They turned off the road to drive down into Sam’s underground garage. The last time they’d done that—was it only last night? It felt like a million years ago—he’d turned off the main road and swooped in, fast, with panache, into his building’s grounds and down to the underground garage. He drove like he did everything physical. With grace and speed and utter confidence.
Not now. He’d driven them from their office building to his house as if he were ferrying a load of eggs. Driving slowly, braking carefully, taking the turns wide. All in an effort to spare her any discomfort. And she was grateful, because her shoulder was throbbing and there seemed to be an ache in every muscle of her body.
Once he came to a slow, rolling halt, braking gently, Sam muttered, “Stay put,” and came around to her door, helping her out of the car as if she were an eighty-year-old grandmother.
She had the feeling that if he could slow down the elevator’s ascent, he would have. His big body was completely still at her side, arm around her waist. She could feel his tenseness. It was only when his bank-vault-level security of his apartment was engaged, the door quadruple-locked behind them, that he relaxed a little.
“Come here,” he murmured. He turned her into to him, big hand covering the back of her head, the other around her waist. Nicole leaned into him for a long moment, grateful for his strength. It was like leaning into a warm, muscled wall that would stand forever and she simply soaked that strength up.
They stood in the nighttime quiet, the only sound that of the low wavelets lapping the shore through the open balcony windows. She was so glad he wasn’t the kind of person to keep air-conditioning on all day and all night. The nighttime breeze was warm and welcome, bringing the fresh smell of the sea with it, so much more refreshing than chilled canned air.
“So, what do you want first? To eat, or to take a shower?” She could hear his deep voice rumbling in his chest.
It was a tough decision because the instant he said eat, she realized she was ravenous, having skipped lunch and dinner. But the thought of a shower…
Sam had one of those huge modern showers with a showerhead that looked as if it would release a sinful amount of water that was like a warm massage, a huge, square bronze showerhead that would ease the kinks from her sore muscles, light-years away from the trickle that came from her grandmother’s sixties-era shower that was an exact replica of the one in Psycho, where Janet Leigh was hacked to death.
She pulled away and looked up at him. From this vantage point, he was all clenched jaws and high cheekbones, heavy five-o’clock shadow and dark, piercing eyes.
“Shower,” she decided. “Followed immediately by food. I’m really hungry.”
“Roger that,” he said calmly, and swung her up in his arms.
“Sam!” Nicole scrambled to hold on to his shoulders. “I can walk!”
“Yeah,” he rumbled. “I know you can. I, ah, I just—” his jaw muscles bunched and he looked away for a second, breathed deeply, turned back. “I really need to be touching you right now, and this works for me.”
He stopped on the threshold of his huge bathroom, bending his head toward hers until their foreheads touched. “I was scared shitless back there,” he confessed.
“Yeah.” She huffed out her breath in a little half laugh, tightening her arms around his neck. “Ditto. Did I mention how grateful I am you picked my lock?”
That earned her a small smile. “You did mention it, a couple of times, in fact. Gratitude’s an interesting concept. Just how grateful are we talking about here?”
She smiled back. “Major, major gratitude. Name-your-price grateful.”
He moved sideways through the door with her in his arms so he wouldn’t jostle her against the doorjamb. Once inside, he put her down by gently removing the arm under her knees, holding her steady as she slid down his body. “If I can name my price, make me a happy man and promise me you won’t ever get into trouble like that again.”
“I promise,” she said fervently, etching a huge X over her left breast.
She was steady on her feet, but she hung on to his arms just the same. He seemed to be happy touching her and man, it was reciprocal. Touching him made her feel a whole lot better. Being close to that big body simply radiating heat was enough to dissipate the chill of fear and danger.
With Sam right in front of her, hands on her waist, looking at her as if he wanted to eat her alive, cold and danger and fear were all far, far away.
Head bent to her, a serious frown between his eyebrows, as if he were solving the most difficult calculus equation in the world, he started carefully unbuttoning her blouse. The buttons were small and though his hands were huge, they were deft. In a moment, her blouse hung open.
Nicole stood quietly, making no move whatsoever. Whatever he wanted from her, she wanted to give it to him.
He lifted his hands to her shoulders. The light linen shirt billowed to the floor. A second later, her bra followed.
She saw him wince, touch her shoulder and back lightly. “That’s going to be a spectacular bruise tomorrow. Does it hurt?”
It did, but not so much that she wanted him to stop touching her. “A little sore,” she admitted. “It’s okay.”
He shook his head briefly, as if to say no, it’s not okay, then reached for the zipper of her pants. He pulled them down gently, together with her panties. He knelt, lifting one foot by the ankle, then the other, taking off her sandals. “Brace yourself on my shoulder.”
In a moment, sandals, pants and panties were on the bathroom floor. Sam rose slowly. His big hands had encircled her ankle. As he rose slowly, his open hands ran along her ankle, shin, knee, thigh. The skin of his hands was rough. By the time his big hands cupped her hip, the hairs of her forearms were standing up.
Suddenly, Sam froze, making a low, shocked sound. He even stopped breathing for a moment, eyes fixed on her hips.
“What?”
“My God,” he whispered. “I did this.”
Nicole craned her neck to see. There were four faint bruises on her hips, both sides. She wouldn’t have understood where they came from if his big hands weren’t touching her. The bruises matched precisely with his fingertips.
A sudden flush raced through her body, head to toe. She remembered exactly how she’d gotten those bruises. Sam had held her hips tightly as he rammed into her the last time they made love, when he’d lost control, just a little. She’d been so excited she hadn’t even felt the grip of his hands.
She was excited now, completely naked in the bathroom. The memory of their night together, his big body so close to hers, made heat blossom in her, made her bones loosen, started drawing her into a spiral of desire.
Nicole lifted her face for a kiss, then stopped, frowning when he didn’t meet her halfway. What was this? He didn’t want to kiss her? Since when?
Sam was staring at her hips, at the small bruises which were nothing in comparison to what was going to be a real doozy on her back tomorrow morning.
He looked absolutely horrified.
“Sam?”
“I did this,” he said again hoarsely, eyes glued to where his hands framed the small dark spots. “These bruises came from me. From my hands.”
She covered his hands with hers. “It’s okay. I bruise easily, don’t worry about it. “
He was breathing heavily, face tight with some strong emotion. He raised his eyes to hers and she winced at the pain in them.
“Is that why you ran?” he asked hoarsely. “Because I hurt you? Because you were afraid I would hurt you some more?”
Nicole opened her mouth to answer, appalled that he could even think such a thing. She’d run because she was a coward and couldn’t face her feelings for him.
“No, God no, Sam. I—”
But he drowned her out, his voice strong and adamant. “Because I don’t do that. Could never do that. I don’t hurt women.” His jaw muscles bunched, he opened his mouth, then clamped it tight, throat working. It was as if he wanted to say more, but nothing else besides that stark statement would come out.
Nicole started to say Of course you don’t hurt women, but stopped when she looked closer at him. He looked like a truck had run over him. As if something had scraped him raw.
In Nicole’s world, of course men didn’t hurt women. That went without saying. The man she knew best, her father, had been the most gentle, loving and affectionate of fathers and husbands. She couldn’t even begin to imagine her father raising a hand in anger to her or to her mother. Or to any woman or child for that matter. It was simply unthinkable.
But that wasn’t where Sam had grown up. Sam had grown up in the feral underbelly of the world—a place of brutality and cruelty, where men regularly beat up women and children, simply because they could. And because no one stood up for them. At some point in Sam’s childhood, something strong in him must have risen up, rebelled against the cruelty and the violence around him, led him to make his stand and forged him into the man he was.
I don’t hurt women.
The words had clearly come from the deepest bedrock of his being.
Looking up at him, at that strong face, now trying to mask how deep his feelings were, something big, something important shifted inside her.
Sam Reston. At first she thought he was a lowlife, a thug, the kind of man a woman instinctively avoided. Then he turned out to be the sexiest man alive. Last night had been, hands down, the most incredible sexual experience of her life, a potent combination of heat and laughter and pure hormonal overload.
She’d been wildly attracted to that Sam Reston, the man who had taught her more about sex in one night than in all her twenty-eight years taken together. Attractive and attracted, sex on a stick. That Sam Reston had turned her on so powerfully he’d turned her inside out.
But this Sam Reston—the man who protested hoarsely that he didn’t hurt women, as if the very blood in his veins would stop if he did…Well, that man was more than an incredibly hot date.
The feelings he aroused in her were like a complete realignment of her being, right down to the molecular level.
The French had a name for it—les atomes crochus. Where the very atoms that made up your being hooked up with another person’s, so that you were one, permanently, irrevocably.
The night of amazing sex had somehow sparked off the process, and Sam’s horror at the idea he could have hurt her set it ablaze. The violence in her office had been a defining moment, watching Sam come to her rescue, unflinching even with a gun in his face.
He’d defended her with his life.
His hands were stroking her hips, right over the bruises. Gently, so gently, as if he could somehow wipe the bruises away. He watched his hands, face tight and grim, etched in regret at what he’d done.
There was nothing wrong with what he’d done last night. She’d been with him every step of the way.
He’d given her so much. Wooed her, seduced her, protected her, defended her. It struck her that she had the power to give something back to him, something he desperately needed.
His pride. His knowledge of himself as a man who didn’t hurt women.
“That wasn’t why I ran, Sam,” she said softly, holding his beard-roughened chin in her hand, forcing his head up so she could meet his eyes. His gaze kept going in horror to the small bruises on her hips.
She took a deep breath, looked at him solemnly, shoulders back, standing ramrod straight.
He stared at her, unblinking, jaws clenched.
He was hurting. It was so clear, now that she had eyes to see. This big, strong, tough, magnificent man was hurting.
She couldn’t stand another second of it.
His mouth worked and he finally managed to get a few hoarse words out. “So why did you run?”
“Because I was afraid—” He was already wincing. “I was afraid of what I felt for you. Last night—it was just so intense, it was like there was another woman in the bed with you. When I woke up I ran, because I could hardly recognize myself.”
She leaned forward, kissed his chest right over his heart. She could feel its slow, regular beat.
She tipped her head back to study his face and told him the stark truth. “I was so rattled by you, by what was happening. It just scared the hell out of me.”
Nicole rose on tiptoe, cupped his shoulders, lifted herself up against him and bit his lower lip until he let her in. It wasn’t a slow kiss. She took it straight from zero to a hundred in a second.
She was naked and could feel everything that happened to him as she kissed him. At first he froze, surprise coming off him in waves at the unexpected kiss. She was plastered against him.
The sudden sharp breath, the heavy erection trying to rise under his jeans against her lower belly, such a powerful movement it made her vagina contract in desire. His hands on her hips moved to her buttocks as he pulled her tightly against him, positioning her to rub against his penis—and he froze. Carefully, as if he were handling something full of nitroglycerin, he eased back and away, the only connection between them his hands still loosely at her hips.
Nicole’s eyes fluttered open, the heat that had flared up so fiercely and brightly slowly dissipating.
“Sam?” she whispered. He was pulling away? But he was aroused, massively. She had felt it against her own skin.
“No.”
“No?” she echoed hollowly.
“Not right now. Not yet, anyway.” He looked down at her, at the drops of blood on her white shirt on the floor. “You need to be ready.”
Ready? She was ready all right. Blood pooled heavily between her thighs, her breasts felt full and heavy. She didn’t need any foreplay.
“I’m ready, Sam.” If Nicole hadn’t felt the words leave her lips, she would never have believed that that throaty, velvety voice laced with sex could possibly be hers.
“Mmm.”
Shifting sideways, Sam did something complicated to the complex shower control and a rush of hot water came flowing out, steam billowing out in the room, shrugging off his shirt. “First things first.”
He bent to kiss her cheek.
He was moving slowly. Last night, half the time he had moved at warp speed. So this was going to be his show and he was going to take it slow. Okay. Some of that sexual tension relaxed a little. They were going to make love, but clearly not right away.
He picked her clothes up from the floor, put them on a chair together with his own shirt and rose, big thigh muscles flexing, jeans clinging to him like a lover. Oh wow. Who knew she could be so susceptible to beefcake? Who knew that his enormous chest could take her breath away, that watching his thigh and stomach muscles contract as he rose slowly from a crouch could make her own thigh muscles twitch?
He shot out a hand to test the temperature, grunted, then eased her into the stall as if she were the queen of Coronado Shores.
Ah, the hot water pummeled her sore muscles. It felt wonderful. She turned under the showerhead, face uptilted, eyes closed, savoring the sensation.
She opened her eyes and saw that he was getting drenched. He still had on his jeans.
Nicole gave a half laugh and pointed at his jeans. “Shouldn’t you take those off?”
Sam’s dark eyes gleamed as he opened a bottle of shampoo and poured a little into his hand. “Nope. Denim chastity belt. Best in the world. Worked in high school, works now. Boner’s got no place to go. Now turn around and tilt your head back.”
She obeyed, sighing with pleasure as his strong fingers began working up a lather. A strong scent with a deep note of sandalwood washed over her. Sam’s shampoo. She remembered smelling it in his hair as she ran her fingers through it, then clenching her fists in his hair as she started coming. Scent memories are locked into the most primordial part of the brain, she knew, and this one nearly knocked her off her feet as she remembered the hot feelings connected with this smell. She moaned.
“What? Did I hurt you?” His large hands stilled. Oh man, this was embarrassing. She was being turned on by his shampoo.
She leaned against him heavily, head tilted back onto his shoulder. “No,” she said, as the water rushed over her. “You didn’t hurt me.”
“Good,” he grunted. His strong hands went back to kneading, fingertips digging in, somehow knowing exactly where the knots of tension were. She could feel every inch of him against her naked back. The dark swirls of chest hair tickled her upper back and she could feel his tight abs contract as he moved to pour more shampoo into his hand.
His penis was huge behind the wet denim, hard and hot enough to radiate heat through the stiff material. She wiggled her bottom and felt him surge against her, fingers stilling in her hair.
That denim was less of a chastity belt than he thought. She wiggled again, rolling against what felt like a moving hot steel rod in his pants.
He made a noise deep in his chest and she smiled. She held all the power here and it made her feel…whoa. Ten feet tall.
The man who’d held her prisoner against his body had used his strength against her. It had been a terrifying, horrific experience and, deep down, a humiliating one. Nicole had never been manhandled before, never physically forced to do anything.
The intruder had overpowered her with contemptuous ease, and it burned. Everything about the experience had been—I’m stronger than you and you will do what I want. Brutal and primitive.
Sam’s body language was exactly the opposite, though he was even stronger than the intruder. Sam was the strongest man she’d ever seen. She’d held him in her arms all night and she knew how deeply powerful he was. If he wanted to, he could force her to do anything, bend her completely to his will.
But with every move, he gave all the power to her. Even now that she was being deliberately provocative, rubbing herself against his arousal, she could sense, could feel his self-control, so deeply a part of him.
“Close your eyes.” She could feel the vibrations in his chest of his deep voice through the skin of her back. She obeyed, and he pulled her gently right under the showerhead until all the shampoo was rinsed away.
The water stopped. “Stay there.”
Nicole stood watching as he got two big, blindingly white towels from a cabinet and held them, waiting for her to get out.
“No conditioner?” she asked as she emerged dripping. He looked blank. “And moisturizer? I don’t think I’ve ever taken a shower without moisturizing.”
“Ah…” Panicked, Sam looked around, as if conditioner and moisturizer could suddenly, magically appear.
Most of Nicole’s previous lovers had been good-looking, vain metrosexuals who used the same products she did from the same houses, only the male version. Her last lover, Sergey, had had every Clinique men’s product on the market and Nicole had never had any problems with sleepovers. All she’d needed to bring with her was her toothbrush.
Sam had towels, soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste in view and she somehow suspected that was it. Looked like she was going to have to stock Sam’s bathroom with some essentials.
She looked him straight in the eyes. “Be prepared to have your bathroom full of creams and lotions. Do you think you can handle that, big guy?”
His mouth lifted on one side as he wrapped her hair in a big towel. “Honey, I survived Hell Week. You have no idea what I can handle. Hold out your arms.” She obeyed as he gently patted her torso and arms dry.
“Tough guy, huh?”
“Hmm?” He’d been staring at her breasts and suddenly lifted his gaze to hers. She nearly stepped back at the blazing heat in his eyes. Though he was almost smiling, the skin over his cheekbones was pulled tight, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I guess I think I’m pretty tough.”
Nicole reached out her hand and curved it over his penis and squeezed. “Not that tough, big boy.”
Sam’s big body froze, breath hissing in as if she’d done something painful to him. The big column of male flesh she could feel beneath her hand was moving, becoming even longer, thicker. A little moan escaped his lips and his penis leaped once again under her hand.
He looked like he was one second from coming. Nicole nearly laughed out loud.
This was so delicious.
Everything in her life was so…wrong. Her father was gravely ill, dying a painful death. Her company was trying to take off, but kept sputtering when she had to take attention away from it for her father. Some unknown assailant had trashed her office, searching for God knew what and would presumably keep searching until he found it or she was hurt, whichever came first.
It didn’t get worse than that.
And yet right now, all those terrible problems were like flies buzzing in the distance. Her battered mind and body just gave up on all her anxieties and worries and urged her to live this moment. This magical moment out of time when a big, tough warrior was handing over his body to her for her own use. Giving himself over to her.
Sam kneeled again to dry the rest of her off and she rested her hand on his shoulder for balance. Oh God, the feel of him was so wonderful. She knew from experience that there was no give in him at all, anywhere. She curled her fingers into the bare skin of his shoulder and it was like trying to make an impression on a piece of warm steel machinery. The heat coming off that big body was amazing. It chased out any residual chill of the attack in her office.
She watched as Sam slowly stood, one big hand drifting up over her body as he did so. He was masculinity personified, and yet his movements were also so graceful. He rose with the grace of a world-class athlete, a man whose body would never let him down.
He looked her up and down, hot eyes moving over her slowly, the gaze so intense, it felt like hands caressing her body. Every cell in her body felt full, replete, warm, the aches and pains completely forgotten. Amazing. Sexual desire for this man was better than a day at the spa.
Nicole stretched up to put her arms around Sam’s neck in hopes of getting one of those amazing kisses of his, the one that was way sexier than even intercourse with other men, but then gave a little yelp as he picked her up.
“What are you—” she began, then stopped. It was clear what he was doing. He was carrying her to bed. Fine. Perfect. In bed with Sam was exactly where she wanted to be.
Nicole could almost feel what was coming next. Sam laying her down, then coming down on top of her, his heavy weight grounding her, his legs opening hers.
She frowned. Those wet jeans would have to go, though. Wet denim, in bed. Gah.
He lay her gently on the bed and stood for a moment, looking down at her. She smiled and held up her arms, expecting to feel him settling on her, fitting himself to her. Her skin tingled in anticipation.
And yet he was simply standing there looking at her, the dummy. What was he waiting for?
He walked to the end of the bed, tugged her legs until they were almost off the edge and kneeled.
He wanted foreplay? Nicole had never been so aroused in her life. Well, except for last night. She didn’t need foreplay right now. As a matter of fact, she probably wouldn’t need it ever again. Sam’s very presence was potent foreplay, calculated to drive any red-blooded woman’s hormones to fever pitch.
Nicole started to tell him that when she felt his mouth on her, right on her most sensitive tissues and the only thing that could possibly come out of her mouth was a sigh.
He was kissing her there, exactly as he kissed her mouth. As if he would die if he didn’t get more of her, right now. She was so incredibly sensitive, she could feel his mouth and tongue all through her body. He nipped her very lightly with his teeth and she jumped at a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
Her arms were up around her head, back arched with delight, her entire being concentrated on the wet aroused tissues between her thighs. He was French-kissing her, thumbs holding her open for his mouth. The sight of his dark head between her pale thighs was intensely erotic.
He gently bent her left thigh with his hand to give him better access and when he gave another long, languid swipe with his tongue, her thigh started trembling.
She looked down at herself, at the heavy heartbeat she could see in her left breast. She was already close to orgasm after only a few minutes. The big room was utterly silent except for the delicious sounds his mouth was making against her. Even the sea had stilled. She couldn’t hear the waves—or maybe her heartbeat was drowning the sound of the ocean out.
He stopped just as a long tremble ran through her, the beginning of that luscious free fall into blinding pleasure. Sam lifted his mouth from her, though his eyes remained fixed on her sex. His dark skin was flushed, mouth wet from her body, face tight with arousal.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said hoarsely, his finger tracing the lips of her sex. The callused skin of his finger was intensely exciting. “Here, too. All pink and puffy, and here—” He ruffled through the hair of her pubis and laid his hand on her lower belly. “Here you’ve got this Snow White thing going. Ivory and ebony. Amazing.” He lifted her leg higher and took her foot in his big hand. “Even your goddamned feet are gorgeous.” He brought her foot to his mouth and nibbled on the instep, sharp little bites that raised goose pimples all over her body.
Oh heavens, they were right! Feet were erogenous zones!
She’d never believed it up until now, until Sam Reston nibbled and bit his way over her foot and toes. She’d have thought his mouth would have tickled, but it wasn’t ticklishness she felt, it was pure sex and it shot straight to her groin.
One particularly sharp nip and her vagina clenched, along with her stomach muscles.
He saw it. Of course he did, he was incredibly observant. His eyes shot to hers then right back to her groin.
Sam didn’t grin with triumph at arousing her so intensely that she shook, as any other man would have done. Instead, his mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed and fixed on where he was touching her. Gently, oh-so gently, the tip of his finger sliding around and around her opening, so that she started squirming. Needing his touch to be stronger, to be there—
An electric current ran down her spine when he inserted a big finger inside her and her vagina erupted in convulsions so strong it was as if her entire body were having an orgasm. Her open thighs trembled and her whole body shook, clenching tightly against his finger.
Nicole’s eyes had closed but she saw lights against the lids. Short, sharp pants that were almost moans came out of her throat, the contractions going on and on as he kept his finger inside her, thumb slowly circling her clitoris that had become so sensitive it was almost—but not quite—painful.
He kept her going for what seemed like forever and when the contractions started dying down, he bent and put his mouth to her again, lips and tongue tasting and feeling her climax.
It was so intense she struggled against it, but his big hands pressed on her hips, just over the hip bone, holding her down, his hold gentle but implacable.
She couldn’t move, she couldn’t pull away, she could only feel the keen edge of pleasure lancing through her like shards of steel, held hostage in a place out of time, her body not her own as it convulsed, again and again.
Finally, her body subsided. Sam pulled away and looked at her gravely. Every inch of her skin was covered in sweat, so sensitive she could feel the weight of the air. She was panting, throat dry from pulling in air that never seemed to be enough.
Oh God, it had been way too much, way too intense. He laid his hand on her belly again, big hand covering her almost from hipbone to hipbone, the weight and warmth grounding her after that incredible experience.
She was wiped out—utterly exhausted, incapable of movement or thought. She held his gaze as she blinked once, twice, then couldn’t lift her lids again.
She turned her head and went out like a light.
Well, so much for relaxing her, Sam thought wryly. He’d relaxed her so much she’d gone straight to sleep. Now what the hell was he supposed to do with his boner?
He winced as he stood up. His cock was stiff, his muscles were stiff, he could hardly breathe from tension. He walked around to the side of the bed and just looked at her, the delicate lines of her, like a dream of a woman instead of a real woman.
She’d fallen asleep with her legs open and he could see deep pink flesh peeking out from the dark cloud of soft hair between her thighs. She was soft and wet, he knew that because he’d felt it, with his tongue and his hand. She was ready for him and Christ, he was ready for her. He could feel his cock weeping beneath the denim, aching for him to stretch out on top of her and slide right in. Exactly as she was, long delicate arms arched over her head in a pose of sensual abandon that would rouse a man from the dead.
And he was far from dead. He felt alive in every cell of his body, and every cell wanted her, right now.
She’d welcome him. He knew that the way he knew the sun would rise in the east tomorrow morning. When he mounted her, she’d smile, eyes closed, and her entire body would welcome him. Long legs twined around his, arms crossed over his back, mouth open to him.
He shook with desire. His entire body felt parched and cold, deprived of something only she could give him. He’d just wanted to relax Nicole a little, give her a little pleasure, reassure her that he could control himself.
Before he jumped her bones.
He’d obviously been way too good at his job. She was completely out, not even a flicker of her eyes under her eyelids.
For a second, he was tempted to shuck his jeans, stretch out on the bed, roll her a little toward him, lift her leg over his hip and slip right into her. Ah, yes. She was wet enough, from his mouth and from coming. It would work. She’d wake up with his cock in her, moving nice and slow and easy, no better way to wake up.
He put his hands to the brass button of his jeans, then stopped.
She’d fallen into a very deep sleep, the sleep of the exhausted. There were faint purple stains under her eyes. Her cheekbones were sharper than usual and it seemed to him that her slender torso had become even more slender. Could she have lost weight in twenty-four hours?
And then another thought occurred to him, like a sledgehammer upside the head. If he could have kicked himself in the ass, he would have.
She’d been hungry. She’d asked for food and a shower. It was altogether possible she hadn’t eaten today. She’d told him how rattled she’d been last night. Some women stopped eating when they were rattled.
Not soldiers. Soldiers never lost their appetite, because who knew where the next meal was coming from? And who knew whether this meal might be the one to keep you alive in the field those extra hours waiting for help to come?
Nicole had been hungry.
Sam felt a chill rush over his skin at the thought of Nicole going hungry. In his home. It made him sick with shame. No one knew better than him what it was like to go hungry. He’d spent half his childhood scrounging for enough food to keep up with his growth spurts. Keeping Nicole hungry, just because he wanted to fuck her, was shocking to him.
He’d fallen for her from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, blown away by her beauty. Well, that had been lust. But now that he knew her, had seen firsthand what a fine woman she was, had felt her warmth, it seemed impossible to him that he could ever desire another woman.
This was it. Nicole was it.
And how did he treat her? Well, last night he’d nearly fucked her to death and tonight he ignored the fact that she was hungry.
He was going to get one shot at this, so he’d better start shaping up. No more jumping her like a rabid wolverine. Or at least not until all her other needs were taken care of.
He’d have to keep his lust in check. Some. When necessary. When he could.
Sam had never had a woman of his own. He’d fucked a lot, but even when they lasted weeks, they’d been essentially one-night stands for several nights. He’d grown up around hugely dysfunctional people and he’d seen couples nearly kill each other with rage. What could he know about being part of a couple?
But he’d lifted himself out of all that, made himself into a fine soldier and now a good businessman. He’d taught himself how to do that and he could teach himself how to be the partner of a woman like Nicole. He could do it. He could learn.
And step number one was to take care of her needs. She was tired, so he had to let her sleep. She’d been hungry, so he’d fix her a hot meal. And hope it wouldn’t poison her.
He was halfway to the kitchen when his cell phone buzzed from his jacket pocket.
“Yeah?”
What the hell did he have in his kitchen cabinets? Anything warm he could cook for her? What would you feed a traumatized woman? Soup. That was it. Soup was what they fed the sick. Only how the hell did you make soup?
“Sam, it’s Harry.”
“Uh-huh.”
So maybe soup was out. Presumably it took ingredients and time and some skill. Would a grilled-cheese sandwich do?
“Sam, we’ve got a Fed in the office.”
“A Fed?” Soup and sandwiches fled from his mind. There could only be one reason a Fed would be in his office. “They got a read off the vidcam.”
“Roger that. And the news isn’t good.”
“It never is. Shoot.” Holding his cell between his ear and shoulder, Sam shrugged his shirt back on, his shoulder holster and jacket. The jeans were still wet but what the hell. Things were moving fast and so would he.
“The guy’s ex-Special Forces. Ranger, for ten years. Dishonorable discharge five years ago, accused of stealing and selling base weapons, fell off the grid. But the Feds have linked him to one murder for hire and have been on the lookout ever since. He was red flagged, that’s why the FBI got here so fast.”
This was bad news. Special Forces soldiers had an extra gear. About a million dollars of training went into each soldier and they were worth it. To a man, they were smart, relentless and capable of devastating violence delivered with surgical precision. An SF soldier gone bad was tragic news. An SF soldier gone bad and after Nicole was terrifying.
“Coming in,” Sam said and flipped his cell closed. He went to his gun locker and chose a Glock 19, slotted in a full magazine and picked up another two magazines he put in his jacket pocket. He slid the Glock into the shoulder holster. There was more firepower in the office, but it just felt good to be loaded for bear right now.
He took the time to stare for a full minute at Nicole, stretched out on his bed, in a deep sleep. What would waking her up achieve? Nothing. There was nothing she could do right now and learning that a highly trained bad guy was after her would only make her more anxious. The best thing she could do for herself right now was to rest. Her father was safe and by God, if there was one place in all of San Diego where Sam trusted the security, it was his house.
It had top-of-the-line features, triple backups and a small separate generator to keep the alarm system going even if the electricity was cut. He would swear in court that he and Harry and Mike were the only ones who could get in.
He scribbled a note—Honey, I had to go into the office, call me on my cell when you wake up. Be back as soon as I can—and left it on the dresser.
Sam was in a rush to get back to the office, but still he stood for a moment on the threshold of his bedroom, just looking at her, naked, stretched out on his bed. He could see every single detail of her slender, curvy body. Could see the delicate collarbones, the sharp points of her hip bones, the long lines of her legs.
A stunningly beautiful woman. A head turner. The kind of woman who’d have made a fortune modeling.
But more than just a beautiful woman. She was smart and strong and kind and funny and fiercely loyal in a way he appreciated down to his bones. A woman in a million, and she was his.
He was going to keep her safe.
The fuckhead after her might have been a Ranger, but Sam was a SEAL, which trumped that to hell and gone. As long as he was alive, no one would ever hurt her.
And he was a hard man to kill.