Hard Core (Onyx Group) (19 page)

Muttering a curse, Slade tried to push those thoughts out of
his mind. Gallagher was right. Things were different. He was different. Because
of Alana. She’d made him change his pattern. Experience taught him that
changing patterns, straying from the plan, could be deadly. This time, it
wasn’t his life in danger. It was hers.

And his promise chained him to her for eternity.

“You’re bleeding again.”

Cristian’s lips twisted. He opened his eyes to find Alana
striding toward him, wearing nothing except one of his shirts. It reached
mid-thigh, showcasing long, shapely legs that carried her with the grace of a
queen. The top buttons were undone and he admitted the shirt looked better on
her than it did him. Dammit, she’d get them all killed if she kept walking
around half-naked. But there was also something different about her.
Something…stronger, more determined. He could see it in the stubborn set to her
chin and the confidence in her stride. Whatever it was, it looked good on her.
It made him think he was getting another glimpse of the woman she’d once been.

“And don’t say it’s nothing,” she chided, coming to stand in
front of him. It was all he could do not to tear the shirt off her and see if
she wore anything underneath. To feel her silky smooth skin beneath his
fingertips.

“Go take a shower and wash the blood off,” she ordered in
her doctor-knows-best tone. “Then I’ll take a look.”

Just one more step and she would be standing between his
thighs. Instead, she backed up to give him room to stand. Rising to his feet,
he headed for his bedroom, silently berating himself for what he’d been about
to do. Jesus, what a mess.

Over his shoulder he said, “No need, Doc, it’s fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

At the door, Slade turned to her. “No.” Then disappeared
inside. He was too explosive for her to touch him so intimately. It would lead
to the wrong things. And places he’d banned himself from. As her protector, he
had to stay away from her. That was how it worked. This, he could not stray
from. Not again.

Even if it killed him.

Alana bolted upright in bed, reaching into the darkness for
people who weren’t there. Disoriented, she looked around the room. Not her hut,
but Cristian’s bedroom. His bed. And she was alone.

She bit back a sob and rubbed a hand over her aching chest.
The pain couldn’t be rubbed away. It was in her soul.

Emptiness washed over her. She threw the covers back and
swung her legs to the floor. Cristian’s bed was big and lonely. Too big. Too
lonely.

Nightmare lingering, Alana crept out of the room and through
the living room where Cristian slept. She longed to wake him up, join him on
the sofa since it was close in size to the cot in her hut, but she moved on
through to the kitchen and searched the cupboards for liquor. Anything to take
away the ache in her chest.

Finding a bottle of aged scotch, she broke the seal and
poured two fingers. She downed it in one swallow, coughed into her hand while
her eyes watered, and poured another. This one she carried into the living
room, past Cristian where he lay unmoving, and to the wall of windows
overlooking the city. Lights twinkled, reminding her of home in Boston. It
didn’t offer comfort like it once had.

Pressing her forehead against the cool glass, she closed her
eyes, willing the ache to go away. So many regrets in her life. She missed her
father. She missed her mother. And Leya. All of them. God, how she wanted that
life back.

“Alana? What are you doing up?”

Cristian’s soft question floated through the darkness,
tinged with uncustomary concern. She didn’t turn for fear she would run to him
and throw herself in his arms, begging him to erase her memories. But he
couldn’t erase them. Make her forget for a while, but not wipe them away. In
fact, the nightmares would worsen when she heard his answers.

Answers she needed to know.

“Tell me how my father died,” she said quietly.

Silence. “It won’t change anything.”

Except her nightmares would be more cohesive and less
fearful of the unknown. “Please. You promised.”

“Dammit, Alana.”

“Tell me.”

And he did. Telling her with soft menace in the darkness how
Gavin’s men had slaughtered her family with bullets and torched the village
afterward. With each word, images formed in her mind and tore her apart. She
didn’t have to witness it to know exactly what kind of massacre Gavin had left
behind. She had seen it first-hand when he came to the island and murdered the
other tribe that lived there. There had been no one left to save that day.

When Cristian finished, she downed the rest of her scotch.
“My father? Did he suffer?”

He cursed behind her, still on the sofa. “Yes.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “For very long?”

“Alana--”

“Did he suffer long?” she demanded, cutting him off.

“Dammit, yes. For almost twelve hours. Only one thing kept
him alive.”

“What?” she whispered as her heart ripped out of her chest.

“You. You kept him alive.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t understand.”

“He stayed alive until he knew you were taken care of. He
thought you had been kidnapped. That’s not it, is it? You weren’t kidnapped.”

“No,” she said quietly, staring out at the twinkling lights
of the city. “I knew Gavin would come for me. I just didn’t know it would be so
soon.”

“Keep going.”

After a deep breath, she began her own story. “When Gavin
moved to the island, he slaughtered the other tribe that lived there. Fate had
it that he found them before us. I…I tried to save them, but it was too late.
He had all of them killed. And I knew he would come for us too, so I went to
his home and pleaded with him to spare us. He took a liking to me and agreed
under one condition.”

“Go on,” Cristian growled.

“He made me promise to become his after six months. He
granted me the time so I could spend it with my father. He was dying of cancer
and didn’t have long, so I agreed, knowing my father would never live to see
what I had done.”

“You sacrificed yourself for them.”

“Yes.”

“But Ross changed the rules.”

“Yes. He slaughtered my family when he gave his word not to.
I should have known he couldn’t be trusted.”

Cristian cursed behind her.

“No one knew what I had done. They knew Gavin was a monster.
They saw what he did to the other tribe. They died because of me, and for that
I will never forgive myself.”

“You can’t blame yourself for something Ross did,” Cristian
said roughly.

She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It was my fault Ross did
it.”

“Do you also blame yourself for the hurricanes that
eradicate people all over the world and the tornadoes that destroy trailer
parks?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Case in point.”

“Is everything so black and white to you?”

“No. I live in shades of gray. Mercenaries often do.”

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. He wasn’t
the type of man to blow smoke. He believed what he said, that she wasn’t to
blame for her father’s death. But she knew better.

She twisted the glass in her hands. “I thought saying it out
loud would make it easier.”

“You did nothing wrong. You tried to save them from a
madman. You did your best.”

It wasn’t good enough. “But they died anyway. Brutally. And
I live.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I should be burning in that village with them.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Cristian said viciously. “You don’t have
a death wish. Not you.”

Alana whirled around to face him where he sat in the
shadows. “Why not me? What have I got, Cristian? What is there for me now? I
have no home, no money, no friends or family. I walked away from a promising
career years ago and you don’t get a second chance at something like that. So where
do I go from here? Everything I loved was on that island.”

Suddenly in front of her, Cristian gripped her arms
painfully. “I won’t hear you talk like that. You’re all that’s right and good
in the world. You save people, help people, selflessly, and I won’t let you
give up. I won’t let Ross take that from you.”

Breathing hard, Alana stared at him, unable to speak.
Cristian didn’t say such things. Even though he said them with no small amount
of conviction, she knew he meant every word. That was how he saw her.

“You’re a fool,” she whispered.

He pressed her against the windows, the glass cool against
her bare legs, his body hot and unyielding. His gaze bore down into hers and
her breath caught. This was the dark, unpredictable man she’d treated in
jungle.

“I am a fool,” he agreed, his voice low and guttural and
encircled her neck with a hand, thumb resting on the pulse beating frantically
there. “I put bruises on you.”

At first she started to disagree, but the distance in his
eyes told her he was in the past too. Remembering when he had fought her so she
wouldn’t stick him with a needle.

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m tougher than I look. Don’t blame yourself.”

His eyes lifted to meet hers. “It seems we both share the
same burden. Guilt.”

“I guess we do.”

She wanted him to kiss her. His lips were a mere few inches
from her own. His body hot, hard against hers.

“So you understand why I can’t let mine go?”

He scowled. “I do.”

That drew a sad smile from her. “Did you mean what you said
about me? Do you think I’m those things?”

“Yes.”

She melted a little inside. “I got into your scotch.”

He glanced down at the empty glass in her hand. “I see that.
That bottle has been on my shelf for twelve years.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugged, his hand resting lightly on her collarbone.

“Were you saving it?”

“No.”

“I needed it.”

He nodded.

She pressed a kiss to his neck. “I don’t want to drink to
forget my nightmares.”

His hand tightened on her waist. “Alana...”

“Please, Cristian. Make love to me.” Wrapping her legs
around his waist, she circled her arms behind his neck, holding the glass
against his back.

He growled and all that intensity rolled into her. The air
crackled with tension. In one swift move, he kicked his pants off and plunged
inside her. She gasped as he filled her, pressing her against the window.

“Yes,” she groaned when he nipped her neck and began moving
inside her, thrusting deep, touching her where she needed it most. Her body
matched his tempo, building, screaming for release. Digging her heels into his
buttocks, she urged him on.

“Now.” Cristian groaned and she let go. He pushed her over
the edge, following with a primal grunt of possession that only heightened her
climax. The glass slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor as she came
apart in his arms.

When the waves subsided, she laid her head back against the
window and closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Sex with Cristian was
demanding, exhilarating. He unlocked something inside her. Something primal. It
scared her as much as it excited her.

He pressed his lips against her throat, tonguing the pulse
still pounding there. It leapt beneath his touch.

Without pulling out, he lifted her away from the window and
carried her toward the bedroom. Kicking the door closed, he walked to the bed
and lay down with her in the center, still joined.

“Kiss me,” she said and he did. All night long. She didn’t
have any more nightmares that night.

* * * *

Slade gripped Alana’s waist, staring up at the beautiful,
naked woman riding him. Her head was thrown back, her fiery hair cascading down
her back and brushing erotically against his thighs. Beautiful. Soft, sensual,
sexy. She made love like she did everything else in her life, with complete
selflessness and commitment.

A flush spread across her chest as her movements and
breathing quickened. Her fingertips dug into his chest. He wanted to take over
and drive into her, but he let her set the pace, take what she needed from him.
Her appetite for sex was insatiable. The more she got, the more she wanted, and
it turned him on. He’d been with women who liked sex, but it had never been
like this. He craved her.

“Oh, yes.” Alana’s breathing quickened with her pace. Slade
held on, along for the ride, wanting to remember her like this. Free,
uninhibited, confident and sexy. Taking what she wanted. In control.

“Cristian,” she moaned as her body bucked with wave after
wave of her climax. His tore through him with the strength of a tidal wave, his
fingers digging into her hips.

Afterward, Alana collapsed against his chest. “That was
amazing,” she breathed, pressing her lips against his collarbone. “I’m hungry.”

Slade smiled into her hair. “Stay here.” He rolled her off
him, then climbed out of bed. She sprawled languidly, a satisfied smile on her
flushed face, completely oblivious to her nudity.

He paused a moment to look at her. Red hair splayed across
his pillow, smiling, relaxed, beautiful. This was how she should be. Not
haunted by tragedy and loss. Not hunted by a madman.

“Bring me a glass of water too?” She rolled onto her side,
hugging his pillow.

Stepping into his pants, Slade left her to gather food and
drink, his chest tight. He was not the man for Alana, but he would make damn
sure she was free to live and love. He would hunt Ross to the ends of the earth
if he had to. Alana would have her life back. That, he vowed.

He returned a few minutes later with sliced fruit, bottled
water, crackers and cheese. Alana sat up, tucked her legs under her and held
her hands out for the offering. He set the tray in the middle of the bed,
shucked his pants, and joined her.

They ate in comfortable silence until the tray was empty. He
set it aside, turned out the light and lay down. Alana curled into his side
with her head on his chest. Normally he would pull away or leave after sex, not
wanting the complications. With Alana, he found he wanted to stay.

After a few minutes, she spoke quietly in the darkness. “Who
is Mariette?”

Sucker-punched, Slade stiffened. “How do you know about
Mariette?”

“You mentioned her name while you were with fever.”

“I said too much.”

“You didn’t say enough. Who is she?”

Slade stared up at the ceiling. “The first woman I ever
cared about.”

“Did you love her?”

“Not enough.”

“Why not?”

“She didn’t know my true identity. I never told her my real
name. She knew me as Cary Sayer. The name I enlisted into the French Foreign
Legion under.”

“You were a soldier?”

“A long time ago. I left home at seventeen and started
traveling.”

“Your father beat you,” Alana said quietly.

“Christ, I told you that?” Was there nothing he didn’t tell
her? Maybe the names of the men he’d killed? The names on the deeds to his
houses. Hell, the numbers to his bank accounts.

“Under the influence.”

He sighed. Too late to turn back now. “Yeah, my old man was
a bastard. Blamed me for Mom leaving.”

“She left you?”

“When I was six. Just up and left while I was at school. She
never came back.”

“Does that have anything to do with your fear of needles?”

He rubbed a hand down her arm, needing to touch her to ward
off bad memories. “I was taken away for a year and put in foster care. Should
have been better than with my old man, but it wasn’t. My luck, I got foster
care parents who drugged their children to make them sleep all the time so they
didn’t have to take care of them. They would stick us with needles full of
whatever to make us sleep. I hated the way I felt. Like a zombie most of the
time.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft, full of emotion he didn’t
want to hear. He’d gotten over it a long time ago. She didn’t need to feel
sorry for him.