Breaking Danger (24 page)

Mount Blue

Someone was tapping on her cheek. Elle instinctively tried to move her head away from the annoying tapping, but it was no use. Her eyes popped open and it took just a second to get oriented.

White room. White walls, white floor, lots of people in white lab coats. Smell of Formalin and reagents and electrical equipment. A lab.
The
lab, at Haven.

“That's it, Sleeping Beauty,” her husband said, pulling gently at her shoulders until she sat up straight in her chair instead of slumping. “It's bedtime for you.”

She blinked, shook her head. “No.” The protest was automatic. So much to do, so little time. “We're behind in our schedule—”

“There will be no schedule if you work yourself to death,” he said, touching the skin beneath her eyes. “You're exhausted. You've got bags under your eyes, Dr. Ross.”

“Way to go, Mr. Ross. Convince your wife to do something by complaining about her looks.”

He gave his slow smile. The one that never failed to turn her heart over. She'd been told that smile had been nonexistent until she came back into his life. “You're the most beautiful woman in the world, Dr. Ross. A few sleepless nights aren't going to change that. So stop fishing for compliments and trying to change the subject. The subject is you. You've been working the best part of three days. Mac hauled Catherine off to bed, against her objections.” He shook his head. “You two just don't know when to quit.”

Elle was bone tired. But there was so
much
to do before the vaccine arrived. When it did, they had to hit the ground running. “We've still got to stabilize the accelerated cell line, check the reagents, test the equipment.”

“Well, if you two make a mistake because you're exhausted, you'll just have to waste time correcting that mistake. Honey, part of our training is knowing when to find a way to rest because no one can go flat-out for days at a time.”

She gave him her own smile. “Oh. I thought you, Mac, Jon, and the captain were Supermen. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Able to do your warrior thing for weeks, months.”

“Uh-uh.” Nick lifted her out of her chair, put a firm hand to the small of her back, started walking her out of the lab. “You're not going to distract me. You're going to our quarters, you're going to eat something warm, and then you're going to bed. You'll thank me later.” He tapped his comms, said something quiet about food to someone on the other end while they walked down the corridor to the elevator that would take them to their quarters.

Quarters. That's what he called it. It sounded Spartan, but it wasn't. In any other place, it would be considered a very elegant small apartment with every modern con known to man, and some unknown. Like walls that could be turned into windows looking out over a mountain and the valley beyond.

She had a brand-new husband. It still surprised her. The spiritual counselor who'd officiated at their wedding ceremony had also married Mac and Catherine and was busy marrying couples who realized, in the midst of extreme danger, how much they loved each other. Nothing like the end of the world to get your priorities straight.

Haven worked. If there was one thing that had been brought home to her in the short time she'd been here at Haven, it was that Nick, Jon, and Mac, their captain, Lucius Ward, the three other Ghost Ops men who'd been rescued and, though half dead on their feet, capable of accomplishing a great deal and last, but certainly not least, the scary-looking but punctiliously polite former General Snyder, all of them were superbly capable men.

She, Catherine, and Sophie were good at what they did; they'd be able to produce the vaccine in industrial quantities, no question. But for what came next, delivering the doses to besieged communities, protecting the convoys as they made their slow laborious way around the state, coordinating air drops, ensuring that the growing number of refugees here at Haven had sufficient shelter, food, and water—that was something the men had to do. She knew nothing of security or logistics.

They'd created this amazing place while undercover as outlaws. They could do this too.

Nick was hurrying her to their place so she could rest, but he was as tired as she was. He had to be. She couldn't remember the last time he rested.

If she rested then he had to too.

Nick ushered her into their quarters. The nearly invisible door whooshed open at exactly the right time, just before Nick and she would have bumped noses against what looked like a wall. It had been coded to their bodies. Their morphology was the key that opened the door.

Nick rushed her in, then stopped, sniffing.

Elle lifted her head too, breathing in the deeply delicious smells. “Bless Stella,” she said at the sight of the big steel industrial cart with covered dishes on it.

“Yeah, bless her,” Nick said fervently. “Now you—” He touched the tip of a callused finger to her nose. “You are going to take a nice warm shower while I get this all set out. You're going to eat and then you're going to bed.”

“Yes, Dad.” Elle rolled her eyes but it was lost on Nick, who was busy uncovering dishes, setting out plates. God, the smells! Her stomach growled and she remembered she hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours. Now that Nick had forced her to pay attention to herself, she realized how hungry and tired she was. He'd been right and she was wrong. Fainting from hunger and exhaustion wasn't going to help anyone.

By the time Elle came out from the bathroom, where she'd had a blissfully long and hot shower, Nick had arranged everything on the dining table. Done right too. Mats and plates and cutlery and two glasses, because there was also some wine decanting.

She could afford one glass of wine. It would probably help her sleep.

“Madame,” Nick intoned, a huge snowy napkin over one brawny forearm, the other hand pulling out her chair for her. He was trying to keep a straight face because Nick Ross did not look like a butler. Not in the slightest. He did look like a tough, very sexy man pretending for a second or two to be a butler.

Elle sat with a sigh, her first moment of relaxation since the plague began.

Nick was piling her plate high with food.

“Nick,” she murmured. Her stomach started closing up. He looked up with a sharp gaze and stopped immediately. He set her plate in front of her.

“Eat,” he ordered. “You're not hungry, I get that. You're too tired and stressed to be hungry. But trust me when I say you need some hot food in you. Once you start, you'll feel better. Start with one bite.”

Okay. She tried a bite of risotto. Mushroom risotto, creamy, with cheese and butter.
Too rich
, she thought, until it settled warmly in her stomach.

“Another,” Nick said and she put another bite in her mouth. Instead of a blocked system, gullet and stomach closed tighter than a fist, her system opened up and accepted another bite. And she found she was ravenous.

“That's my girl,” Nick said as she started tasting the other dishes. Besides the risotto, which was of course delicious, Stella had sent a ragout of vegetables, baked goat cheese, an orange and fennel salad, fresh focaccia, and homemade raspberry ice cream.

She ate half of what was on her plate and sat back to watch Nick demolish everything else, fast and neat.

She sipped at her wine. “So. Sophie and Jon.” She cleared her throat delicately. “That was a surprise.”

Nick stopped, fork in midair. “Why?”

“I don't know.” Elle turned her glass in her hands. “It just feels . . . weird.”

She'd been utterly taken aback at seeing Sophie take Jon's hand, smile up at him in that unmistakable way women had when looking at their man. The way she looked at Nick, the way Catherine looked at Mac. Though it took a lot of courage on Catherine's part to look at Mac that way. Mac looked like he ate fragile young scientists for breakfast and spat out the bones.

Still, Catherine was very, very happy. And Mac was visibly completely in love with her. So that was working out okay.

“Weird how?” Nick spooned up the last of the raspberry ice cream and held it in front of her mouth. It was divine but she was stuffed. She shook her head.

“Well, for one thing, Jon doesn't seem her type.”

“Sophie has a type?”

“Hmm. She's very picky.” And detached when it came to men. They both were. Well, Elle wasn't anymore. She couldn't be detached about Nick. She'd loved him practically her whole life. He was in her blood and he made that blood boil. Sophie wasn't like that, she didn't do passion. Elle had seen her date dozens of men and Sophie shrugged them off. Perfectly acceptable men in suits, with retirement accounts, good jobs, advanced degrees. Sophie would go out once or twice then get bored.

So, a guy like Jon would be off Sophie's radar. Wouldn't he?

“What's Jon like?” Suddenly, Elle needed to know about the man with her friend. Sophie was out there all alone in incredible danger, becoming emotionally involved with the man sent to protect her. “He seems so—so cold. And controlled.”

“You don't know him,” Nick said, eyes steady on hers.

She ducked her head. No, no she didn't know Jon. She'd only met him days ago and those days had been stressful. And then the plague struck. She lifted her eyes to Nick's. “My best friend in the world is with him, right now. Her life in his hands.”

“I can reassure you there, honey,” Nick said briskly. “Jon is as good as they come. If anyone can keep your friend safe, that's Jon. He's fast and he's tough. And cool. Always thinking five steps ahead. Man's a machine.”

“Saying he's a machine isn't helping,” she whispered. This was insane. All she needed to care about was Jon bringing Sophie safely to Haven. What difference did it make if he was going to break Sophie's heart afterward? And yet—and yet . . . Sophie's
face
when she looked at Jon. Elle had never seen that expression before. Open, completely vulnerable. In the midst of all that chaos and death.

“Stop that.” Nick looked at a spot over her head, then kissed her. “Stop overthinking this. I can practically see all the thoughts buzzing around in your head. You're just exhausting yourself and you're not doing your friend any good at all.”

“I know.” Elle shook her head. “I just can't help worrying about her.”

“Stop it,” Nick said again.

“Make me,” Elle said. It came upon her like a burst of electricity. Her man, her husband, sitting there with all that coiled energy that seemed like such a part of him, like a panther or a lion. Some primal animal. Her man. The man she knew could kiss her and love her into a stupor. That was
exactly
what she needed, right this minute. To be loved into a stupor, to shove these thoughts circling endlessly right out of her head. “Make me forget all of this.”

She was astounded at the voice coming out of her mouth. Sultry, husky, daring. Pure sex. She'd never had that voice before in her life.

It had a magic effect on Nick. That tough, handsome face had been puckered with worry for her, tender and gentle. Suddenly, his features tightened, eyes glittering. The skin over his cheeks suffused with blood, as did his full lips. That was what he looked like during sex, though he wasn't even touching her.

But he was thinking about it . . . Oh yeah. Worried, tender Nick was gone, and Nick the conquering warrior was here, right in front of her. Predator looking at his prey.

The air around them suddenly bloomed with pheromones. The air was hot and heavy, and she could barely pull in a breath.

“You want me to make you stop thinking?” he asked. Nick's voice was a deep low growl. Oh God. Just hearing that tone made her skin prickle. He moved forward. “I can do that.”

Nick kissed her, one of those kisses that went straight to pure sex. Some of his kisses were light and tender, tentative, like a question. This wasn't one of them. It was immediately open-mouthed, carnal. A statement.

In a moment, they were on the bed, Nick lying heavily on top of her. Though Nick had been in her mind and heart since she was a girl, they'd had sex one night—he'd been her first and last—and then had been separated for ten years. A week ago they'd found each other again, in the midst of terror and danger. Everything about being with Nick was unsettled and unsettling except for the fact that she loved him.

Every time they made love it seemed like something different from the last time. There was no routine, as she had always assumed other couples had. At times the sex was fast and furious, at times soft and languid. Never twice the same thing in a row.

This time, too, seemed different. He was urgent—his muscles tense, mouth demanding, hands quickly removing her clothes. And yet at the same time there was a vast tenderness there as his hard hands touched her, rolling her this way and that as he unbuttoned, unzipped, unclasped, shimmied down various items. And even when she was naked, he didn't move heavily on her, spreading her legs with his thighs, ready to enter her quickly. No, she was naked but Nick wasn't in her, something that would have given her cognitive dissonance if it weren't for the fact that his hands were so busy. His hands gave her almost as much pleasure as his sex. Cupping her shoulders, down over her breasts, thumbs brushing against her nipples giving her pleasure that shot straight to her womb, then skimming her sides, reaching her thighs, pulling them apart . . .

She waited in hot anticipation to feel his heavy weight shifting on top of her, because like any lab rat that had been fed pellets as a reward she knew, like she knew that the sun would rise in the east the next day, that amazing pleasure would follow. So she held her breath a little, eyes closed so she could concentrate on the feel of his body on hers, and waited.

But instead of rolling on top of her and entering her, he shifted lower. He opened her legs so his wide torso could fit between them, lifting them high and bending her thighs back so she was completely open to him.