Wild Card (29 page)

"Easy. Slow down, Sabella. Slow and easy." He pulled his finger back, worked more of her

juices to the tiny entrance and slid in again. Slid in until he was lodged inside to the base of his

finger, feeling her hot and tight there as well.

Then he moved.

"I want to take you here." He was fucking her, driving inside her, shafting her with quick hard strokes.

"I want to stretch you, ease you. I want to slide into your hot little ass and feel you go insane

with the pleasure of it."

His finger moved slow and easy, sliding with the lightest strokes as he surged inside her pussy

with his cock, slammed inside her until he felt the first ripples, the first warning contractions

rippling through her pussy. She was getting ready to explode. He thrust harder, deeper,

impaling her with his cock and with his finger and feeling his balls catch fire.

The flames rushed up his spine as she screamed against his chest, exploded around him and

began jerking in his arms with the pleasure.

He heard his own yell. Her name. Just her name. Not the vow he had always given her. But it

was followed by the hardest, hottest come he'd ever had in his life. Semen shot from his cock in

furious, violent eruptions. It filled her, washed through her, and she cried out again, shivered

and contracted around him again. Tense, tight, holding him inside her as she shuddered weakly

through the pulsing pleasure then collapsed against his chest.

Later, much later, Sabella stared into the darkness. Noah slept beside her, one arm under her,

one thrown over her. His head rested next to hers, the soft rhythm of his breathing flowed over

her.

There were things, Sabella thought, that men just did not always consider when it came to

women. Because women were smart enough not to tell them.

Women took the time to know the men they loved. The little things. Women were curious like

that, where men weren't always as perceptive, even big tough SEALs and superagents.

For instance, the way a man touched a woman's body, the woman he loved. Not just the feel of

his fingers, but how he did it. The strength could change, it could be gentle and firm, or it could

be desperate and hungry, but still there were things that remained the same. Certain sensations,

certain ways of doing it.

The way a man took a woman, hard and fast or slow and easy or anything in between, there

was always a single constant. And that was the man.

Scars marred Noah's hands and his body. There were calluses her husband hadn't had and there

were calluses her husband had had that were missing from Noah's hands. But the way his cock

pressed into her, the nerve endings it stroked, the way he filled her, the way he stretched her, it

was all too similar.

Too many things were too similar.

"Sabella. You hit my truck. It was right there, in plain view."

The memory slashed over her, around her. It seared in her memory. Nathan yelling at her.

Nathan never yelled at her. He always controlled himself. But she had shocked him that day.

He had gripped her shoulders to move her out of the way, but she had felt it. Felt the way his

fingertips pressed, not ungently, in a distinct way. The way his fingers flared out, gripped,

moved her.

She remembered his eyes. So wild, the way they went feverish with anger, arousal, and pure

lust as he dragged her into the house.

It was distinctive. She remembered the exact spots his fingers had pressed into her shoulders,

how it made them feel, how his eyes had changed.

She remembered where he hid his guns. How he hid his guns.

He had known where the coffee cups were in her kitchen that first morning when she had

informed him he wouldn't be sharing her bed. She had distracted him, made him angry right

off, and he had stalked straight to the coffee cups and pulled one free, and not once had she

shown him where they were.

He slept against her as her husband once had. He held her as her husband had held her.

And that first night, between sleep and waking, she was certain, now she was certain to the

soles of her feet, that she had heard him whisper "go síoraí." The words only her husband had

known to whisper to her.

She turned her head to stare at him, watched how his hair fell over his brow now. Nathan had

always kept his hair cut short, but the profile hadn't changed that much. Small differences,

enough to fool her at first.

He was her soul. No other man could have walked into her life and taken her over as he had.

Only her husband could have done that.

And he had been lying to her all along.

He said he'd been captured. Pumped full of that horrifying drug that had been in the news a few

years back. And she remembered her own nightmares. The crawling certainty that he was in

danger, not dead. Hearing him scream out for her, begging her to save him, to help him. Her

horror, her uncertainty. Waking in the middle of the night screaming from an agony that had no

beginning and no end.

He said her husband had died. His eyes had held bleak, raging pain. And he hadn't lied to her.

He truly thought the man he was had died. And perhaps in ways he had. But this was still her

husband, her lover, her soul. Only his name had changed. He was still
hers
.

And he was still lying to her. He was, and Rory was. Her eyes narrowed. The son of a bitch.

Rory knew. He had told Rory, but he hadn't told his own wife.

She fought back the panic, the pain at the thought that Noah hadn't told her the truth, perhaps

even hadn't returned home for her. Rory was stronger. He was a man. And he knew the truth,

she was certain of it. Whatever Noah was doing, did he think he would need help?

He had had to get into the garage, but why? To get to her? To do whatever he had come here to

do?

She inhaled slowly. Whatever the reason, it was time her husband, as much as she loved him,

adored him, as much as having him back in her arms meant to her, it was time he learned.

Lying to Sabella was a very, very bad thing.

The next morning Toby was still shaken, but he was at work on time and determined to stay.

He wasn't going to let anyone run him off, he claimed.

Sabella worked in the garage for several hours, tuning up one of the vehicles that had come in

the evening before and finishing it before she looked at the clock and smiled.

She lowered the hood, her gaze going to Noah.

He was watching the computer readout on a new SUV, twirling a wrench lazily through his

fingers and chewing gum. Damn, she was glad none of the old mechanics he had employed

worked here anymore. They would have seen that and suspected instantly. If they had ever paid

attention to it. It was something Sabella had found completely sexy the few times she had seen

him do it, so many years ago.

Irish
. Her heart swelled, tears threatened to rush to her eyes, and she had to turn away quickly

to keep from sobbing out in joy.

Her Irish. He was back, he was here. She trembled at the knowledge and shook with the anger.

Whatever had kept him away, it was obvious he had spent quite a lot of time recovering from

it. She would have been there for him. She could have been there. She would have given up her

life to have made a single day, a single hour, easier for him.

And he had refused to allow it. He hadn't let her come to him, hadn't let her comfort him, and

even now, he tried to hide from her.

From the corner of her eye she watched as Rory came over to him, caught the wrench, and gave

his brother a warning glare.

Oh yeah, Rory knew. He knew well enough to know to watch for the little things that would

give Noah away. She turned away before narrowing her eyes as a sense of betrayal filled her.

He could tell his brother, but he couldn't tell her?

She turned and jerked the mechanic's rag from the counter and cleaned her hands.

"Rory, I have an appointment," she called out. "I'll be back around five."

Both Rory and Noah turned to her, their expressions wiping, becoming bland. Bastards.

"We have a lot of work piled up here, Belle." Rory cleared his throat as Noah crossed his arms

over his chest and gave her a brooding stare.

"It can't be helped."' She shrugged. "I'm running up to the house to shower then I have to meet Sienna and Kira."

She tossed the rag back to the counter and dug her car keys from her back pocket. She flashed

them both a tight, hard smile.

"I'm sure you can survive without me."

Kira had been surprised when Sabella had called her that morning and asked if she wanted to

meet her and Sienna at the spa. The other woman was wary, cautious, but game. Sabella liked

that about her. Kira was no one's fool, but she was also curious as hell.

Sabella moved from the garage to her car aware of Noah following her. He caught her as she

reached the little red BMW Z8 Nathan had rebuilt for her just before he had left on that last

mission.

The fender was still crumpled from slamming it into the back of Nathan's truck. The truck that

still sat in the garage. Unused. His pride and joy. She wondered if he had even checked on his

truck. He could have done it easily without her knowing about it.

She had just reached the car when she felt his fingers curl around her upper arm, drawing her to

a stop.

Sabella felt her breath catch. Her eyes closed and emotion swamped her. Joy, anger, sorrow,

and so much hope. So much hope it nearly brought her to her knees. And fear. Did she want

this so badly that she was seeing no more than an illusion?

No. It wasn't an illusion. It was her Irish.

"What's going on?" His voice was rough, grating. Somehow, something had happened to the

voice that had sung Irish ballads to her, that whispered her name with such a lyrical quality.

But it wasn't the voice that held her soul, it was the man.

She cleared her throat and turned to him, staring at his chin.

"I told you, I have an appointment at the spa." She tugged her arm out of his grip before

glancing up at his eyes, fighting to hold back the sheer awe she felt that she could hold him

again. That she could love him again.

Her Irish. She wanted to throw her arms around him and cry out his name, and she couldn't.

She didn't know how dangerous it could be, to him, to all of them. But mostly to him. If he had

come back to her as another man, he would have had to have a reason that risked all their lives.

And her husband was incredibly protective, no matter what name he went by. He would fight to

save those he loved, no matter the risk.

"Why today?" His voice hardened. He didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay, where he

could watch her.

"Does it matter? Is there a reason why I shouldn't go?"

"Well, nothing other than the fact that one of your employees was nearly killed yesterday." His lips tightened and his eyes glowed back at her with an edge of worry and anger.

"They were striking at you, not at me." She wasn't ignoring the truth. "Whatever happened the night before is what targeted Toby, Noah. Not me. I know how to be careful. And my
husband

taught me how to watch my back," she reminded him. "I'm not an unwary teenager."

She saw him flinch.

"No, you're a stubborn little hellion determined to do things her own way," he growled.

She opened the door to her car before turning back to him.

"I'm meeting Sienna for lunch, then we have an appointment at the spa. Now that you're here

and the garage is doing so well, I thought I'd take an afternoon off and be a girl rather than a

grease rag for a change. Do you have a problem with that?"

Those eyes. Arousal sparked, then flamed within them.

"Manicure?" He lifted his lips in a little snarl.

"A manicure would be wasted on this place." She waved her hand to the garage. "And I'd much prefer playing with guys' motors than babying a set of nails. But a nice massage. A cut and

style." She shook her hair at him. "Maybe a facial."
Maybe a wax
.

She could feel the thought hovering between them. Maybe having the curls removed from

between her thighs again, feeling his beard against sensitive bare skin, feeling his tongue love

the bare folds. She had her husband back, but she wasn't willing to give up her independence

again. There had been a few things she enjoyed from the girly zone she and Sienna called the

spa.

As he watched her, she could see what was coming. His lashes blinked over his eyes slowly,

his expression became set, determined, dominant. The dominance was a new facet, or perhaps

one that had been hidden in the past.

"I'd prefer you wait," he finally said. "Or let me drive you in."

"I don't need a babysitter, Noah." She shook her head. She needed away from him, just for a

little while. "Stay out of knife fights at night, and maybe you won't have to worry so much."

She had checked the wounds this morning when they awoke, rebandaged them, and she was

amazed he hadn't bled to death while he was taking her.

"I have to go." She slid into the car. "Don't forget Becca Jean's car this afternoon. She has a heavy class load over the next few months and I want to make sure there's nothing more wrong

with it than resetting the computer chip."

"I'll take care of it," he bit out. "Dammit, Sabella. At least be careful."

"I'm always careful." She gripped the steering wheel and stared back at him, infuriated. "You're the one that doesn't know how to stay out of trouble."