Chapter Thirty
HER CHIN PROPPED on Mac’s heaving chest, Amy watched his face. His sweaty, content face. His eyes were closed, his hair clinging damply to his forehead. The hard thump of his heart pounded against her slick hands.
He looked like a man who’d been utterly satisfied.
The hot rise of emotion rushed her chest, swelled until it flooded every cell, every nerve, the very breath she drew. She swallowed to ease the ache in her throat and concentrated on the steady beat of his heart against her palms.
It beat strong and steady and sure, this heart beneath her hands. The heart he’d given to her. The heart he’d protected so carefully through the years. He wasn’t a man who loved easily. Nor would he be a man easy to love. She knew both these things. Knew they didn’t matter.
She drew his sweaty male scent into her lungs, filling herself with him. A sense of peace, of belonging took hold. It felt like forever since she’d belonged to someone or since someone had belonged to her—someone other than her children, anyway.
The heaving beneath her hands slowed as his skin cooled. She waited.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, they were still hazy, the pupils dilated. She’d never seen them so soft—like black velvet. It didn’t take long for them to sharpen—just the time it took for them to focus on her face.
“Hey.” He pulled his bound hands forward, using his fingers to stroke her face. “You okay?”
Her clenched throat grew so tight it ached. The ache spread through her chest and into her heart. His first thought always was of her and the boys. Never of himself.
For a man so determined not to love, not to hold responsibility for anyone other than himself—he sure did it well. He’d put himself, his life, on the line for her so many times she’d lost track. When she’d been captive back in the very beginning. When he’d insisted on going with her to pick up the boys. When he’d used his body as a shield to protect her at Clay’s house. He’d argued on her behalf for going after James Link and Leonard Embray. Over and over again, he’d stepped up to the plate for her. Almost died for her.
“Amy.” A hint of sharpness entered his voice. He lifted his head off the bed, worry lighting his eyes.
She’d waited too long to respond.
Leaning her face into his hands, she smiled at him. “I think you’re the one who should be answering that question.” She waited a beat and offered him a slow, satisfied smile. “Just who rocked whose world?”
He laughed and dropped his head back to the mattress. “You didn’t have to try to kill me to get out of answering the big question.” He wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully. “I can be patient.”
“Now that might just kill you.” She was only partly kidding. For a SEAL, a commander no less, who must have had patience drilled into him from BUD/s onward, he was an odd dichotomy of extreme patience and explosive frustration and anger.
The frustration and anger weren’t directed at her much these days . . . and it had never been directed at the boys. If it had, she wouldn’t be lying on top of him right now.
His silence registered, and she refocused on him, catching the fleeting glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.
He needed to know that she loved him. He might hide it behind his cranky, alpha, misogynist facade, but he was as vulnerable to her as she was to him.
His admission that he loved her had surprised the crap out of her. She hadn’t expected the weighty I love you discussion so soon. Sure, she’d sensed he might have those kinds of feelings for her, mostly because his actions spoke volumes. Most of the men she knew tended to show rather than verbalize their love. Like her dad shoveling snow out of the driveway and warming and deicing her mom’s car during the winter. Or Mac telling Embray to give him the antidote in his misguided quest to protect her.
Mac was as closed off emotionally as a man could get—or so it had seemed. She’d resigned herself to rarely, if ever, hearing those three powerful words. Then he’d dropped them on her at the very moment she’d girded herself to let him go. She’d been so certain he’d regretted their night together and intended to call them quits, she’d steeled herself to get through the discussion without letting him know that she cared.
Perhaps she’d steeled herself a little too well. Perhaps that initial instinct to protect herself from hurt when she thought he was abandoning her had tangled her up inside. Was that why she hadn’t said “I love you” back? Had she been protecting herself in case he changed his mind? Was she still protecting herself?
She’d always prided herself on facing events head-on. On not taking the cowardly way out. But wasn’t that exactly what she was doing now?
She did love him. She’d suspected it since the night he’d almost died in his quest to save Benji. It wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark about her feelings when he’d been so surprisingly open about his.
She shuffled herself forward to brush a kiss across his lips. “I love you too.”
His mouth hardened under hers, forcing her lips open so his tongue could surge inside. There was something wild and uncontrolled in his reaction, in the urgent sweep of his tongue, as though her words had unleashed the beast he kept locked inside.
As their mouths locked and their tongues dueled, her passion roared up to tangle with his. Heat flashed through her like a forest fire. She undulated against him, her breasts and thighs on fire.
For the first time, she resented the cuffs binding his wrists, keeping his arms from her. She wanted them around her, locking her to him. She wanted all of him over her, inside her, pressing her into the mattress.
She jerked her mouth from his. “Mac, take off the cuffs.”
Although she knew it wasn’t as easy as that. Flex-cuffs were designed so they couldn’t be broken. They had to be cut. Which meant going to the kitchen and grabbing a knife—which was bound to break the mood.
He stilled beneath her, his concerned gaze stroking her face. “We agreed—”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
The instant, emphatic response must have registered, because he gave her face one last searching scan and held his bound hands out to her. “There’s a knife holstered to my right ankle.”
He has a knife on him? Well, of course he does; he was still in his battle clothes.
She scooted down and pushed his pant leg up, freeing the knife from its holster.
“Be careful. It’s sharp.”
She almost rolled her eyes but caught herself in time. Of course it was sharp. Who’d want a dull knife strapped to their calf? She carefully sawed at the cuff between his spread wrists until the plastic gave way.
Hands free, he took the knife from her and set it on the bedside table. Damp hands cupped her cheeks; gentle fingers swept her hair behind her ears. “You’re sure about this?”
She nodded. She wasn’t just sure, she was determined. No way was she giving this man half measures. He deserved better than that.
She deserved better than that.
“If anything changes, let me know.” He drew her mouth down to his. “Anything,” he reminded her between kisses.
She murmured an agreement. The heat was already rising, stoked by the thrust of his tongue. Vaguely she felt his hands slide from her head to the clasp of her bra, and the fabric fell away. The feel of his chest against her breasts as she rubbed herself against his bare skin acted like accelerant on fire. Passion exploded, a flash of tingles and heat and electrical impulses that liquefied her. Her skin tightened and dampened.
Fingers unhooked her jeans and eased down the zipper. She sat up, lifting her hips so he could drag them down her legs. The moment she shimmied out of them, his hand was between her legs, slipping into her wet, swollen depths.
She groaned, frozen there above him, completely focused on his hand and on the slow, teasing glide of his finger. He moved faster and faster, adding a second finger until she was locked at the precipice, ready to fly.
“Let go, babe. Come on. Let go.”
The gravelly rasp of his voice was rougher than ever and drew Amy’s eyes. He was watching her face, hot urgency in his eyes.
“Not like this,” Amy said, aware of the oddest sense of déjà vu. “I want you inside me. On top of me.” Her urgency climbed with each word, echoed in her voice. “I want to feel your weight pressing me into the mattress. Please. I need you on top.”
He froze for a moment, and she could sense the hot scrutiny of his gaze, but he didn’t question her decision. Instead he drew her down, one arm between her legs, the other around her back, anchoring her to him, and he rolled.
They were exactly as she’d wanted. His hard, hot weight pressed her into the mattress; his arms were around her, holding her close to his heart; his breath was hot and humid against her neck—and the nightmare slammed into her with the force of a hurricane, blasting the passion from her veins.
She barely had a chance to stiffen before he was rolling again. Sitting frozen above him, drawing deep gulping breaths, she fought the urge to flee.
“I got you, baby, I got you. Breathe. It’s me, Mac. You’re safe. Breathe.” Light, skimming caresses stroked her arms and hips. Rough hands cupped her breasts and squeezed. “Concentrate on me. My touch. On my voice.” His voice was grittier than ever, but when she unlocked her eyes and focused on his face, all she saw was concern.
The terror faded beneath a flood of guilt.
“Oh God . . . oh God . . . how can I do this to you again?”
She wasn’t aware she’d said it aloud until he replied, “You’re still here. Your breathing is less gulpy. You’re talking to me. I don’t think we’re done yet.”
Less gulpy?
Some of her tension eased, allowing her to focus and assess. He was right. There was no longer an impulse to flee, not like there had been before. The horrific images weren’t even an echo in her mind. Even more important, the feel of his hot, thick penis pressed between her thighs was nudging the heat levels back up.
Without thinking, she squeezed her thighs, raised herself up, and slowly lowered herself back down.
“Jesus.” The sound was more groan than word. “I’m going to take that as an excellent sign.”
She did it again, gasping at the surge of heat. The gasp turned to a groan as his hand returned to the damp flesh between her thighs. With each thrust of his fingers, her passion spiraled. Closing her eyes, she rode the wave, rising higher and higher, closer and closer . . .
Vaguely she was aware of his hand retreating, of him lifting her, of the thick, swollen length of him filling her aching, empty depths. Then his hands returned to her hips and moved her against him.
She took over the rocking, the lifting and falling, taking him harder and harder and deeper and deeper. His groans joined hers until they were moving and groaning in tandem, hurling over the cliff together.
She returned to awareness completely satiated. She collapsed across his chest. His hands were still at her hips, his penis still lodged inside her. She propped herself up to stare at him.
“What?” he asked without opening his eyes, his face relaxed and sated. The palms that glided across her hips were soothing.
“This isn’t fair to you.” Guilt started eating away at the contentment.
“You’re fucking with me, right?” He finally opened his eyes. “Trust me. There is no place I’d rather be.”
“You can’t even touch me.” Her throat closed.
“Give it time.” He stroked her hip again and slowly advanced his hands up her spine, caressing her. But he didn’t try to pull her down. “Barely over a week ago you couldn’t even stay in the same room with me when the memories hit. This time, not only did you stay on top of me, but also minutes later you took me inside. I’d say that’s a hell of an improvement. The memories are losing their hold. We just have to give it time. And, hell—it’s not like we don’t have plenty of time to spare.”
She thought about that as she snuggled down.
He was right. This time, after the memory had fled, they’d rebuilt the passion. The memories were losing their hold because of him. Because of his patience and caring. They were banishing them together.
He sighed contentedly. It was a sound she’d never heard from him before. Maybe she wasn’t the only one changing here.
“What time do we get the boys?” he asked.
We.
She basked in the warmth the word engendered.
“We have a while yet.” She nuzzled his chest, feeling and hearing the sound of his heart accelerate.
Where they were headed, she had no clue. They needed to talk things over, and then they’d have to talk to Benji and Brendan—the boys were a huge part of her life. They had time for all that.
They had all the time in the world now.
A week later, Amy smiled and stretched lethargically, the sheets sticking to her damp skin. “I probably should have waited to jump your bones until you’d had a chance to shower and eat.”
The fingers fondling her right shoulder paused. A raspy laugh sounded next to her ear. “Do you hear me complaining?”
No. Mac looked far too satisfied to complain. The normally hard planes of his face were lax with contentment. His black eyes were lazy. His big naked body was relaxed and sated.
As Amy’s body cooled, a chill took hold. She rolled over and cuddled against his hot, bare chest—her own personal in-bed furnace. It was such a relief to have him back and in one piece, although this last mission hadn’t held much danger. The warehouses had already been secured and the bombs were inactive. The focus had been on destroying the devices.
“I take it Leonard’s spray dissolved the sonic distributors?” she asked, draping an arm across his hard chest.
Mac stirred, giving a disbelieving shake of his head. “You should have seen it. A few squirts of that shit, and those damn metal eggs were a sticky puddle of goo eating through the floor.”
Locating the devices had ended up being the easy part. Destroying them had been much harder. The alloy the NRO had used for the outside shell had been almost indestructible.
Almost.
Until Leonard Embray had whipped up a cocktail of chemicals that would melt any alloy known to man. He’d finished the final version two days ago, after which Mac and his men, along with the rest of the Shadow Mountain operatives, had headed off to dispose of the sonic bombs and save the world . . . again.
“What do you think Neniiseti’ and the elders are going to do with Eric Manheim and David Coulson?” Amy asked idly, rubbing her cheek against his tanned chest.
His heart pounded in her ear, its previously urgent rhythm slower now.
“They’ll drain every ounce of useful information from them and execute them.” His voice was flat. Cold. Full of agreement. The lazy fingers caressing her drying skin stilled as though he were awaiting her response.
She wanted to protest that the Shadow Mountain brass had no right to take such action. Like it or not, Shadow Mountain was within the borders of Alaska and as such bound by the United States Criminal Code. Neniiseti’ and the elders had no right to play judge, jury, and executioner. Manheim and Coulson deserved a fair trial, except—
There was no way they’d receive a fair trial.
Their influence and capital made that impossible. They’d be released on bail pending their trial, which would leave them free to bring the NRO back to a full boil. The only way to safeguard the planet from their Machiavellian agenda was to make sure they never had another chance to influence anyone or anything.
The two men really did need to die.
So did Esme Manheim, if what Link had told them was true. The woman was as entrenched in the NRO as her husband had been. But for some odd reason Neniiseti’ had declared her off limits . . . at least for the next year. As with all things Neniiseti’ decreed, he hadn’t explained why. Regardless, Shadow Mountain had eyes on her, and they’d intercede if she tried to start up the New Ruling Order again.
After a moment the lazy caresses started up again. She sighed. His arm was beneath her and curved up to her shoulder, almost holding her. They were getting closer to actual cuddling every day, although Mac still liked to call it grounding.
“How did the boys’ checkup go yesterday?”
She was close to certain he already knew. That he’d questioned the doctors during the trip back home. If he hadn’t, he’d have quizzed her about the test results before now. But that was okay. The inquiry gave her a chance to say the good news out loud. Maybe if she repeated what Dr. Zapa had told her enough times out loud, she’d actually start to believe it. “The N2FP and reversal isotopes are absent in both boys now. The test results came back picture perfect. We couldn’t ask for better.”
He leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “That must have been a relief.”
“Yeah,” she said slowly.
A rumbling half laugh, half snort worked its way up his throat. “Having trouble believing it, huh?”
He was getting to know her a little too well. But she was getting to know him too. This next piece of information was of vital importance to him. “Leonard has set up the press conference.”
His entire body went still. Sudden tension vibrated in the muscles pressed against her cheek. “When?”
“A week from today. All the major newspapers and news stations will be there. You, Zane, Cosky, and Rawls. You’ll all be exonerated in front of the entire world. John and Admiral McKay’s killers will be exposed.”
“If he’s believed. If we’re believed.” Grimness flattened his tone.
“James Link is going with him to corroborate Leonard’s account. But Leonard wants you there too, to tell your side of what happened.”
His muscles twitched as he pushed himself up slightly. “Link? No shit. Have the two of them talked yet?”
“I don’t think so. Leonard’s still avoiding him.” She glanced up as a frown worked its way across his face. He was having as much trouble believing his nightmare was over as she was believing hers was past.
What a pair they made.
“Is Link aware he’ll be arrested by the FBI the minute he opens his mouth?” Mac asked, dropping his shoulders to the bed again. The tension in his torso slowly released.
“He must be. Leonard has said repeatedly that he’s going to press charges.” Amy went back to snuggling, soaking in the heat his body gave off along with his intoxicating, musky scent.
It didn’t look like Leonard was going to forgive James anytime soon. The memory of James’s betrayal was still new and raw. Although he was spending more time on his feet and less in the wheelchair, Leonard’s continuing lack of mobility was a constant reminder of James’s betrayal.
Amy doubted Leonard would ever forgive him.
In some ways Leonard’s venom toward James reminded her of Mac’s hatred of his mother, but in Mac’s case it sounded like the emotion was tied to how his brother had died.
“How did your little brother die?” she asked without thinking and then froze.
She’d wanted to ask him what had happened since the night he’d told her about Davey, but she hadn’t quite wrestled up enough courage. The subject was obviously a painful one, something he kept buried.
His chest stilled beneath her cheek, and the hand lazily gliding up and down her shoulder fell to the mattress.
“I’m sorry.” She stumbled back into speech, kicking herself for ruining the mood. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business.”
His ribs rose and fell, rose and fell. “Anything that’s my business is your business.” A long, raw pause, and then—“He was hit by a car.”
The grit was already returning to his tone. The simmering rage. “See, Mom liked to have her fun, but she had two kids. If she hired a babysitter, people might talk. So she’d take us with her. Lock us in the car for hours at a time. The Civic was our own personal day care.”
“Oh, Mac.” Amy fought to keep her voice even and the shock from her face. “What about the summer, when it was hot? Or the winter, when it was cold?”
He looked down at her with eyes glossed by cynicism and a rigid jut to his chin. “That’s what windows were for. She’d crack them in the summer. Close them in the winter.”
Anger rose on his behalf. “That’s criminal.”
His nostrils flared slightly. “Maybe if someone had bothered to turn her in . . . Hell—I should have turned her in. If I had, maybe Davey would still be alive.”
He fell into a brooding, vibrating silence.
“You were ten. Give yourself a break.” She strove for a matter-of-fact tone even though her heart ached for him. “What happened?”
“She forgot to lock the fucking car. Too anxious to get her party on, I guess.” His voice suddenly went flat. “There was a highway a klick away. He got hit by three fucking cars. Three of them. One after another. He’d been dead six hours before she returned to the car and discovered he was gone.”
Amy leaned over and wrapped her arms as far around his chest as she could manage with him lying down. If ever a man needed a hug, it was him—now. “She was arrested?”
He sighed, and his arms slowly moved to stroke her back. The tautness in his big body eased by increments. “Eventually. His death was all over the news. She heard about it on the radio on her way back home.”
“Back home?” Amy jerked up in disbelief and shock. “She just went home? She didn’t go find him?”
“Yeah, she drove straight home. To shower the stench of booze and sex off, or so I assume.” The rage was still there but muted now, simmering rather than boiling.
A comfortable silence fell between them. Amy pressed a kiss to his chest just above his heart. “I have to say, Mac. I really hate your mother.”
That nudged a ghost of a laugh from him. His arms tightened around her waist, tugging her closer. “Join the club.”
“What ended up happening to her?” she asked, lying down across his chest.
“I don’t know.” His hands started that lingering slide up her spine again. “She skipped bail. Was found and dragged back to jail. Went to prison for a couple of years. I heard she moved to the East Coast after release.”
“You haven’t seen her since your brother died?”
“Nope.” His heart rate picked up speed as the rage stirred again. “Don’t want to either.”
“Don’t blame you.” She waited for his heartbeat to level out. “What about your dad? How did he handle what happened?”
“By falling into the bottle. He was drinking heavily even before Davey died. Started drinking himself into a stupor afterward.”
He’d been only ten years old. A year younger than Brendan. A ten-year-old child with one parent gone and the other comatose drunk most of the time. “How in the world did you survive?”
When she lifted her head, he brushed a kiss across her lips, and she felt his lips curve. As though he liked hearing the horror and rage on his behalf. “I started taking odd jobs. That’s why I wasn’t in the car with Davey that day. I was mowing the neighbor’s yard, trying to earn enough money to buy us some food.”
He was earning money to buy him and his brother food, which must mean they’d been going hungry. A combination of wrath and grief rolled through her. If his parents were standing in front of her, she’d wring their necks without hesitation.
He’d been a child, for God’s sake.
A giant fist plunged into her chest and squeezed her heart. Tears pricked her eyes. Her arms closed around him.
Suddenly he froze. She heard the rasp of his breath catch.
“Uh . . . Amy.”
His voice was careful enough to bring her head back. She scanned his face and found the oddest expression. A mixture of . . . well, she wasn’t really sure. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He paused a beat, his arms lightly cinching around her waist. “In fact, I’d say things are looking quite promising.” Another gentle squeeze of his arms.
It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to. When it did, her breath caught, and her mouth fell open.
“Your arms are around me.” Wonder turned her insides all fluffy and warm.
“They are.” This time he remained perfectly still, his gaze searching her face. “How are you doing with that?”
Because it was important—crucial, really—she took a few seconds to assess her reaction. Nothing but blue skies and sunshine floated through her mind.
“I’m doing perfect.” She wondered if her smile looked as happy as she felt. “Everything is perfect now.”