Under Fire (23 page)
Her hands skimmed down his back and onward to cup his buttocks. She urged him inside and he sank by slow degrees, moaning in bliss as her heat enveloped his length.
“Cori,” he breathed. Every muscle quivered as he slid in to the hilt. Home at last, buried deep in her. “Oh—oh, God, I never knew. . . . Never . . .”
She clutched at him, writhing. “You feel so good. Don’t stop.”
Bending his head over hers, he began to thrust. Flames licked at his cock, setting his entire body ablaze. “Baby, I’m not going to last long.”
“I don’t care! Just fuck me,
please
!”
please
!”
Jesus.
That did it. Drove him right over the edge of a rocky precipice. He pumped her with total abandon, making up in enthusiasm what he lacked in technique. His body quickened, control shattered, balls tightening as he lunged once, twice more.
That did it. Drove him right over the edge of a rocky precipice. He pumped her with total abandon, making up in enthusiasm what he lacked in technique. His body quickened, control shattered, balls tightening as he lunged once, twice more.
Balls deep, he stiffened with a hoarse shout. His release exploded, a kaleidoscope of colors bursting in his brain as he filled her, on and on. Indescribable ecstasy. Being locked inside her was a lot like dying, but with a much happier conclusion.
Cori’s orgasm joined his and she held him close, legs wrapped around his waist. Her sheath spasmed around his cock, wringing the last of his cum until he was draped over her like a blanket, spent and trembling like a race-horse at the finish line.
“We fit perfectly,” she said, kissing his cheek.
Raising his head, he looked into her lovely face and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Yes, we do.”
“Zack?”
“Hmm?”
“This isn’t some fling for me. I . . . care for you.”
He wondered if a man could feel so full he burst. “It’s the same for me. I think we’ve got something here worth giving a chance.”
She hugged him close and he wanted to say more, but held back. It was too soon. Would he know love if it smacked him in the head? He’d never loved anyone in his entire life, except his “brothers” at Station Five. Not the same.
He slipped out of her and rolled to the side, gathering her into his arms and pillowing her head on his good shoulder. “I could stay like this forever. I wish the whole world would just take a long hike off a short pier.”
“Me, too.” Turning in his arms, she propped her chin on his chest and touched his bandage gently. “Are you hurting?”
“Some.” She gave him a droll stare of clear disbelief. “Okay, it burns like the devil. Gimme more of those Dr. Feelgood moves you’ve got going and I’ll be well in nothing flat.”
Cori giggled. “I’ve graduated from Nurse Ratched to Dr. Feelgood. I must be doing something right.”
“Baby, if you did it any better, you’d short-circuit my heart and have to perform CPR on me.”
“Anything for my favorite patient.”
He laughed. “Kill me to cure me. Sounds kinky.”
“A fetish a day keeps the doctor away.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned, rolling his eyes as she snickered.
Cori snuggled into his side again and he sighed in contentment, unwilling to allow the threats coming at them from all sides to spoil this moment.
Tomorrow, he’d begin figuring out how to fight for what was his—and win.
Zack wiped the sweat off his brow, checking out his repair job on the porch slats. He’d been in the shop all morning cutting new ones to match the old, and by the afternoon they were as good as new. Christ, he’d missed the texture of the boards in his hands, the shrill buzz of his saw, and though fixing the unwanted destruction wasn’t the way he’d wanted to sharpen his skills, he was proud of his work. Cori, on the other hand, would probably fuss at him for overexerting himself—right before she kissed his hurts and made them vanish.
That bright prospect inspired an off-key rendition of Mötley Crüe’s “Dr. Feelgood,” a wheezy tribute at best to Cori’s divine talents, as he gathered his tools. Halfway into the second chorus, his impromptu concert was interrupted by the whine of approaching engines. Glancing up from his place on the porch, he saw Six-Pack’s massive black Ford F-250 making its way up the winding driveway.
And behind the truck, Zack’s silver Mustang. His perfectly unblemished classic wet dream, not a dent in sight.
“What . . . ?”
Tools forgotten, Zack bounded off the porch and waited, shifting from one foot to the other as the vehicles circled and came to a stop in front of the house. Six-Pack and Kat got out of the truck, the lieutenant’s expression partially concealed by a pair of dark wraparound shades.
“Hey, man,” Six-Pack called. “What in the hell are you doing up and about? Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Nah, I got a good night’s sleep. It’s just a flesh wound anyway.” Closing the distance between them with quick strides, he waved a hand at the Mustang as Eve opened the driver’s door and got out. “I can’t believe it! Did you guys do this? How—when—”
The lieutenant laughed and clamped Zack’s good shoulder. “You didn’t even notice the key to your car was missing off your ring, did you? Ernest Tuttle does a fine job with paint and bodywork, doesn’t he? Kat and I took it to his shop the day after the bridge accident, and Ernest put a rush on the job.”
“But I was supposed to get two estimates for my insurance,” he said in confusion. “Did you already deal with them?”
“Didn’t have to. Ernest repaired it for free.”
Zack gaped at him. “Why?”
“Remember when his and Donnie Wayne’s elderly mother had the heart attack last year and I revived her? They said if there was ever anything they could do for us . . .” Six-Pack shrugged. “Ernest was only too happy to help out when he heard what happened to you.”
“I—I don’t know what to say, except thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m a rich SOB to have friends like you guys.”
Kat sniffed and Eve cleared her throat, glancing away. Six-Pack’s voice was gruff. “Don’t start that shit, my friend. I’m gonna be drowning in estrogen all the way home, you feel me? Oh, by the way—here.”
Six-Pack reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced a small item. “I went by the impound lot yesterday and found these in Cori’s Explorer. Had them fixed at the eye place inside Wal-Mart.”
Zack took his wire-rimmed glasses from the lieutenant, shaking his head. “Thanks, man. You did too much, you know that?”
“Figured you hadn’t been able to deal with the details yet, so it was the least I could do. I cleaned out the Explorer and brought a sack of Cori’s personal stuff—what didn’t get washed into the river, anyway. A few CDs, the garage-door opener that was clipped to her sun visor, and some waterlogged papers from the glove compartment. Wasn’t much left.”
“She’ll appreciate this, Six-Pack. So do I.” Zack caught the subtle thinning of Eve’s lips, her hostile body language at the mention of Cori’s name. His best friend’s obvious dislike of the woman he’d fallen for bothered him a great deal.
“Good. You can show your gratitude by getting your ass back to work. It’s not the same around the station without you. Got any idea when you’ll be released to come back?”
“Next week, I hope.” He did a quick mental calculation. “I’d like to be back for the Wednesday shift. That gives me another week to heal.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard. We want you at full speed when you get behind the wheel again.”
The lieutenant’s words gave him a jolt of profound joy, which he hid behind a mask of calm. “The captain’s sentiment or yours?”
“Everyone’s, including Sean. You don’t know how bad he feels about coming down on you like he did that day,” Howard said softly. “And then to have you go out and almost get killed on a call . . . it’s really hit him hard, Zack.”
“He shouldn’t feel responsible. The fault lies with the bastard who’s terrorizing Cori.”
“He does all the same. He’s carrying a helluva load right now and none of us know how to help him.” The lieutenant ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Yeah, I remember his son’s nineteenth birthday is this week.” Or would’ve been. God, the poor soul. If Zack’s wife and kids had been wiped out in one tragic quirk of fate, he’d probably have gone insane with grief. Tanner was hanging on by a microscopic thread.
“Praise Jesus, we’re on shift Thursday and short-handed, so Sean can’t stay home and drink himself to death.”
Sorrow flashed across Eve’s pretty, bronzed face. Six-Pack wasn’t breaking any confidences—for the past year, the whole team had either observed or experienced Tanner’s downhill slide in action.
“I don’t know, Six-Pack. I’m not sure work is the best place for him to be that day. Not with the team’s safety at stake.”
For a split second, anger darkened the lieutenant’s face at the insinuation that the captain could unwittingly endanger them during a high-risk call. But Zack was right and they all knew it.
Six-Pack nodded. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”
“I know you will. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
“Nope, we’re a team, buddy. We watch each other’s backs. So, next Wednesday, huh?” he prompted, switching the subject.
“That’s my plan.”
“If it works out, what do you say we get the gang together next Thursday night at the Waterin’ Hole to celebrate your return? I haven’t been there since before I met Kat and that tall brunette tried to teach me that trick with her tongue—ow!” Rubbing his arm, he grimaced at his scowling better half and her balled-up fist. “Tying cherry stems, angel, that’s all!”
Kat huffed. “Oh, really? Well, your
wife
will teach you interesting tongue exercises this time, big guy. Assuming wives and girlfriends are invited?”
wife
will teach you interesting tongue exercises this time, big guy. Assuming wives and girlfriends are invited?”
“Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t dream of going without you.” He placated her with a kiss.
Zack grinned at their antics, secretly hoping he had a shot at this sort of special bond with Cori. “Sounds like fun. I’ll run it by Cori, but I’ll be there for sure.”
Life looked a bit rosier, in spite of Joaquin’s looming deadline for Zack to cough up fifty grand. The man had no idea where he was staying. He had Cori, and couldn’t wait for next Wednesday. Yet on the heels of that thought, one reminder sobered him.
When he went back on shift for twenty-four hours at a stretch, no one would be home to protect Cori.
He had to find a solution, and soon.
12
Zack had been quiet for the past couple of days. Her new lover lit up like a Christmas tree when she came home in the evenings, and made love to her with gentle passion, but whenever she pretended not to notice, he withdrew into troubled silence. He left her bed and prowled the house after he thought she’d fallen asleep, baseball bat in hand, ever on guard for their nemesis, who hadn’t shown again.
He seemed to be chewing on something, too. She often caught him watching her, all tense, as though he was about to broach a serious subject, only to switch gears and put on a smile, starting a conversation about their day. His swinging moods were about to drive her nuts.
With a sigh, Cori stuck a casserole in the oven for dinner, wiped her hands on a towel, then headed for the living room.
“Thirty minutes until—” She broke off at the sight of Zack reclining in the easy chair he’d obviously claimed as his own for the duration, feet up, head lolling to one side. Sound asleep.
Black wisps of bangs fell over his closed eyes, and his glasses had slipped down on his nose. For some reason, the endearing picture caused a strange, wonderful pang in her heart. He appeared so sweet and vulnerable like this, but he was strong, too. And so damned handsome. She wanted to touch him constantly, as though he were a fever she had no desire to cure.
The newspaper was spread open on his lap, the remote control on the chair’s armrest, TV blaring about the latest politician who couldn’t keep his trousers zipped. A scene cut from the pages of domestic suburbia.
She smiled to herself. She’d fled hundreds of miles to avoid a man taking over her life again, and this one had claimed her TV remote and favorite chair inside a week.
Even more shocking, she didn’t mind. Much.
Creeping to the chair, she took the remote and turned down the volume to a less ear-shattering level, then placed it on the table beside him. The absence of noise, or perhaps her presence, caused him to stir.
Blue eyes fluttered open and he stretched, wincing in pain, favoring his wounded shoulder. “Ah, damn . . . Oh, hi, baby.” Dazed from his nap, he gave her a lopsided smile.
“Do you need another pain pill? I’ll get it for you.” She cupped his cheek, enjoying the prickle of his whiskers under her palm.
“No, I’m just a little sore. Besides, those darned things make me drool.” He sat up straighter, inhaling a deep breath. “What smells so good?”
“Chicken and rice casserole. It’ll be ready in about twenty-five minutes. Hungry?”
His stomach rumbled in answer. “There’s your verdict. I’m starving. Can I help you do anything?”
“I’ve got it covered, but thanks.” A man asking such a question was alien to her. Any one of her brothers would donate his left testicle to science before offering to assist a woman with domestic chores.
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