Ro’s excitement turned into uncertainly in a hurry. She really wasn’t sure about this. Well, she was damn sure she wanted a shower. But the fact that Conan was carrying her, bride-on-wedding-night-style, across the threshold of a rough-hewn wood-sided building was ... unsettling. First the handholding, and now the picking her up and carrying her places. And when he picked her up, it was like she weighed nothing. Ro wasn’t a stick figure; she struggled to stay in a size eight, and definitely toted around ten extra pounds she could stand to lose, but Conan didn’t seem to notice.
He flipped a light switch inside the building, and it worked! He sat her on a wooden bench in a room that looked, but didn’t smell, like a high school locker room. Complete with a shower room set off to the right with showerheads attached to the walls. No curtains, no stalls, no dividers. Ro would have dwelled on this design flaw a little more, but she was still marveling at the fact that the light switch actually worked. Where the hell was she anyway? Neither Zach nor Conan had answered her earlier question. Ro resolved to figure it out. Right after she showered.
Conan headed back to the door.
“Stay put.”
He walked out of the building, pulling the door shut behind him. Ro took in the yellow and white tiled interior. There was a long counter top studded with sinks every few feet. A mirror, hazy and spotted around the edges, ran the length of the counter. The big lockers lining two walls of the room had cage-like doors, so she could make out the contents. It looked like they were mostly filled with clothes in the colors of the camouflage rainbow—all black, green, brown, gray, tan, or actual camo print. Except for one locker, which looked like it held ... pink bath toys?
A stack of white towels sat piled in the locker nearest the shower room, which was separated from the main room only by an ankle-high tiled barrier. The entrance to the shower area was at least eight feet wide. Definitely no privacy. At all.
The door opened, and Conan stepped back inside carrying a brown metal folding chair. He walked to the shower area and set it up under the showerhead that was nearest to the entrance.
How exactly was this going to work?
Without saying a word, Conan squatted at her feet and unlaced the one boot she was still wearing before pulling it off, along with the sock.
Ro was stunned that he was undressing her like a child. “I can do that. It’s fine.”
“You’ll want to lose the hoody,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. Ro pulled it over her head, but left on the t-shirt underneath. She was not stripping down in front of him. Better to make that crystal-freaking-clear right now.
“Um, you can go now. I can take it from here.”
Conan didn’t respond, but swung her up into his arms again and stepped over the divider into the shower room and sat her on the folding chair.
“Strip and toss me your clothes. You should be able to reach the shower knob from there.”
Ignoring his order, Ro replied, “I said I can take it from here. You can go now.”
“Toss me your clothes. You don’t have anything I haven’t already seen a hundred times before.”
Nice.
“Seriously—”
“Strip. Or I’ll do it for you.”
“Turn around.”
“Fine.”
Ro looked behind her to see if he complied. He had. She unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and wriggled them off. She tossed them into the locker room. Followed by her shirt. Ro reached to unhook her bra, but then stopped. Did she really want to be tossing her underwear at Conan like he was some rock star and she was a desperate groupie? Not really. Not at all.
As if he could read her mind, Conan said, “Just toss your fucking underwear, woman. I don’t have all night to fuck around with you.”
“Then just go!” Ro shot back.
“God, you are a frustrating piece. Just fucking strip. It’s not a big deal. I’m sure you’ve been naked in front of plenty of guys.”
Asshole. That comment stung, given Ro’s recently acquired reputation as a raging slut, but even that couldn’t dull her desire for a shower. So she went with the mature option and unhooked her bra and threw it at his head. He grabbed it off his shoulder and tossed it over to the bench. She pulled her underwear off and tossed them on the floor.
“I can take care of those. Now, could you please just go?”
“Just turn on the water, woman. I’m not going to look.”
Ro grasped the knob and twisted it to hot. She couldn’t contain the squeak that came out when the first spray of cold water hit her. To his credit, Conan didn’t budge.
“It’ll warm up fast. Try to make it snappy. We don’t like to waste the hot water.”
True to his word, the water warmed up, and Ro had to adjust the temperature to avoid being scalded.
Trying not to moan like a porn star, Ro pulled out her hair tie and leaned into the spray to get her hair wet. It. Felt. So. Good.
“How do you even have hot water? And lights that work? I haven’t seen lights anywhere else,” Ro asked.
“We were more prepared than most. Got a good system set up. Alternative sources of power. Have our own wells.” His words cut off. Like he just realized he was sharing with the enemy.
“You do know I’m not here to try to infiltrate your little camp, right? I didn’t even know it was here. And you’re the one who brought me here, against my will, I might add.”
“That’s what bait would say.”
“Whatever.” Ro wasn’t about to spend the time she could be enjoying her shower arguing with Conan. He’d probably shut off the hot water because she was taking too long, so Ro got down to business.
Hair wet, and the metal chair getting slippery and sort of uncomfortable, Ro realized she didn’t have any soap. She saw the dispenser on the wall. Bingo. Eau de commando couldn’t be that bad. At worst it would smell like that scent-masking soap her dad used to use during hunting season that made him smell like dirt. But the dispenser was a little too high for her to reach from her seated position. Ro slid forward on the chair and put her weight on her right foot and reached out for the lever on the dispenser. Jackpot. Liquid soap filled her hand. She went to sit back down, but her wet ass slipped right off the slick metal seat, sending the chair skidding back across the shower floor. Ro tried to catch herself, and couldn’t stop from putting her left foot down, the weight causing pain to shoot through her ankle. She started to fall backward, a girly shriek coming from her mouth. She braced herself for the pain that was about to be shooting up her tailbone, but before she made contact with the tile floor, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her wet, completely naked body, catching her just underneath her breasts. Ro let out another shriek, this time in surprise.
“I got you. Hold still.” Ro froze, realizing that she’d started wriggling out of his grasp, which did nothing to get her free, but instead caused his hand to shift. It now covered her left breast. Like full-on, hand over boob.
Graham couldn’t help that his dick was now rock hard. He had the girl’s tit in his hand. And she didn’t have a bad rack. Actually, she felt pretty fucking good, all slippery and wet, and definitely bigger than a handful. Which was saying something given the size of his hands.
When he’d heard the chair scrape across the floor, Graham had known exactly what was happening. What he didn’t know was whether it was heaven-sent or hell-bound. He couldn’t stop himself from turning around at the sound. When he saw her falling, that deliciously rounded, heart-shaped ass heading for the shower floor, he’d reacted. Simple as that. Which brought him to now, with her tit spilling out of his palm, and the rest of the slippery, wiggling woman in his arms.
“I got you. Hold still.” If she didn’t quit moving, she was going to have her naked ass pressed up against his hard on. She froze.
“Finally, she listens,” Graham said, more to himself than to her. “Okay, sweetheart, I’m going to sit you down.” Graham hooked the chair with his foot and dragged it back toward the spray that was soaking them both. Chair back into position, he lowered her into it. Graham was just barely able to restrain himself from squeezing that luscious handful. Man, she was stacked. And they were one hundred percent real. He’d bet the ranch on it.
That train of thought was not helping his erection deflate. Predictably, she didn’t turn when he stepped out of the shower room. Unpredictably, she also didn’t say anything.
“Don’t reach for the soap; I’ll bring you some.” Graham would’ve kicked himself for not thinking of grabbing her a bar of soap and some shampoo before, especially if she’d hurt herself falling, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it at that moment. First off, she’d been stripping and tossing her clothes to him like his own personal striptease. Even if he didn’t get to watch, he had a damn good imagination. And secondly, it was pretty obvious—he got his hands all over a wet, naked woman. Nothing to regret there. With only two female residents on the ranch—Allison, who was married to Jonah, and Grace, their five year old daughter—there was no action happening for him or the eight other unattached guys who called the place home. If they’d had advanced notice of the apocalypse, maybe they all would have considered attempting real relationships rather than just hook ups. Although that was debatable.
Graham snagged a bottle of Allison’s homemade shampoo and a bar of soap out of the locker filled with Grace’s bath toys. Neither Grace nor Allison would mind. Graham headed back to the shower, trying not to stare at the girl as she wrapped her arms around herself, covering all of the goods.
“Here.” Graham called upon what little shred of gentlemanly nature he possessed and looked away from her when he got close enough to hand off the soap. “Take it.”
Feeling her grab the soap, Graham barely resisted the urge to turn his head. He forced himself to head back to the locker room. He thought he heard a quiet “Thanks,” but he wasn’t sure.
“Just holler when you’re done. I’ll hand you a towel, and you can dry off.”
This time he definitely heard the clipped, “Thank you.”
Graham sat down on the bench and waited. And tried not to recall exactly how fucking perfect she’d felt in his arms.
Ro could only imagine what shade of red her face must be. Without a mirror, it was hard to judge whether she was tomato red or fire engine red. Seriously. Holy. Balls. Ro tried to push aside the feeling of Conan’s hand cupping her breast. Sweet baby Jesus.
This was bad. As in, not good. Very bad. Because while she should hate the guy who’d manhandled her and pissed her off with every word he spoke, she could only think about how good his callused palm had felt as it grazed her nipple. Which, Exhibit A, was still hard. Ro forced herself to calm down and study the bottle she held in her hand. It was clear, and the contents were a creamy white. Sort of like semen. She flipped open the cap and squeezed it into her hand and tried not to picture stroking Conan’s cock until he came in her hand. Ro froze and forcibly shoved the thought from her head. Seriously? One boob grab and she was fantasizing about giving him a hand job? Bad, Ro. Very, very bad. Maybe she really was a slut at heart. No. She just had a very active imagination.
Mental tongue-lashing over, Ro lathered her hair. The scent of lavender infused the steam. The shampoo was better than the ridiculously expensive crap Ro bought at the ridiculously expensive salon she had frequented in Chicago. Where she’d never go again. Which was most likely out of business and probably had already been looted. Okay, that was incredibly depressing and got her mind off sex. With Conan. Almost.
Recalling that she should be hurrying this up because she didn’t want to use up all the hot water they were generously sharing with her, Ro moved through the rest of her shower at warp speed. The lightly scented bar of soap felt amazing on her body and face. Thank God for laser hair removal, or Ro’s underarms and legs would be looking a little shaggy by now. And going for the full Brazilian had seemed to be a bold choice at the time, because what if someday she wanted a landing strip? But Ro was definitely appreciating her decision now. She gently soaped up and rinsed her sprained ankle before rinsing the suds out of her hair. Surprisingly, whatever was in that shampoo had left it fairly tangle-free and smooth. Which was no easy feat given Ro’s long and unruly curls. After shutting off the water she just had to let Conan know she was done so she could cover her naked self with a towel. And get dry.
Ro tried to sound unaffected, and somewhat polite, when she called out, “Could you toss me a towel, please?” No reason to act like she’d been raised without some manners. It was amazing how much her mood had improved after she’d gotten a little (unintentional) action and was able to indulge in a hot shower with good smelling soap and shampoo. The simple things in life, indeed.
“Here.” A towel brushed up against Ro’s arm. She looked at Conan, to see if he was checking out her nakedness, but no, he was looking away. Arguably like a gentleman. Or something.
Ro grabbed the towel. “Thanks.”
“When you’re done drying off, wrap yourself up in the towel, and I’ll carry you out so you can get dressed.”
Ummm.
Conan must have seriously overestimated the size of the towel, because although it wasn’t one of those teeny tiny gym towels, it wasn’t a whole lot bigger. But Ro complied, drying off, because honestly, she was starting to get cold, even in the steam-filled shower room. She wrapped the towel around her body and tried to sit on the edge of the seat to avoid soaking it with the water pooling in the middle.
“I’m good.”
Conan stepped into the shower room. He’d stripped off his wet shirt. Gulp. He was ripped. Cut. Defined. Fucking. Hot. The tattoo of combat boots and a rifle that peeked around the right side of his chiseled abs would have been straight up lickable, except it looked like it was a memorial tattoo. Nothing like death to take her mind off the heat gathering between her legs.
Ro looked up to find Conan’s eyes on her. Her body. Not her face. And even Ro could tell he liked what he saw. His dark brown eyes flared to life with heat and interest.
He swung her up into his arms again, bridal style, but the towel wasn’t quite long enough to cover her generously rounded ass. Ro shivered as she felt both cheeks make contact with the inside of his muscle-corded forearm before she slid and the arm caught her under the knees. He paused, as if cataloging all of the places her naked skin was touching his. Or maybe that was just Ro.
Conan moved more slowly than she would have expected out of the shower room and back into the main locker room. His movements were equally slow as he set her down on the bench, his gaze leaving trails of heat in its wake as it raked down her cleavage, pausing for a moment on the bit of towel stuffed between her breasts to anchor it.
Ro knew she had a decent rack. The double Ds got plenty of attention from the boys. Always had. Most of it not the kind of attention Ro wanted. But Conan seemed to like them. A lot, if the trouble he had breaking his stare was any indication. Ro could feel her nipples hardening further. Was that even possible? She dragged her mind out of the gutter and tried to get back to practical thinking. Lock it down, Ro.
She cleared her throat and asked, “Could you hand me my clothes?” She tried her best to sound unaffected, but wasn’t sure she’d actually pulled it off.
Conan finally tore his eyes away from her cleavage.
“You sure you want to put dirty clothes back on? It’s your call, but …”
“It’s not like I have a lot of options. You have my bag, and even if you didn’t, my clothes are all just varying shades of nasty at this point.” Ro tried not to sound ungrateful. Because she was grateful for the shower, really. But putting on dirty clothes after said shower kind of sucked.
“Look, just borrow some tonight. They won’t fit, but at least they’ll be clean. We can see about getting your clothes washed tomorrow.” He hesitated, as if actually waiting for her to respond this time.
“Okay. I guess that will work. Thanks. I appreciate it. The shower and everything.”
Graham nodded once and turned away from her to a locker door that read “G-MAN” in black marker on duct tape and pulled out a black t-shirt, gray hoody, gray sweatpants, and white socks.
“Here. You need help getting dressed?” He paused. “Shit, you don’t have underwear.”
“No problem,” Ro said, “I’ll just go commando. That’s what I do anyway when I’m too busy to remember to send out my …” Conan stared at her, and Ro went silent. She couldn’t believe she’d just shared that little tidbit. She just needed to shut up. Maybe forever. “Thanks again, though. I can handle it from here.”
Graham grabbed a dry shirt for himself and then turned toward the shower room so his back was to the girl. He had just about talked himself down from his hard on when she dropped the bomb about going commando. Jesus. Now all he could think about was the fact that her naked pussy was going to be rubbing all over his sweatpants. And her tits were going to be braless under his shirt. Graham was doubly glad that he’d opted to give her his clothes rather than Alex’s, the smallest of the crew. And by small, he meant the fewest inches over six feet. Graham didn’t even want to think about why that made him happy. He just needed her to hurry up and get dressed so he could bring her to the clinic, have Beau wrap her ankle up, and find an ice pack for her so he could go take care of his raging hard on. He was a man with priorities.
He heard the clothes rustling and tried not to think about it. But it was impossible. Graham forcibly turned his thoughts to the three men he had out in the field at that very moment. Graham told himself that he had only sent the team out to confirm the girl’s story. To see if she was lying about how she ended up less than a hundred yards from their fence line. But he’d already decided she was more than likely telling the truth. She was way too ... open ... or something ... to actually be a good actress. Or she was a fucking phenomenal actress and Graham was still thinking with his dick. But Graham was pretty confident. His instincts about people had always been better than average, and his six tours, four as a Recon team leader, had only sharpened them. He might act like he didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought, but Graham liked to think he had a decent handle on what people around him were thinking. Which brought him back to the real reason for sending out the team: if there was another woman not far from his backyard whose life was seriously in danger and had probably already been irrevocably damaged, Graham couldn’t ignore it … and Zach sure as hell would never let him. He knew he couldn’t save everyone, or he’d have eleven other men living on the ranch and not just nine. If he could save a life, it would at least be something. Penance, he supposed.
Graham’s attention shifted abruptly when he heard her say, “I’m all set.”
Graham turned and froze. The impact of her fresh-faced beauty was startling. She looked young, and without dirt smeared on her face, he could appreciate her smooth, ivory skin and wide dark eyes. Her dark hair was long, and Graham could tell that it would dry into a wild tumble of curls. All but drowning in his clothes, he couldn’t help but picture her naked. In his bed. She’d rolled up the sleeves of the hoody multiple times, but they still hung over her hands. She must have rolled the waistband of the sweats down, but the crotch still hung too low. Damn. She was straight up beautiful. He tried not to mentally gloat about the fact that he’d seen her naked and Zach hadn’t. Regardless of their preference for sharing, they’d always been competitive with women.
“You good to go?” Graham asked. She responded with only a nod this time, then opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again.
“What?”
“Could you hand me my clothes? I know you said something about laundry, but I’m not going to be here long enough for that.”
And there it was. The stacked and gorgeous woman, whose curves had fired his blood and whose attitude and grit had intrigued him, had no intention of sticking around. Not since his mother had walked out on him at seven years old had Graham allowed himself to get attached to a woman. And he sure as hell wouldn’t start now. Besides, it wasn’t attachment, he reasoned. She was injured, and for all intents and purposes, helpless. And even if she weren’t injured, they could not and would not send her back out into the fray alone. It was just dumb luck that he wanted her. Naked. In his bed. And if she was up for it, between him and Zach. It was just a side benefit of the situation they found themselves in. Might as well make the most of it. Nope, Graham decided, she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
How to explain her new reality without pissing her off to an incredible degree? Probably not possible. So Graham fell back on his standard M.O.—he ignored her question.
He plucked her off the bench, and when she protested, he said, “Worry about it in the morning.”
Ro was still sputtering when Conan shouldered the door to the locker room open and stepped out into the night. He strode across the camp, heading for a narrow building that had a solar light glowing next to the door.
He paused. “Open it, would you?”
Ro complied, grasping and turning the knob. Conan used his foot to push the door open and stepped inside the surprisingly well-lit room containing three sturdy-looking cots covered in crisp white sheets.
This was clearly the infirmary or clinic or whatever they called it. IV poles stood waiting for use next to the cots, and a steel instrument tray was pushed into the corner. Ro tried not to speculate about what kinds of injuries they expected to deal with that merited surgical tools.
A full complement of kitchen cabinets and countertops, complete with deep triple sinks, wrapped around two walls of the room. A closed door was visible in the far right corner. Beau sat in a leather executive chair, his boots propped up on a desk pushed up against the front wall. He put down the book he was reading when they walked in. Wait, was that World War Z? Ironic.
Dropping his boots to the floor, Beau appeared to be studying Ro in Conan’s arms. Ro assumed it was out of character for Conan to be carrying women all over hell and back. Which was surprising, given his recent penchant for it.
“Drop her on the cot. I’ll wrap her up and get you an ice pack. Where you putting her tonight?”
Ro was wondering that as well. Although, all she really cared was that there was a bed. Sleeping on the ground this last week, even with her sleeping bag, had sucked. She’d gotten soft over the years. Roughing it for a week without indoor plumbing or an air mattress used to be a regular occurrence in the Callahan family.
Conan sat her down on the cot closest to the door and moved to lean up against the counter, ignoring Beau’s question. Beau rolled the chair to a cupboard and grabbed an ace bandage and rolled over to the cot. He didn’t comment on her borrowed clothes as he surveyed her swollen ankle. An ugly bluish-black bruise had formed, stretching from her heel around to the top of her foot.
“I know you think I’m full of shit, but if you start walking on this too soon, you’re going to do more damage.” Beau said this as though he knew she was going to argue with him.
“How long? Really.”
He studied her ankle. “Hard to know exactly, but you’d be better waiting a week rather than a day.”
“Two days.”
Conan chose that moment to join the conversation. “This isn’t a negotiation. You want to be hurt worse?”
“You can’t tell me that if you or one of your commandos sprained an ankle, you’d have him on bed rest for a week. That’s ridiculous.”
Conan inclined his head. “Fair point. But we’ve got crutches here that fit us and any of my commandos would be on desk duty until Beau gave him the all clear. Especially now. In case you haven’t noticed, little girl, everything’s changed, and it’s going to keep changing, and not for the better. You need to get smart … and quick.”
“You condescending asshole. You think I don’t know that everything’s changed? While you’ve been hiding here in your little fortress, I’ve been out there,” Ro pointed toward the outside, “and I’ve seen it firsthand. I know it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better. Do you think I don’t realize that? Do you think that maybe I have a damn good reason to be in a hurry to get where I’m going, and that’s why I’m trying to get there as quickly as I can? People are confused right now, and scared, and hoping someone’s coming to save them. It’s not going to be too much longer before everyone gets desperate and violent, and it’ll be survival of the fittest, or survival of the best armed and most ruthless. You better believe I’m going to be tucked away safe when that happens.” She looked toward the wall, not wanting to meet Conan or Beau’s eyes after her speech.
Conan pushed off the counter and stood before her. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Beau kept wrapping her ankle.
“At least we can agree on one thing: you need to stay safe and in one piece.” His tone was implacable. “You might not agree with my methods, but at least we’ll agree on the result.”
Ro tugged her chin out of his grip and crossed her arms. “Whatever. I’ll stay tonight and regroup in the morning.”
Stubborn woman. That’s what she was. A stubborn ass woman. After Beau had wrapped her ankle and handed her an ice pack, Graham didn’t waste any time scooping her up and carrying her to the cabin he shared with Zach and depositing her on his bed. He could have put her on the couch, or even in Zach’s bed, but the possessive part of him wouldn’t let him put her anywhere but his bed. Jesus. If he didn’t rein himself in, he’d be pissing on her like a dog marking his territory. And that wasn’t a kink he understood.
“Please tell me this isn’t your bed.”
“No can do, sweetheart. It’s this or the ground.” Graham felt a twinge of guilt for lying, but it had been a long fucking day, and he wasn’t up for another argument with her. He had three men out in the field, and his dick needed some attention. And he didn’t think he’d be successful in convincing her to take care of it. Though the thought had his cock twitching.
He lit the oil lamp that sat on the nightstand while he waited for her to explode.
“Look, Conan—”
Graham couldn’t help the chuckle that came out. He knew he hadn’t given her his name. He wasn’t big on offering information, let alone personal details. He supposed Conan was marginally better than calling him asshole.
“It’s Graham, not Conan. Graham Buchanan.”
“What, no rank and serial number?”
“Not anymore, sweetheart.” Graham liked her sassy attitude. This one could definitely hold his interest past morning. And she’d certainly already charmed Zach. But Zach was a sucker for all pretty women.
“I thought once a Marine, always a Marine?”
Graham’s gaze snapped to her face. Had he been wrong? Had she really been bait? Fuck. He needed to know once and for all.
He leveled his don’t you fucking lie to me stare at her. “I’m going to ask you one time, and you better tell me the whole fucking truth or you won’t be leaving this room … who sent you?”
She met his stare head on. “What are you talking about? No. One. Sent. Me. Are you dense?”
“Then how do you know I served in the Corps?” Graham’s voice had taken on the deadly quiet tone he generally reserved for interrogations. But that didn’t seem to stem her attitude.
“Are you serious? It’s obvious you’re military … or were. Everything from the camo paint to the M4 to sending guys out for fire watch to the way you make your bed! And I didn’t know you were a Marine. It’s just something my dad always says. You know, ‘There are no former Marines?’ So back the fuck off.” Graham could almost feel her grinding her teeth as she said the last words.
He opened his mouth to speak when his radio squawked.
“The boys are coming in fast. They’ve got a fourth. Being carried in by Cam. G-man, you copy?”
Graham grabbed the radio but locked eyes on Rowan when he responded, “Roger that. Male or female?” He’d taken out the earpiece after his accidental soaking and turned up the volume, so she was hearing the report, too.
“Female.”
The word got her attention, and comprehension seemed to dawn. Her mouth dropped open. Speechless. Graham would bet a decent amount of money that it didn’t happen often. He also felt a warm rush of triumph—she wasn’t bait. Which meant that his instincts weren’t going to shit, and even better, she was fair game.
Still staring at her, he replied, “Roger that. I’m on my way.”
He clipped the radio to his belt, looked at Rowan, and did something he rarely did—apologize.
“I’m sorry. I have reasons, but I won’t make excuses. You good to bed down for the night?”
She looked stunned. “Yeah, I’m good. Did you ...” she trailed off. Apparently when she was stunned, she couldn’t form complete sentences. But Graham knew exactly what she was asking.
“Yeah, I did.”