Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena) (20 page)

Dax slowed the bike down as they turned into the private airport. He pulled up to the hangar and cut the engine. Emerson loosened her grip slightly, but Dax’s hand came to cover her linked fingers. He didn’t say anything, just held her there. Fine with her since she was pretty sure her legs would buckle the second she tried to stand.

She felt him take a deep, meaningful breath and release it. He released her hand too, and she guessed that was her cue to slide off the bike. Which she did with minimal issues.

Although when Dax slid off the bike he looked as though he were a Scottish warrior dismounting his horse after a month-long battle. Smooth moves, rippling muscles, and dangerous swagger.

He pulled off her helmet, then his, and she could see that he was a few days behind on shaving, leaving a sexy shadow of stubble. But it was the shadow of exhaustion lining his face that had her taking his hand in hers.

“Want to tell me about yesterday?” she asked.

It was obvious something was bothering him. He seemed more relaxed than he had earlier, but there were more questions than answers in his eyes. And the only thing that came to mind was the training.

He set his helmet next to hers on the seat, freeing up those manly hands of his, which he wrapped around her. “I’d rather do this.”

The heat of his lips covering hers carried enough torque to rev her engines past the point of a throaty purr. The man kissed like he rode, hard and wild, and took her to the edge in no time flat. Or maybe it was that an hour of having that much horsepower and testosterone-laced man between her legs was like an afternoon of serious foreplay.

One kiss and Emerson’s body went haywire.

She wrapped her arms around him, finding the perfect place so quickly it was scary, then pressed herself up against him like they were still on the bike. A low, husky groan that was all lust and male appreciation sounded, right before he deepened the kiss.

“God, you taste good.” He nipped her lower lip, his hands sliding up and down her spine as though he liked the feel of her under his palms. Then they slid into her back pockets, cupping her butt through the denim. “You feel even better.”

Emerson wanted to say she could make him feel better, but with one last kiss he pulled back, slowly releasing her lower lip. His eyes were heavy lidded and his body hard and ready against her stomach. And his bike? It was just a few steps away.

Dax pressed his forehead to hers and released several rough breaths. “I want nothing more than to finish this right now. But we have an appointment.”

The sexual haze faded. “Appointment?” That made today sound like more of a planned outing than the spontaneous
let’s see where this road takes us
ride she’d signed on for. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come with you?”

“I have a bag of bread pudding in the leather saddlebag just in case I needed to play hardball.” He took her hand. “Ready?”

She kept pace with him as he led her toward the massive metal hangar doors. She noticed that their hands were swinging. She’d never taken Dax for a hand-holding kind of guy, and she sure as hell wasn’t a hands-swinging kind of girl, but after that ride it felt natural.

Sweet.

Emerson rolled her eyes, because there went the flutters.

“You going to tell me about yesterday?” she asked.

He slid her a sidelong look and shook his head, but when he spoke his voice was surprisingly gentle. “Later. Today’s about you.”

The concept was so foreign, Emerson stumbled. It was as though her body were rejecting the word because nothing has been about her in years. And she’d agreed to come because she thought he needed her, she’d seen it in his eyes, but suddenly he was turning the tables and it made her uneasy.

“What do you mean, about me?”

“It’s a surprise.”

She dropped his hand. “I don’t like surprises.” She hated them, in fact. They ranked right up there with clown-themed kids’ parties and root canals. And days about her.

He looked at her defiant expression and laughed. “God, you are the most suspicious person I have ever met. And you aren’t going to go in there until I tell you what I have planned, are you?”

She crossed her arms.

“Even if I promise you that it’s not going to make things weird?”

“Nope.”

Dax looked at the sky and sighed. “Fine. I told you I’d call my buddy with the police department. I did and found out that the DEA confiscated a twenty-nine-foot gourmet food truck with all the Sub-Zero bells and twelve-thousand-watt whistles in a drug raid a few months back. Seems they were selling more than po’boys. It’s scheduled to be auctioned off next month.”

She let out an unsteady breath. “Dax.”

“Before you rip me a new one, I only came along because I wanted to check under the hood for you, make sure it is as cherry as he said it was, because Ray’s a stand-up guy but he’s also a SEAL, which means he tends to embellish. A lot. So when he said he could sell it to you for the minimum bid, I wanted to make sure it was a good deal.”

He threw out some number that was right under her budget and Emerson found speaking difficult. “Why?” she asked.

“I wanted to be here to check it out. If it isn’t what you’re looking for, then we bounce.”

“No. Why did you do this?”

He gave her an unfamiliar look that had an odd feeling filling her chest. “Because you needed it.”

And weren’t those the heaviest few words she’d ever heard. Not only had he come through for her, he wasn’t asking for anything in return. And he said it as if it were that easy. No conditions, no expectations attached to his intentions. She asked and he came through. He didn’t take over like most people would, tell her what she should think or do, just offered his help. For no other reason than to make her life easier.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But the way he was looking at her, with a secret smile that had her insides turning, it didn’t seem so scary, and if it meant a little more time with him, feeling like this, then she’d give it a try.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “There is nothing to say.” Then with another kiss, this time to her lips, he tugged her toward their appointment.

They walked in silence, not suffocating uncomfortable silence, but the nice kind. Where no words were needed to fill the space. But plenty of information was being shared. It was just like being on the motorcycle.

A few feet from the hangar, she released a breath. Behind those doors was the start of everything, and she was almost afraid to look. Standing out here, thinking about the possibilities, gave her a sense of anticipation—that anything was possible. But once she opened that door it would be real, no turning back.

“Tell me one thing about yesterday,” she said, needing a distraction.

“The new guy shot me in the nuts,” he said, and mission accomplished. It was such an unexpected statement it explained the mortifying snort, followed by so much laughter her eyes watered.

She glanced at his package and dropped his hand. “Is that something you’ll have to disclose on first dates now?”

“I’m not really a dating guy,” he said, and if he meant for it to be a warning, then he blew it by taking her hand back and threading their fingers.

“You going to head up another exercise?” she asked, holding her breath for his answer.

“I’m heading up a weapons training in a few weeks,” he said. “It was the only way Jonah would agree to give the new guy a second shot.”

Emerson didn’t know what made her melt more. That he had committed to a time past his hometown-stay expiration date. Or that he’d stuck it out to mentor some new recruit. “I’ll buy you a steel cup,” she joked.

“Smart-ass,” he said with a smile.

“We’ve played that game before too,” she said and,
whoa
, look at that, their hands were swinging even higher. She felt like skipping.

All the way into her fresh start.

U
sually when a woman showed up to Dax’s house with frosting and a blindfold, spending the night chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter wasn’t what he had in mind. Yet there he was, sporting a hard-on and bare feet while Emerson skirted around his kitchen, green things covering every inch of his counter.

Not that he could see the counter anymore, since she’d pulled out the blindfold a few minutes ago, but he could feel their presence. Just like he could feel Emerson walking toward him.

She was trying to be stealthy, probably holding some of those asparagus by their freaky tips, but he could hear her bare feet on the wood floor, smell the orange cupcake batter she had dropped
on her apron earlier.

There wasn’t anything about her that he couldn’t sense—including
the fact that she felt more for him than she let on. And Dax was ter
ri
fied that the feelings situation was quickly becoming a two-way problem. She wasn’t just in awe over her new truck, with its top-of-the-line appliances, double-wide serving window, and industrial range—she had taken one look at her dream machine and, man, those green eyes had locked on his as if he was her own personal hero. And in that moment, as Emerson ran her hands over the stainless steel countertops, Dax had felt like her hero, even found himself wondering what it would take to be the kind of man who made her smile like that every day.

Who made
her
every day.

Then he reminded himself that in order to do that, he’d have to be there every day.

Not wanting to go there right then, he waited until Emerson passed behind him on her way to the sink and reached back to grab her leg.

“Dax,” she squeaked, then swatted his hand. “You aren’t Lethal Weapon Ranger right now. You are a judge.”

“Does the judge get to sample your cupcakes?” He heard her smile. It was the wrinkled nose smile combo she gave when she thought he was being cute. The little snort gave it away. “If not, then I want to change my character. To Lethal Weapon Ranger. He sounds like a cool guy who gets all sorts of cupcakes thrown his way.”

“The judge gets to lick frosting off my finger,” she said and walked back around the counter. He tracked her from the fridge to the sink, then finally she was standing behind him again.

“Now, open up and tell me what you think.”

“Fine.” He spun in his chair to face her. “I’ll play judge for a while, but”—he sniffed the air, which was rich and spicy, with a hint of brine—“that doesn’t smell like cupcakes. Game over.”

He reached for his blindfold to take it off, but her cool hands settled on his. “Cupcakes are last. I have to take you on the complete culinary journey so you can see how the flavors build and play off each other. Now stop being fussy and smell this.”

Since fussy was one letter off from a fighting word, Dax did as told. Fragrant steam moved across his lips and his mouth watered. He inhaled deeply, shook his head, and fussy be damned, sat back.

“Sorry, baby, I hear words like
culinary journey
and all I smell is green.” He took another tentative sniff. “Is there green stuff in that? Because green always comes in last place for this judge. It comes in last for Lethal Weapon Ranger too, in case that was your next question.”

A sigh escaped and he could picture her blowing the little wisps of hair off her face. “Then stop being a judge and stop being a Ranger,” she said quietly, her hand resting on his knee, rubbing the right spot to release the pressure. “Today, right now, just be Dax, the guy who turns everything into an innuendo and hates all things green. And let me be the chef, who convinces you my food is incredible.” Another little squeeze to his kneecap. “Can you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

His mother had died because she’d forgone cancer treatment so that Dax could live, something he remembered every time he looked at his brothers. Then he’d become a soldier, spent fifteen years in the army, the past nine of those as a Ranger sniper, making him some people’s last judge and jury. His entire career had been a balancing act between life and loss, a Sunday school lesson of the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh, and Dax wanted to know who the hell decided he was the guy for the job.

Someone had, though, and guess what? He didn’t want the damn job anymore, but he couldn’t just stop who he was. Being a Ranger was his whole life, the good and the bad. Some parts were easy to walk away from . . . the rest left him feeling more isolated than a five-day stalk in the middle of BFE. How did someone just turn that off?

“I do,” she said, her hands coming to rest on his cheek, and
that
was how to turn it off, he thought. One touch from her and it was as if everything vanished. “Now open up.”

He could feel the soft breeze of her breath against his face as she spoke, the ends of her hair brushing his arm, and everything in the air shifting to something much more intimate. Vulnerable. He had shared a part of himself with her yesterday, and now she was offering him a chance to experience an important part of her.

He opened wide, and she slipped something salty and crunchy inside.

“This is my take on a Greek nacho. I was going for approachable with voice. Loud but not entitled.”

Just like her, he thought as he closed his lips around it and the bold collection of flavors exploded in his mouth. It was vivid and complex and damn good. Intense power packed into a tiny body, with plenty of originality and attitude, followed by a nice kick of heat at the end.

“Well?” she asked and he could hear the hopeful uncertainty in her voice.

“It doesn’t taste green,” he said and she went to smack his chest, but he caught her midair. Not a hard task for a guy who held the platoon record for disassembling and reassembling a service weapon blindfolded. “It’s really good, Emi.”

“Like another-bite good?” She bounced on her toes while she talked. “Or I’d-have-to-eat-the-entire-plate good?”

“Like I’d lick the crumbs off the plate.” And to prove it, he brought her hand to his mouth and licked each and every finger, spending a little extra time on the last.

He heard her breath catch, felt her pulse pick up, and knew he was in trouble.

Dax had convinced himself that his interest and attraction stemmed from their unfinished business at the wedding—a bad case of the whole one-that-walked-away syndrome. The cure was as simple as one more night.

Emerson was on the same page. Or so she told him. A no-strings, wall-banging event was all she was looking for. But there was nothing no-strings about her. She was selfless, nurturing, and the kind of woman who couldn’t see past always. She put up a good front, distracted him with her tough-girl shoes and one-night ’tude, but the more time he spent with her the more he realized that she had a big heart and an even bigger capacity to love than anyone he’d ever met.

Being around that kind of intense focus and emotional connection was addicting. Made him crave things he couldn’t have. Do things he shouldn’t do. Like slip his hands around her hips to slowly draw her between his parted knees.

“Next bite, Emi.” He skimmed his thumbs over the waistband of her skirt—he couldn’t help it—while he slowly opened his mouth and patiently waited for the entrée course. But instead of a bite of lamb burger he got something a whole lot better.

A kiss. A sweet and gentle brush of the lips that was meant to soothe. And he needed soothing, so completely that he couldn’t help but kiss her back. And of course, when it came to Emerson, kissing her led to touching her, and touching led to sex.

Only she’d come here for help with her menu. Sadly, not sex. Otherwise she would have walked in the door naked with a box of extra-large, ribbed-for-her-pleasure condoms instead of an insanely short skirt that left no room for underwear and carrying a bag of groceries. Not that he needed the ribs—he knew how to operate his equipment.

Her breathy little moans were proof of that. So was the way she snuggled closer when he glided his palms down her thighs and around the back of her skirt to tease under the lower hem and the silky skin that lay just beneath. Not that he was checking to see if her evening’s preference was commando, thong, or a simple string, because he had promised to be just Dax.

Not Judge Show Me the Cupcakes. Or even Lethal Weapon Ranger. But Dax, the guy who made her world easier.

Except that,
oh holy shit
, she wasn’t wearing any underwear. That much was obvious by his single, solo flyby. But lack of lace didn’t equate to an offer. Just like a kiss didn’t mean sex. Especially this kiss.

Emerson came at him soft and pliant and so damn welcoming that the right thing to do would be pull back, clarify intentions, and make sure no one misunderstood.

Make sure they didn’t get distracted and walk into dangerous territory.

“What was that for?” he asked against her lips.

They were both breathing hard, but when he asked her the question, she began to sway gently back and forth on her feet. And he felt her head tilt down so that intent gaze of hers was on his chest, no longer his face. She was nervous, and he wished like hell he could see her so he could understand why. Because one look in her eyes and he’d know what she was feeling. He hoped to God it wasn’t what he was. Which was a whole lot of something.

The not knowing was killing him, so Dax reached for the blindfold. Once again she stopped him.

“Wait, not yet.” The shyness in her voice had him rerouting that hand to her cheek. She melted into it. “The kiss was my way of saying I like this Dax and thank you. For the ride on Sunday, helping me get my truck, which is perfect.” Her lashes moved against his palm as if she’d closed her eyes. The swaying slowed and her hands came to cover his. “And also for liking my Greek nachos even though there was green stuff all over it.”

“If that’s what happens when I eat green stuff, then green is my new favorite flavor,” he said and she smiled against his hand.

“Wait until you taste my cupcakes.” Palms flat against his pecs, she leaned closer, her cupcakes coming into complete contact with his chest.

His hands? Those went to her ass. “Is that your way of saying you want to skip right to dessert?”

She didn’t answer, but moments later he smelled the bitter sweetness of chocolate and some kind of liqueur.

“This is option one,” she said, teasing his lips with the frosting. “My double chocolate cupcake with ouzo-infused fudge frosting. It will make you go
mmm
.”

It made him go
mmm
all right. He wasn’t sure if it was the rich, silky flavor of the cupcake or the way she nestled herself between his legs when she fed it to him. But he’d give it a ten on the sexy-as-hell scale. It went to a solid fifteen when her thumb brushed his lower lip, then he heard her suck the frosting off.

“And this one.” Again with the reaching and brushing, and fun fact, being just Dax was fucking great. Although Lethal Weapon Ranger had all sorts of cupcakes thrown his way, Regular Old Dax, the guy whose new favorite flavor was green, had the best two cupcakes on the planet pressed against him. Teaching him that he was a quality over quantity guy. Something he’d always assumed, but Emerson confirmed.

“This is my orange zest cupcake with a Greek Metaxa frosting. And,” she said, smearing the frosting on his lips, “it’s my favorite.”

Funny, that! It was his new favorite too. Even better than green. In fact, when her mouth came down on his to help him with the tasting, he decided then and there that he didn’t want this flavor on the menu. He wanted this one all to himself.

Bright and deliciously tart, the cupcake and its creator were a breath of fresh air in his war-torn world. He needed her like he needed his next breath. And breathing ranked pretty damn high on his list of survival skills. But this went beyond surviving, and she was nearly straddling him, negative the panties, and Rangers always led the way, but he wasn’t a Ranger right then, or else he’d lead them right into his bedroom.

The way she licked and nibbled off every speck of frosting from his lips made him want to return the favor. With every flavor of cupcake. And maybe they could even come up with a few new ones.

“Emi,” he said against her lips. “Are you sure?”

She mumbled something, but it was too hard to understand with her tongue down his throat, too much nipping and hands in the hair to be considered sweet and warm, but it was as big of a welcome as a guy could expect. And in case
that
wasn’t crystal fucking clear enough, she slid onto his lap, straddling each one of those toned legs on either side of his thighs and locking round the back.

Question answered.

Always a gentleman, Dax did his part to ensure her comfort and safety, helping her slide even farther up on his body. Lucky guy that he was, helping led to touching, which had her doing those little moans and shimmying closer, and well,
hallelujah
, look at that! His hands were back on her ass, like a heat-seeking missile locked on its target, and all of that situational awareness preparation Uncle Sam paid so much for came shining through, because, just like he’d predicted, she was completely commando under there.