Night Hush (18 page)

They sat in a faintly uncomfortable silence. She wrapped both hands around the mug, feeling chilled in a way she couldn't explain. When she finished the tea, Jace took her mug without a word and set it on the coffee table.

“Lie down on your stomach.”

Puzzled, she glanced up at him. He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “You're cold and tense. I promised I'd be good. So turn over, Langstrom. That's an order.”

She tried to laugh, but nothing came out. Finally, she simply did as he said and stretched out along the sofa. He sat next to her, his hip nudging her back a bit. She tensed as his hands settled onto her shoulders, but relaxed as he did nothing more than rub.

It felt heavenly. He worked the tension loose from her muscles with a sure touch, avoiding the few remaining yellow patches of bruising. He started at her neck, working his way down her shoulders to her back, kneading along her spine and into her lower back. She groaned in appreciation.

“Pleasepleaseplease, don't stop,” she found herself saying.

Jace laughed. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

He worked on the knots in silence, the only noise the soothing music. His touch was leaving little licks of fire in its wake. Her skin came alive, her body humming in anticipation of his touch. When his hands left her, she pressed her mouth closed to prevent herself pleading for more.

He started again, this time at her feet. His fingers pressed along her heels, down the arches, to her toes. She couldn't remember the last time a man had given her a massage. Nor had she realized how tense her muscles clenched until his magic fingers smoothed across her calves and up the backs of her thighs. And while there was nothing sexual or suggestive about what he was doing, her nipples contracted, and moisture gathered at her core.

She kept expecting him to touch her more intimately. Her body was so tuned to his she nearly turned over right then and there and begged him to make love to her. True, she wasn't entirely sure if she would welcome a more intimate touch or not. It was a lousy idea; she'd established that already. Still, she found she was disappointed when he finally got up and went to the coat closet to pull out an extra pillow and comforter. He tucked her in like she was a child, then sat again at the foot of the couch.

“That was amazing.” More than amazing. Too bad massages like that didn't come bottled at the store, without the complexity of entanglements like the ones Jace Reed represented. And she definitely wanted more. Wanted his mouth where his hands had been. She blew out a breath, trying to calm her body. “Thank you.”

He didn't answer. Puzzled, Heather lifted her head and craned it around. Jace was staring at the floor, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Long moments passed. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision, because he looked over at her. She turned over and scooted back into a sitting position. Whatever he meant to say was obviously important to him.

“Two years ago, we were on a mission . . . somewhere.” Somewhere classified, he meant. His voice was low, and she had to strain to hear. “We weren't welcome. There was an al Qaeda presence there, protected by the locals. Our mission was to find and extract a particular person of interest. During the exfiltration, an RPG hit our helicopter. Blew off one of the struts and part of the tail. We went down pretty hard. The impact killed one of my teammates. Three others injured.” He took in some air and let it out slowly. “Including me. Broken arm, some cuts.” He paused, as though weighing what he should tell her. Or maybe what he was willing to put into words. Heather found herself holding her breath.

“The objective—­the person of interest—­was unhurt. Our primary mission hadn't changed. Get him out and into American hands. That was the priority.” He paused again, struggling with how to tell the story. “There was a firefight. The team needed a diversion, needed time to get away. Dougie and I held the line long enough for a second helicopter to extract the rest of the team.”

Jace stared at the floor again, perhaps lost in a haze of memories. Heather could relate. She'd seen that look in the mirror a lot the past few days.

“Dougie and I were captured. It's a hard thing, to capture a Delta Force operator. But these guys were well organized, well armed, trained, and lucky.” He shifted so he could rest his elbows on his knees, head down. “They took us up into the mountains, where they had all the advantages. They knew those mountains. All the caves, tunnels, passages. Everything we didn't know.” He rubbed both hands over his hair, then laced his fingers behind his head as he stared at the floor. “We figured they would parade us around, show off their prisoners. Make it real public, you know? But they didn't. They wanted information. Hell, maybe they just had a hard-­on to crack a combat applications guy.” He glanced at her. “Sorry. They wanted to break us.”

“I've heard the word before,” she murmured, fearing if she spoke louder, he would stop talking.

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips and vanished. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It took the Joint Special Operations Command nine weeks to get any information on our whereabouts. It took another two to put together a viable extraction plan. Our guys came for us, but it was too late for Dougie. He died . . . he died three days before rescue came.” Jace cleared his throat again, and Heather knew he was trying to control strong emotions. Heather turned her head away, pretending to look out the front window, giving him at least a pretense of privacy as his throat worked convulsively.

“I'm sorry.” It was so inadequate, but she didn't know what else to say. Good Lord Almighty. What could she say? It was horrifying. Jace and Dougie had been prisoners for nearly three months. Three months of . . . of what? What had they endured? Compared to what her imagination conjured up, her paltry four days seemed insignificant.

He seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. “I didn't tell you that to diminish your own experience. I was a seasoned combat veteran. At the time, I'd been with Delta for six years.” In other words, he was capable of withstanding capture, and she was not. Heather bit her tongue over her retort. Hell, maybe he was right. She doubted she would have been able to take three months of abuse, especially not after the sheik had proven whatever point he intended to with her body. Not without losing her mind. She swallowed hard.

“I just, I don't know, wanted you to know that yeah, I do get it. Not everyone would. But I do. So, if you want to talk . . .”

“I don't.”

“But if you do.”

“I won't. But thank you.” She scooted back down, tucking her feet up and pulling the blanket over her shoulders. Despite Jace's confidences, she couldn't face her demons. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “Thank you for telling me that. I know it was hard for you. But what I really need is a nap. Is that all right? If it's a problem, I can go . . .”

“No.” His voice was absolute. “It's no problem at all. I still want to keep an eye on you. Dr. McGrath didn't want you on your own, you know. I wasn't making that part up. You're not as well as you think you are. You're still in the early stages of recovery.” He stood up. “Besides, I need to hit the rack, too. I'm leaving around two in the morning, so I gotta catch a nap. Why don't you take the bed, and I'll bunk down on the couch?” He stood beside her, obviously expecting her to get up.

Heather sat up, but did not relinquish the blanket. “Where are you go . . . oh, never mind. I know you can't tell me, anyway.” She sighed. She missed her work. Especially, she missed knowing what was going on in the world. Having insider information, as it were, by reading the intelligence information reports every day, by talking to the locals. “I'm not going to take your bed. If I stay, it's here on the sofa. Take it or leave it.”

Jace looked down at her, a soft warmth in his gaze. “I'll take whatever I can get.” There it was again. That aching tension between them.

Heather plucked at the blanket, turning away from him. “Go to bed, Jace. Alone.” He moved away, regrettably. Why did he pick now to listen to her? “Sweet dreams.”

He twisted to see her from the second stair, a roguish grin splitting his face. “Only of you, baby.” He bounded up the stairs.

The room was immediately colder.

It was best, she told herself. And repeated it a dozen times. Her body still burned where his hands had run over her body. What would it be like to have him give her the same massage, but linger over the strokes, turning the entire experience unbearably erotic?

Where was he going? Did his mission have anything to do with the Kongra-­Gel? The whole situation still bothered her. Everyone at her debriefing agreed that since the SCUD had been destroyed, the threat was over. They discounted the Eshma chief of police's involvement. But they hadn't been there, hadn't seen the antagonism flickering in his eyes. Her gut said he was involved.

Her gut said a threat still existed.

She hoped Jace's mission shed new light on the situation. Maybe he could help her figure out what was going on. He had eyes on the ground, while she was annoyingly all but bedridden. Soap operas, her ass. Maybe she could arrange to have Jace report back to Dr. McGrath that she was fully functional?

And that started her thinking about sex again. Fully functional, indeed! Was Jace in as much discomfort as she was?

Forcing her mind off Jace and his magical hands, Heather stripped out of her clothes and dropped them onto the floor, leaving on only a T-­shirt and underwear. She put her attention to untangling the mystery of her kidnapping. And immediately fell asleep.

She was back in her cell. Someone yanked her arms behind her. Cruelly bound them. The dirty cloth pushed past her teeth smelled like goat, and she gagged. Her tormenter glared down at her, one hand tangled in her uniform top, yanking her close enough to smell his fetid breath and see the cracked incisor when his lip curled up. He spoke to her, but she couldn't understand him, and the more she strained to hear, the farther away his voice seemed. Whatever he was saying was crucial, and she had to understand. It was vital she understand. But he began to fade, growing smaller and smaller.

“Wait!” she shouted. “Tell me!”

The ghostly form turned back. “You will die,” he said. “You will all die. The debauched places that soil our beautiful country will burn, and you will writhe in agony. Allah has willed it.” He faded to smoke.

Heather woke in a cold sweat, thrashing within the snarled binds of the blanket. Where was she? It took her several moments to orient herself. Untangling the blanket and throwing it off, she swung her legs over the side of the sofa, but did not try to rise. At the moment, she was aware of every single one of her nagging bruises.

She tried to lie down again, but it was impossible. What if she slept, and he came again?

The shrink had told Heather to sit with her feelings. Phagh. Why the hell would she want to do that? She never wanted to experience a single one of those emotions again. Sit with her feelings and be an objective observer, understanding they could no longer hurt her. Look at them and let them go.

“Quack,” she muttered.

But she knew the approach had merit. Facing her fears head-­on had always been her approach, whether it was the fear of heights that had led her to Airborne School, or her fear of snakes that had prodded her through Jungle Warfare School.

This was different. How could it not be? She'd never been so helpless in her entire life. Bound, blindfolded, gagged, unable even to see her captors to defend herself. Until he wanted her. She hadn't lied to the doctors, not really. Their exam had proven no rape took place. And the very thought of facing the man again sent shudders of revulsion and rage through her. If she had the opportunity to kill him, she would do so, without hesitation or remorse.

She shifted restlessly on the sofa. Now too wired to sleep, she looked at the clock. It was barely seven twenty in the evening. The setting sun filtered in around the edges of the shuttered windows, leaving the interior dim. She shivered again. She'd never been afraid of the dark, instead viewing it as an ally. Now, after so many hours restricted by the blindfold, by the perpetual dimness of her cell, she wasn't so sure. Being unable to tell night from day had been psychologically more debilitating than she could ever have imagined. SERE training—­Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape—­had been rough, the toughest experience of her life. And yet, in comparison to the real thing, it had been fun on a playground.

Her thoughts turned, as they had so often over the past week, to her rescuers, namely Jace. They had all kept her safe, of course, but on Jace's orders.

Jace, who wanted her.

His guilt consumed him, but he had done nothing over which to condemn himself. In the end, he had not killed her. The hated perfume, a humiliating precursor of things to come, had, instead, saved her life. The irony was intense.

The thought that she'd almost died felt surreal, like it had happened to someone else. Supposedly, her life was meant to flash before her eyes, but hers had not. There had merely been a sense of things undone, a life she'd never get to live. And in that moment, she'd wanted things she'd never considered before. A husband. A family. She still could not see herself in any kind of a nine-­to-­five job. But someone to love, who cherished her . . .

She looked up at the ceiling. Jace's bedroom was right above her.

Without another thought, she slipped from the sofa and padded up the stairs.

 

Chapter Twenty-­Nine

September 6. 7:25
P.M.

FOB Hollow Straw, al-­Zadr Air Force Base

T
HE FOURTH STAIR CREAKED
. Just a little. He'd never fixed it because old habits died hard, and he figured it was merely another early warning system in the extremely unlikely event terrorists infiltrated his house on al-­Zadr Air Base. Much more likely was that his guest was coming up the stairs, probably to use the bathroom. Jace listened to her attempts to be silent and chuckled. The truth was, she was good. Better than good. But she wasn't an operator. Delta Force operators were the best in the world, despite the SAS and SEALs both claiming the honor. Delta still had the highest dropout rate during Selection. What was it, ninety-­four percent, compared to the SEALs' eighty and the SAS's ninety percent?

As expected, Heather went into the bathroom and closed the door. The toilet flushed and the water ran. He waited for her to go back downstairs. When he didn't hear her, he found himself sitting up in bed, straining for a sound. Had she moved, and he hadn't heard her?

No way.

He rolled onto his back and looked at his watch. It was a little before seven thirty, and he had to be conscious at one in the morning and able at two. He was on the verge of investigating anyway, fearing she had fallen, or . . . or what? He flopped back onto the sheets, laughing at himself. She was no longer in any danger. Her injuries had all but healed. He was being an idiot. The truth was, he burned for her to push open his door, get in next to him, and . . .

Holy shit. As though he had conjured it, the knob on his bedroom door turned.

She came through the door like a wraith, drifting closer and closer. Jace waited, curious to see what she would do. Did she want to talk?

What she did blew his mind. She lifted the corner of the sheet, and slid in next to him.

H
E
ATHER SHIVERED.
So cold. All she could focus on was Jace's heat. He would warm her. He would make the nightmares go away. He could do it.

Easing under the sheet, she shifted carefully across the mattress until she encountered a solid body. Maybe she could just lie here and get warm, and slip out again in a few hours, before he ever knew she had been there. But strong arms surrounded her, pulling her in close to him. She welcomed the furnace blast of heat as he plastered her against a hard, sculpted chest.
Oh, shit.
Jace slept nude; not something she had even considered before she crept into his bed. Tilting her head up, she met his eyes, black in the dimness.

“I'm sorry,” she said, sounding much more breathless than she intended. “I didn't mean to wake you up.”

“I wasn't sleeping,” he said. “Nightmares?”

How had he known? She nodded, her throat suddenly closed up. Had he also had nightmares after his ordeal? “Do they ever go away?”

His breath was warm against her face. “Eventually. Maybe. Some things never leave your mind, though. Can't exorcise them, no matter what.” He ran his hands up her arms, his touch sure and gentle and not nearly as impersonal as it had been in the desert. Or downstairs. “I'll tell you a secret, though. A time-­honored way to get rid of them.”

“What?”

She felt rather than saw the quick grin. “Have sex with the nearest naked man, as fast as you can. And as often as humanly possible.”

She huffed out a laugh and shook her head, but she suddenly knew he was only half joking. As an affirmation of life, as proof she had not died in a prison cell in the mountains of Sari Daru Province, to remember she was not the animal they had tried to make her but a human being of strength and resolve—­she clung to him, praying he had not merely been teasing her.

“I kept trying to figure out what I did wrong,” she whispered. “If I'd handled things differently, if I hadn't told my boss we needed to talk to the police. If I . . .”

Jace placed a single finger over her mouth. “You can drive yourself crazy with hindsight. No one can know for certain what would have happened. Someone knew something, and thought you knew something as well.”

“I still think they're wrong about Sa'id al-­Jabr. How could the Kongra-­Gel men have known anyone overheard anything if someone didn't tell them?”

“I agree.”

Such simple words. The ­people who'd debriefed her in the hospital were smart, competent men. And they'd all said she was wrong. They'd found no evidence linking al-­Jabr to the Kongra-­Gel. But this man believed her. The relief was intense. A portion of her heart melted into a puddle.

“It's my fault Captain Bernoulli is dead. That those soldiers died in the ambush. It's all my fault.” The tears leaked from the corners of her eyes before she could stop them.

Jace rubbed small circles over her back. “We'll argue that one tomorrow. It wasn't your fault some terrorist assholes decided to plot whatever they plotted.”

Heather hesitated. “What if they're not done? What if destroying the SCUD isn't enough to stop them?”

“Then we'll uncover and stop whatever else they have planned.” His calm certainty steadied her. His proximity set her pulse thrumming.

She had shut off her brain when she unlatched his door and invaded his bedroom, but talking caused ugly thoughts to resurface. She didn't want to think. Pressing her face against his neck, swallowing hard, she slid her arms around his neck, wanting only to feel.

Jace tensed, but did nothing. She could feel his restraint, his control. Ignoring the faint trembling in her hands, Heather pressed her open mouth to the pulse hammering in his neck. She wanted the distraction. She wanted to forget, if only for a few moments. Was he really going to say no?

Kissing her way up his neck, she paused to nibble at his chin, and reached for his mouth. He met her halfway, groaning against her lips as he parted them and swept his tongue into her mouth. She made a noise in the back of her throat. Thank God. He wasn't going to turn her away.

It was even better than she remembered. Spicy and hot. Gentle and demanding. This time, she could kiss him back.

She did.

He tasted like safety and freedom and the lick of life. Heather slid her tongue along his and angled her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He did so with alacrity, causing a flutter of pleasure. Whether he felt her bone-­deep chill or her enjoyment, he hauled her closer until there wasn't an inch of her that wasn't plastered against him.

“You're the strongest man I've ever met,” she said. He shifted his hands under her shirt, and explored her spine with fingers that touched her lightly, incredibly gently. A small sound escaped. Not a sob. Never a sob. She didn't make a habit of crying, and she had already cried in his arms once. “I need . . . Jace, I . . .” She didn't know what she needed, not really. But he did. He kissed her again, then left her lips to explore her face with his mouth, nibbling, tasting, kissing each eye. Licking his way down her neck, he took his time at her collarbone, hesitating at the small, round scar. Heather didn't want him thinking about it.

Heather grabbed Jace's head and pulled it lower, trying to guide him to her breast. He resisted, hands smoothing the bare skin of her arm, running his fingers up and down it as though he had all the time in the world. It was Heather who grabbed the hem of her T-­shirt, pulling it off and dropping it onto the floor.

Jace bent his head to her breasts, hot breath blowing across her nipple before his teeth scraped along it. He drew her breast into his mouth. She arched up, gasping, the pleasure intense. A hand came up to cup her other breast, fingers stroking along the sensitive mound. Shivering, Heather spilled her hands down his back to cup his buttocks, and he reacted with a groan and an involuntary press of his hips. He was hugely aroused, but he quickly controlled himself and pulled a little farther away from her. He was being so careful with her she couldn't stand it. The hell with his restraint. She wanted him as crazy hot for her as she was for him.

Thank God for the darkness. Her bruises had faded to the pale greens and yellows of the almost-­healed, but if he was being this careful with her in the dark, God only knew how he would react in the light.

Heather opened her mouth. To say what? I'm all right? She was . . . or as good as. “What he did to me . . .” Her voice cracked. She took a deep breath a tried again. “What I went through was about power and control.” Please, let him not ask her again. “Nothing like what we're doing now. At least, what I hope we're doing now.”

“Oh, yeah.”

His voice was absolute. She smiled in the darkness. “Whew.”

He laughed, a soft rumble from his chest. “Do I look like the kind of moron who would walk away from this?” He swept his hand from her shoulder to her hip. Her breath hitched. Fingers lingering on the soft skin just below her spine, he bent to kiss her again, his mouth growing more urgent.

He swept his hands up her back with an eagerness that had her laughing again. But he took his time sliding her underwear off her legs, fingernails scraping across nerve endings that jumped to life, turning her laughter into moans. He had magic fingers. Everywhere he touched her turned to liquid fire.

As he returned to lay next to her again, Heather raked her fingers through his curly hair. It was softer than she had imagined. She touched his face, and he turned it to press a kiss into her palm.

“You're in control,” he said. “All right? You say stop, we stop. Anything makes you feel uncomfortable, you speak up. Okay?”

“Okay.” But she wasn't in control. Not really.

Wrapping both arms around her, Jace rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she sprawled across his chest. The incredible sensation dizzied her. Her naked flesh slid along his as he pulled her up, until he could put his mouth against her, and oh, heaven! He kissed her, and the amazing sensation had her pushing against his mouth and closing her thighs around him. He grinned up at her in complete enjoyment. The sight of his handsome face, mouth wet with her juices, had to be the most erotic thing she'd seen in her life. It pushed her dangerously close to the edge.

“Jace,” she gasped. “If you keep doing that, I'm going . . . to . . .”

“Yes.” He paused only long enough to say one word. And then she rode a helpless wave of pleasure, moaning and gasping and laughing all at once. He continued to lick and suck at her, drawing her orgasm out. Her body was taut, her head thrown back with complete abandon, eyes closed.

Eventually, she pulled away and collapsed, rolling over onto her back so as not to smother him. He rolled with her, pulling her down until they were nose to nose, and kissed her.

He kissed her as though he would be happy to do it forever, with evident enjoyment. In fact, he seemed to enjoy everything about sex so far. She couldn't help herself; she started to laugh.

He just cocked his head and waited.

“That didn't make me uncomfortable at all. We can add it to the can-­do list.”

His white teeth flashed in the darkness. “Maybe we should make certain. You know, experiment. Do that again, just to make sure.” He touched her as though he couldn't bear not to, exploring her shoulder blades, tracing a path down her spine. She did the same, reveling in the incredible contrast between soft skin over hard muscles. Her mouth followed her hands, pressing against his shoulder, up to his jaw, and across to his mouth once more.

He was still hard against her stomach. Heather pressed closer experimentally. His swift intake of breath preceded both hands spearing into her hair to cup her face. She slid her leg over his in mute invitation. Jace pushed forward until he was cradled in her heat, but stayed that way, head down, fighting . . . what?

“I won't break.”

Jace groaned. “But maybe I will.” He nudged her leg higher, grinding against her. “You're going to be the death of me.”

And just like that, she bounced right back to where she did not want to be. Death. Visions of the soldiers around her being cut down. The smell of blood. No.

“Please,” she begged.

Somehow knowing where she'd gone in her head, Jace hesitated. “Are you . . . okay?”

“Yes. Jace. Please!”

No longer hesitating, he again went to his back, pulling her with him. Heather ended up straddling him, her long hair framing them both. He reached up to touch it.

“Your hair is amazing. I hope you don't ever cut it.”

It was ridiculous how much the small compliment pleased her. But it also had the potential to rip her heart out. Even knowing that, she couldn't bring herself to move away from the sight of him, his masculine perfection, a flawless alpha male lying relaxed, almost submissive beneath her, ready to let her take the lead.

Which she did.

Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around him, delighting in his sharp intake of breath and involuntary movement. Exploring him, she admitted, “I've been thinking I might cut it short.” Ever since her brutal captor had used it to control her movements. No. Don't go there.

“Don't. It's beautiful.”

He slid on a condom. Heather lifted her hips over him and pressed down, slowly, drawing it out because there was only ever one time two lovers first came together. Jace gripped her hips, then loosened his hold. She had to admire his self-­control. Desire etched his face and tightened his body. His head was thrown back, and she fell onto his chest, kissing the strong column of his neck with an open mouth. His hips pressed up, trying for fuller penetration, but she pulled away, enjoying her momentary power.

“No. My pace.”

He immediately backed off, and she realized her mistake. He thought she was uncomfortable with his aggression. So she smiled at him, a sultry siren's smile, and pushed him a little farther inside her. And pulled all the way out. And did it again, a little deeper, all the while looking into his face. His eyes locked onto hers. She saw his struggle. He wanted to slam himself home; and she wanted him to, but she wanted him hotter, wilder, out of control.