Thirty-six

It had been a long day of travel. Annie was exhausted as she walked down the stairs of the small regional plane—she didn’t think she would ever get used to flying in a bathtub—and crossed the tarmac to the terminal. She was surprised by how good it felt to be back in Scotland.

It didn’t feel like Oz anymore. Actually she’d begun to think that it might feel like home. For a while anyway.

She tried not to worry about Dean, and wonder where he was and whether he was all right. He would find her when he could.

She had to get on with her own life, and she was beginning to think that might be here.

Her mother hadn’t been happy when Annie told her that she was returning to Scotland, but her stepfather’s reminder that she could take the plane anytime she wanted had calmed her down a bit.

“No more boarding ships out at sea,” Alice had made her promise.

After everything that had happened, that would be an easy promise to keep. But Annie’s goal had not changed, and she’d taken up Martin’s offer to return to Lewis after her visit home to continue the pressure on the oil company not to proceed with drilling in the fields so close to the Isles.

After everything that had gone down with Sofie/Greta at the Stassa wreck, Annie knew that Martin felt bad—he’d been just as taken in by her as the rest of them—but she knew it wasn’t just guilt that motivated him. The TV interviews Annie had done had helped raise public consciousness enough for the Islanders to start asking questions. Lots of questions. Martin thought they had a real chance of getting the oil company to delay drilling. It would be a huge victory—even if just a temporary one.

So for the next few weeks she’d agreed to participate in the discussions. And after that?

She’d been in touch with a local university here in the Isles that had some interesting marine research projects going on in Orkney and Shetland, including one with mussels that seemed right up her alley. It wasn’t flashy, but it would enable her to continue her work and ensure that oil companies operated safely and responsibly. She would be doing something important and making a difference, just as she’d wanted to. The fact that the islands were remote and secluded—where people wouldn’t be looking for a missing SEAL—made them all the more appealing.

Annie stood at the luggage turnstile, waiting for her bag to come off. The first glimpse of that horrible bright pink made her heart squeeze.

She missed him.

Soon, he’d promised. She had to be patient. But it wasn’t easy. They had so much to talk about.

Of course, talking wasn’t all she was thinking about. There might be a few other things she’d like to do first.

Slinging the duffel over her shoulder, Annie left the terminal and started to cross the street to the taxi stand.

That was when she saw him.

Her heart practically flew out of her chest. Dean was leaning against a white car with his arms crossed over his chest as if his being there was the most commonplace thing in the world.

As if she hadn’t been worried about him every minute of the last two weeks. As if the last time they’d seen each other he hadn’t been nearly frozen to death, and she hadn’t nearly been shot. As if she hadn’t been longing for this moment for every minute since he jumped off that boat. As if she didn’t want to race across the street, throw herself into his arms, and stay there forever. As if he wasn’t about the best thing she’d ever seen in jeans, a T-shirt that showed off his tanned arms, and that seen-better-days de-logoed Cowboys hat.

It was only when she saw his eyes—or felt them—that she knew he wasn’t as casual as he appeared.

No, “casual” was definitely not the word for the searing intensity of those steely blue eyes as they locked on hers. “Mine” and “I can’t wait to strip you naked and screw your brains out” summed it up better.

Her heart was pounding and fluttering in her chest as she calmly crossed the street to stand before him.

He stared at her, and she stared right back. It was amazing how silence could say so much. How silence could say everything.

But he hadn’t moved. Maybe he didn’t trust himself. Maybe he felt like her: that if he started touching her he wouldn’t ever be able to stop.

Finally she spoke. “Aren’t you going to get my bag?”

“And make you feel weak and inferior? No, ma’am. You see, I’ve been doing lots of reading the past couple weeks.”

The deep drawl and “ma’am” were getting to her a little, but she managed not to smile as he rattled off a bunch of names she hadn’t heard since the women’s studies class she’d taken as an undergrad. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d converted him. No, it was him getting prepared for their next argument. “Know your enemy?” she said to him.

He grinned. “Something like that.”

She might not be able to bring him over to the dark side, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try. And she was sure he was thinking the same thing. If occasionally—very occasionally—she might be a little naive, she was sure he would point it out. And if he started acting like a cynical machine, she’d make sure he had a little more compassion. Maybe they’d even each other out a little. Or maybe not. But he would keep her on her toes—that was for sure.

She tossed him the bag, which he caught against his stomach with an oof. “Don’t believe everything you read, Tex, and you need to put all those pretty muscles to use.”

“I can think of a few other uses.”

She felt a flutter low in her belly. “So can I.”

“Get in the car, Annie.”

“Where are we going?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “It’s a surprise.”

“It better have running water and heat.”

He laughed and opened the door for her. “It’s not as fancy as that hotel you were registered at—which I canceled, by the way—but I promise to keep you warm.”

He slid in behind the wheel and she gave him a look. “I’ll bet. But one rodent, and we’re going to the hotel.”

He shook his head. “I knew rich girls were high maintenance.” He looked over at her as he pulled onto the road. “You’ve been holding out on me, Doc.”

She assumed he was talking about her stepfather. But he wasn’t. “You have over a million dollars in your bank account.”

He actually sounded pissed, which wasn’t the reaction she was used to. It was her cash reserves. She had about five million in investments, but now was probably not the time to tell him that. Her stepfather had helped her invest the money she’d received after her father’s death.

“Why would that be important? It’s savings. I don’t live off it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Only a rich person could be that delusional. Money always matters. Did Julien know about it?”

“I didn’t tell him, but he probably found out about it when he was on my computer.”

He nodded. “That’s what I figured as well. He must have seen your balance at some point and tried to give Jean Paul a reason to keep him alive by passing on your password and account info.”

“It didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t.” He didn’t say anything for a minute. “You all right?”

Though the question was asked softly, it packed a surprising amount of intensity. She hadn’t been the only one worried. It had been as hard for him as it had been for her not to be with him after the attack. But maybe it had proved what she already knew. She was strong enough to handle life with a SEAL. Though his job would take him away from her far more than she wanted, she knew he would come back.

She nodded. “A lot better now.” She paused. “I missed you.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I missed you, too. A lot.”

“How long can you stay?”

She didn’t know if she wanted to hear the answer, fearing he would say a couple of hours or tomorrow.

“A few days at least.”

She nodded, relieved. Although she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

It only took about fifteen minutes for them to reach their destination. Dean had let a cottage overlooking the beach not far from town. It sat by itself on a hilltop, not quite secluded—there were a handful of other cottages nearby—but it should afford them plenty of privacy.

Anticipation was racing through her veins as he got their bags out of the trunk (aka “boot”) and led her up to the pretty robin’s-egg blue front door.

She was pretty sure he was thinking the same thing as she was, and she wondered whether they’d make it to the bedroom the first time.

They didn’t.

No sooner had the door closed behind her than his body was pressing her up against it. His lips were on hers, and he was devouring her with his mouth and hands.

And she was devouring him right back. She couldn’t get enough of his heat, of his tongue, of that delicious taste of cinnamon.

She’d missed this. God, how she’d missed this. The heat. The fierceness. The intensity. How one minute she was herself and the next she was dissolving into a puddle of desperate need.

His body was so big and hard against her. The warmth and solidness of him never ceased to amaze her. Holding him. Touching him. Letting her hands roam over the heavy slabs of muscle.

He lifted her up a little against the door to notch himself between her legs and she moaned, her body drenching.

He lifted his mouth and unbuttoned his jeans and lowered hers. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“I don’t want it pretty.”

“Good. I need to be inside you.”

And with a hard thrust he was.

She jarred at the contact. At the thoroughness of the possession. It was always like that with him. When he was inside her, she felt consumed—claimed—in a way that she never anticipated she would like.

He hooked one of her legs over his arm to wrap around his waist and kissed her again, swallowing her moans and cries as their bodies slammed together with every deep thrust.

It took her breath away.

He was right. It wasn’t pretty. It was raw and fierce and primal. He was out of control, and she loved it.

He was so big and hard inside her, and his body was so hot he seemed to be on fire. All it took was a few thrusts of that powerful body surging into hers, and she was breaking apart.

He didn’t last much longer. With one last deep thrust he cried out, and she felt that powerful shudder as he came inside her.

He collapsed against her when he was done, the weight of his body holding them both up against the door.

After a few heavy breaths he regained strength enough to pull back and look into her eyes. She still couldn’t believe that he was here. That he was hers.

But guessing what he was about to say, she stopped him before he could speak. “I’m fine, but if you apologize or say anything about a condom, I’m not going to be.”

He gave her an apologetic grin. “That didn’t go exactly as I’d planned.”

She understood what he meant when she looked over his shoulder and saw the bottle of champagne and roses on the kitchen counter.

She arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for the romantic type.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, pulling back enough to lower her down gently. He raked his fingers through his hair and redid his jeans.

Her legs were wobbly as she pulled hers up and did the same. “But as I said before, you bring out all kinds of weird shit in me, and I wanted this to be special.”

“It already is,” she said softly, staring into his eyes.

His gaze softened as he wiped a strand of hair from her lashes. “You’re right about that.”

“Although you did kind of ruin my surprise.” She’d been looking for a way to pay him back for leaving her at the hotel and had the perfect thing. She knew how to hit him where it would hurt.

“What surprise?”

“You’ll see.”

He did—a bottle of champagne and two more times in the living room later—as she was coming out of the bathroom after getting ready for bed.

He’d already stripped down to his boxer briefs and was stretched out waiting for her with his head propped up under a bent elbow.

He took one look at her and shot up, every muscle in that impressive body taut. His eyes were slitted, his gaze deadly. “I can tolerate NOW and maybe even a few whale groups, but that? No fucking way. Take it off, Doc.”

She crossed her arms in front of the jersey, but didn’t block the “Texans” across the top. “No. It’s my favorite team. And don’t try to order me around like one of your men, Senior Chief, or I’ll make you regret it.”

He stood up and walked toward her in full battle mode. All six feet four inches of ripped, powerfully muscled male.

Her mouth might have been watering a little and her uterus might have contracted, but she stood her ground.

“Bigger, stronger. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

In case she didn’t get it, he was looming over her threateningly, his fists flexing at his side as if he couldn’t wait to rip the damned thing off her.

Unfazed, she didn’t budge or cower. Instead she lifted her chin and met the furious glare. “If you do anything to this jersey, I will make it my life’s mission to ensure that every one of our children—especially the boys, since I know Mr. Misogynist wouldn’t dream that his daughters with their little girlie heads so full of Barbies could be football fans as well—is a dyed-in-the-wool Texans fan.”

He thought she was bluffing and called it. That cocky SEAL thing that she knew was lurking came out in full force—with just a touch of smugness. She was going to enjoy wiping that off his too-good-looking face. Yes, revenge was sweet.

“Good luck. My sons and daughters are all going to be Cowboys fans.”

He started to reach for the neck of the jersey, probably planning on ripping it down the front. But she put a quick stop to that. Holding his wrists, she said, “It won’t be hard to do when they get to know all the Texans players personally from hanging out in the locker room.”

He laughed with utter confidence. “Right. Take it off, Bambi, or I’ll do it.”

Now he wasn’t the only one angry. She glared back at him. He was about to have a nickname he’d like even less than she liked Bambi. “Sugar?” As in no sugar. He frowned. “Have I shown you a picture of my mother and stepfather?” She reached down to grab her purse, retrieving her phone—her new phone—and the recent photo she’d taken of them while she was in Florida.

He was clearly confused by what he thought was the change of topic. He glanced down at the picture. “Your mom is pretty. She looks like you. Your stepfather . . .” He frowned. “He looks familiar. I’ve seen him before.”

She hit the screen to go to the next picture—in his office at the stadium—and had the extreme pleasure of watching the blood drain from Dean’s face.

She grinned as he figured it out. Nope, she hadn’t been bluffing.

“What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me your stepfather was Steve Marino?”

Among the other business interests he had, Steve was one of the owners of the Texans football team.

She shrugged. “You never asked. Actually I think you told me not to call him.”

“You said he was a lawyer!”

“Actually I said he used to be a lawyer. By the way, I didn’t tell him about you, but if you need help—or an army—let me know. I would trust him with my life.”

This time he knew she was serious. She also knew he was probably considering it. Her stepfather headed one of the biggest defense contractors in the world. He had dozens of former operatives working for him. If Dean needed an army, she could get him one.

Dean sat—sagged—on the bed, just staring at her. “Shit.”

She smiled.

His expression darkened. He knew he’d lost, but he would go down fighting. “My daughters aren’t hanging out in any locker rooms with football players.” He thought a minute, and pulled her down on his lap. “And neither is my wife. I’m not asking right now, but when this is all over, that is what I want.”

Her throat tightened, and she felt the tears shimmering in her eyes as she wrapped her hands around his neck. She’d suspected as much the moment she saw him swimming toward her near that wreck. He wouldn’t have come back otherwise. But it was still nice to hear it. “I want that, too.”

“Then I’ll make it happen.”

Annie didn’t doubt him for a minute. He was a guy she could count on to get things done—always.