Hot Soldier Cowboy (The Blackjacks Book 2) Read online

  Pressure began to build inside her, an impatience for more, a need for release. And yet he drove her farther, pushed her higher. It was as if she’d become the growing storm, raging and roiling within its cloudy prison, demanding escape. Mac was wind and heat, molding and building the storm, whipping it up into a barely contained frenzy. He was motion and sensation, smoothness and power, throbbing need and controlled violence. He was everything she’d imagined and more.

  “Please,” she gasped. She pulled him close, wrapping herself around him, arching up into him in a silent agony of wanting as the swift rip of foil tearing made her smile in the dark. Still protecting her. He didn’t keep her waiting any longer. He lowered his glorious body to hers, gifting her with all of himself in a single hot, slick slide of flesh on flesh.

  The storm broke outside, and the rain came in a rush, pounding down upon the roof, matching the surging rhythm of their movement as their bodies became one. Wild gusts tore at the trees outside, flinging the branches against the house.

  She twisted and turned with equal abandon, flinging herself against the rock that was Mac. He gave and took in equal parts, his pleasure hers, and hers his. Lightning flashed and thunder roared, the wind howled and rain slashed at the windows.

  The two of them rolled through the blackness like the storm, surging ever forward, sweeping away everything in their path. Only the fury and the grandeur of their love remained. They cried out together, their voices mingling with the night, their hearts pounding with the rain.

  Slowly the storm abated. The rain became a gentle patter on the roof, and then it became nothing more than a quiet dripping. Mac lay still and silent, tangled with her across her bed. His body relaxed against hers, but he was as lethal as the tiger he resembled. A lazy kiss touched the side of her neck. “Am I hurting your knee?” he murmured.

  “Not at all. Don’t move,” she murmured back.

  His mouth curved into a smile against her skin. “I’m glad you said that. I don’t think I could budge if I wanted to.”

  She smiled over his shoulder into the velvety darkness of her room. Heaven. She was definitely in heaven. She kneaded the ridge of muscle along his spine with her fingertips. He groaned with pleasure. She lifted her other hand and massaged more of his back.

  “Let me die, right now,” he sighed.

  “Die?” she asked, surprised.

  “When I go, this is exactly how I want to feel.”

  “How do you feel, Mac?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

  He paused before he answered. When he finally spoke, his words came slowly. “Like I’ve come home.”

  She let out the breath she realized she’d been holding.

  “How about you?” he asked.

  He sounded a tad cautious.

  “I feel better than I have in years.” It hit her that it was absolutely true, too.

  “No regrets?”

  She smiled. “No regrets.”

  He rolled to the side and pulled her close against him. “Well, I’ve got to hand it to you. Those West Texas storms are something else.”

  “They kind of grow on you, don’t they?”

  She heard a grin in his voice when he answered. “Yeah. I’d almost forgotten what they’re like.”

  She snuggled against his warmth as he pulled a blanket up over them both. His breathing settled into the slow, even rhythm of sleep. Good. She’d already cost him a lot of rest, and she was glad to see him catch up a bit.

  She lay there in the dark for a long time, listening to the slow thud of his heart under her ear. Utter contentment settled upon her, and a peace she’d never known before seeped through her. Mac had been correct. This was the real deal, all right.

  MAC WAS SO comfortable when he woke up the next morning that he had to spend a moment figuring out just where he was. Ahh, yes. The storm. A magnificent night with Susan. And peace. He hadn’t slept so well in years, and it had nothing to do with being tired or sleeping in a good bed.

  A sound intruded on his lazy contentment. He frowned. Instinct told him that a similar sound had awakened him in the first place. It came again, a little louder, more insistent. Someone was knocking on Susan’s door. He slid his arm out from under her carefully and stood up. She looked like an angel with her hand curled under her chin and a faint smile on her lips. He hunted for his discarded shorts and yanked them on, hopping to the door as he did so. He cracked the door open. Dutch was standing there, looking exasperated.

  “What’s up?” Mac murmured.

  “Finally, Sleeping Beauty,” Dutch groused. “There’s a phone call for you downstairs.”

  Mac frowned. “I’ll be right down.”

  As he pulled on his T-shirt, it struck him that in all the years they’d been apart, all the times he’d lain in a jungle distracting himself from his misery, he’d never imagined that making love with Susan could be like that. He thought he had a pretty good imagination when it came to her. But he’d completely failed to factor in her growing up and becoming a confident, self-assured woman.

  He slipped out of Susan’s room quietly and bounded down the stairs three at a time. The other guys were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Dutch pointed at the phone on the desk in the far corner of the living room.

  Mac picked it up. “Conlon here.”

  “Mac, it’s Tom Foley. We got positive IDs on the photos Dutch sent us last night of the guys who followed you into the canyons with Ruala. They’re thugs on the payroll of Eduardo Ferrare.”

  “Killers?” Mac asked tersely.

  “Definitely. Nearly as nasty as Ruala himself.”

  Mac let loose a heartfelt curse at the confirmation of what he already suspected.

  “I hear you,” his boss commiserated. The colonel paused for a fraction of a second. Not many people would have noticed it, but Mac had worked for Tom Foley for eight years. He knew that pause. Bad news was forthcoming.

  “We have a source inside Ferrare’s organization, and Ruala has asked for additional firepower from his boss. Should be headed your way in a couple of days. These guys seriously want Susan dead. I think we need to pull her out. Go ahead and put her in the witness protection program somewhere on the other side of the world.”

  Mac’s gut clenched. Witness protection meant she would have to leave behind everyone she knew, forever. Everyone. Including him. How could he lose her after he’d just found her again?

  Not to mention witnesses against Ferrare had a way of ending up dead.

  “I’d hate to see Susan have to abandon her life…” The second the words left his mouth, Mac knew they were a mistake.

  Colonel Foley jumped all over it. “Dammit, I need you operating at one hundred percent. This case is huge. If you can’t maintain objectivity, tell me now.”

  Mac sighed heavily. “I honestly don’t know if I can do that, sir. But I do know this. Susan can be damned stubborn. She’s probably going to refuse to go into protective custody or witness protection. But, if it’s the only way to keep her safe, I’m the best chance we’ve got to talk her into it.”

  There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Then, “All right. But don’t screw it up. Get her to agree. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. I copy you loud and clear.” Sonofabitch. Standard procedure and the colonel’s orders were going to force him to drive her away from him. Again. She would never forgive him if he pushed her away a second time in one lifetime.

  The colonel was businesslike. “All right, then. I’ll get off the phone and let you get to it. And Mac—” a slight pause “—be smart. If you give a damn about her, stay focused on the mission.”

  Mac set down the receiver. Yeah. Focused. Keep Susan alive. Nuke their future together. No problem. He felt like he was going to throw up.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Susan floated down the stairs, as giddy as a teenager. It was a beautiful morning, the sun was shining, and somehow, someway, she and Mac had managed to find thei
r way back to each other after all these years. It was a miracle. For the first time since the shooting, she’d woken up feeling pretty. And lovable. She was still whole beneath her scars. The revelation was liberating. And she owed it to Mac.

  Dutch, Doc and Howdy sat dourly at the kitchen table. “You guys look like you’ve been sucking on lemons,” she joked as she breezed into the kitchen.

  They all made a momentary effort to look more congenial. And they all failed. She shrugged. She was too happy to be dragged down by a bunch of grouchy commandos. “Where’s Mac?” she asked, her head inside the refrigerator as she rummaged for breakfast.

  “He went out for a walk,” Dutch answered.

  Susan popped her head up over the refrigerator door. “Great. Thanks.”

  “I wouldn’t follow him, if I were you,” Doc commented.

  She turned around to look at him quizzically. “Why not?”

  Dutch answered quickly, “He’s setting up trip wires and traps around the perimeter. It could be dangerous.”

  Her enthusiasm waned a bit. “Oh. Well, that makes sense.”

  She began peeling an orange. It sprayed a fine, citrus mist into the air that smelled marvelous. “So. Are you guys excited about becoming ranch hands?”

  Dutch looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, Mac sent all my help away, and it’s been three days since any stalls got cleaned around here. Plus, there’s a shipment of hay due today. It has to be unloaded and stacked in the barn.”

  She grinned at the dismay that flickered across the three men’s faces. “Cheer up. You’re gonna love it. It’s lots of good, hard exercise in the fresh country air. Think how well you’ll all sleep tonight.”

  Dutch rolled his eyes. “Just what we need. Fresh country air.”

  The other men snorted and pushed away their cups of coffee.

  “Let’s get to it, then, gentlemen,” she said briskly.

  She had to admit it. She enjoyed ordering around a big, tough squad of macho, Special Forces soldiers. And good grief, were they ever fit! They got the chores done in half the time her regular workers would have taken and barely seemed to notice the exertion.

  There was no sign of Mac all morning. A tendril of doubt wove its way into her joy. Was he regretting last night? Surely not. He’d been completely relaxed afterward. Practically oozing contentment. He said he’d come home.

  She was just being paranoid. And goodness knew, after the week she’d just had, that was no big surprise.

  At lunchtime, Dutch, Doc and Howdy headed for the house and showers. While they recovered from fun with stacking two thousand bales of prickly alfalfa hay, she made them lunch. The guys came downstairs, smelling suspiciously of calamine lotion, and ate a leisurely meal. But there was still no sign of Mac. Her exuberance dimmed. Surely he wasn’t avoiding her. He’d seemed so at peace, so certain they were doing the right thing.

  She asked Dutch, “If I stay on the gravel footpaths between the barns, will I be clear of Mac’s traps and trip wires?”

  The blond man nodded. “He won’t arm them until after everyone’s inside for the night.”

  She told the men, “When you’re ready to get back to work, go find Frank. I’m sure he’s got plenty for you to do.”

  The men groaned but dutifully got to their feet.

  Susan grinned. “Thank Mac for this. He’s the guy who sent all my workers away.”

  The glint in the three men’s eyes boded ill for Mac the next time they saw him. She chortled to herself and went upstairs to change into clean clothes. She stood in her bathroom a few minutes later, brushing her hair, putting on a touch of makeup and actually dabbing on perfume. She stopped and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  She was only going outside to find Mac. It was ridiculous to do all this primping just for that. But it was Mac. She was willing to pull out every stop to make it work for them this time around. And then what? If—big if—Mac did fall for her again, what did she want from him? A long-term commitment? Fantasy sex for as long as he was here? A casual, ongoing fling? It was nearly impossible to think past the residual glow left over from last night.

  One step at a time. It was how she’d learned to walk again against all odds. How she’d made peace with her broken heart and gone on with life.

  She found Mac sitting next to the pond. Big, old cottonwood trees hung over the water’s edge, casting flickering shade over the glassy water. He looked up briefly when she approached him but then went back to staring at the pond.

  “Hi, stranger,” she said softly.

  “Hi,” was his short response.

  He didn’t sound mad, just distant. “Mind if I sit down?”

  He didn’t even glance up. “Nope.”

  She sat beside him for several minutes, enjoying the quiet of the place. Finally she commented, “We missed you at lunch. I brought you a snack.” She held out the club sandwich she’d made for him.

  “Thanks.” He took it, unwrapped it and bit into it.

  “You know, the guys are plenty mad at you. They got stuck mucking stalls and stacking hay while you skipped out on them.”

  Mac shrugged. “I was busy.”

  “Are the traps and trip wires set?” she asked.

  “Yeah. They’re laid. I won’t arm them until later, when Ruala makes his move. You can move around your ranch for now without blowing up.”

  She smiled. “Good to know.”

  He nodded and looked back out over the crystalline surface of the pond. Man, he was really making her work hard to keep dead silence from falling between them. “Help me out here, Mac. I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

  He shot her an unfathomable look. After a moment he leaned back against a tree. “Okay, I’ll play ball. Tell me why you wanted to act as bait for Ruala in this op.”

  She blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected. “You need the help if you’re going to catch him. I volunteered to give it. What more is there to say?”

  “Why did you volunteer to help?” he asked.

  She stared at him. “You have to ask?”

  He stared back. “I’m asking.”

  Her gaze narrowed. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting she might have done it partially to be with him again. Instead she asked tartly, “It didn’t occur to you that the same patriotic zeal to nail Ruala that burns in your chest might burn in mine?”

  “What occurred to me was that working with the Blackjacks nearly got you killed the last time. Why in the hell would you come back for more?”

  “Why are you still chasing Ruala? He’s already burned you once. Why come back for more?” she retorted.

  His eyes flared in anger and he gestured at her leg. “Because I want to nail the bastard who did that to you.”

  She stared back at him significantly.

  His brows came together in a dark frown. He growled, “It’s not your job to go after Ruala, Susan.”

  “Why the heck not?” she demanded.

  He opened his mouth, but apparently thought better of what was about to come out of it.

  “Exactly,” she snapped. “I have the right to avenge my own wrongs. I was thrilled to death when you offered me another shot at Ruala.”

  Mac opened his mouth a second time, but she cut him off.

  “Don’t you dare tell me that women aren’t supposed to take matters like this into their own hands, Mac Conlon.”

  He subsided, but the mutinous glint in his eyes said he disagreed with her.

  “How in the world did you get to be such an overprotective chauvinist, anyway?” she asked, frustrated.

  To her surprise he actually considered the question seriously. Her surprise transformed to shock when he answered slowly, “My father left my mother for his secretary when I was twelve. It destroyed my mom. Somebody had to step up to the plate and take care of her, and the job fell to me. It’s what I do. I look out for the women I care about.”

  Whoa. Not what she’d exp
ected when she flung out the accusation. If they were laying out their cards like this, she might as well go for broke. She cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind my asking, why is it you care about me again?”

  Mac looked at her sharply. “You have to ask?”

  She threw his own words back at him. “I’m asking.”

  He shrugged. “We fit. You hold my interest. You make me laugh—hell, I don’t know. You turn me on.”

  Not going to admit he had feelings for her today, was he? She pressed, “But why? Why would a guy like you, who can have any woman he wants, choose someone like me?”

  His head snapped up. “Can it with the crippled, ugly-me act. I’m getting real damned tired of it.”

  His words slapped at her, and she gasped at the sting.

  He glared at her. “You’re even better looking now than you were ten years ago, and you’re a far sight sexier. Hell, I thought we were good together before, but last night blew my mind. When are you going to get it through your stubborn skull that you’re a stunningly attractive woman?”

  She touched the scar on her neck. “Most people think this thing is rather stunning. Repulsive, in fact.”

  Mac snorted. “Have you seen the scar on my chest? It’s twice the size of that puny thing.”

  Susan stared at him, dumbfounded. He was serious! He honestly didn’t think her scar was all that ugly, or interesting for that matter. Most people couldn’t take their eyes off it. Entire conversations were known to take place with her scar. Not to mention people’s squirming discomfort and solicitous fussing over her limp.

  “What is it about having a fancy scar or a limp that made you believe you can’t ever get married or have a family?” he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

  She winced. Boy, his aim was dead-on today. She answered lightly, “It takes two people to pursue getting married or having a family. I’ve never found any man who could take his eyes off my scar or get over my limp long enough to be interested in me.”