Hard to Hold (14 page)

Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.
No matter how hard she probed with the length of hooked wire she’d liberated from
the toaster, the mechanism wouldn’t budge. She must have dislodged a tiny screw or
something because the lock was jammed.

Sucking in a panicked breath, she aimed the wire hook at the keyhole to try again.
A long index finger got in the way.

She recognized the digit and swore again, even more roughly. Tucking the laptop under
her arm, she pulled upright and turned to face the fury she knew awaited her. “Nick.
I don’t supposed you’d believe me if I said I was just trying to help?”

Rather than speak—she guessed from the rigid line of his lips that he found speech
impossible—he turned her a hundred and eighty degrees, fixed a hand around the nape
of her neck, and steered her toward her bedroom.

Shit. She could feel his temper soaking through his fingers, burning her skin. Getting
caught mid-misdemeanor was bad. Getting caught by Nick, the very worst.

When they reached her bedroom, he gave her a gentle shove to propel her forward and
kicked the door shut with his heel.

She spun to face him but continued to back up. “If you shout at me, I’ll cry, and
then those men you’ve got guarding me will shoot you. They like me more than they
like you. You scare them. I know, because I heard them talking.”

He slowly advanced on her. “Give me the laptop, Anna.”

Shaking her head, backing up, she wrapped her arms around the device and clutched
it to her chest. She’d done nothing wrong. Not really.

The back of her thighs hit the edge of something solid, halting her retreat. He only
stopped advancing when the tip of his boot nudged her bare toes. She slapped the palm
of her hand to his chest to hold him at bay, the heat of his fury scorched through
the fine cotton of his shirt, hot enough to practically erase her fingerprints. “I
went foraging for information, Nick. To help. And…and I think I found something…something
important, about Antila, a clue, a lead, if you’d just listen.” she babbled desperately.

“Important enough to exonerate you from the unbelievably stupid risk you took?” He
removed the laptop from beneath her unresisting arm and set it aside on the small
desk behind her. “What if you’ve triggered a trap, Anna? Left a footprint that will
allow whoever is trying to kill you to triangulate our position?”

Another wave of his anger hit her, her sense of insult beat it hands down. “A footprint?
Me? In cyberspace?” She tossed her head and gave a dry, little laugh of incredulity.
“You never did have much faith in me did you, Nick?”

Of their own volition, her hands rose to push against the rigid contours of his chest.
An act of defiance. She swore to herself his doubt in her ability hadn’t hurt her,
not even a little bit. So why had her sense of self-worth just deflated like a pin-pricked
balloon? “And stop trying to intimidate me. Go glare at someone else,” she said wearily.

“I want you intimidated. It might be the only way to keep you in line. In fact, I
want you downright scared.”

The word “scared” plowed into her brain like a bullet fired in a deadly game of Russian
roulette. That was the answer she’d been looking for. The reason Nick, who’d feared
nothing and no man had changed. He’d been scared. No, not just scared, petrified.

She stared at him for a long moment and then, unsure her legs would continue to hold
her, brushed passed him and crossing to the bed, sat down, her spine rigid. Why hadn’t
he confided in her? Told her he was afraid. Yes, she’d been flippant, taken little
seriously in the life they’d shared, but she’d have understood. Helped him. Tried
to anyway. “I’m scared of a lot of things, Nick, but not you. For you, yes, but not
of you. If you had just trusted me, I could have—”

“What, Anna? Pretended it wasn’t real? That I wasn’t really a killer?”

Her heart cracked a little more for him as she watched him sweep an agitated hand
through his hair. Nick had put himself on trial and, acting as both judge and jury,
found himself guilty. Stupid, stupid man.

“I couldn’t let you be around me. It wasn’t safe.
I
wasn’t safe.”

No way was she letting him get away with that belief. “Why? Because you were some
kind of vigilante? Because you carried a gun and used it against those who due process
couldn’t touch? Someone had to be brave enough to do it.”

“It was not vigilantism,” he said tightly. “The Service sanctioned every hit I ever
made, even that bastard Sam Belington’s. I just didn’t carry out
his
killing the way they intended. Coldly. Calmly. Efficiently. Instead, I lost my head.
Because he threatened you. That’s when I realized you weakened me, made me less than
the man I wanted to be. So, I stood myself down and made a blood vow I would never
kill again. The blood was Sam Belington’s.”

A pillow was the closest thing to hand. She gripped it and launched it at Nick’s head.
“That’s right, you fucking idiot, you’ve made a choice. Very different from your father’s.”

Pain lanced her chest. For what she’d lost. For what he’d lost. Because he’d been
too bloody proud to share. She dragged her wrist across her eyes. She wouldn’t cry.
There was no point. She struggled to get her breathing under control. “Your father
killed for personal gain and because he enjoyed it. You killed, because sometimes
it’s the only way real justice can be served.” That couldn’t be her voice. Quiet.
Lifeless. She swallowed the mountain in her throat before continuing.

“Doesn’t the fact that those killings still bother you tell you anything? Like you’re
a good man but with an overdeveloped sense of conscience? So you’ve got a temper,
a vicious one when something or someone you care about is under threat. It’s what
makes you human, Nick. Where you went wrong was in crediting your father with so much,
and yourself with nothing at all. And I’m not sure I will ever be able to forgive
you for that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, so leave it alone, Anna.”

“Why? I’m not afraid of you, but by God, you are afraid of yourself. Ballentyne has
a gruesome history, and even Will has another side to him, too, yet I’ve never heard
you condemn them. Maybe it’s time you turned the math on its head and thought about
the number of lives you’ve saved rather than cut short.”

“And when did you get to be so bloody philosophical?”

She’d never felt so numb, so empty. And she was tired. Just plain worn out by the
sheer futility of…everything. “I’m not, but my instincts have always been sharp,”
she said quietly, without any real focus.

“Well, those instincts let you down when it came to me.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, in a way they did. I knew something was wrong between us
just as I knew something was tearing you apart. But I thought it was me. That I was
the one at fault. I just couldn’t figure out what the hell it was I’d done wrong.”

…

Nick swore. It was as if someone had thrown a switch and turned Anna into an automaton.
She was yessing and noing him like some hideous Stepford Wife. Shouldering the blame
irrespective of where the real blame lay.

After crossing to the bed, he lowered himself down beside her. The mattress dipped
under his weight. She grabbed the bedstead to steady her balance, but that was her
only reaction.

He reached for her chin and nudged her to face him. He needed eye contact. “Anna,
it wasn’t you; it was me. Okay?”

He felt her pulse trip beneath his forefinger resting the length of her jawline. Its
thready pace let him know she wasn’t convinced. But it was her eyes, the lilac flat
with sadness that slayed him.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in and brushed her lips with his own. He’d
have wrapped her in his arms but doubted he’d ever find the strength to release her
if he did. “Our marriage failed because of me, not you. You tried hard. I didn’t try
hard enough.”

He watched confusion cloud her eyes, confusion with a definite hint of wariness. He
hated the shadow of both. She didn’t hesitate; she didn’t doubt. Her what’s-the-worst-that-can-happen
approach to life had made him laugh as often as it had infuriated him.

He gave less than a nanosecond’s thought to the wisdom of taking a leaf out of her
book. He leaned in, promising himself he’d allow his lips to linger against hers just
long enough to convince her of his sincerity, and then he’d pull away.

But it was like igniting a Chinese firecracker. One touch and she had him flat on
his back and straddled in an instant, devouring him with a fervency that sucked the
air from his lungs and set his groin ablaze. And God help him, he didn’t even try
to stop her. Rather, he helped, ripping the buttons from his shirt when slipping them
free of their fastenings proved too slow for her urgent little fingers.

His woman wanted him fully naked. She demanded it between the hot little kisses she
pressed across his chest. His mind was too shot to refuse. With a twist and single
buck of his hips, he flipped her onto her back. One hand, his fingers buried deep
in her hair, locked on the back of her head while his tongue danced with hers, the
other loosening his pants so he could shuck them free.

Some too-rarely exercised instinct yelled at him to slow down. Yelled at him that
Anna deserved better than a fast, furious fuck, however gratifying. She deserved tender.
Time measured in years, not hours. A lifetime would be too short. She deserved a slow,
sensual loving. Stroking. Caressing. Soft whispers. Adoration.

Rearing back, he caught her hands the instant she tried to pull him back and pinned
her wrists above her head. “No, Anna, Not this time. Not like this. We’ve done hot,
fast, and angry. It’s time for a change.”

And, boy, was she livid. Her eyes spitting sparks, her skin static with fury, her
chest rising and falling, expelling furious little pants.

Christ, what a turn on. How the hell was he supposed to survive this woman? How the
hell was he supposed to hold back?

Resting on his arms, her hands safely trapped within his, he groaned and pressed his
hips more firmly against her as she rebelled and tried to wriggle loose. “Stop fighting.
I’m not rejecting you. I couldn’t if I tried. I just want to slow things down.” His
gaze, hot, hungry, feasted on her naked curves. “I want to reacquaint myself with
every inch of your body. To touch you, stroke you. Taste and inhale you. I already
know we can do spice. I want to know if we can do sweet. Slow and sweet.”

The doubt was back, so too the wariness, the lilac depths of her eyes bruising to
purple.

He relaxed his arms and lowering his head, explored the length of her neck with his
lips. “Trust me. Please, let me…let me just love you.” He swore his heart ceased to
beat while he waited for her consent, his face buried against her throat, her scent,
wild thyme sweet with a hint of pepper, enough to bring an army of hardened warriors
weeping to their knees. He felt her nod, hesitant and a little suspicious but brave,
and his chest tore open, his heart soaring into flight.

He guided her hands to the narrow up-struts of the wrought iron bedstead. “Grab hold.
Don’t let go. I win if you do.” He knew his challenge would keep her fingers fixed
tight. She would never surrender. He was counting on it. If she touched him, it would
be game over. He’d lose control, ravish her. He was having enough trouble capping
the volcano as it was.

Reaching out, he extinguished the bedside lamp. “Darkness heightens the senses, and
I need you to feel, Anna. Feel how love can be gentle. Feel how love can be tender.
Don’t fight it. Just feel.” He wasn’t sure whether his words were for her or for himself.

He kept his fingers whisper light, his lips lighter still, the wicked path of both
unpredictable. Her intermittent, tiny gasps of shock, fed his thrill. Christ, her
skin lured like silk warming in the sun, her scent, her taste, like a honeyed, lifesaving
essence to a dying man. He felt her clench her struts of the bedstead more tightly,
her arms quiver with the strain, and swallowed his fierce need to roar—
you’re mine
.

Growling softly, more an endless purr, his lips skimming south, his teeth nipping,
the tip of his tongue soothing, he lost himself in the need to show her instead.

He loved that she celebrated all that she was by going bare. So smooth, so plump,
so sensitive. Flawless. He fastened his lips and sucked. Slowly. Then more deeply.
He pulled away to watch as she writhed, keened in inarticulate protest at the loss
of his touch. Ignoring the white heat ripping his groin, he smiled and gently slid
two fingers home, his head dipping to recapture her taste. So hot. So rich. So wicked.

His tongue quickened. His fingers played and plunged.

This wasn’t sex as he knew it, the joyous but competitive game of rough kiss-tag he
was used to with her. This was time-suspended, all-barriers-down giving. Worship.
Soul-thieving love. A lifetime’s worth of adoration he’d selfishly withheld to save
himself.

She came apart. Over him. Around him. Her sweetness, the holy grail he’d been searching
for all his life.

Delighting in the little aftershocks she couldn’t hide from him, he blew soft puffs
of exquisitely placed cooling breath against her skin as he traced his way back up
her body.

“Hey, come back, baby, I’m losing you,” he whispered throatily as she slumped bonelessly
beneath him.

His kisses might have momentarily ceased but not his hands, not his fingertips. They
still stroked and strummed.

“Please, Nick, I can’t do this, not again. Not so soon. I don’t understand. I’m losing
myself, who I am. I’m—ouch!”

He’d pinched her thigh, not hard, but with blood singing in her veins and her skin
ultrasensitive, just enough to sting. Deliciously. He didn’t want her drifting away.
The night was still and quiet, he needed it endless. And he wanted her to know this
was real. Urgently real.