Panic slammed into Susan, and she fought like a wildcat. She grabbed the first weapon that came to hand, a feather pillow, and bludgeoned her attacker with it.

“Don’t kill me, Suzie,” Mac complained. “I’m one of the good guys! I was dead asleep and that crack of thunder sounded like a gunshot.”

He rolled off her, but she continued to pummel him with the pillow, her fear melting into fury at the fright he’d given her. And something began to break loose inside her, heaving in her chest like a huge logjam about to bust free. “You scared the living daylights out of me!”

He threw up his hands, covering his head as she flailed at him with the heavy pillow. His big frame was an easy target for her assault. Why didn’t he fight back? Why was he just lying there? She wanted him to fight. Needed him to. So she could vent her fury without guilt. Ten years’ worth of it. “Come on. Grab a pillow and take a swing at me,” she panted.

He peered out from under his elbow. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The logjam in her chest gave a tremendous groan and ripped loose, sending splinters of pain and grief and anger shooting every which way. He talked such a big line about her being attractive and marriageable, but then he turned around and treated her like a cripple. God, how she hated that!

“Damn you, Mac,” she ground out, “fight back!”

“No.”

She hit him harder. The pillow landed with heavy whumps against his chest and arms. “Stop…treating me…like a damned…invalid,” she grunted between swings.

That snapped him out of his infuriating passivity. He stared at her in the strobe light flashes of lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.

“You always act like I’ll break at the slightest jostle. I’m not made of glass, you know. I won’t shatter, and I’m sick of you pussyfooting around me! Now pick up a damn pillow and show me what you’ve got, or I’m going to march downstairs and tell all your buddies you’re a coward.”

That did it. With a move so fast she didn’t see it in the single flash of lightning it took, he flipped her on her back and pinned her to the mattress. He loomed menacingly over her. And snarled, “I…don’t…hit…women.”

“Well, hallelujah. He finally admits that I’m a woman. We have a breakthrough!”

His hands fell away from her shoulders and he sat back on his heels, straddling her hips. “Susan, don’t push me. I’m trying hard to be a gentleman here, but you’re making it real damn difficult.”

She was really getting tired of his whole “good guy responsible for everyone in the world” routine. He couldn’t have made her madder if she’d been a bull and he’d just waved a big, fat red flag at her. She punched his chest, almost too irate to notice his sharp intake of breath as she surged beneath him. Her knee shouted its protest, but she ignored it. “Oh stop it, already, Mac. I’m sick of this honorable unto death martyr act out of you.”

“Martyr? Me?” He gathered an indignant head of steam fast. “You’re the one running around trying to be so damned independent every minute of the day—”

“You are such a jerk!”

“I am not!”

“Are, too.”

“Am not!”

“Shut up and kiss me.” She reached up, pulled his head down, and plastered her mouth against his. Whoa. All that heat and passion and masculine energy completely stole her breath away. She pulled back a few inches to gasp for air.

He stared down at her for one endless moment, his eyes burning like brimstone. And then his arms swooped around her, drawing her to him in a crushing embrace. His mouth claimed hers with carnal fury, moving across hers like a river of fire, his tongue plunging inside the dark, wet places of her mouth possessively.

Another blinding flash and a tremendous crack of thunder exploded right outside the window. He jumped, breaking the kiss. A second flash of lightning illuminated the rippling set of his jaw. His control was clearly tenuous at best, right now. If her intent had been to wake the sleeping tiger, she’d succeeded. Spectacularly.

The thrill of him finally cutting loose, of finally letting go of the passion inside herself, was almost too much for her. The room spun dizzily, and she clung tightly to him. He was as solid as a rock. His raw physical power sent her already-scattered thoughts spinning further astray in a blistering vortex of need.

Another bright flash. A stillness came over her as she waited for the thunder to follow. Mac froze as well, listening, sprawled protectively over her. He pressed her deep into the mattress, fitting his body to hers, making her vividly aware of how slender and soft she was in comparison to him.

His breath was warm against her temple. His wood smoke and leather scent filled her nostrils. Her chin tucked perfectly into the crook of his neck, and his skin was bare centimeters away from her mouth, from her taste and touch.

How many times had she imagined him with her in her bed just like this? A hundred? A thousand? It was enough that the reality blended seamlessly into all those fantasies. Her mind spun off into possibilities that left her breathless.

Another flash of light, more distant. She counted silently, one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand… The thunder started low, rumbling in the distance, rolling over the wide-open range like a slow-moving train. It broke over her like her dreams of Mac, vibrating low in her belly, deep and potent.

The anger she’d held tight inside her heart for the past ten years drained away as she gave in to the inevitability of this moment. Mac must have sensed it, because he relaxed, as well. The tension left his hard frame and he shifted slightly, fitting their bodies more perfectly together. She didn’t even think about it. She just looped her arms around his neck and speared her fingers into his hair the way she’d imagined for a decade.

She whispered, “Do you feel it? The storm’s coming.”

He gazed down at her, his eyes pools of black fire burning her to cinders. “I feel it.” His voice was rough.

Her lips curved into a smile. “There’s nothing quite like riding out a West Texas thunderstorm. They’re as big and wild as they come. Sometimes they just sweep away everything in their path.”

His eyes flamed even hotter. In the intermittent flashes of lightning, she saw his gaze drop to her mouth. Her throat. His stomach muscles contracted against her belly, and his hips ground slightly against hers. Exhilaration rolled through her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Lightning flared, one blinding burst on top of the next, as the thunder rolled, painting her room in surreal strobe flashes of blue white. Fascinated, she watched her hands move in jerky snapshots from his hair, down to his broad shoulders, along his arms and then disappear as she wrapped her arms around him.

Mac rose up on his elbows, staring down at her. “Are you sure about this, Suzie? There’ll be no going back this time. We aren’t kids anymore. This will be the real deal.”

He was right. The stakes were a lot higher this time than they’d ever been. She knew what heartache felt like now, how loneliness ate at a soul. She’d spent years looking for someone who could replace the empty spot for him in her heart, and she’d failed. Nobody had ever made her feel the way he did. If she—if they—blew it this time, there could very well be no more chances at love for her.

The magnitude of the moment struck her. And then Mac shifted, all heat and muscle and impatient man. She had to go for it. The alternative—living like she had for ten years—was unthinkable. Her arms tightened around him. “I want it all, Mac. I want the real deal.” Her voice caught. “I want you.”

The dark shadows enshrouding his face gave way to a slow smile. “So, show me how we’re supposed to ride out this wild West Texas storm.”

Susan closed her eyes and opened them again. He was still there. This wasn’t a fantasy. The thrill and hunger shooting through her weren’t purely her imagination. “Are you sure?” she whispered in turn.

A chuckle shook his chest. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”

“No pussyfooting with me?” she asked.

“No pussyfooting,” he answered firmly.

And then his head descended toward hers. Their lips touched. Blinding light—heat, lust and ecstasy all in one—exploded inside her head. He lifted her T-shirt off her in a single, swift movement. And then he touched her skin directly, kissing her and caressing her, relishing her body. His hands were everywhere, stroking her, cupping her flesh, exploring. His mouth followed, warming her with his breath and his kisses.

Pressure began to build inside her, an impatience for more, a need for release. And yet he drove her farther, pushed her higher. It was as if she’d become the growing storm, raging and roiling within its cloudy prison, demanding escape. Mac was wind and heat, molding and building the storm, whipping it up into a barely contained frenzy. He was motion and sensation, smoothness and power, throbbing need and controlled violence. He was everything she’d imagined and more.

“Please,” she gasped. She pulled him close, wrapping herself around him, arching up into him in a silent agony of wanting as the swift rip of foil tearing made her smile in the dark. Still protecting her. He didn’t keep her waiting any longer. He lowered his glorious body to hers, gifting her with all of himself in a single hot, slick slide of flesh on flesh.

The storm broke outside, and the rain came in a rush, pounding down upon the roof, matching the surging rhythm of their movement as their bodies became one. Wild gusts tore at the trees outside, flinging the branches against the house.

She twisted and turned with equal abandon, flinging herself against the rock that was Mac. He gave and took in equal parts, his pleasure hers, and hers his. Lightning flashed and thunder roared, the wind howled and rain slashed at the windows.

The two of them rolled through the blackness like the storm, surging ever forward, sweeping away everything in their path. Only the fury and the grandeur of their love remained. They cried out together, their voices mingling with the night, their hearts pounding with the rain.

Slowly the storm abated. The rain became a gentle patter on the roof, and then it became nothing more than a quiet dripping. Mac lay still and silent, tangled with her across her bed. His body relaxed against hers, but he was as lethal as the tiger he resembled. A lazy kiss touched the side of her neck. “Am I hurting your knee?” he murmured.

“Not at all. Don’t move,” she murmured back.

His mouth curved into a smile against her skin. “I’m glad you said that. I don’t think I could budge if I wanted to.”

She smiled over his shoulder into the velvety darkness of her room. Heaven. She was definitely in heaven. She kneaded the ridge of muscle along his spine with her fingertips. He groaned with pleasure. She lifted her other hand and massaged more of his back.

“Let me die, right now,” he sighed.

“Die?” she asked, surprised.

“When I go, this is exactly how I want to feel.”

“How do you feel, Mac?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

He paused before he answered. When he finally spoke, his words came slowly. “Like I’ve come home.”

She let out the breath she realized she’d been holding.

“How about you?” he asked.

He sounded a tad cautious.

“I feel better than I have in years.” It hit her that it was absolutely true, too.

“No regrets?”

She smiled. “No regrets.”

He rolled to the side and pulled her close against him. “Well, I’ve got to hand it to you. Those West Texas storms are something else.”

“They kind of grow on you, don’t they?”

She heard a grin in his voice when he answered. “Yeah. I’d almost forgotten what they’re like.”

She snuggled against his warmth as he pulled a blanket up over them both. His breathing settled into the slow, even rhythm of sleep. Good. She’d already cost him a lot of rest, and she was glad to see him catch up a bit.

She lay there in the dark for a long time, listening to the slow thud of his heart under her ear. Utter contentment settled upon her, and a peace she’d never known before seeped through her. Mac had been correct. This was the real deal, all right.

* * *

Mac was so comfortable when he woke up the next morning that he had to spend a moment figuring out just where he was. Ahh, yes. The storm. A magnificent night with Susan. And peace. He hadn’t slept so well in years, and it had nothing to do with being tired or sleeping in a good bed.

A sound intruded on his lazy contentment. He frowned. Instinct told him that a similar sound had awakened him in the first place. It came again, a little louder, more insistent. Someone was knocking on Susan’s door. He slid his arm out from under her carefully and stood up. She looked like an angel with her hand curled under her chin and a faint smile on her lips. He hunted for his discarded shorts and yanked them on, hopping to the door as he did so. He cracked the door open. Dutch was standing there, looking exasperated.

“What’s up?” Mac murmured.

“Finally, Sleeping Beauty,” Dutch groused. “There’s a phone call for you downstairs.”

Mac frowned. “I’ll be right down.”

As he pulled on his T-shirt, it struck him that in all the years they’d been apart, all the times he’d lain in a jungle distracting himself from his misery, he’d never imagined that making love with Susan could be like that. He thought he had a pretty good imagination when it came to her. But he’d completely failed to factor in her growing up and becoming a confident, self-assured woman.

He slipped out of Susan’s room quietly and bounded down the stairs three at a time. The other guys were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Dutch pointed at the phone on the desk in the far corner of the living room.

Mac picked it up. “Conlon here.”

“Mac, it’s Tom Foley. We got positive IDs on the photos Dutch sent us last night of the guys who followed you into the canyons with Ruala. They’re thugs on the payroll of Eduardo Ferrare.”

“Killers?” Mac asked tersely.

“Definitely. Nearly as nasty as Ruala himself.”

Mac let loose a heartfelt curse at the confirmation of what he already suspected.

“I hear you,” his boss commiserated. The colonel paused for a fraction of a second. Not many people would have noticed it, but Mac had worked for Tom Foley for eight years. He knew that pause. Bad news was forthcoming.

“We have a source inside Ferrare’s organization, and Ruala has asked for additional firepower from his boss. Should be headed your way in a couple of days. These guys seriously want Susan dead. I think we need to pull her out. Go ahead and put her in the witness protection program somewhere on the other side of the world.”

Mac’s gut clenched. Witness protection meant she would have to leave behind everyone she knew, forever. Everyone. Including him. How could he lose her after he’d just found her again?

Not to mention witnesses against Ferrare had a way of ending up dead.

“I’d hate to see Susan have to abandon her life…” The second the words left his mouth, Mac knew they were a mistake.

Colonel Foley jumped all over it. “Dammit, I need you operating at one hundred percent. This case is huge. If you can’t maintain objectivity, tell me now.”

Mac sighed heavily. “I honestly don’t know if I can do that, sir. But I do know this. Susan can be damned stubborn. She’s probably going to refuse to go into protective custody or witness protection. But, if it’s the only way to keep her safe, I’m the best chance we’ve got to talk her into it.”

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Then, “All right. But don’t screw it up. Get her to agree. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I copy you loud and clear.” Sonofabitch. Standard procedure and the colonel’s orders were going to force him to drive her away from him. Again. She would never forgive him if he pushed her away a second time in one lifetime.

The colonel was businesslike. “All right, then. I’ll get off the phone and let you get to it. And Mac—” a slight pause “—be smart. If you give a damn about her, stay focused on the mission.”

Mac set down the receiver. Yeah. Focused. Keep Susan alive. Nuke their future together. No problem. He felt like he was going to throw up.