Tank and Hollywood slammed through Wicked’s door with him hanging between them. He was sloshed, so drunk off his ass his bruises and contusions barely stung. He licked his lips, the cut there still bleeding. The rest of them were just as worse for wear. Between the alcohol and the fights between them, which he started when he’d coldcocked Hollywood, there would be a need for ice.

A shitload of ice.

“Son of a bitch,” Tank groused. “That hurt my fucking shoulder.” After dragging Wicked across the floor of his apartment, they dumped him on his couch.

“I’m already on ice duty,” Cowboy drawled.

The room wasn’t spinning, so Wicked was sure he could go a few more rounds. Maybe then everything he was feeling would go away. Just…release and he would be free.

He heard noises and turned his head. All of his teammates were setting ice against their faces or knuckles. All of them were glaring at Hollywood.

“What the fuck was that about?” Tank yelled.

“We could have been arrested, then Ruckus would have our asses in a sling,” Cowboy groused, a black eye forming.

“Don’t you know better than to piss him off?” Kid asked, leaning against the wall, ice pressed to his jaw. “My God, Hollywood. Who ties your shoelaces for you?”

“I don’t think there will be enough coffee or middle fingers for this goat fuck,” Blue said.

Hollywood set his hands on his hips. He looked at Tank. “I have no idea.” Cowboy was standing next to him and Hollywood patted his shoulder. “We didn’t get arrested and Ruckus doesn’t have to know a thing. We can talk about that sling later.” Then he winked. “So many things piss him off, I can’t keep track. He’s the grumpiest bastard I know. I use Velcro, Kid. Easy in. Easy out. No tying needed.” He sat down at Wicked’s dining table. “Coffee is overrated, and one middle finger is enough. But I guess the double bird will do,” he said, then showed them.

There was complete and utter silence.

“How about I make us all a nice cup of tea?”

There was a rush of laughter. Cowboy shook his head. “Hollywood, you are a tool, man.”

“Tea it is,” he said, rising.

Wicked watched him cross the room towards the kitchen. When Hollywood saw he was awake, he crouched down. If Wicked could have swung his fist, he would have.

“What’s up, you drunk fuck? I hope you got whatever it is out of your system. Going a few rounds with your teammates usually does the trick.”

“You planned this?”

“Of course I did. We’re a team. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but man, you need to get your shit together. We’re happy to be your punching bags.” He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. “Give me an opportunity to kick the shit out of you with plenty of back up to tag team. But you need to use your words, my friend. Fists only go skin deep.”

“Now you’re a fucking philosopher.”

Hollywood smiled that self-satisfied, knowing smile that made Wicked want to wipe the floor with him. “I guess I fucking am. Aristotle and Socrates have nothing on me.” With that smile still on his face, he asked, “Want some tea?”

Wicked swung out and just barely missed the knucklehead as he dodged back. He was fast on his feet. Probably learned that from being a huge smart ass.

“Oh, yeah. He wants some nice soothing chamomile tea.”

“Are you pissing him off again?” Blue said

“I don’t know. I can’t tell.”

Wicked growled from the couch, then pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Wicked, man. You got any food in this place?” Tank asked.

Kid called from the kitchen. “His fridge is stocked. Hey, there are tiny eclairs in here. I love any sized eclairs.”

There was a stampede to the kitchen, and Wicked leaned back, his head throbbing with the noise of the five guys currently trying to get to the food in his fridge.

“Hey, Wicked. What’s this pasta stuff? It smells great.”

“Jesus, don’t your women feed your pieholes?” he groused as he got up from the couch and grabbed up one of the ice bags that had fallen when the hungry hippos had made a beeline to his fridge. He placed it against his face. As he came into the kitchen, five asses were stuck out as they rummaged through his leftovers.

“Do you want cold leftovers or a hot meal?” Wicked asked.

All five heads popped up complete with black eyes and bruises. Jesus, he loved these guys. He wished Scarecrow was here.

“Ah, hell,” Kid said. “He’s going to put us to work.”

Hollywood chuckled. “Nothing in life is free, Kid.”

“What are you making?” Blue asked. “I ate, but I could eat again.” He slapped at Kid’s hands. “Hey, don’t bogart the eclairs, man.”

“Pasta Arrabbiata.”

Hollywood burst out laughing. “You would.”

“What’s so funny about pasta?” Kid asked.

“Pasta Arrabbiata means angry pasta. You’re supposed to be furious when you make it.”

“That fits,” Tank said. “Get to cooking, big man. You owe us and you better fucking have some beer in here.”

“Beer and mad pasta.” Cowboy hiked up his pants and sniffed. “We’re men.”

Wicked set a big pot of water on the stove and called for penne pasta. It was like a bucket brigade as they passed the two requested boxes.

“Hey, son, this is some stocked pantry. Reminds me of my nana’s,” Cowboy drawled.

“Yeah, nana on steroids,” Kid said sotto voce.

“Tomatoes,” Wicked said. “Canned in pantry, cherry in fridge.”

He whipped out a knife and all five guys leaned back. Wicked grinned. “Don’t worry. I don’t want any blood on my floor.” He offered it handle first to Kid. “Deseed and chop, boy.”

Kid saluted and started on the cherry tomatoes. He got Tank on the onions, then went to his balcony to get the fresh basil and got Blue chopping that.

“Who knew our knife skills would come in handy,” Kid said with a grin.

He crushed the tomatoes with his hands, still feeling the heat from his encounter with Kat. They were pulverized when he was done. In a heated skillet with hot olive oil, he cooked the onions and added in the red pepper flakes. Then when it was ready he raised the temperature and added in the tomatoes. Once the water was boiling, he dumped in the pasta.

After about twenty minutes it was all done. He plated six generous portions, added fresh Parmesan cheese and some homemade garlic bread he threw together.

Tank passed out the beer and they all chowed down.

After he’d eaten about half on his plate, he rose while his teammates were “discussing” desserts. He had plenty left over from the gallery opening. It was a smorgasbord of tasty tidbits.

He pulled his phone from his back pocket and pressed Scarecrow’s number.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Scarecrow said softly as if he was trying to be quiet. The telltale sound of a rasp that told Wicked he’d been sleeping.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No.” Scarecrow sounded…satisfied. Sated, in fact. Hmm, what was going on down there? “Give me a minute.”

He heard the rustle of bedsheets.

“Scarecrow,” the husky voice of a female. That was damn interesting.

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

Wicked heard the sound of a door closing. The chorus of the night was loud in the background.

“What’s up?” Scarecrow asked.

“Nothing. Just checking in.”

“Nothing? By the cant to your voice, I’d say it was more than nothing.”

“Can’t a guy check on another guy for the hell of it?”

“Oh, it’s one of those moods. Who spit in your cereal?”

“You’re not going to join the CIA, are you? Kat’s just blowing smoke.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Wicked’s gut clenched. He liked the team just like it was. Losing Scarecrow wasn’t an option. “You’d be fucking miserable and alone in the CIA. No one to rely on. You’re a SEAL through and through. Don’t let her get into your head.”

“She’s damn good at it. I can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind. I’ve been wondering lately if that’s where I belong, handling the monsters alone.”

“It’s not.”

Scarecrow sighed. “I’m dealing with some shit here.”

“Yeah, well, it’s understandable. How is your mom?”

“She’s having difficulty remembering things. I’m worried about her. I’ve decided to clean out the house and move her to San Diego.”

“How did that go over?”

“Not well. She was upset.”

He could tell that Scarecrow was torn up about that and about his mom’s welfare.

“I don’t want to uproot her, but I can’t leave her alone here anymore. It wouldn’t be responsible. I have to do the hard shit.”

“Yeah, adulting is damn hard.”

“Was that Sarah? Is she visiting?”

“Uh, no. I haven’t spoken to Sarah in a while. That’s…Scarlett. She’s the woman I told you had leased my parents’ land.”

“Right. You’re taking your landlord responsibilities seriously.”

“She’s either in trouble or up to something. I’ll find out in the morning. She’s British and a freaking mystery.”

There was something going on here that was more than Scarecrow trying to get intel out of woman. First off, he didn’t do that kind of manipulative thing, which was another reason he didn’t belong in the CIA. Another was the man had integrity coming out of his pores.

“You seem distracted by her. What’s really going on?”

He heard the sound of bristles crackling over the line. Scarecrow was scrubbing a hand along his jaw. He released a frustrated sigh. “It’s complicated. She’s…complicated.”

“Oh, hell, man, that sounds bad.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

A grin curved Wicked’s face, the bruised skin and muscle protesting. “Judging by that miserable sound of your voice, I’m betting some woman has finally tied you up in knots.”

“Intricate and tight knots, yeah. She’s a daring, headstrong pain in the ass.”

“Sounds right up your alley.”

There was silence except for the night sounds. Finally Scarecrow asked, “How are you doing?”

“Nothing a night of punching and drinking can’t cure.”

“What a load of bull, Rion. The guys buy that?” When Wicked grunted, Scarecrow chuckled. “Typical. I assume you’re all nursing cuts and bruises. Sorry I missed it.”

“I fed them. We’re drinking again.”

“The only easy day was yesterday,” Scarecrow said.

That said it all.

Scarecrow disconnected the call aware that Wicked wasn’t talking about what was really bothering him. He was convinced that Kat Harrington was a great source of distress for him but getting anything out of Wicked was like getting blood from a stone.

Okay, he was legitimately troubled about Scarecrow leaving the SEALs and joining the CIA. Again, he wondered if it would be the right job for him.

His biggest concern was his mom. Could he even consider something that would keep him traveling?

He opened the door and went back into the house, making his way silently to Scarlett’s feminine and amazing scented bedroom. God, he loved the way she smelled. It got under his skin and deep into his lungs.

Ever since he’d met her at the airport he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, and, in fact, had spent the time since dissecting Scarlett’s dual personalities—the shameless, brazen spitfire and the uncertain, vulnerable woman he’d glimpsed in her unguarded drunken dance party for one.

He’d made a career of analyzing people and their actions. After spending too many hours reflecting on Scarlett’s behavior he’d come to the conclusion that there was so much more to her than he’d originally assumed and what she obviously wanted him, and everyone else, to believe—because he’d been privy to the emotional depth she tried to hide beneath her seductive attitude and brazen personality. A vulnerability he never thought her capable of showing because of the strong, rebellious façade she wore around her like an impenetrable cloak.

It was all an act, he’d come to realize, and a damn good one at that because he’d fallen for it—hook, line, and sinker. And obviously, so had everyone else, his cousin included. They all accepted her as Scarlett, and her reckless and outrageous conduct had become an expected thing.

But there was one question that kept tumbling through Scarecrow’s mind, one he didn’t have an answer for but that had kept him up some nights trying to figure it out. Who was the real Scarlett and what kind of emotional secrets were lurking behind that seductive smile and those smart-ass remarks she tossed his way to keep him at a distance?

And why the hell did he even care?

He slid into bed with her and without waking she instinctively moved toward him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

He fell asleep with her soft body against him and half-awake aware he’d been sleeping for a while, he rolled over. He got his nose full of Scarlett’s fragrant hair. Last night they had both been unable to talk, so there had been no discussion. He was determined there would be one this morning.

“Darlin’?” He kissed her neck and she stirred. “Time for that talk.”

She mumbled something and nestled her backside against his morning wood. He closed his eyes, trying to hold onto his control. “C’mon, sugar. Wake up.”

She rolled over and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then, when he thought she was going to say something, she made a soft snore.

He grinned. He hadn’t felt this light in years, maybe never. Damn if she wasn’t the sassiest, cutest woman he’d ever met. “Scarlett?”

No answer.

This was a call for action, and his mission was clear. Operation: Wake Up Scarlett. He scooted out of her now lax grasp and walked around the bed. Slipping his hands under her, he gathered her up in his arms.

Walking across the bedroom, he went into the bathroom, his dick twitching with the memory of how many times they’d done it last night. He couldn’t get enough of her.

He set her down amidst her protests at being jostled. Turning on the shower, he manhandled her exquisitely naked body into the stall. When the water hit her, she cried out and held her hands up.

“You half-wit wank!” she said. She brought her head back down, and her water-spiked lashes lifted, revealing her heartbreaking violet eyes that were far more lucid than they’d been ten minutes ago. Her face was flushed with warmth, and she met his gaze with a mouth that was incredibly sweet with temper.

“Not a morning person.”

“No. I like to wake up slowly, then have breakfast in bed. You so don’t know me.”

“No, not yet,” he said, and her eyes brightened a bit. As they stood beneath the pelting spray, a slow, seductive awareness gradually took hold. He could feel the subtle change in Scarlett from pissed to aroused in how she shifted against him and the way her flattened palms slid around his waist and up the slope of his spine. He watched as she licked droplets of water from her bottom lip and felt himself respond to the desire darkening her eyes. His cock throbbed and ached against her.

“Arlo…” she whispered, the one word filled with a wealth of emotion that struck a chord deep within him, too. Eyes closing, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Her mouth was soft and yielding, a heavenly temptation he couldn’t resist, so he gave up trying. Her lips parted, and he accepted the invitation to deepen the connection, to slide his tongue inside and curl around hers, dragging her into a hunger so dark and hot he burned with the intensity of it.

He kissed her with a fierce urgency borne of knowing that she was going to tell him everything, hold nothing back because she couldn’t resist him either. Kissed her with an abundance of relief and gratitude and something else far more profound that echoed in the farthest recesses of his soul—an emotional, intimate bond that rocked the foundation of the solitary man he’d made himself become.

For the sake of Uncle Sam.

Driven by pure sensation, encouraged by the uninhibited way her fingers dug into the muscles bisecting his back and the arch of her hips against his, Scarecrow backed her up against the shower stall, pressed the length of his body along her lush curves, and ravished her mouth with an overwhelming amount of passion and heat. His craving for her blazed through him like an out-of-control wildfire—a reckless, insatiable need he could no longer deny.

More. He needed more of Scarlett. Needed to touch and taste and savor every nuance that was uniquely hers.

With only that thought in mind, he tore his mouth from hers and trailed his lips along her jaw, licked his way down to the base of her throat where her pulse beat strong and steady. She moaned softly and dragged her hands over his wet hair, pressing hard fingers to his scalp and guiding his mouth lower to the firm swells of her breasts. He followed willingly, giving her what she wanted and what he so desperately needed.

He drew a taut nipple into his mouth, flicked the rigid tip with his tongue, and sucked her deep and hard. With his hand he squeezed and kneaded her other breast, traced lazy circles around her areola with his thumb before lightly pinching and rolling the firm, aroused nipple between his fingers. She gave a helpless, impatient demand, the restless sound urging him to taste her with his tongue. With his large hands, he traced the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips, then dragged his thumbs over her belly before sliding his hands around to the base of her spine and down her perfect ass to the backs of her thighs. The feel of her smooth, sleek skin against his palms was a luxury he’d denied himself for too long, and he memorized every sensual curve of her body along with the sweet, uninhibited sighs that accompanied his bold exploration. If he thought touching her was pure bliss, then allowing his mouth to follow in the same direction as his hands and tasting her warm, wet skin was like experiencing a slice of heaven. He licked and gently bit his way down to her stomach and dipped and swirled his tongue in her navel.

Another erotic moan echoed in the shower stall, and the slender fingers still wrapped in his hair tugged him lower still. Instinctively, he dropped to his knees in front of her, his heart racing a mile a minute as a heady surge of desire tore through him. Knowing what she wanted, what she needed, he took one of her hands and wrapped her fingers around the small metal bar built into the shower to help keep herself steady and balanced, then draped one of her legs over his shoulder to give him better access to her. The water poured down on both of them, and curls of steam immersed them in a sultry warmth as he leaned forward and laved the inside of her thighs, slowly, leisurely, until he reached the very heart of her femininity. Her sex was soft and swollen, and he parted the plump folds of flesh with a slick caress of his tongue that had her arching her hips against his mouth, seeking and silently begging for release.

He closed his eyes and groaned, doubling his efforts to give her exactly that. He drew her clit into his mouth, used his tongue to stroke and caress and increase her pleasure. Her fingers pressed tighter to his scalp and a soft breath of sound escaped her lips. In response, his balls drew up hard and his dick jutted painfully toward his belly, aching with the need to be buried to the hilt inside her, to feel her convulse around him as she came.

He entered her with his tongue. Deeply. Relentlessly. With heat and possessive intent. She inhaled sharply, jolted against him in shock, then gave herself over to his erotic assault. Before long, he felt her thighs quiver, felt her legs buckle as her orgasm crested, heard her fierce moan as she tumbled headlong into that powerful rush of sensation rippling through her. He kept her from completely collapsing with a strong hand pressed to her stomach, and when he was certain he’d given her every last bit of pleasure he could, he stood back up and braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head. He was harder than granite, and there wasn’t much left of his self-control.

He lifted his head and looked into her face, expecting to see a languid, sated expression. Instead, her eyes were bright with a desire that said all he needed her to say. The way she slid her hands around to his backside, grasped his buttocks and pulled his hips to hers so that his aching erection nestled right at the crux of her thighs was as bold as she was. Right where she was hot and slick and ready for him. She leaned into his chest and pressed her lips against the side of his neck.

“Arlo,” she whispered as she twined one leg around his, aligning them even more intimately. “I want you inside of me.” There was so much longing in her voice, the kind that sent all the thoughts in his head into oblivion. He curled his hands into tight fists against the wall.

“Scarlett—” Whatever he’d been about to say went up in smoke as her fingers followed his waist back to the front, then dipped and wrapped around his erection.

She stroked once, twice, and glided her thumb over the swollen head of his dick. His heart hammered in his chest, and the muscles in his stomach clenched as he resisted the urge to thrust into her snug grasp. “We need to talk.”

“Please,” she said huskily, her gaze soft and imploring. “I need to feel pleasure. I promise I’ll talk…later. I need you.” She needed him, God, and it was that thought that made him want to do whatever possible to chase away those awful memories for her.

He groaned as her tenacious grip on his dick and the sluice of warm water created a slick, suctioning sensation that made him desperate to come. With her. In her. Done resisting what he wanted so badly, he gave up the fight. Pushing his fingers into her wet hair, he crushed his mouth to hers. There was nothing slow and sweet about the way he kissed her. Greedy and ravenous, he tilted her head for a better fit and released all the pent-up hunger, need, and lust clawing at him. Now he took without hesitation or reserve, then took some more, and she was right there with him, giving him her mouth, her tongue, and soon, her soft, willing body. A sense of urgency and impatience built between them, hotter and more vital than anything he’d ever experienced. It made his head spin and his erection throb and pulse. He could have easily taken her right there, in the shower, pushed up against the tiled wall with her thighs riding his hips, but he wanted her beneath him. Wanted leverage to get as deep inside her as he could get. With that in mind, he blindly reached out to shut off the shower and started to pull back, but she resisted and clung to him. Undoubtedly, she believed he was going to end things, and he sought to reassure her.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m not done with you yet.” He was beginning to wonder if he ever would be. He silenced the answer to that question with another aggressive, soul-searing kiss and maneuvered them both out of the glass enclosure. The bed was much too far away, and he pushed her down to the thick, plush rug laid out on the floor. He quickly joined her. Nudging her legs wide apart, he settled between her sleek thighs and slid up and over her wet body. She splayed her palms on his chest, glided them up to his shoulders and around his neck as she arched against him and hooked her calves against the back of his thighs, urging him to complete the act.

He drove into her in a seemingly endless stroke and growled deep in his throat as she took every hard, solid inch of him until he didn’t know where he ended and she began. The pleasure of being inside Scarlett was so intense, so surreal, that he shuddered and tried to absorb the moment, how agonizingly perfect, how incredibly right, she felt beneath him.

Hot, slick, tight. Bracing his forearms by her shoulders, he framed her face in his hands, grazed her plump bottom lip with his thumb, and watched as her gaze darkened with need. Then she closed her eyes, whispered his name, and rolled her hips sinuously against his, beckoning him to finish what he’d started.

He wanted this to last. Wanted to linger and savor and watch her as she came again. His cock, however, refused to take the slow, leisurely route, and because his overly aroused body demanded he do so, he withdrew and surged back into her, again and again, long, hard strokes that increased in power and strength and depth.

She met him thrust for thrust, moving in perfect rhythm with him as he pumped into her. She slid her hands down the slope of his back, her fingers digging into muscle and flesh as she tried to drag him closer, deeper, with every fluid stroke. She bit his shoulder and writhed against him in wild, reckless abandon. Their mating was raw and primitive, a culmination of every desire they’d suppressed, every seductive tease between them, every erotic fantasy he’d had of possessing her just like this. It didn’t take long for the heat coiling low in his belly to spiral down to his groin. As if in sync with his body’s impending release, her lashes fluttered back open, and she met his gaze, moaning helplessly as she started to convulse around him.

Her orgasm triggered his own, and he followed her right over the edge with a rough, guttural groan. His climax was scorching hot, an unbridled surrender of body and soul that left him shaken and stretched across her limp, sated form, his face pressed against her damp neck as he struggled to come back to his senses. And when he did, it was with the realization that if this one night was all he had of her, it would be enough. It would have to be.

Once back in bed, once she had fallen asleep, he sat up and saw that he’d missed two calls from his mom. She’d taken a trip over to her friend Susan’s house to enjoy her weekly bridge game. He figured he would check in with her. Later on today, he was going to get things started, talk to her about moving, clear out the attic and talk to a real estate agent about selling the house.

He ran his hand over his close-cropped hair, the sun streaming through the window. So many things were changing in his life. He looked down at the fair-haired beauty, flushed pink and pretty beside him.

Taking the moment, he slid down and wrapped his arm around her, nuzzling his face into her fragrant hair. A few more winks, then he’d face everything.