ELEVEN
Vaughn didn’t realize how tiny Mollie was until he saw her against her father’s chest. He knew she was small, he’d felt enough of her body, watched her moving enough times, to know that she wasn’t a big thing. But, he thinks, that she always seemed taller, broader; it was her attitude, the fierce way she held herself, the hard lash of her mouth when she was pissed off and the determined set of her shoulders when anyone challenged her.
Today though, leaning against Mojo, eyes swollen and red from her tears, Vaughn thought she looked so small. He’d been surprised, shocked when the Warden greeted him in the lobby. He hadn’t seen the old man in years, but after a small welcome, Warden Jefferies had the guards slip Vaughn into the private room where Mollie and her father were visiting. “Mojo’s giving her some bad news, I’m afraid,” he told Vaughn and Jefferies knew that the girl might need a shoulder. “It’s against the rules,” he’d said, “but I think you being there will help her father feel a bit better about leaving her.”
The man himself wasn’t the looming, massive superhero Mollie had made him out to be. But then, Vaughn knew something was off. Mojo looked like someone who’d moved through time and his body hadn’t quite kept up the pace. He was sickly thin, not quite as menacing as he imagined. When Mojo spoke to Vaughn, however, he saw the flicker of the scary SEAL that peeked out behind the old man. He wanted Vaughn to look after his daughter. He wanted her safe, same as Vaughn, but he knew by the piercing glare Mojo leveled at him just before he was escorted from the room that he did not want Vaughn touching her.
By the time they left the prison, dark had fallen and Mollie seemed still too upset to do more than stare blindly out the window trying to pretend she wasn’t crying. Vaughn couldn’t stomach her tears and he thought what would help her most was a hot shower and a long night’s sleep. They pulled into a hotel by six and by seven, Mollie disappeared into the steam of the shower.
This room didn’t have the separation their last hotel had. There were two double beds, Vaughn made sure of that, but only a small table separated them. He tried distracting himself while Mollie took a long shower. He unpacked his bag, set his sneakers near the door and his .45 under his pillow before he picked up some food from the dining room. Dinner is waiting for her when she leaves the bathroom with her hair pulled up in a thick towel, wearing short shorts that has Vaughn forcing his eyes onto the TV and a thin, Lynrd Skynrd t-shirt.
“I got you a burger.” He nods at the covered plate and tray resting on the foot of her bed, but frowns when she doesn’t even glance at it. Instead, she tugs her suitcase open and digs into the compartment on the top, finally pulling out a full bottle of Jack Daniels. “Um, you think that’s a good idea?”
She shrugs. “It’s tradition.”
“You’re gonna have to explain.”
Mollie flops onto the bed and pushes aside the food tray with her foot. “First drink I ever had was Jack.” The paper ring around the unsealed top tears and Mollie takes a swig. “I don’t have cups like your sister did.” She offers him the bottle and Vaughn hesitates before he tips the top to his lips for a quick sip. “Anyway, I was sixteen and Layla’s mom brought us to Jackson so I could see Daddy. They have cousins up here and so they dropped me off while they visited.” She scoots back against the headboard and takes the bottle from Vaughn’s hand. “I was so depressed by the time we left that Layla snuck into her mom’s purse, lifted two twenties from her wallet and paid a skinny bellhop to get us a bottle.” She takes another sip, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “We got so drunk I stopped thinking about my dad alone in that tiny cell or what waited for me when I got back to Cavanagh.” She looks off, staring at nothing. “Things got worse for me, with my mom, I mean.” Vaughn doesn’t like the sound of that; he doesn’t like that far-away stare in Mollie’s eyes, distant, cold. So he tilts his head and Mollie catches the curiosity in his expression. Another shrug, as though whatever happened to her at sixteen wasn’t a big deal. “Husband number three was a little handsy. I cracked his rib when he tried grabbing my tit.”
“Shit.” This time, when Mollie offers him the bottle, he drinks deeper. “Did you tell Mojo?”
“You’re kidding, right? The guy is still alive, that should tell you something.”
Vaughn moves next to her and rests the bottle between their thighs. Mollie lifts it, cradles it to her chest before she drinks. “So, a visit to Daddy means Jack and forgetting for a little while that he’s stuck there.” She sighs. “For now.”
“Did you get your answers?”
“I got more than that.” He watches her swallow, wondering how long it will take her to completely forget; how long she’ll drink before her emotions break free. “He’s sick. Cancer.”
Vaughn closes his eyes; an image of his mother sick and thin against the scratchy hospital bed running through his mind. “Damn. I’m sorry, Mollie.”
“Yeah. Me too.” She shakes her head, eyes again taking on the distracted stare. “When Evelyn died, Autumn complained about condolences.”
“How do you mean?” Vaughn tugs the bottle from Mollie’s fingers.
“She was too messed up to go to the funeral. Her Godmother, Ava, and Sayo had to plan it all. And so for weeks Autumn didn’t see anyone. She wasn’t there when people came by to bring food or flowers or all the other pointless shit people do when folks die.” Mollie pulls her knees against her chest and doesn’t look at Vaughn, doesn’t see how hard he stares at her, as though her little monologue is meant for her alone. “So for a while, she didn’t have to deal with it. But then she got out of the hospital, started going to physical therapy or to the store with Sayo and people who knew her mom would catch her. They’d start with the condolences. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Autumn’ and ‘Oh, honey, Evelyn was such a good woman, I’m so sorry for your loss.’ It was all the ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ shit that she hated.”
Vaughn remembers that well. It was especially hard when those well-wishers would linger, staying for hours after his mother’s funeral to make sure his father would be fine, when all the old man wanted was to be alone in his grief, to get shitty in the privacy of his bedroom. “People tend not to know what to say when someone dies.”
“Of course they do.” She glances at him, head still shaking as though Vaughn is simple. “Autumn said she just wanted one person to say ‘Oh shit, this sucks balls.’” Vaughn laughs, chokes on the liquor as he takes a sip. “Not, ‘Oh, they were this and that,’ because let’s be honest, it isn’t just good people who die. Assholes die every single day and even if they’d been assholes their whole damn life, people will tell his family ‘Oh, he was such a good man.’ No he wasn’t, dude was an asshole. Just say that. Autumn wanted honesty. She wanted one person to say ‘Holy shit how are you even still sane?’” Mollie’s voice has grown loud and Vaughn can’t tell if it’s from her anger at hearing her father is sick or the lack of decorum that liquor always injects. “Because that’s the thing about death. It cripples you. You feel numb and helpless. We don’t cry and carry own because it’s such a tragedy that this person you loved lost their life.” She slides down against the headboard, ignoring the bottle when Vaughn offers it to her. When she speaks again, her voice has leveled out, become just higher than a whisper. “We do it because we are selfish assholes that don’t want that person missing from our lives.”
“He’s not gone yet, Mollie.” Vaughn knows it’s a lie, he saw the man himself today and the sight was a small recollection of his parents—his mother’s long, excruciating battle and the shock and bewilderment at seeing his own father in a coffin. She was right. Vaughn hadn’t mourned his parents’ loss, not for them. He mourned their absence from his life, something he still did every day.
“No, not yet.” They stare at each other and Vaughn notices how Mollie deflects the welling tears by taking another sip from the bottle. “Fucking cancer.”
Feeling relaxed, a bit sated from the burn working down his throat, Vaughn joins Mollie in a lazy slouch against the headboard. “That’s what got my mom.” He looks at her frown, sees the pity on her face. “Breast cancer. She had it twelve years.”
“That sucks, Semper Fi.” She isn’t being flippant or trying to diminish his loss. Vaughn likes her honesty, likes how Mollie always says exactly what she’s thinking and, for the most part, the things she is thinking mirror whatever is in his own mind. He tries to tell her that, tries to tell her how much he agrees with her, but one glance at her face stuns him silence. Thick, leaking tears run alongside her nose and despite his promise to Viv, Vaughn can’t help reaching for her.
He slips his arm around her shoulder and Mollie stiffens. “You don’t have to…”
“Shut up and come here.”
“I know Viv said something to you.”
Vaughn exhales, frustrated by this entire situation and pulls more forcefully on Mollie’s shoulder. “Viv wouldn’t want me being a heartless bastard either. Besides, she’s not here. Put the bottle down and come here.”
Mollie takes a long, lingering sip from the bottle before she deposits it on the table next to the bed and crawls onto his lap, letting him rub her back, letting herself nestle against his chest.
“It feels like I can’t breathe. He’s not even dead yet and I feel like I can’t breathe.” Vaughn smiles when he feels Mollie rub her face against his t-shirt. “He told me, he told me he was dying and all the way back from the prison, my heart is telling me ‘he’s gonna be fine. He’s strong,’ but my brain…” she shakes her head. “My fucking brain is too logical.”
“Listen to your heart, Mollie.” Vaughn likes the way her hair feels against his fingers when he moves his hand to her neck. “Your brain will force you into thoughts that will just give you ulcers.”
“You know about that, huh?” She sits up, watches his face.
“I do.” There are secrets he hasn’t told Mollie; the same secrets that haunt him, that cripple him on any given night. He wonders what she would think of him if she knew. He wonders if she would ever look at him the way she is now, as though he has answers, as though he has any idea how to muddle through the loss that has begun to fester in her heart. But he can’t bear it, couldn’t stomach how she would never want him again, if she knew the truth. He never wants to disappoint her. For some reason, this small woman has taken root in his heart, furrowing beneath all the darkness, all the regret to chip away the dimness of who he has become. But Vaughn knows that if she knew everything, that light would leave him. Still, she’s looking for someone to relate to; someone who will tell her that she will survive the loss that is coming. So, Vaughn blinks once, lets a quick breath move through his chest and then he smiles at Mollie. “You asked me about Caroline.” Except for the slow nod of her head, Mollie doesn’t move. “I was nineteen. On leave. Came home because my mom was getting worse. Caroline worked at a diner a block from the hospital and I kept going back there almost every day. One night I left the hospital and she was closing. She served me pie and let me cry about my dying mom. I married her six months later. Right after Mom’s funeral.”
Questions bubble behind Mollie’s eyes. He can see that she is curious, that there are things she wants to know, but she hesitates, manages only a low, “What happened?”
And here’s the sticky part, he thinks, not eager to see more of Mollie’s tears. Not sure that if they surface, he’d be able to keep his hands to himself. “I tell people we got divorced because I don’t like the look they give me when they find out Caroline died.” Mollie’s gasp is loud, moves her body and bounces them both on the mattress. “Yep, that’s the one.”
“Vaughn. Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit.”
“Was she sick too?”
“It wasn’t cancer. She was schizophrenic, suicidal. She couldn’t handle me being gone so much, but I was in Afghanistan and when there is a job to do, the Corps doesn’t care who is sick and dying at home. I tried. Viv tried, hell my dad even tried to take care of her, but she just… disappeared into herself, into whatever world it was that kept her away from me so often.” Mollie takes his hand, fingers linked with his and Vaughn likes how that strong grip seems to filter small fragments of her own strength into him. “I was a kid. I had no clue what to do. I just couldn’t save her.” He hated how his eyes burn now, how the image of Caroline, reaching for him, bloody and battered won’t ever leave. More than anything, he hates that tears make his vision a blurry mess and how Mollie clings to him, holding him so tight that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to let her release him.
“I can’t save my dad, Vaughn.” Her voice is muffled against his chest.
“You’re not supposed to, sugar. He made choices. He’s living with those choices.”
“And your wife made choices too, right?” She pulls back, touching his face. “Sounds like she expected you to save her, when she couldn’t even save herself. You’re not a superhero, Vaughn. You’re just a man who tried his best. Sometimes, that’s enough. Sometimes, that enough is all we can do.”
No one had ever explained it to him that way. A year later, and Vaughn is still holding onto the guilt that threatens to eat him alive. But here is this twenty-two year-old woman who is loud and vulgar and beautiful and sweet and she briefly extinguishes much of his guilt with logic and reason. Finally, now, with Mollie touching his face, with those wide, whiskey eyes taking on a fierce, certain cast, Vaughn sees that she’s right. Knowing the truth doesn’t lessen the hurt, or his failings, but he finally understands that even if he’d been there, Caroline would have still put that gun to her heart.
Mollie’s fingers do not remain still. She lets her pinky smooth over his skin, works her fingers against his stubble and the sensation is too much. Right then, he wants to kiss her; those beautiful, plump lips that glisten against the low lamplight and the tempting way she smells fresh from her shower has Vaughn forgetting that he isn’t supposed to touch her. She is off limits. She is the client’s daughter. But damn, is she a temptation. Mollie’s eyes jump to his and he recognizes the look—the want, the need, and when she leans forward, he takes her hand from his face, but makes sure to give it a squeeze. “I should let you sleep. You have to be exhausted.”
She doesn’t whine, doesn’t seem at all surprised by his reaction and only frowns somewhat before she moves off his lap to twist the cap back on the bottle of Jack. “Thanks. For… well, for everything.”
“It’s my job.” He didn’t mean it, not the way it sounded, especially not when Mollie’s frown lowers, when her back becomes a straight line. Before she can leave him to hide her frustration in the bathroom, Vaughn walks behind her, fighting with himself about the wisdom of touching her again, before he rests his hands on her shoulder. “And I wanted to.”
“The mission, right?” She looks up at him, straining her neck over her shoulder. “Protect the kid.”
“No. Protect the woman.” He knows he should step back, put space between them. He knows he should not let her turn, let her move her hands on either side of his face. He definitely shouldn’t let her kiss the hollow of his throat, or work her mouth over his neck. And God help him, he shouldn’t love the way her warm tongue licks a hot path under his ear. She feels amazing, tight body arching up to him, nipples already hard as she inhales deep, fingernails scraping up the back of his scalp. His body responds, becomes hard, rigid and it takes all of his strength, every ounce of his training to grip her wrists, to pull them down until she no longer touches him. “Stop.” Vaughn’s eyes slam shut. “God… just please stop.”
“You want to touch me.” She twists one hand out of his grip and pulls down his face so that he will open his eyes, so that he is forced to look at her pretty face. “I can see that on your face.”
“I made a promise. Not until this is over.” He attempts to push her back, to brush away her hand, but it is a weak action, futile and half-hearted.
“A drug cartel is trying to keep my dad from testifying and he might not make it to court because he’s dying. This thing may not ever be over.”
“You don’t know that.” Vaughn steps back.
“Here’s what I know.” Back again is Mollie’s confident gait. She moves her bare feet on the carpet as though she is lithe, a feral lioness seeking a willing prey. Vaughn can only walk backward, hand held up as though that might stop her in the least. “I saw you that day on the Dash and knew you were mine.” Something twists in Vaughn’s gut, something primal and pleased and his head jerks up, gaze landing onto hers quick. He refuses to move as slinks around him. “I know when you touched me the other night, I felt like I was flying, like your hands were the only ones that should be touching me.” Her fingers trail over his body as she circles him, brushing up against his back, then to his chest as she stops in front of him. “I know that I dream about the way you felt in my hand and the way you touched me. I know that not one person on this earth is guaranteed the next hour, the next minute.” Her hands rest on his chest and Vaughn has surrendered his fight. He’s thought of it too, dreamt about the silken texture of her skin, that musky, tempting scent of her body when she came around his fingers. “I know that I’d do just about anything to feel your tongue on my skin again, to have you over me.” When Mollie’s fingers rub against his stubble again, Vaughn tries not to flinch, both from the shock of her words and the liquid heat scorching his dick at her touch. “To have you inside me.”
“Mollie… fuck. I can’t do this.” Reaction like a whip, moving quicker than Vaughn’s stunned, aroused senses would have thought possible, Mollie stands on her toes, lips against his neck, breath hot, welcoming, teasing against the shell of his ear. “I… I can’t think when you touch me.” He demonstrates by stretching his neck back when her teeth nibble on his earlobe. Finally gaining some composure, Vaughn pushes her back, keeping his arm straight and firm against her shoulder.
“So stop thinking.” One swat at his hand and Vaughn’s arm is at his side, but Mollie allows him his distance, she hasn’t moved again and he believes it’s because she thinks she won’t need to. He doesn’t trust the smile on her face or the way she bites that inviting bottom lip. “I don’t need you thinking. Not right now. Not when my body needs you.” She glances at his waist, at the way his erection tents his jeans. “Not when I know how much your body needs mine, Semper Fi.”
Vaughn could let thought push back into his brain. He could recite the Oath of Enlistment, let the monotony of the mantra clear away the thick air of desire, arousal. He could remind himself that Mollie is Mojo’s daughter, that the man is dangerous if pissed off and that touching his daughter would absolutely piss him off. But thought, fear, they don’t diffuse the crippling ache Vaughn feels. They don’t extinguish the sweet smell of Mollie’s hair, how when she looks at him, precisely how she is now, that his attempts at control are pathetic. Right now, he only lets the image of her naked body, the heady mix of her scent, the low moans she makes when he touches her, work like a twister in his brain. She said she knew he was hers, that first day and now, with Mollie’s hands reaching out to him, with the buzz of his body and the need for hers fueling him, Vaughn knows she is right. He belongs to her, more than he’s ever belonged to anyone. She owns him and he decides to forget thought, forget promises he had no business making.
A rough, aching grunt, that sounds nothing like him, shoots from his throat and before he can stop himself, Vaughn grips Mollie’s waist, feeling the elastic of her shorts between his fingers as he jerks her against his chest. Hands pulling her head back, hair twisted in his fingers, he looks down at her, at her widening eyes and the small pant that releases between her open mouth, giving her a moment to change her mind; hoping she will and in the next beat, praying she doesn’t. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. I’m broken, Mollie. I’m a fucking failure.”
“Well then, Semper Fi, you’re my broken failure.”
Another grunt, this one like a deep, remote growl, and Vaughn lifts Mollie’s tiny body, holds her ass so that she can wrap her legs around his waist. “You might regret saying that one day, sugar.” And then he kisses her, rushing to catch up to where he left off with her the night of Viv’s attack. He is ready, prepared this time and he thinks he is stupid, a prattling idiot that told his sister he wouldn’t touch Mollie. If he honestly believed that was at all possible, he’d have never picked up a box of condoms at the convenience store outside of Jackson.
Mollie works on his neck again, nibbling, biting, tugging on his earlobe and the small moans she releases when he moves his hands up her back, under her t-shirt, nearly undo him. They bounce once on the mattress when he lays her down, and he likes how she immediately slips her shirt over her head, tugs down her shorts. She reaches for her thong, but he stops her, coming to his knees to peel the tiny fabric at her hip with his teeth.
“You smell so damn good.”
A wicked glint flicks in her eyes and she pulls him forward, feet on his shoulders. “I taste even better.”
Shit, he thinks. She’s gonna wreck me.
And then he tests her theory, sliding his mouth, his tongue, over her clit, slipping his fingers inside her, loving the sensation of her gripping him, and the wild, raw sounds she makes the deeper he sets over her. “Yes, baby, right there.” Vaughn loves the taste of her, how she is so sweet, how she responds to him, how this perfect little creature is consumed, overcome by his touch. It makes him eager, it makes him want this night to never end.
He slips in a finger, deep, straight back to her sweet spot and then another and Mollie’s hips lift off the mattress, her fingers threading into his hair to guide him, show him that she likes how he touches her. A few long strokes of his tongue, some quick rubs against her clit and Mollie is soaring, drunk on Vaughn, gripping and pulling his fingers in as she climaxes. He pulls back, watches her expression, how open, how purely sated she looks and his chest feels tight, full with the pleasure he gave her. When she is calmer, he inches up her body, holding her hips to kiss a soft path over her stomach, up to her ribs until she pulls on his waist and he is looking down at her.
“What, Mollie?” he asks, her momentarily smug by how she responded to him, by how high she looks now, eyes half lidded, smile lazy.
“You’re good at that, Semper Fi.” Mollie pulls on his neck to bring him just inches from her mouth. “Too good. I don’t usually…” she trails off and the smallest hint of a blush colors her cheeks. “Not that quickly anyway.”
Vaughn knows his smile is superior, ridiculous. “Well, I’m flattered.” Her neck is sprinkled with a faint hint of sweat and Vaughn licks against the moisture, loving the salty sweet taste of her skin.
He comes to her chin, to those plump lips he hasn’t been able to ignore for months now, and kisses her soundly, loving her airy breath, the warmth of her tongue, but then she pulls away, lifts his face in her hand. “Tell me what you like.”
That is a loaded question. Vaughn didn’t want them expelling all their little kinks in one night. He intended to discover every inch of her body, measure what she liked, what she didn’t when he touched her. But it didn’t need to happen in one night. Not with Mollie. She was not a one night kind of woman. “I like you. I like you touching me. I like watching you fall apart when I touch you. I can pretty much guarantee whatever you do to me, I’m gonna like.”
Mollie’s smile is wide and Vaughn thinks he’s never seen her expression so open, so exposed. He instantly decides he likes it. He didn’t know if she was waiting on him, if she wanted him to continue to take control and so when she only smiles at him, he lifts up, snakes his shirt over his head with one hand.
“Well, I like this,” she says, giving his nipple a soft pinch. Vaughn doesn’t bother repressing the shudder the action gives him. “And I definitely like this.” Mollie pops open his jeans, lowers his zipper to release him from his shorts.
“How… how much?” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, but with how Mollie touches him, works his erection with those clever fingers of hers, he doesn’t really care what he sounds like.
“This much.” And then Vaughn is on his back with Mollie working down his jeans, discarding his shorts and her mouth finds him, takes him hard.
“Fuck.” He can do nothing but look down at her, tremble when her mouth covers his dick completely, when those whiskey eyes watch him as she slides her tongue up and down the shaft. He makes a hmmpgh sound—weird and rasping, and he can only maintain his control by pulling her soft hair between his fingers, guiding her, but letting her do whatever the hell she wants. When the suction increases and Mollie works faster, harder, Vaughn’s eyes round and he knows he won’t last. “Stop. Wait…”
She sits up, frowning a bit and Vaughn leaves the bed, darting to his suitcase to fish out the condoms from the plastic bag beneath his jeans. He is so worked up, so eager, that he doesn’t bother looking down at himself as he rips open the foil, sliding on the latex as he walks to the bed.
Whatever look he is giving her, must do something to Mollie because the put-out frown shifts her mouth and a wide grin replaces it. “Prepared now, are we, Semper Fi?”
He only nods, climbs onto the mattress to crawl over to her. He doesn’t want to talk now. Vaughn doesn’t want sarcastic gibes or flirting. He only wants Mollie underneath him, to feel her tight walls welcoming his body. She rests on her elbows, but doesn’t move otherwise as Vaughn hovers over her, grabbing her ankles, tugging them closer before he drops one, two small kisses against the inside of her knee, then to her thigh. He knows there is no humor on his face because he is serious about this moment, about this girl and so he looks down at her, breath heavy, heart pounding before he leans on one palm, arm straight.
“Open up for me, Mollie.”
He thinks he hears her whisper “oh shit,” but her voice is too low, her mouth dropped open in surprise for him to be certain. Mollie’s quick nod is permission enough and then she moves her knees apart, and Vaughn slips home. And it is home. In his mind, he had never felt home like this: warm, wet, welcoming, cradling him as if this is where he was meant to be; this body was his, and she possesses him with each thrust he makes against her. She meets him willingly, holding him snug as he moves inside her, as she threads her fingers into his hair, takes his mouth like she owns it. With each kiss, with each small mewling sound, Mollie Malone chips away the dark haze from his heart and Vaughn thinks he might die from the sudden blinding exposure.
“Go deeper, baby.” Mollie’s back arches, and she lifts her legs back around his waist. “Go deep as you can.”
“Fuck. Don’t talk like that. You’ll undo me.” And he doesn’t mind her small laugh or the how loud her voice becomes. “You like this?” he asks, slamming into her, loving how she clenches, even though her legs spread further and further apart as she opens up to him.
“I fucking love everything about this.”
And then, there are no words, there is nothing but the sweat slick sound of their bodies coming together and the intoxicating pleasure, loud moans and heavy pants that move through that room. It goes on this way for minutes, could have been days, Vaughn can’t tell. There is suddenly too much sensation—Vaughn’s heart beating a quick rhythm, Mollie’s hair slapping him in the face when he shifts their position, her tongue, his, when they can’t go for more than two seconds without kissing. And when Mollie’s nails pierce hard, deep lines in his flesh and the tightness around his dick becomes both pain and pleasure, she lets go, as they both soar, and suddenly, oblivion is marked by the bright light behind his eyes, by the loud growl of their voices ringing out.
They break apart, chests pounding with their deep inhalations, limbs trembling and moist with sweat and Vaughn doesn’t know what just happened. Oh, he knows what happened, but he isn’t sure that he’s ever experienced anything like it. He was a Marine for a long time and even before Caroline, there had been many “on leave” hook ups, many mornings when he woke up in some foreign country with strange bodies nestled against him. He had been with a lot of women, but none of them, even his poor Caroline, had left him feeling utterly completed; body, heart spent so that he thought he’d burst from the pleasure.
Mollie’s eyes are closed and small shudders move her arms and legs and Vaughn smiles, unable to fight the feeling of wanting her again, wanting her always. She exhales and her breasts move, small pebbles of tempting flesh that are impossible to ignore.
“I’m sorry,” he tells her, bringing her gaze straight to him.
“For what?”
“I can’t stop touching you.
And when he descends on her, touching her, kissing her again, Vaughn knows he’s never spoken anything truer. This, he thinks, might be a problem.
Morning after sex. Hmm, I like the buzz. Mollie’s limbs still tingle from the sensation of Vaughn inside her, the lick of pleasure that fine Marine brought her, the way they slept—legs, arms twined together. The light outside the window is dim, and the sun has yet to rise and through barely lifted eyelids, Mollie can see two finches fighting over something on the windowsill. Normally, she’d just be getting in at this hour, back when she was still a DJ, but Vaughn left the bed more than a half hour before and Mollie missed the hard ridges of his body against her.
She hears him outside the door, speaking to someone who clearly makes him unhappy and when she hears him shout “Fine, fine, I’ll do it” a sudden well of worry crawls up her throat. She’s never heard Vaughn yell like that, not when he was conscious, and Mollie wonders if this has something to do with last night or his sister. Or both.
The doorknob twists slowly, and Mollie pulls the covers over her naked shoulders, not yet ready to end her sated half-sleep. If she leaves this bed, the buzz will end. She’ll wake and Vaughn will tell her they have to return to reality. She doesn’t want to go back, not just yet. She doesn’t want to hole up in some hotel room with her Marine sleeping on the sofa. She doesn’t want to hear the endless questions her friends will have; they’ll expect details on where she’s been and why she needed to speak to her father so suddenly.
A dip on the mattress and Vaughn rustles her shoulder. “Mollie.” The worry expands with the sound of his voice. She doesn’t like how clipped his tone is, how distant. “We have to get going.”
Another nudge and she turns over, pulling the covers with her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He answers too quickly and doesn’t look her in the eyes. Mollie reaches for him, manages to touch his arm, but then Vaughn pulls back, stands at the foot of the bed. “Viv wants us back today. The detectives investigating your robbery are asking questions. She doesn’t like how thorough they’re being.”
“Isn’t that their job?” When she slips from the bed, naked, not bothering to cover herself quickly enough, Vaughn stares at her, eyes hungry, raking over her body.
He blinks, catches her eye as though he’s just remembered that she asked him a question. “It is, but Viv believes there are moles in the department. She has a guy on the inside and he told her they’d been asking about you.”
“Asking what?” Mollie’s temper flares when she moves to her suitcase and Vaughn turns from her. I don’t need this shit right now.
“I’m not sure, but she wants us to go into the precinct in Cavanagh. Try to feel out the detectives. They, uh, left a message for you on your phone.” He lifts Mollie’s phone toward her, but still wouldn’t look at her.
“You snooped in my phone?”
“Viv said they’d probably be trying to contact you.” Vaughn’s gaze whips to hers when she jerks her phone from his fingers.
She is dressed in khaki shorts and white tank top with lace trim on the bust, and when Vaughn looks over her outfit, quick, not focusing for too long on her body and Mollie’s irritation begins to swell. “Hey,” she says, standing in front of him, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I just think we need to get on the road.”
“Bullshit, Semper Fi.” She reaches for him again and this time when Vaughn makes to jerk out of her touch, Mollie digs her nails into his skin. “Spill it. Right freaking now. What the hell is your problem?” He opens his mouth, twisting away from her touch. “And if you say ‘nothing’ one more time, I’m gonna show you where Autumn learned to take Declan to the ground with one knee.” She pushes on his chest and Vaughn sits on the bed.
“Last night…”
“Last night? You mean last night when we changed each other’s religions?” Mollie can see the quirk of a smile moving the corners of his mouth but then he leans on his knees and looks down at the floor, erasing his humor as quickly as it came.
When he speaks to her, his gaze trains to his fingers. “It was a mistake.”
“Which time? The first? Or the three afterward?”
“Mollie, I’m serious.” He at least has the decency to glance at her when he says that.
“Well, forgive me, Sergeant, but I’m trying to figure out how you can go from touching me like a starving freaking man about to attack a juicy steak to acting like a tumble or two was the worst thing you’ve ever done.” Vaughn rubs the back of his neck and Mollie suddenly knows that this isn’t his choice. Her father, his sister, someone got to him and she realizes he’s a chicken shit if he lets them dictate to him how to “handle” Mollie. “Must have been one hell of a scary phone call.”
“What did you hear?” Vaughn comes off the bed so fast, Mollie barely has time to step back before he is in front of her.
“Nothing much, just you screaming in the hall.” She curls her arms around her waist and sits on the bedside table. “Was it Viv?”
“I made a promise, Mollie.”
“Yeah? Well I didn’t.” She doesn’t care that she probably looks like an idiot, that her mouth is likely stern, hard and that her eyes are lowered into a “fuck off” glare.
“Hey,” he says, touching her arm. When she jerks away from her, he follows, then he has hold of her arms, walking her toward the wall so that she is trapped under his massive arms; caught frozen in the low cast of his gaze at it works over her face. “I said it was mistake. I didn’t say it was a mistake I won’t be repeating.”
Mollie doesn’t understand him, this. Vaughn wants her, she knows that, but he is a Marine, by-the-books and needing a mission, wants to be needed. It pisses her off. They were close, so close to something special, but he won’t let go. It seems that Vaughn has constructed a wall right between them, using her safety, his job as a way to keep her just on the other side.
He has her against the wall, looming down at her with his breath hard and panting, with his inhales making his chest move against her. She knows this isn’t him angry; this is Vaughn frustrated, exasperated by their situation and she feels it too. She wants to jump in his Jeep and run away, together, far from the danger that lurks, from her father, from whoever it is that is helping Vaughn to construct that damn wall.
“I have to protect you. I have to keep you safe and I can’t do that if all I’m thinking about is being inside you and I want to, Mollie. That’s what I want, to be inside you, have you around me. But right now I can’t let what I want cloud what I need and if that means I keep my hands off of you, just for now, then I’ll do it. You have to understand that.”
The mission, it’s all comes down to the mission and Mollie hates it, hates that someone else’s choices are keeping her from what she wants most. The anger bubbling in her chest is irrational, stupid, but Vaughn is the only one here, the only one she can lash out at. “I don’t have to do a fucking thing but breathe in and out and stay clear of the assholes trying to kill me.” Vaughn steps back when she pushes against him, threatening him with a finger on his chest. “Everything else is fair game.”
He pushes her finger away, gripping it in his fist. “You can be pissed at me. You can hate me, but I won’t touch you again until I know you’re safe.“ Mollie has learned Vaughn’s looks in the short weeks they’ve known each other. She know when he is teasing, when his eyes move over her face and land on her mouth, just the way they are now. She can tell with that one expression that he is firm, determined to push away what he wants for what she needs: protection. His large fingers touch her jaw and he moves her face toward him, mouths a whisper apart. “Even if it kills me, I’ll keep you safe.”
He kisses her, lips coming down to hers until she thinks bruises will appear, but Mollie knows this is a small, fierce way for him to tell her they are not done; that the goodbye is only temporary. Still, that stubborn Malone temper won’t let her arch into him or moan at the pressure of his lips, his tongue against her. It would be too much of a loss of control, the one thing she wants Vaughn to do. And she can’ take that, not anymore, his up-and-down, ‘I want you… I don’t want you’ dynamic of their relationship so far. He holds so tightly to his control, to his incessant need to do what he thinks is right, no matter if that “rightness” keeps her at arm’s length. It’s that surrender of control that Vaughn seems adamant not to release. Finally, she pushes him back, keeping her hand flat on his chest to hold him off.
“That’s fine, Vaughn. I get it.” Mollie descends on her dirty clothing, scattered around the room. She knows she is ranting, likely looks a bit unhinged, but she’s too angry, too focused on throwing her clothes into her suitcase to care.
“Just like that? No argument at all?”
“Yep. Just like that.” She picks up the bottle of Jack, careful not to touch Vaughn as she reaches for it. “Besides, why the hell would I wanna keep doing some guy who clearly can’t think for himself?” Her suitcase closes with a snap, but it is forgotten when Vaughn’s eyes flash, fire and anger working between those narrowed lids and the grim frown of anger pulling down his mouth makes her retreat.
“What did you say?”
Despite his intimidating stature, Mollie isn’t scared. She’s dealt with burly alpha men her whole life. Besides, she knows Vaughn would never hurt her. Not in anger, anyway. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I not speak loudly enough? I said…”
He rushes her, pins her to the wall again and Mollie has to close her eyes when his hot breath moves down her face. A tight grip on her hands, brought over her head and she is instantly wet. “Get this straight, I do think for myself. I am thinking for myself and when your father and my sister agree that anything other than professional between us puts your life in danger, I’m inclined to agree with them. What happens if all that shit in my head makes me careless, if thinking about the way you taste, the way you feel, knocks me off my guard? And I don’t need anyone making me feel like shit for doing the right thing, least of all a spoiled, foul-mouthed little girl.”
Mollie wishes he’d slapped her. That might hurt less. She flinches at his words and though she knows he is pissed, that’s she’s likely pushed him into saying something he didn’t mean, Vaughn still loosens his grip on her to allow her to break free from him.
She lifts her chin, moves away from the wall, from him and the apology she knows is working from his throat. “Then let’s go. I have a life to get back to. Other kiddies on the playground who require my assistance.”
“Mollie, stop it…”
“No, it’s fine. You’re right. You have a job to do.” She picks up her bag, pulls it over her shoulder, rubbing her cheek against her shirt to cover the quick tears that have fallen on her face. When Vaughn tries to take the suitcase from her, she moves away, out of his touch. “Despite what you might think of me, I’m not simple. I caught your meaning loud and clear.”