Hotter Than Wildfire (23 page)

Ellen knew precisely why Nicole had insisted on coming: So that this would have the flavor of an outing. So it wouldn’t be a forced march along the beach with three armed men who couldn’t wait to get her back under wraps.

“Thanks,” Ellen said softly. “Can’t have been easy to convince him.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Nicole’s foot dabbled in the clear water. “But I figured if you could convince Harry and you’ve only been together for a few days, I wouldn’t be worthy of the name woman if I couldn’t get my husband to let me go on this little walk, too.”

Nicole’s joining them put her at risk—okay, minimal risk, but Sam seemed like the type of man to whom even a slight risk to Nicole was too much to wrap his head around—simply to make Ellen more comfortable.

Ellen’s eyes swept the horizon—only three boats now—and the beach. Families with kids and sun worshippers as far as the eye could see. “You up for a little stroll?”

“Oh yeah.”

They moved off, shoes dangling from their fingers, at an easy pace. After a while, they stopped talking. The day was talking to them. A little siren song about enjoying life.

It was all so wonderful. The little bite of exercise, the glorious sun growing warmer and warmer, the heat mitigated by the cool, gentle breeze off the ocean. Wavelets curling like white lace on the surface of the ocean.

Kids farther up the beach were playing an impromptu game of volleyball, and Ellen smiled as she watched them. Strong young bodies, laughing, leaping, no cares other than having a good time.

She drew in a deep and delighted breath, almost heady with the fresh air. She could feel her blood circulating again, muscles warm and relaxed, the clean air reaching deep into her lungs.

The background noises—the soft plashing of the ocean, children’s laughter, adult conversations heard in snatches, the wind—together formed a sort of soft lullaby. Ellen relaxed a little more with each step.

The men were more relaxed, too, she noted. They were still vigilant, but that tense grimness was gone. Their body language was softer, less rigid. Sam was teasing Nicole about the color of her toenail polish and Mike and Harry were in a heated argument about some ball game. She didn’t even know which one. They were swapping insults that were funny and inventive, luridly profane and anatomically impossible.

It had turned into what she’d wanted with all of her heart. A little outing with friends.

And these
were
her friends, she could feel it. Sam and Mike and above all, Nicole. They cared for her and she cared for them.

And then, of course, there was Harry. She loved him. It hadn’t been a bright sudden flash of recognition. It was as if the knowledge had been there all along, even that first day in his office. So big and so still and so golden. Like a god. A benevolent god.

She hadn’t told him yet, but she knew. She’d never felt anything like this before. Of all the terrifying things in her life, this was maybe the scariest, but there was nothing she could do about it. However long their relationship lasted, this was the man for her to the end of time.

They walked on, all of them smiling, even the men. It was a day made for smiling. For smiling and laughing and enjoying your friends. For feeling the hard-packed sand against your feet, cool and textured, for turning your face to the wind, letting it ruffle your hair, for having the warm sunbeams penetrate deep into the muscles with gentle fingers.

Ellen walked along, enjoying the banter of the men, the sun and the breeze and the low murmur of all the people on the beach, soaking up the unusually warm spring day.

The loneliness of the past year—and if she had to be honest, the loneliness she’d felt all her life—was starting to drift away, like dense, black smoke dissipated by a clean, strong wind. However improbably, it looked like she might actually have found a home here, with these good people. Good, kind, smart, capable people. Her people.

The knowledge wound its way into her heart, warm and gentle. She tucked it away. She’d done that as a child—tucked away a few good memories amid the chaos and craziness. Then she’d pull the memory out during the bleak, black times.

This memory, too, would be cherished. Except—well, maybe, just maybe there would be more days just like this one, down the line. Harry, Mike, Sam and Nicole—they had stable lives and were stable people. They would be here for a long time.

Maybe she would, too.

Don’t think that.
She wanted it so much she instinctively shied away from the thought. You jinxed things if you wanted them too badly.

Live in the day, don’t want too much, be grateful for what you have right this very minute—her mantra. It was a philosophy that had seen her through a lot of hard times.

Harry’s big hand smoothed down the back of hers, then gently clasped it. His hand was warm and hard, callused, the grip firm but not tight.

She could do this forever. Just walk straight ahead until they ran out of beach then turn around and walk back. Everything felt so damned
good
.

Mike shifted his gaze from the boats at sea. “Hey guys, how about this evening I fire up that new barbecue I bought a few weeks ago? Gotta try it out sometime. I’ve got some inch-thick steaks in the freezer, throw some jacket potatoes on that sucker and voilà! Dinner.”

“Not so fast, slick,” Nicole said. “We’re missing vegetables and fruit on that menu.”

The men groaned. Sam rolled his eyes. “God, just as long as it’s not that broccoli you made me choke down the other night. I’d rather eat rattlesnake balls.”

“Wuss.” Nicole smiled. “And rattlesnakes don’t have balls. Maybe I could make some fresh coleslaw…”

There were several loud pops and that was the last thing Ellen heard. Half a second later a ton of man fell on her and her face was pushed deep into the sand.

Harry was on top of her, big black weapon out, tracking. Sam was on top of Nicole and his weapon was out, too. Mike had the biggest gun and was down on one knee holding it in two fists, moving in measured beats from sand to sea and back.

Ellen couldn’t breathe, could hardly understand what was going on. Time stopped, stretched.

“Clear!” Mike shouted.

“Clear!” Sam and Harry’s deep voices echoed. Harry lifted up a little and Ellen gasped in a breath, together with sand. He was a big man and he’d jumped her so hard the breath had whooshed out of her lungs. Her ribs hurt and the sand had abraded her knees and elbows.

Harry and Mike and Sam straightened up, guns still out.

She lifted her head and saw people in a circle around them, frozen at the sight of the dangerous-looking men with guns out. Two little girls hid behind their father’s knees. The shock wore off. One of the little girls screamed. She was holding a fistful of balloons. Several had popped. That was the noise they’d heard.

“Sam,” Nicole groaned and everyone turned to her. She was lying on her side, curled up in pain.

“Nicole!” Sam went ashen, fell on his knees next to her. “Oh my God, honey. Did I hurt you? Fuck, I hurt you. Oh fuck oh
fuck
! Where do you hurt, baby?” He was frantically touching her all over, trying to find out if she had any broken bones, yet almost afraid to touch her.

He was a big man, heavier even than Harry, and he was just now realizing he’d thrown his entire weight on her. On his pregnant wife.

“Sam,” Nicole whispered. “Sam. The baby.”

They all looked down in horror at Nicole’s hand protectively curled around her belly and at the blood seeping through her dress.

 
Harry put the phone down and went over to where Ellen was huddled in the corner of his sofa. She had her legs drawn up with her arms around them, one pretty bare foot curled over the other, shivering, though the day was still warm.

She looked up at him and Harry winced at the pain in those beautiful green eyes. She looked like she’d been whipped.

“That was Mike.” Sam couldn’t be trusted behind the wheel. Mike had driven Nicole and a stricken Sam to Sharp Coronado Hospital and had apparently broken a couple of land speed records to do it. He could do it because he was the Man. He was ex–San Diego PD. A ticket would never stick.

“And?” She could barely get the word out, her voice shook so much.

He gently unlocked one of her hands from its fierce grip around her legs, as if her arms were the only thing holding her together, and clasped it. It was icy cold. He sat down on the hassock in front of her, just looking at her, trying to warm her hand up.

Even pale and shocked, shaking and terrified, she was so beautiful it hurt his heart. She was much more shocked at the idea of harm to Nicole and the baby than she’d been at the danger to herself.

God, he hated to see her like this. And he hated it that Nicole had been harmed, even slightly. But Mike had given him good news, the best.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “Nicole’s okay and the baby’s doing just fine. Mike said even Sam was reassured. The doctors were really clear that the baby was in no danger. Sam calmed down when they had him listen to the baby’s heartbeat. The bleeding stopped right away. They didn’t even call it bleeding, they called it spotting.”

Harry had no idea what the difference was, but as Mike called in the doctor’s report it was clear that there was a difference and that Nicole was on the right side of that difference.

Ellen’s breath left her body in a long, pent-up stream, as if she’d been holding her breath. Actually, both of them had been holding their breath for the past couple of hours. Harry loved Sam and Sam loved Nicole, so Harry loved Nicole, too. For herself, because she was a good woman with a loving heart, and because she was so good for Sam.

Waiting for news, when he’d mouthed a few platitudes to Ellen about everything being all right, he hadn’t even believed it himself.

It was only now, with the baby in possible danger, that he realized how much he was looking forward to having a little niece to pamper. They didn’t really talk about it, but he knew Mike felt the same way. And Sam—well, Sam was already crazy about the little girl.

Having a little girl around, watching her grow up safely in a loving family, being uncles in heart if not in blood…well, the idea felt good. Really good. Something new and fresh and clean in their lives.

“They’re both okay, mother and child,” he repeated softly. She was still staring up at him, stricken, trying to read his face. Trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. “As a matter of fact, Nicole’s agitating to come home, but I don’t know if she’ll manage it. Mike says that Sam is still pretty freaked.”

He felt it first in her hand as it shook and then wildly trembled in his. The tremors went up her arm until her whole torso shook. She bit her lips. The words came pouring out in a flurry of agitation. “It’s all my fault. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been there. If I hadn’t taken my problems with me. I can’t even think about it. Nicole could have lost her baby and it would have been
my fault
.”

She hadn’t cried waiting for the news, she’d simply huddled in on herself in misery, but now the tears started flowing.

Harry couldn’t stand it. He simply couldn’t stand seeing her like this. He lifted her up and sat down with her on his lap.

Ellen didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t crying. She turned her face into his neck, let out a high keening sound of misery that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and let go.

God.

It lasted forever.

She cried so hard he thought she might choke, so hard she had to gulp twice to pull in air. Harry didn’t even try to stop her. As her chest heaved and she wet his shirt, he simply held her, as tightly and completely as possible, one arm around her waist, one hand covering the back of her head, trying to touch as much of her with as much of him as possible. The comfort of his body is what she needed right now, and he was more than willing to provide it.

She was curled up on his lap, arms around his neck, holding on for dear life, weeping her heart out. Crying for Nicole and the baby she almost lost, yes, but also for the year of her life that was stolen. For having a world-class talent she was terrified to show in public. For the death of her agent, which deep down she also considered her fault. For being forced to live a life always ducking, always checking her back, always fearful.

Harry would have loved to have reassured her that her troubles were over, that he was here now. But no matter how much he wanted to protect her, no matter how close he stayed by her side, a bullet could find her at any second. A silenced sniper rifle from a mile out was something no one could protect against. The president of the United States was protected at all times by something like two hundred highly trained men and women, and look how that turned out. Every once in a while a president got popped.

So though he could promise he’d protect her, he couldn’t promise he could keep her alive. She knew that.

She’d spent the past year on red alert, adrenaline coursing through her body, probably checking her six every five minutes, jumping at unusual noises, being suspicious of strangers, allowing herself only the most shallow of slumbers because the nighttime was when the terrors were worst.

She’d essentially spent a year in war, under fire.

Soldiers had access to shrinks, had understanding buddies if they lost it, and at least they were trained to fight back.

Fuck with a U.S. soldier and a world of hurt came raining down on your head. She’d been alone and vulnerable, every second of every fucking day.

This was a beautiful woman with an unparalleled talent the world should be celebrating, and instead that fucker Montez made her scuttle around in the darkness like a cockroach.

She had every right to weep.

The crying jag was winding down, more because it had exhausted her than anything else. She finally heaved a huge sigh and settled more fully against him.

Thank God she was curled up on his lap and not over his groin, so she couldn’t feel his boner. Though it would be a miracle if she didn’t feel the heat from it. Shit, it was burning him up alive, like a hot poker some joker had stuck down the front of his pants.

If there was one trick he’d learned having nearly died twice and having twice made that long, long trek back to life, it was the ability to shut off signals from parts of his body.

Last year, he’d shut out the pain of the surgeries and the shattered hip. He’d just blanked out all sensation from his waist down. He tried that now, because at the time it had been a neat trick to cut off the pain. Helped along with a little alcohol and some Eve in his iPod. So now that he wasn’t feeling any pain at all, you’d think he’d be able to pull that no-feeling-below-the-waist thing.

But no.

His dick was actually screaming at him to get going. To get inside Ellen as fast as he could, now that the crying jag was over and she might be a little amenable to some belly bumping.

No. Harry didn’t do this.

He knew men who equated sex with pain. Who loved fucking women in distress, even better if they were the ones to make them hurt. Women’s pain was like an aphrodisiac to them. He’d seen that a lot—his mom had fucked a lot of men like that.

Harry was better than that. He’d spent his whole fucking life proving that he was better than that.

Sex between consenting adults was one of the great pleasures of life. Mutually satisfying fun. Making love with someone you cared about, loved—that was holy.

And Harry loved Ellen. Maybe he’d loved her before he even met her. The instant he’d seen her—a beautiful, frightened woman in his office—it was as if something in the universe slotted into place. Something real, something necessary.

So getting a boner while she wept desperately in his arms shamed him, disgusted him. It made him no better than fuckhead Rod. It made him a monster.

He’d get Ellen a cup of tea and go and take a cold shower and see if he could jerk off, get the boner back down. Or if that didn’t work, put ice on it, hammer it down, do
something
.

He shifted on the couch, preparing to lift her off him when she sat up, swiveled her head and looked him in the eyes.

And—fuck—her hip landed straight on his cock. Oh, shit.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said miserably. “I just—”

She made a shushing sound, placing the palms of her hands against his cheeks, forcing him to look into her eyes.

Oh God, how could she be so beautiful after weeping for half an hour? Most women looked like shit after crying. Eyes and face red and swollen. Ellen simply looked rosier than the icy white she’d been before, her eyes lustrous with tears, a sadness on her face that cut bone deep.

Hell, even seeing her like this, why wouldn’t his fucking boner
go down
?

“Harry?” she whispered.

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

“Will you do something for me?”

“Anything you want, honey. Anything.”

She leaned forward, her lower belly right against his cock, lips touching his. Against his mouth she whispered, “Take me to bed and make love to me.”