Total Surrender (9 page)

Her red nose and watery eyes showed her struggle, as did the shivers wracking her tight little body. Mud covered her to her knees, and the rain had plastered her clothing to her.

Her very fit, very nicely curved body.

She held out both hands to ward him off. “Get the hell away from me.” Her voice barely carried through the storm, and the wind seemed almost gleeful at whipping the sound into nothingness.

He stepped into her and looked down. “Where exactly did you think you were going?” His voice had no problem beating the wind.

She pressed her hands to her hips. “I was following the river down.”

Yeah, good plan. A river always led somewhere. She eyed him and then sighed.

A gust of wind hit them, and Piper stumbled.

Jory grabbed her to keep her from going over the bank, and she reacted instantly, shoving him and screaming.

He let go, hands up. God. He’d only wanted to—

The ground gave away, and suddenly he was falling. Shit.
He tucked his arms close while drawing up his legs, prepared to impact hard.

He hit a rock, and pain lanced through his hip. The river caught him, swinging him around. Instant cold shot up his legs. He levered up onto his chest and kicked against the water, trying to get out of the current, his fingers digging into loose rocks lining the bank.

“Jory!” Piper dropped onto her stomach at the remaining edge of land, looking down at him with wide eyes. She reached for him, scattering small rocks and chunks of mud down the embankment.

He waved her off. “Get back.”

“No.” Her face contorting, she grunted while trying to reach for him.

Contrary woman. She’d thought about tossing his ass in the river, and now she was risking herself to save him? Damn but she was a true sweetheart, and she deserved a hell of a lot better than she was getting from anybody. He grabbed the nearest rock while the river fought to drag him into the rushing current. “Get the hell back,” he yelled.

Her eyes widened, and she yanked her arm up.

Too late.

The entire bank erupted, sliding toward the river with a roar of sound. Mud and weeds sprayed in every direction. Lightning crackled above with glee.

Piper yelped, her arms windmilling, her legs kicking as the mudslide carried her down toward the river.

He ducked his head as the entire rolling disaster roared by him.

With a thickening splash, the mass hit the rushing water.

J
ORY REACHED FOR
her, but Piper flew over his head to crash in the center of the river. Her loud yelp echoed as the river tried to sweep her way.

Damn it. He released his hold on the bank and shoved himself into the current, his arms stretched out to prevent his head from hitting rocks. The smell of dirt and pine filled his nose. Up ahead, the river bounced Piper along, careening her into a bunch of branches.

Her face paled to an alarming pallor, and she scrambled to grab hold of safety. The water smashed her into a bumbling log, and she bent backward, going under.

Jory growled and kicked against a rock, propelling himself closer to her.

She came up sputtering, her hair matted against her face, her arms flailing.

The roar of the angry river destroyed any forest quietness. Jory reached her and grasped her biceps, tugging her into his body to keep her from the rocks. She fit into him so easily—so damn small. The river increased in pace, barreling over a rush of rapids. A rock smashed into his thigh, and he bit back a grimace.

Piper clung to him, her face buried in his neck. He wrapped an arm around her, keeping her close, while trying to prevent them from hitting any of the jagged edges. Panic unfolded inside him, and he banished all emotion. One sharp stone scraped across his hand, and red colored the foam around them. Pain flared a second later.

Piper tried to turn and fight the water, and he tightened his hold. “Go limp, baby. Just once. Trust me,” he murmured, his mouth nearly touching her ear. He couldn’t fight both the woman and the river.

She stiffened and then slowly relaxed against him.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. On some level, she trusted him.

Determination filtered along his spine and through his muscles. He wouldn’t allow the river to win.

A rock cut into his shoulder, spreading agony. Pain quickly became irrelevant, and his attention focused razor-sharp to protecting Piper. He kept her head above water, kicking off the bottom, trying to find a way out of the rapids. The river attacked them, sweeping them along, and a branch nailed him in the cheek. Pivoting around, he grappled for purchase, his hand sliding along the wood. Slivers pierced his skin.

With a growl, he wrapped his hand around the wood. The other end of the thick branch remained entrenched in mud and attached to the bank. Wood cracked, and he propelled closer to muddy land, dragging Piper while the water fought him. She’d wrapped her arms around his torso, and her thighs clasped his.

When the woman decided to trust, she did it completely, now didn’t she? A totally inappropriate thought of her wrapped around him in another way flashed through his brain.

He shook his wet hair and inched toward the shore. Keeping Piper upstream, water pooled against her back, shoving her even closer into him.

She manacled herself to him, her back stiffening.

“We’re almost there,” he whispered, hitching them toward the bank. With a grunt, he swung her around and tossed her to safety.

She landed on her hands and knees in the mud. Water sprayed, and she began to crawl toward the bank. Thank God.

Jory’s shoulders relaxed even as the river fought him. Rain splattered down, reducing visibility to a gray haze. He hauled himself along the branch while the river battled him with debris and roaring water. The shore was so close. Suddenly, the branch broke with a shattering crash.

He tumbled back, hitting his head on something sharp. Flashes of light sparked behind his eyes, and pain ripped through his brain. Nausea slammed hard into his gut.

On his back, he lifted his head, trying to stay free of the water as it pummeled him. His boots dug into the rocky shore, while the river tried to break him free.

“Jory!” Piper yelled. She turned in the mud and shoved herself toward him, hands outstretched. Cold fingers dug into his muddy sock, and she grunted while trying to pull him away from the river, her knees sliding in the mud.

His head went under, and water splashed up his nose. Shaking his head, trying to focus, he lifted up, coughing. What in the world was going on? He opened his eyes.

Piper had scrambled up his body, one hand clutching his chest while the other held on to the remaining portion of the branch, anchoring her somewhat to shore. She pulled at him, her neck stretching with the effort. “Come on.”

Now she was trying to save him? The river beat against his face, and his temper finally roared. Enough of this crap. He sat up, yanked his legs free, and then stood.

The water rushed against his legs, trying to knock him over.

Lowering his chin, he clamped what was left of the branch with one hand, grasped Piper by the arm with his free hand, and dragged them both out of the water through reeds to the bank. They both staggered as if on a three-week
bender. The river bellowed, sounding angry to lose them. Sucking in air, he continued on and up the bank until reaching a shelter of swaying pine trees.

He glanced down and faced Piper. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and wiped water off her face. Her clothes were plastered to her body, and she shivered. Even her lips had turned blue.

He took a quick inventory of his injuries. Headache, cuts and bruises, and maybe a sprained knee. Nothing he had to feel right now.

So he glanced around and calculated the distance to the cabin. Not bad. The river had turned suddenly, so much of their downstream jaunt had been perpendicular to the cabin. “Stay on my six.” Turning, he began jogging through the brush, ignoring all pain.

For once, she didn’t argue. And she kept up well enough that his body began to relax. While his head ached and his hip pounded, Piper seemed to be moving smoothly, thus showing no injuries.

Good. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to the spunky computer guru on his watch.

Kidnapping somebody did carry responsibility, after all. The thought made him grin.

Thunder continued to bellow, and lightning lit the sky once in a while, reminding him they weren’t out of danger yet. The smell of wild nature, pine, and mud filled his senses. A tree shrieked in the distance, no doubt being uprooted. What a storm.

Finally, they reached their temporary oasis.

Jory headed inside first for a cursory glance to make sure nothing had been disturbed. Piper straggled in behind him, weariness in every movement.

He quickly stoked the fire and then turned to survey her. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked quietly.

Sparks returned to her eyes, brighter than the ones he’d just created. “All right?” Both hands went to her wet hips. “Besides being kidnapped and plunged into an icy river? Yeah. I’m freakin’ great.”

He knew better than to apologize. “Thanks for trying to save me.”

Pretty color rose into her face, and he watched, fascinated. She swallowed. “I couldn’t just let you drown.”

“You’re a sweetheart, Piper.” Damn but those were true words. His chest warmed, and he studied every inch of her, wanting to take the moment with him, the taste of her kiss still lingering on his lips. A part of her would always be with him, that much he knew. Her shivering was beginning to concern him, however. “Time to take off your clothes, darlin’.”

Piper stilled. Her head tilted to the side, and total awareness wandered down her freezing spine. “Huh?”

He smiled. Slow, dangerous, and way too gentle. “Clothes. Wet. Discard.”

Smart-ass. She shook her head. “I’m not taking off my clothes.” Her instant sneeze may have negated the power from her voice.

He glanced around and reached for a threadbare quilt from the sofa. “You can put this on, but you’re taking off the wet clothes. I’m not allowing you to catch pneumonia and die when you’re my responsibility.”

“I’m not your responsibility.” The words popped automatically to her mouth, which went dry as she took a good look at him. The wet shirt molded way too defined muscles in his torso, and even displayed the impossibly hard ridges of his abdomen. Tight jeans encased powerful thighs. His thick hair was slicked back, leaving the stark contours of his handsome face on full display. The purplish lump above his
right eyebrow only served to make him appear even more dangerous.

Sexy as hell.

And the bad guy. Definitely the bad guy.

Except he didn’t seem like a bad guy, and while he’d been using his body to shield her from rocks in the river, he hadn’t felt like a bad guy. He kind of felt like a badass hero.

He cocked his head to the side. “What in the world is going through your head?”

“I’m not getting naked.” Although seeing him naked held certain appeal. From an artistic standpoint, of course.

“You are.” His jaw may have been made from rock. “We both know I could have your clothes off you in seconds, so I’m giving you a chance to control the situation here.”

Warmth spread through her abdomen. Oh, she didn’t think he’d meant the words as innuendo, but her body didn’t care. Naked. With that amazing specimen of a male. She’d seen his strength and his stamina. Suddenly, her face burned.

His gaze gentled. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.” She reached out and grabbed the blanket. What in the hell was wrong with her mind all of a sudden? Make that her hormones. “Turn around.”

He snorted. “I’ve seen naked women before.”

Oh, she could just guess. “Turn the hell around.”

With a suffering male sigh, he turned around. And shoved down his wet jeans.

She gulped. Wow. Great ass. Tight, hard, and perfectly masculine. Apparently he had no trouble getting naked in front of her.

But why would he? The man was perfection. She bit back a moan as he shrugged out of his briefs.

Take off the shirt. Take off the shirt. Take off—

Good Lord. He took off the shirt. Hard muscles rippled as he yanked the wet cotton over his head to toss next to the
fire. Scars of different sizes punctuated his impressive back. Round scars, long scars… probably knives and guns.

She swallowed. Something sad, something so damn feminine in her wanted to kiss his hurts. To smooth the pain away. No matter the mistakes he’d made, somebody had harmed him badly. More than once. “You said my father raised you with brothers, and he said he recruited you at eighteen and gave you soldiers as brothers—who you betrayed.”

His back stiffened. “I’ve never betrayed my brothers.”

It sounded so much like Jory was telling the truth. “I don’t know who to believe.”

“I know, baby.” He sighed and stretched. “I’m sorry.”

So was she, and even the thought of doubting the father she’d always wanted to know flushed her with shame. But Jory didn’t seem to be the cold-blooded killer her father had described. She had to get some answers. “How long you been a soldier?”

Jory turned around, eyebrows raised. “My entire life.”

It probably felt that way. Three scars from what appeared to be bullets marred his chest but somehow had missed the intricate tattoo right above his heart. “Pretty. What does it mean?” she asked.

“Freedom,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

Heat flared again to her face as she tried to keep eye contact. She would not look lower than his chest. Or abs. “Not shy, are you.”

“Nope.” His grin turned charming into something lethal. “Your turn.”

She was a grown-ass woman. A computer genius, and she’d certainly seen a nude man before. Yet her hands shook, and her eyes actually stung with the need to look lower.

Do. Not. Look. Lower.

Holy fucking shit. She looked lower. The guy was built. Really, really, really built.

As if sensing her perusal, his cock perked up.

Oh God.

Her gaze flew to his face. Humor lit his odd gray eyes, and he barked out a chuckle. A totally comfortable, making fun of himself, male chuckle.

Her heart thumped—and warmed. “You have
got
to put something on.”

“I’d love to put something on,” he murmured, his voice lowering to hoarse and hot. Those eyes darkened to the color of the storm clouds outside, lit within from heat. A whole lot of heat.

A shiver wandered down her spine, and her thighs softened. She ignored her traitorous body and rolled her eyes. An impish part of her would love to take him by surprise and agree, but he’d no doubt meet her halfway, and then she’d be in a pickle. So she went for defensive, unable to keep her lips from twitching. “Knock it off.”

“I can’t seem to help it.” Good humor creased his cheek. Yet he sighed and turned to rummage through a cupboard near the fireplace. Seconds later, he’d wrapped a worn flowered blanket around his hips.

He should’ve looked ridiculous, yet the feminine cover-up just enhanced his wildness.

And something wild lived in Jory. There was no question.

A part of her, one that she’d tried to tame with logic and computer science, perked up. Temptation to meet his wildness with her own warmed her core and softened her thighs.

His gaze grew predatory, as if he sensed the battle waging inside her.

Her heart beat hard enough to speed up her breath. The storm raged outside, while the fire crackled inside. She swallowed, trying to control herself. Enough of this silliness. “Turn around.”

He turned around, once again revealing his warrior’s back.

The man embodied danger, and she had to keep that foremost in her mind. Most serial killers were sexy and charming, too.

He snorted.

Shit. She’d said that out loud. Her fingers cramped when she shoved off her wet clothes, hurriedly wrapping the rough blanket around her. Why did he make her feel like a bumbling innocent? “Um. Okay. I’m not a virgin for Pete’s sakes.” She mumbled the last.

He laughed again as he turned to face her.

She frowned. “You heard that?” How in the world? She’d mumbled so quietly she couldn’t even hear her voice, and yet he’d somehow heard her? Supersonic hearing wasn’t possible, was it?

“Yes. I’m not a virgin, either. Was that an invitation, by any chance?” Boyish hopefulness curved his lips.

Hell. There wasn’t anything boyish about the man standing strong and sure, the fire lighting him from behind. “No.” Her nipples hardened in pure denial to her words. “Not a chance.”