Hold on Tight (19 page)

At first, he’d wondered if Lyle and Paul were in on it, or the other agent he hadn’t met, the one who’d initially done the sweep, since they’d all had access to the house under the pretense of searching it. But creating a leak in the gas line and using it as a bomb was crude and easy to miss, and he cursed himself for not checking her house more thoroughly himself.

He hadn’t gotten to her house until midnight—the gas leak could’ve been there well before that.

But he couldn’t think about that now—there was too much crashing down around him, and if he let himself lose focus again, he could lose Jamie for good. Let the FBI and Kevin make their plans and hunt down Handler—Chris would hide Jamie away until they caught the asshole.

“I don’t know where we’re going,” Jamie was saying into the phone, with a quick glance at Chris. He didn’t respond, wouldn’t give that information out over a cell line—no fucking way. The time for mistakes was long past.

“Kevin, you can reach me at this number,” she continued—held it together until she hung up the phone and put it on the console between them. And then she shifted so he couldn’t see her face, although he saw the slight shake of her shoulders.

He didn’t tell her it would be okay—he would make it so, but she needed to experience this delayed reaction. All he did was reach over and grab her hand.

He held it tightly as he drove the car off-road, toward the old hunting cabin. He hadn’t been there in at least a year, but he knew Nick came here often. He claimed it was for maintenance purposes, but Chris knew better. His brother enjoyed the solitude of the place, the memories.

For Chris, the memories would be overwhelming—he felt their threat as he drove farther through the backwoods. But the cabin was safe as hell. And right now, that was the only thing he could give a shit about.

They’d only been driving for an hour when he pulled up the long, private dirt road and parked around back of the cabin, under the hidden carport.

Jamie finally turned to him, her eyes still wet. “Thanks for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Come on, let’s get you inside so you can rest.” He helped her through the tall grass in the dark and onto the porch.

Jamie paused. “It’s so pretty. Even in the dark—pretty and peaceful.”

“Yeah. It was my mom’s favorite place to hang,” he said quietly. “She used to come here for the peace and quiet, to get away from all the testosterone in the house. But we’d follow her. So no peace and quiet—but a lot of good memories were made.”

“Your mom probably wouldn’t like me so much, not after I’ve brought you so much trouble.”

He chuckled quietly. “She knew I never went anywhere without trouble. Come on inside.”

She looked over her shoulder toward the road they’d driven in on—sunrise was still a while off but the promise of dawn was here with its soft light. “You’re sure no one followed us?”

“There’s one way in and out—Nick hung some cameras a while back so we could see the edge of the road. But I would’ve known if anyone was on our six.”

It was true—they’d been the only ones on the road for the past half hour. And so she followed him inside the small cabin, which was clean but pretty damned bare. There was a small couch and a table and chairs, a kitchenette and not much else but a large, soft rug that took up the middle of the floor. “Please tell me there’s a working bathroom.”

“Yeah, there is—through there,” he said. He locked the door and turned on a single light.

He rustled around in the front closet to find blankets and sleeping bags—there was barely enough room for her on the couch, and he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway, so he piled the sleeping bags on the floor. “I’m sure my brother’s got some extra clothes in the back of his car—I’ll go check as soon as we get some sunlight, okay?”

She didn’t answer. When he turned back, he noted she was staring at him.

“Your face,” she said finally, and yeah, he’d forgotten to wipe the damned cammy paint off earlier.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No,” she told him, the sureness in her voice making him start. “It’s my turn to take care of it.”

“I don’t want to sleep anymore. I feel like I’ve been sleeping for too damned long,” she told him as she began to move toward him.

It seemed to take forever to reach him across the small expanse, to drag her heart, which was slowly recovering from years of trusting no one.

When she finally did, she took his hand in hers again and led him past the kitchen and living room and into the bathroom as the cabin began to fill with a soft light.

She was surprised he allowed it.

“Sit.” She pointed to the edge of the tub, and still he followed her direction without question, sat while she wet the washcloth at the sink.

He knew what she was about to do, closed his eyes when she brought it to his face, the greens and blacks and khakis smudged over his cheeks and eyelids and forehead and nose in a crazy swirl that was still somehow controlled—a definite pattern drawn with a purposeful hand.

Using the wet cloth, she continued to wipe the paint away, using firm, broad strokes. It wasn’t a fast process but she didn’t rush, liked seeing the clean cheekbones uncovered, then the broad forehead and full mouth. She left his eyes for last, wanted to see them open. When she did, the intensity of the two different colors watched her, waiting for her to make the next move.

This time, she would. Fueled by both will and desire, she tugged his shirt over his head, ran her hands across his shoulders, behind his neck, through his hair once she released the bandanna.

“I’m sorry. So sorry. You’ve lost a friend. You saw it happen. I know what that’s like, Chris. And you haven’t had any time to mourn.”

His gaze held hers steadily. “I’m mourning in my own way.”

“By throwing yourself into watching me.”

“You need watching. You tend to get into trouble,” he muttered. “Bad enough I couldn’t be with you twenty-four seven to keep you safe. It’s important that I keep you safe …”

“You have. You are. Chris, I understand survivor’s guilt. I’ve lived with it for so long. Too long.” She stroked her hands through his hair.

“Now’s not the time. You’ve been through hell.”

“Now is all we have.”

“You don’t understand, Jamie. You don’t know what I did.”

She froze for a second at the look in his eyes. “Then tell me. Please.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he squared his shoulders even more than they’d been, and then he started.

“I followed Mark’s orders. All of them. You have no idea how badly I wanted Josiah to save Mark, to get him away from the rebels. But even if he’d been able to do that …” He stopped, took a deep breath. “Mark was almost gone. He never would’ve made it. Even after what the rebels did, the way they tortured him … and they were going to do more. I’d told Mark I wouldn’t let that happen. He made me promise to do something, and I kept that promise.”

It was as she’d suspected earlier—Josiah tried to save Mark and failed, so Chris did the only humane thing he could … he followed Mark’s last wishes. A sob caught in her throat for Chris, for Mark … for all of them on that horrible night.

Chris continued. “Mark knew I would know when it was time. He’d been captured before—he said,
I won’t die at their hands
. And so I waited—and I didn’t see Josiah anymore, and Mark gave me the signal. Twice. I ignored it the first time, told myself that it wasn’t true, that he was already dead. But he wasn’t and I couldn’t let them kill him—not the way they were going to do it.”

“And you were prepared to carry this around with you forever?”

“I still am.” He looked at her. “You’re the only other one who knows. It was his final wish. No one from your office would understand that. They’d think if I could kill my own teammate, I’d have no problem killing Josiah if he got in my way. And I just couldn’t say any of it out loud. Because then it would be real. I could give two shits about the investigation, about what happened to me because of what I did for Mark. I just didn’t want any of it to be real.”

“You didn’t kill Mark, Chris. You can’t think of it like that. For all intents and purposes, he was already dead.”

“I just couldn’t watch. They were going to … Fuck.” He drew a deep breath. “They were going to throw him into the fire, and he was still fucking alive. There was no other way I could help him. So I did what I’d want someone to do for me.”

“That night, you were all heroes.”

“I don’t feel like one.”

“Let me help you with that, then.”

“You didn’t want me two months ago. Even two days ago …”

“That’s not true.” She touched his cheek gently. “You might be psychic, but that doesn’t always mean you see what’s right in front of you. You were so busy looking into my secrets, you’d forgotten to guard yours. You don’t like to let anyone inside,” she said softly, even as her hands played with his hair.

“That’s the way it’s been for a long time,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“It’s easier that way.”

“That’s such a bullshit answer.”

He snorted and stood and she let him off the hook. For now. A little. “You work totally off instinct and impulse.” Her head dipped to kiss his chest and when her hand went to his pants, she heard a breath catch in his throat as his erection pressed his BDUs. “Did you ever think of trusting someone else as much as you trust your own instincts? Because I knew I wanted to trust you, to be with you, from nearly the first second we met. I knew because I let myself get distracted,” she practically whispered. “I never let that happen.”

“You have no idea how badly I wanted to drag you back into that car, that hotel, to make you stay in Africa with me for at least one more night. And then I figured that for you maybe it was just the adrenaline or the fear or both, and from that point on I pretended our time together meant nothing. I’ve been away on missions ever since I got home from that trip. I couldn’t let myself think about you. I tried not to.”

“Did it work?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Good.” She paused. “On the ride here, I kept thinking that I’d just lost everything. But here, I’m realizing that I’ve got everything I need.”

Losing something to find what you really need …

Chris smiled then and she realized she was, for the first time, seeing a truly happy smile, not filled with worry or pain. And she’d been able to bring that out in him, despite everything.

Her hands still remained on his shoulders as he asked, “What do you want, Jamie?”

“You,” she whispered. “Can that just be enough for now?”

“Yeah, that can be enough.”

She watched his face carefully. “You saved my life.”

“And you’re saving mine right now. Every time you touch me or say my name, you make me feel human again,” he said quietly. “So go ahead, make me feel.”

The words held more command in them than seduction, and yet they turned her on to the point of no return, made the ache between her legs intensify, the longing turn sharp and biting. He remained in front of her—handsome and strong and oh-so-willing to make everything but the two of them go away, if only for tonight.

He grabbed her then, pulled her body to his, and she planned on agreeing, because sex was so much easier than talking … than thinking … than anything.

With Chris, it was everything.

He carried her into the living room, setting her down gently on the floor, among the soft blankets and the sleeping bags, even as she nuzzled his neck.

He knelt in front of her, waiting. His pants hung low on his hips, emphasizing the jut of his hipbones and his impossibly ripped abs. Jamie reached out, ran a finger down the string of small scars along his left side. “What’s this from?”

“Shark bite. Long story. Not now.”

“Right—not now,” she whispered.

She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. They dropped easily to the ground, revealed he was naked underneath—and completely aroused. And then he was tugging her shirt over her head, unclasping her bra, sliding down her pink underwear.

She loved the way his breath hitched as he pulled back to gaze at her body.

“Beautiful,” he told her, his voice nearly reverent. “So fucking pretty, Jamie.”

She felt pretty, like she could conquer anything. “Lay back—let me.”

He complied, propped himself up on his elbows, his face wearing that lazy, heavy-lidded look she loved, because there was nothing lazy about it. No, he was simply biding his time, waiting for her … waiting to see what she wanted to do.

She slid her body over his and he groaned at the contact, groaned louder as she kissed her way along his chest, her tongue flicking his nipples, turning them into hard pebbles.

“You smell so good—you always do,” she murmured against his neck. “Fresh and wild.”

He smelled like freedom—hers, theirs—and there was no way she could ever get enough. Her tongue licked a path down his chest to his abs, her breasts brushing his arousal. It jutted between them and she shifted back and forth, letting his hardness brush her nipples, which were so hot and tender and longing for his touch.

“You’re fucking killing me,” he told her, and she just smiled.

And then she knelt between his legs and took him with her mouth, her hands. He rumbled deep in his chest as her mouth circled him, pushing her to take it further, to be bolder.

“Jamie …” But his voice was lost when she continued working him. His hips arched toward her, her fingers dug into the skin of his thighs until she knew he wouldn’t last long.

She released him and he shuddered—he’d been clutching the sleeping bag with his hands, his head thrown back, his hands in tight fists as he tried not to come under her caresses.

“Seriously. Fucking killing me,” he muttered, lifted his head to gaze at her again as she crawled up his body. He took himself off his elbows and lay flat against the floor, his arms snaking around her waist.

“I’m going to take you,” she told him, even pinned his arms above his head. She circled his wrists with one hand as best she could, holding them to the carpet while her other hand moved between his legs to stroke him.

He pulled in a hard breath through his nose.

She thought about protection for a fleeting second and then laughed out loud. “Sorry … it’s just that I was about to ask about condoms.”

“Yeah, that ship has sailed.” His hand traced her belly, his voice so deep, eyes intense. He appeared relaxed and yet still coiled, his rock-hard arousal ready, waiting for her.

“I want to make you feel good … want to make you feel everything.”

“I’m there, baby. Come on, climb on board and take me for a fucking ride,” he urged.

She threw a leg over him, straddling his prone body, her sex wet and ready to accept him. She eased herself onto his erection slowly until he arched his hips up into her, pushing himself inside of her to the absolute hilt and making her suck in a breath as her body gave way to him.

The ache inside her womb was deeper than she’d ever experienced, made her entire body pulse with fever for him.

And what had started out slow and sweet turned, and Chris took control, as if he hadn’t had her body in forever and needed it as much as he needed air.

He rolled her, gently, still inside her, and then he claimed her.

There was no other way to say it—he
claimed
her, with his body, as a white-hot fire spread behind her eyes. Her entire body trembled as he rocked against her, and God, she didn’t want it to ever stop, wanted them joined like this, wanted to feel like this forever.

She cried out, hadn’t expected the magic to overwhelm.

He wasn’t stopping, telling her how he felt with every stroke.