him called to something inside
her. And when he’d said he couldn’t be easy, couldn’t make love to her, Marissa
had realized that she’d needed this. This rough coupling. She wanted to see the
true, hedonistic side of Trace that she’d seen the first time he’d taken her.

And this was it.

As he pressed against her, the head of his
cock pushing inside her, Marissa jerked her hips back, forcing him deeper.

“Yes,” she groaned. Her scalp tingled from
the mixture of pleasure and pain that fired her synapses as he tugged on her
hair, forcing her to bow her back as he filled her. “Fuck me, Trace. Oh, God.
Fuck me hard.”

An animalistic growl sounded from behind
her as Trace released her hair and dug his fingers into her hips before
impaling her, slamming into her as deep as he could go. Marissa gripped the arm
of the couch, locking her elbows so that she could meet each thrust with her
own.

“Harder,” she pleaded.

Trace gave her what she asked for, fucking
her hard and deep, slamming into her, pounding furiously as his pace increased
until they were nothing more than movement and friction. Delicious, mind-numbing
friction. It was viciously beautiful, a joining unlike anything she’d ever
known.

Trace’s hand pressed against the middle of
her back, forcing her down. “Bend over more,” he insisted, moving closer to her
as she leaned down.

Once she was bent over completely, her
face hovering inches from her hands, his body consumed hers as his chest
pressed to her back. His arms came around her, his hands covering hers, their
fingers twining together, while his hips still drove mercilessly forward and
back, her body taking everything he could give her.

“Marissa.”

The way he said her name, although rough,
wasn’t much different than last night when he’d made love to her so sweetly.
There was still that same emotion in his tone, the need, the desperation. It
was the same thing she felt for him. It didn’t matter how he claimed her body;
it was the simple fact that he was taking her so completely that spurred her
forward as the waves of pleasure crashed through her, building stronger,
higher, more potent with every powerful thrust of his hips, every slide of his
cock inside her.

“Trace. Oh! I’m gonna…” Her words lodged
in her throat when she felt his breath on her shoulder.

“Come for me, Marissa. Fuck yes, baby.
Come for me!”

Marissa’s body once again took over, her
orgasm gripping her, a tidal wave of sensation pounding through her veins as
she succumbed to the glorious onslaught. It was more than she expected, causing
her knees to go weak, but she managed to remain on her feet as Trace slammed
into her once, twice, a third time before his body stilled, his teeth nipping
her shoulder as he growled his release.