Hunted (11 page)

Mike didn’t believe Mojo was heading to Canada. He didn’t care that he’d been spotted in Laramie. The man had made a promise. One thing Mike had learned—Mojo didn’t give up. He might not come after them tonight, but he would come. Mike would stake his life on that.

He went inside and kicked the door closed behind him. He couldn’t manage the lock, not with his arms so full. Hurrying to the living room, he stopped in front of the fireplace.

Becky and Sam were there to help. They each lifted split logs from the pile and placed them next to the grate. As soon as they were done, he went back to the kitchen and locked the door. Only when he heard the click of the dead bolt did he feel comfortable enough to slip off his gloves and his jacket.

“Come on, Dad. Mom’s talking about doing the puzzle again.”

Mike didn’t go yet. He grew still, and let his feverish mind calm down. Nothing was going to happen, except a nice, quiet evening. He would play checkers. That’s all. No use thinking about anything else. He breathed slowly and deeply, letting the air out in a long sigh. Then he went back into the living room.

Becky sat on the couch, with Sam bent over the armrest, his butt high in the air. Mike remembered how he’d called him Monkey Man, after Sam had just learned to walk. Sam had loved to climb. Over chairs, people, toys, it didn’t seem to matter. He fell as often as not, and Mike remembered coming to the rescue. Picking him up and holding him tight until the wailing came to a halting finish.

A lump came to his throat and he felt foolish and sentimental. What the hell was happening to him? “Hey, come help me with this fire.”

Sam was up in a blink, and by his side. Together, they fashioned a decent pile of paper, kindling and logs. Mike lit it in several places, then sat back on his haunches to watch it come to life.

“Pretty good job, Dad.”

When he looked over at Sam, he saw the boy mimic his stance exactly. His hands were on his thighs, his bottom resting on the backs of his legs. Even the smile on his face copied his own expression. “Thank you, son,” he said. He had to swallow pretty hard before he could talk again. “So, what’s up next? Checkers?”

“Yeah. I'm red.”

Mike positioned himself comfortably across from Sam. When he turned to look at Becky, he saw she’d risen from the couch. She came over to join them, and sat down, facing the fire.

“Come to watch my inglorious defeat, eh?” he asked.

She nodded, and gave him a crooked grin. The light from the fire made her look soft and lovely. “You bet. I don’t want to be the only one to go down in flames tonight. I warn you, he’s tricky.”

With some effort, he turned his attention to the game. It moved along quickly, as Sam was pretty ruthless. The fire was the perfect accompaniment to the evening, crackling away and turning the room into a warm cocoon.

He would remember every detail, he thought. Every move, every sound. He would memorize the way Sam bit on his lower lip while he concentrated. The way Becky hugged her knees up to her chest while she watched them. The warmth that came more from contentment than the fire.

In the nights to come, after they’d all gone back to the real world, he would travel back here, to this night, and replay the scene in his mind. It would be enough. It had to be.

After the second game, which Sam won, of course, Becky made hot chocolate. When she came back, she sat closer to Mike. Close enough to touch.

He was incredibly aware of how near she was. If she leaned just a little to her left, their legs would brush. He sipped his hot chocolate and burned his tongue. That seemed to amuse his son.

“You have a mean streak,” he said, turning his gaze to Becky.

“I know,” Sam said.

Becky only smiled, and let her hand drop to his knee. The contact was hotter than the burning liquid. The electric sensation traveled straight through to his groin. He moved just enough to dislodge her hand. Then he forced himself to concentrate on the game.

A log shifted and he jumped.

She touched his arm.

He almost groaned out loud.

Sam saved him this time. He kicked the checkerboard and scattered the pieces. Mike moved quickly to retrieve them, making sure he was just out of Becky’s reach.

Was she doing this intentionally? Did she have any idea what her casual moves were doing to him? If she did, she was crueler than he’d ever imagined.

He set up the game again. He focused on the board, on his cocoa, on the fire, but he didn’t look at her. What if he saw that her touches had been a signal? That she, too, was thinking about making love? Worse, what if they weren’t?

Sam crowned his man, and Mike cursed. When Sam’s mouth dropped open, he realized he’d said the word out loud. “Sorry,” he said, risking one glance at Becky.

It was one glance too many.

She smiled at him mischievously, shaking her head at his faux pas. When she moved, the soft tendrils of hair that had escaped from her braid shimmered in the firelight. Her lips seemed moist and inviting, and her skin looked softer and sweeter than anything mortal man would ever touch.

“Don’t you mean fudge?” she said.

He nodded.

She turned to face Sam, and he let out his breath. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing. He had to get the hell out of here, that’s all.

“Well, I'm gonna turn in now,” he said, stretching his arms way out to the side. “Too much excitement for me.”

“Good idea,” Becky said. “We'll play that word game tomorrow. It’s time for you to go to bed, too, Sam.”

Sam got to his feet. “Can’t we play one more game? I know, let’s work on the puzzle.”

Becky laughed. “Not on a bet. Upstairs, kiddo.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Mike said, a little more forcefully than he’d intended.

“You go on and get in pj’s while I help Daddy straighten up down here. Then I'll be up to say good-night.”

Sam looked at Becky, ready to start pleading his case. Mike stood up, and spun Sam around so he faced the stairs. “Bed,” he said. “Now.”

Sam gave one pitiful glance back and headed for his room.

“And no computer tonight, either,” Becky said. “You can read for a while if you want, but that’s all.”

The exaggerated sigh matched his slow, dragging steps up the stairs.

Becky watched him until he was out of sight, then she turned to Mike. “So, are you really sleepy, or did you just want to stop playing checkers?”

“How did you guess?”

She laughed as she stood up. “I could see your eyes start to glaze over.”

“Four games is about my limit.”

“Don’t run off,” she said. “I'll be back down in a minute. I'm just going to make sure he gets to bed.”

Becky didn’t look back at him as she headed up the stairs. She wondered, not for the first time that evening, just what had gotten into her. She felt as if she were infused with electricity, that if she touched anything she would see a spark. The night had been the best she’d had in a long, long time. Seeing Sam so relaxed was a tonic. And Mike. My God, it felt as if he’d come back from the dead.

Had he noticed that she had trouble keeping her distance? That she’d found herself touching him, just to reassure herself that he was really there, and that they were really having such a wonderful time?

She didn’t want it to end. She wanted to go back downstairs and talk to him, like they used to. She felt as though he’d let down his guard, and she wanted to take full advantage of it. How she’d missed him.

More than ever before, she realized all she’d lost. Mike had been her best friend. She’d been able to say anything to him, and he’d understood. He’d confided in her, too. They’d shared so much. His love had been the very center of her life, and losing him had cost her dearly.

Seeing Sam in his pajamas, sitting up in bed with the covers pulled over his lap, filled her with a completely different kind of satisfaction. Tonight had been so good for him. He missed Mike, too. She went over to the bed and kissed Sam on the cheek. “'Night, sweetie.”

He gave her a reluctant grin.

She walked to the door. “You want to read? I'll leave the light on.”

“No, that’s okay.”

She smiled and blew him a kiss before she turned off the light and pulled the door closed. She rested her head against the hard wood, and said a silent “thank you.”

She got halfway down the stairs before she saw Mike. He stood by the fire, watching her. He caught her gaze, and held it steady.

Somehow, the heat from the flames had invaded his body, and his eyes were ablaze.

She stopped still, feeling her own temperature rise.

He’d unbuttoned his shirt, and it hung open and loose. Dark, curly hair in an inverted V played over the muscles. She felt her mouth go dry as she scanned his washboard stomach. His jeans rode low on tight, slim hips, and his hands were tightly fisted by his side.

Her pulse accelerated, and she stopped thinking about anything at all. Without her willing it, her hands moved to her head and she began to loosen her prim braid.

His gaze zeroed in on her hands, and she moved slowly and deliberately. She shook her head and felt the soft curls touch her cheeks.

She wondered if he could hear her heart beat.

He moved to the staircase, his gaze never leaving her face.

She walked down, drawn to him as if by a magnet. My God, she’d missed this, too. So much it frightened her. She took another step, and then he was in front of her. They were eye-level, with him on the step below. He reached out and touched her hair. Then his palm moved to her cheek and his rough hand caressed her with infinite tenderness.

He pulled her toward him, and she fell into his kiss.

S
he closed her eyes as he closed the distance between them. His lips touched hers softly. She trembled as he deepened the pressure. Her arms wrapped around his neck, while his hands moved up and down her back in slow circles. He brought her closer, pressing his stomach against hers, and she felt the hard evidence of his desire.

She opened her mouth to him, and he moved his head so he could join her more intimately. She tasted him, hot and sweet and familiar. She breathed his clean, sharp scent and that only made her want more. She ran her hand down his chest, letting her fingers tease the soft hair, feeling the tense muscles underneath. She kept on moving, past his waist and over the bumps of his pockets. Then her hand slipped over the thick curve of his erection and she felt, more than heard, his low moan.

His flesh pulsed beneath her hand. Even through the layer of denim, she felt his heat. His hands cupped her buttocks and drew her closer still.

She wanted him inside her. She wanted to be swept away on a wave of sensation to a world where there was nothing but pleasure and release.

His hand moved down her legs, and he lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her hands around his neck and buried her head in the crook. He smelled wonderful, clean and masculine.

Often, in the last years, she’d come across something he’d left behind, a shirt or a sweater, and she’d caught that scent. Each time, it had made something deep inside her ache. But now the ache had a name, and he was carrying her away.

He moved down the rest of the staircase. His labored breathing was more from want than anything else. He was remarkably strong. She’d seen what his body had become. Muscled, taut, fierce. She wanted to explore him again, to feel the differences.

They passed the kitchen, and he kicked open his bedroom door and flipped on the light with his elbow. She closed her eyes as he shut the door behind them and carried her to his bed. He laid her down gently, and she felt the mattress dip as he sat next to her. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her, very close. He was braced by one arm, a breath away.

Her heart pounded and a deep throb of anticipation swelled in the pit of her stomach. A faint stir of alarm played at the back of her mind. This was foolish, dangerous. How would she ever get over him now?

“Becky,” he said, his voice a bare whisper, raw with emotion.

She lifted her hands to his chest, and she heard his sharp intake of breath as her fingers made contact. She had always loved the feel of him, the texture of his smooth skin. Now, with his well-defined muscles, there was even more pleasure in tracing his flesh. She let herself linger near his nipples, teasing herself as well as him, before she continued her journey. She moved up to his shoulders and she pushed back his shirt.

“I want to see you,” she said. “You've changed so much.”

He shifted his position, putting his legs beneath him and stretching up above her. He pulled his shirt off the rest of the way.

He was magnificent. His shoulders were broad and heavily muscled. His chest expanded with each breath, and the sight of him was overwhelming. She moved her gaze down, searching until she found an old scar on his rib cage. It was small, barely discernable, and wonderfully familiar. He’d gotten it the year after they were married, while training at the obstacle course at Quantico. She touched the smooth skin there, and heard him gasp.

He lowered himself until he was sitting. He still towered over her. Reaching slowly, he took hold of the bottom edge of her sweater and lifted. His hands brushed her skin lightly as he bared her chest, and she shivered. He sighed once before he brought the sweater over her head and past her arms.

He looked at her with dark flashing eyes, his desire for her thick and vibrant. He leaned forward and down, bringing his lips to the hot flesh beneath her breasts. She moaned as he kissed her, writhed as he tasted her. Moving slowly, kissing her tenderly inch by inch, he moved up her body. When he reached the cleft between her breasts, he paused, but only long enough to undo the clasp of her bra.

He lingered there for a moment, his hot breath sending shivers of desire to her very center. Then he eased his fingers under the silk and pushed the material aside.

He moved back so he could look at her. His eyes told her he was pleased. His smile told her he was just beginning.

She held her breath as he leaned forward. He kissed the rounded flesh of her right breast, while he caressed her left with his hand. It was impossible to be still. Something quivered and pulled tight low in her stomach. The touch of his hand sent shocks of pleasure coursing through her. His tongue on her rigid nipple, swirling and teasing, made her grab the cover beneath her and squeeze until she shook with the effort.

He let her catch her breath while his hands found the waistband of her pants. She struggled to push off her boots and in another minute he slipped the pants down her legs, onto the floor. The cool air hit her wet flesh, and made her already taut nipples even harder.

Mike slid down off the bed, and stood looking at her naked body. While he undid the buttons of his jeans, he drank her in, drowning in the silk of her thighs, the swell of her breasts, the triangle of soft hair between her legs. His Becky. His woman. He never thought he would see her like this again.

He’d been starving for too long. His hands shook as he reached the last button. He was harder than he’d ever been, swollen beyond his endurance. He let his pants drop, and the cool air on his skin was almost painful.

She was looking at him now, seeing how much he wanted her, what she could do to him. He ran his hand down his length as he gloried in the hunger in her eyes.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He climbed on the bed again.

She opened herself to him, spreading her legs to welcome him home. He sank down, not yet letting himself touch her there. He caught her gaze and held it with his own. “Do you know what you've done to me?”

She nodded.

Still he held himself away. Reaching with one hand, he touched the soft mound at the juncture of her thighs. He knew this, the feel of her, the way her body curved. He’d dreamed of this night after night, the reality of her now so much more than he’d remembered. He moved his hand down, teasing her lightly, then slipping his fingers inside the moist warmth.

She moaned and lifted her hips.

Liquid velvet. He wanted to take it slow and easy, to learn her body all over again. Then she touched him.

He bit back a groan as she urged him to replace his fingers with his swollen manhood. He sank inside her, penetrating slowly. She grew still, somehow knowing if she moved, he may not be able to control himself.

He went deeper, until he was completely inside her, and they were no longer separate people but joined as one. He felt complete for the first time in years. The ache that had haunted him every night and every day was finally, mercifully, assuaged. All he could do was whisper, “Becky.”

She held her breath as he moved inside her. She felt as though he belonged there, as though her body had been designed with him in mind. The sensations were familiar and new, all at the same time. His eyes, his lips had been a part of her forever, but running her hands down his back offered tantalizing surprises. His body was streamlined and powerful, and as he moved into her, she felt his muscles contract and release.

He pulled back until he was just barely inside her. She lifted her hips, not willing to let him go. She opened her eyes and found him staring at her. While he thrust in and out with agonizing slowness, he entered into her very soul.

He was a dangerous man, but she’d been a fool to think she would ever escape from him. He had infiltrated her mind and her heart years ago. The tragedy of their lives had not succeeded in tearing the connection, only stretching the thin line that held them together to the limits. She would always be a part of him, and he a part of her.

He quickened his pace, and she started the long, slow, spiral that would take her to release. She wrapped her legs around his hips and kneaded his back with her hands, wanting every part of her body to touch his, to feel the powerful strokes and his thudding heartbeat.

He kept her gaze captive with his own. As she stared into the dark brown eyes, she felt the tremors begin low in her stomach. She could feel the blood pulse through her veins as she rose higher and higher until she was on the very edge of a cliff.

She fell, and he was there to catch her.

She cried out, and he held her tighter, still thrusting, still coming deeper and deeper inside her. Then she felt him tremble and heard his primal cry as he let go. He thrust again, and she contracted around him, and then there was no more movement, only the shaking, quivering release and the slow journey back to breathing and seeing and hearing.

Finally, he sank down, resting his whole body on hers. She brought her hand up and stroked his hair, and whispered his name softly in his ear. It took a long time for them to stop trembling and lay quietly entwined.

She listened to him breathe, felt his chest expand and contract. She didn’t want to think yet. Only to feel. She closed her eyes and let her senses take over.

She was glad they’d made love. She felt as though a healing had begun. When he’d been inside her, she’d remembered so much of what their love had been. Close, sweet, secret. Nothing had been taboo between them, nothing too scary to talk about. Even in the very beginning—when they’d both been inexperienced and shy, they’d been able to love each other. They’d learned about sex together, and about intimacy. He’d asked her once if she ever regretted not having more partners, and she’d told him no. He was everything she had ever wanted, and more.

It was still true. She didn’t want another man. In the year they’d been divorced, she’d gone out only a few times, but she’d never made love. She had convinced herself that it wasn’t important. That making love wasn’t necessary. But she’d been wrong.

Tonight, her soul had needed touching. His touch.

Her breath caught in her throat as the realization hit her. It wasn’t that she just needed his touch. She still loved him. She had never stopped loving him. The breakup, the bitter words, even the fear that Mike would end up getting killed hadn’t been enough to change that one basic fact.

She ran her hand down the length of his back. His skin was smooth and cool and more familiar to her fingers than her own flesh. His scent was imprinted in the deepest part of her, sultry and sharp like no other on earth. The way he moved, the sounds he made, the look in his eyes. She would never be able to forget them. She didn’t want to. No matter what the future held, he was the man she loved. He had captured her heart and made it his own.

It was no use thinking she would get over him when she went back to the real world. The sting of their separation would lessen, the yearning would mellow in time, but she would always want him. The nights would be long and empty, and sleep would be hard to find, but she would survive. She would take this night, the memories of the way he held her, and relive it in her dreams. She lifted her head and kissed the soft crook of his neck, then she closed her eyes.

Mike lay in her arms as he tried to recover. Making love with her had been better than he’d dared hope, and for that he was sorry. Not for the experience, but for the memories he would take with him. If only he could stop the world now. His world at least.

How was he supposed to go on, knowing that in her arms he was whole again? How could he survive going back to his empty apartment, his empty life?

He lifted himself off her, and rolled onto his back. He felt cold without her, hollow. What had he been thinking? Why the hell hadn’t he just left her alone?

“Mike?”

He turned his head and looked at her. Her hair was wild on the pillow, her skin luminous and soft. Her eyes were filled with dreams and promises, and he wanted to turn away.

“Do you remember the first time we made love?”

“What do you think?”

She smiled. “It was pretty awful.”

He thought back to that night, so many years ago. The dingy motel room that had seemed so exotic, the scratchy blanket on the lumpy bed. His fumbling attempts that had ended embarrassingly quickly. “We were just kids.”

“I knew that night that you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

The ache in his chest grew. They had been so young. So naive. He’d wanted to give her everything. A big house and nice cars. More than that. He’d wanted to give her children. Lots of them. But that was long ago, when he’d believed in happy endings. He knew better now.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

The softness left her eyes. “Nothing? Come on. Don’t hide. Talk to me.”

“Maybe this was a mistake.”

She rolled over on her side, facing away from him.

For a long time she didn’t speak. When she did, her voice was bitter. “Couldn’t you even wait five minutes before you spoiled it all?”

“I didn’t mean to spoil it. It’s just—”

She turned to face him, her gaze filled with fury. “It’s just what? I'm such a jerk. I keep pretending that you'll come back. That you'll snap out of it and be Mike again. But it’s been two years. You're not going to change. Ever. Why can’t I get that through my thick head?”

“I tried to tell you—”

She grabbed her sweater and pulled it on. “What gets me is that you don’t see what a waste it all is. That you don’t care that you've thrown away your family. I can understand that you don’t love me anymore, but what about Sam? How can you let your self-pity keep you from that little boy?”

“Self-pity? You think that’s what it is?”

She held her pants in her hand, but didn’t move to put them on yet. “Yes, I do.”

He grabbed his jeans, pulling them on quickly. He walked over to her side of the bed and made sure she was paying attention. “You don’t get it, do you? I screwed up, big time, or don’t you remember? I let you down, I let Amy down. You didn’t hesitate to remind me of that every single day. Is it coming back now? Is it clearer? I was never there, you said. But even when I was there, I wasn’t enough. I did everything wrong, and you let me know it.”