Storm Warning (Security Specialists International Book 4) (15 page)

Sasquatch elbowed the man frisking him out of the way and lunged for DJ. At the same time, three shots rang out, none of them hers, aimed at Sasquatch’s buddies. Faith in her friends’ abilities to contain the other bad guys allowed her to concentrate on her attacker. She used Sasquatch’s forward momentum and weight against him by ducking and upending him. He hit the floor face first and slid into the bar. The top of his head hit the solid oak bar with a loud
thunk
. She stayed out of grabbing range and trained her weapon on the back of his head.

Baldy, Keely’s target, lay on the barroom floor not far from where Sasquatch had landed; he was bleeding from his upper left chest. Two other militia men lay on the ground, bleeding from their thighs. One was bleeding profusely. Obviously, Callie had decided to wound and not wipe.

“Someone had better put a tourniquet on Arrogant Ass,” DJ said. “Looks like Callie nicked his femoral artery.”

“Didn’t nick it. Shot it on purpose,” Callie shouted as she entered the bar, her weapon trained on the militia men still standing. She looked like a
Field and Stream
cover model slash avenging angel. “Anyone else want to do something dumb?” She looked around. When no one answered, she said, “I didn’t think so.”

The outer doors to Ma’s banged open.

“Keely!” Ren’s voice boomed off the walls.

“That’s my man.” Keely smiled and yelled, “We’re in here, big guy.”

“DJ!” Ace roared.

Her heart sang—
That’s
my
man.

“I’m fine, Ace,” she shouted, a wide grin on her face.

Weapons in hand, Ren, Ace, and Vanko entered the room on the run. Their angry male vibes preceded them. DJ swore the walls and floor vibrated from the excess of pissed-off testosterone levels.

They were trailed by six cops of the county and state variety led by Dan Morgan. He shot an annoyed look at her and Keely.“You ladies never leave us anything to do but cleanup.”

“You’re welcome,” she and Keely said in unison, then looked at each other and laughed.

As the local law took over the prisoners, Ren came over, took Keely’s gun and shoved it in his belt, and then picked his wife up and hugged her. “Jesus H. Christ, sprite. Can’t you stay out of trouble?”

“Not my fault.” Keely kissed his chin. “So get over it.”

Ace came to DJ and rubbed her arm. His touch sent goose bumps over her skin. “You okay?”

She was now … just because he asked.

After holstering her gun, she moved into him and twined her arms around his waist. His arms immediately went around her. She was tall enough to whisper against his ear without the others hearing. “I’m fine—but I wouldn’t say no to a massage—”

Ace stiffened and tightened his hold. They were so close the bulge in his jeans pulsed against her lower abs.

“—and Lacey is refusing to give me one. Did you really mean it when you said you’d—”

He cut off the rest of her question by kissing her full on the mouth—with tongue, lots of deep tongue thrusts alternating with soft and hard nibbles of her lips. Just the way she’d grown to like it.

Ace’s kiss was a statement, an act of claiming to the world at large—or at least Ma’s world. She had no issues being publically claimed by him.

Relaxing into his warm, strong body, DJ moaned into his mouth, letting him lead her further into the recently discovered arena of passion. He shifted a hand to hold her head still for his kisses. His breath became hers, and hers, his. He slid his other hand down to cup her butt which he then kneaded as he pressed her lower body against his erection.

Countering his moves, she moved a hand to his ass and squeezed. Gawd, she’d wanted to do that ever since she’d seen him in his ski underwear at the cave. Yep, his bottom was as tight as she’d imagined—and biteable.

Ace pulled his lips from hers with a low, deep groan. His breathing harsh, he touched his forehead to hers. “Sugar, you really want me to—”

“Yeah.” She sucked on his lower lip and then let it go. “But you’ll have to be patient with me. I can’t guarantee I won’t freak. I haven’t been naked”—the cave didn’t count since she’d been unconscious for the no clothing part—“in a sexual way … couldn’t … not since—”

She buried her face against his neck. Tears of frustration at her inability to talk about her past, at her failure to put it behind her, trailed down her cheek. “Damn.”

“Shh, I understand.” Ace cuddled her closer and spoke softly into her ear. “We’ll start with the massage, lots of making out, and take it from there. If I scare you, you tell me. I’ll stop.”

DJ nodded, rubbing her cheek over his shoulder. “Your sister says you like me a lot.”

“My sister knows me well,” he muttered right before he sucked on DJ’s ear lobe. She trembled. He’d nibbled on her ear several times over the last five days, and she really liked it. “I like you plus—”

“Ahem.” Ren grinned at her from behind Ace.

DJ mentally groaned. Plus what? What had Ace been about to say?

Then she recalled where they were and the circumstances and buried her hot face against Ace’s shoulder. He rubbed her back and murmured, “It’s okay, sugar.”

She shook her head, her curls catching on Ace’s five o’clock shadow.

“We’re all glad you two are bonding, but—” Keely, held closely to her husband’s side, elbowed him and Ren grunted. “Watch the elbows, sprite.”

“Well, then don’t embarrass DJ.”

“Sorry, DJ, but Dan needs to take your statement.” Ren looked over his shoulder at the scene in the center of the bar. “And the prisoners were taking in your and Tweeter’s actions with way too much interest.”

Ace growled. “They can keep their fucking eyes off DJ. And what the heck went down here? They hit on you? Touch you?”

DJ could tell Ace was building up a head of steam, but wasn’t sure how much she should tell him. She was fairly certain whatever she said would only make him madder and bloodshed would ensue. He might end up in jail.

She looked at Keely who shrugged and said, “He’ll find out eventually. You might as well tell him now.”

“Tell me what, Dahlia Jane?” Ace tilted her face up to his. He proved he could read her when he said, “I won’t kill them. Dan and Ren won’t let me, so fess up.”

DJ took in a breath and rushed the words out on her exhale. “They were here to take me and momma back to Mingo County.”

Ace’s arm tightened and then he pushed her head back to his shoulder. He rubbed his bristly cheek over her hair and muttered, “Like hell they were.” He released her and nudged her toward Ren and Keely. After which, he headed toward the militia men sitting on the floor, their hands cuffed behind their backs.

Shit, shit, shit.

DJ caught up with him before Ren could and tugged on his arm. “Ace … you promised.”

“I won’t kill them, just point out the error of their ways.” He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. “Let go, sugar.”

“No.” She dug in her heels and tightened her grip on his arm. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. I never got my scotch. Plus, I strained a muscle”
—not—
“when I put Sasquatch on the floor.” She angled her head toward the hairy behemoth, who had a huge cut on his face and a black eye from his rough landing. “I want to eat and have that drink, give my statement to Dan, then go home and get that massage you promised me.”

Ace turned and gripped her upper arms gently. “My home.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered, “Yes.”

“What about your mom?” He pulled her closer until they touched, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, and then he circled her waist with one arm and lightly ruffled the fingers of his other hand through the curls at the nape of her neck.

Home … this is what home feels like.

DJ sighed and gave him her weight. “From what the gals said earlier, my momma will be ecstatic.”

“I knew I liked Nancy.” Ace cracked a grin as he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the restaurant side of the building. He called over his shoulder, “Dan, DJ needs to eat and rest. You have until the time we’re done eating to take her statement after that I’m taking her home.”

“Hey, macho man, put me down,” she muttered against the side of his neck while she marveled at his strength. The only guys who’d ever carried her were men in her unit and that was when they had thrown her over their shoulders to get her out of the line of fire after she’d been shot. “I said I was sore, not crippled.”

“Not putting you down. Like carrying you.” He held her even more tightly against his chest. “Get used to it.”

Tweeter’s house, same night

Tweeter opened the door to his house and with a hand on her lower back, ushered DJ inside. She moved so stiffly he was afraid she’d bolt like a fractious mare at any second—and he’d let her. She needed to know she could trust him—anytime, anywhere.

Closing the door, he moved to her side and left enough space so she wouldn’t feel crowded. She breathed in rapid little puffs as she slowly scanned his open concept living-dining-kitchen area.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked softly.

She jerked and inhaled sharply before turning toward him.“Think? About what …?” Her voice sounded strained.

His gaze traveled to her hands which were clutched in front of her stomach as if she were protecting her body from attack. From him.

Shit. She’d gone somewhere else in her head. Somewhere not good. Damn, Sean Varney and all the other bumblefucks who’d treated her like a convenient piece of ass.

DJ had been fine after the confrontation at Ma’s. She’d eaten and joked with the others and then had calmly given her statement to Dan. But as she’d sat next to him in the back of Ren’s Hummer on the way to Sanctuary, she’d become more and more withdrawn. Part of the tremors now traveling over her body and her pale color could be blamed on adrenaline drop, the rest was sheer fear. Probably fear of what she’d gotten herself into with him. Fear of the unknown. No matter how much she trusted him, how much she’d liked his kisses and touch over the last five days, the evidence was plain that she was now afraid of what he’d do to her … with her.

He vowed to be patient even if it hurt. He needed to show her he wasn’t like the other fuckasses she’d come across.

“My place.” Tweeter used the reassuring tone he’d used with a much younger Keely when she’d had nightmares. “What do you think of it?”

“It’s very nice.” Her voice still held a bit of tension. She moved away from him and into the room. Trailing her fingers along the back of his huge leather sectional, she added, “Masculine. Rustic with just enough modern tones to show your tech side.”

DJ turned her head and looked at him. The stark fear was gone, replaced with a wariness. Her caution he could handle. Her fear, however, made him want to howl and kill someone.

“It’s very you.” She shrugged off her coat and tossed it over the back of the couch, then sat down and began to remove her boots.

Tweeter let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he held. Okay, she wasn’t going to run, but that didn’t mean—“DJ, if you aren’t ready, you need to tell me. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with me.”

DJ scrunched her nose as she concentrated on removing her Army-style lace-up boots. “I know that…” She looked up, her fingers fumbling with the laces.

He was afraid to open his mouth. She might not be turning tail, but they were still a long way from him touching her skin. A massage didn’t need to be sexual. Plus, he hadn’t planned on moving his stealth courtship to the intercourse stage this soon anyway—just to the heavy petting stage and maybe include some of the cuddling they’d done in the cave.

“I want your hands on me, Ace.” She pulled off one boot and turned her attention to the other set of laces. Her high cheek bones blushed rosy pink. “I also want to sleep with you, like we did in the cave.” She looked up then. Her facial expression, serious. “That was the best sleep I’ve had in years. I felt safe with you.”

Relief at her words almost drove him to his knees. She also missed the closeness they’d shared in the cave. She trusted him to protect her. She trusted him enough to want to sleep next to him, held in his arms—and that would be all he did until she told him otherwise.

DJ came to him and touched his arm. “Where will we do it? The massage, I mean.” She looked so sweetly flustered he fell even more in love with her. She wanted him, but was still a bit shy and unsure.

Despite her age and life experiences, she was still an innocent when it came to personal relationships and sexual intimacy. He needed to keep that at the front of his mind.

DJ needed to be one hundred percent sure she wanted this … wanted him. Because once he claimed her, it would kill him to let her go.

“My bedroom?” Stripping off his jacket, Tweeter picked up her shearling jacket and then moved away to hang both coats in the mud room off the kitchen.

“That was a question, Ace,” DJ shouted after him as she sat on his couch. “Don’t you know? From what your sister and the girls said, you have light years more experience than I do in these types of matters.”

Was that what had put the dread in her eyes earlier? His past sexual experience? Shit, what had those interfering women told her? Keely had to have been behind the “talk.” God, had Callie told DJ they’d been each other’s firsts? Probably. So, what had DJ thought? And should he ask her what the women had told her?

Combing his fingers through his shaggy hair, he felt as if he were about to walk a mine field, blindfolded.

Tweeter moved toward the couch. Instead of sitting beside her and pulling her onto his lap as he really wanted, he knelt in front of her. He took her cold hands in his and rubbed his thumbs over their backs. She lowered her head and stared at their joined hands. Now, her whole face was blush-pink and she tortured her lower lip with her teeth.

Shy and nervous.

“I want to make sure we’re on the same page here.” He shook her hands. “Look at me, Dahlia Jane.”

She assessed him with a speculative look, then said, “The last weeks … have all been about you teaching me to trust you, haven’t they?”

Her question startled him. He’d expected questions about his past sexual encounters, expected to defend his sowing of oats, and she pulled the rug out from under him and went straight to the heart of the matter. His woman had smarts and guts.

“Yes.”

His response had her relaxing into his hold on her hands and sighing. Then she surprised him yet again by asking, “Why? I think I know, but I’m not all that good at reading men’s intentions toward me. Well, not unless they’re trying to kill or hurt me. Why do you want my trust?”

Such honesty and open communication deserved an equally honest and open response. If the strength of his feelings scared her off, then he’d have to start all over again in gaining her trust.

Faint heart never won fair lady.

Tweeter brought her hands to his mouth, then turned them over and placed kisses in each palm. DJ’s hands trembled within his light grasp. He squeezed them gently. “I was utterly fascinated with you before you arrived in Idaho. When you strode around the corner of the gas station, the wind blowing your curls, your eyes glowing, the rifle in your hand, and the fierce look of a warrior on your face … I became even more so. After flying with you, training alongside you, climbing with you, sheltering in a cave with you … I’ve fallen even harder.”

DJ said nothing, merely stared at him as if he were speaking in a foreign language she didn’t comprehend. Her silence scared him.

Well, here goes nothing
—

“Dahlia Jane Poe, I want to be the only man in your life. Want you to be the only woman in mine.” He brought her hands to his lips again and kissed the backs of her fingers. “The last weeks have been about more than gaining your trust, they’ve been about me
courting
you.”

DJ gasped and blinked rapidly. Several crystalline tears slid down her cheeks. He felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.

Jesus Christ, asshat, you made her cry.

Tweeter moved one hand and cupped her face to capture the wetness with his thumb.
Hell
. Had his honesty pushed her too far, too fast? Scared her? DJ held his heart in her hands. Just because he’d quickly become used to the idea of a
them,
she might need more time.

“Is it okay? That I’m … courting you?” He faltered. He’d just put his insecurity out for her to see, to stomp on if she chose.

Tweeter couldn’t breathe, waiting for her response.

“Yes.”

One small, precious word, and he could breathe again. His heart could continue to beat.

DJ rubbed her damp cheek against his hand. “I’ve met a lot of men during my time in the military.” He growled. Her lips twisted upward then straightened as she looked him in the eyes, her expression now solemn. “Many of them were decent men … but, Stuart Allen Walsh, none of them ever came close to breaking through the defenses I’d built after I was raped.”

DJ pulled the hand still holding hers to her lips and nibbled at the tips of his fingers. His heart stuttered at the gesture. This was his warrior-woman sweetly teasing him, trusting him to have a care for her affection.

“You, you miracle man, did it in less than two weeks.” She leaned forward touching her forehead to his. “So, yes, it’s very okay that you’re
courting
me.”

Tweeter’s heart swelled with so much joy he thought it would burst from his chest. “You want to be
mine
?”

“Absolutely.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Fate, God, karma, or whatever it was that led me to you sure as hell knew what it was doing, because I’ve never ached for any man as I do for you. Never felt I needed to be near one man so I could breathe and continue living. But—”

Some dark emotion crossed her face, then her expression went blank. She released his hand and pulled away from him. Now, she stared at her hands, clenching and unclenching them in her lap—and, worst of all, she was crying again. No sound, just tears streaking unchecked down her face.

Panic stole his breath and trampled the happiness that mere seconds ago had permeated every cell in his body. What the fuck happened? One moment she was with him, as in really with him, and in the next, she was gone.

What had caused her to retreat and put fear back into her eyes? Because the quick flash he’d seen in her eyes before she’d blanked out had definitely been fright.

“What is it? What are you afraid of?”

“Me.” She sniffled. “Not you.” She reached a hand toward him.

Tweeter surged off the floor and sat next to her on the couch. Slowly, gently, he pulled her shaking body onto his lap. For several seconds, she held herself stiffly, then let out a whimpering sigh and collapsed against him, allowing him to take her weight.

Thank you, God.
Whatever was wrong—she wasn’t afraid of his touch, of his comfort.

“Sugar…” He nuzzled the soft blonde curls lying on her forehead. “Tell me what’s making you cry. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together. You’re not alone anymore.”

DJ cried harder at his words and buried her face against his chest. God, she was killing him with her tears, but at least she cried in his arms, where she belonged. He rubbed her back and muttered soothing nonsense as he pressed light kisses to the top of her head.

After several minutes, DJ stopped crying with only the odd hiccup now and then. She lay quietly in his arms, rubbing her wet cheek on his flannel shirt.

He was hesitant to set off another crying jag, but had to know what she thought was so wrong with her that she’d been driven to tears. “Can you tell me what’s frightening you? I can’t help if I’m in the dark.”

She nodded, her face burrowed in his shirtfront. He had to strain to hear her words. “I’m not sure how I’ll react to having s-s-sex. I-I-I want you. I d-d-do…” She gripped his shirt as if for emphasis. “…but am afraid I’ll fr-freeze … and then you’ll be…” She shook her head and burrowed into him even further.

“Be what?” He whispered against the side of her head. “Tell me, sugar.”

“M-m-mad.” She shuddered, inhaled sharply, and then sniffled some more. “Men get m-m-mad … and get … m-m-mean … when a woman says n-n-no.”

Mean? Oh hell no.

Tweeter muttered “fucking fuckwit fuckers” under his breath. Tipping DJ’s face up, he gazed into her drenched aquamarine eyes and soothed her flushed, damp cheek with his fingers. In a soft voice, he asked, “Someone other than Sean hurt you?”

She nodded, several more tears trailing down her cheeks.

He growled low in his throat even as he tenderly swiped away the wetness. “I need names, Dahlia Jane.”

“Why?” Her forehead creased, and she stared at him with a perplexed look in her eyes.

Tweeter switched from stroking her cheeks to smoothing away the frown lines. Why she asked? Why the hell not?

“So, I can hunt them down. Teach them a lesson. Only mother-fucking, slime-sucking douchebags get angry or physical when a lady says
no
to sex.”

DJ released her grip on his shirt front and moved one hand to cradle the nape of his neck. She proceeded to drive him fucking nuts by rubbing her thumb up and down the tense muscles where his neck joined his spine. The comfortee had become the comforter.

He hadn’t realized he was snarling until she murmured, “Shh. Calm down, darlin’.” He loved when she called him that in her West Virginian drawl. “I handled them. But the sexual harassment happened enough times I swore off attempting to date. Swore off all men … until
you
came along.”

He traced a finger down the elegant line of her nose and then over her lips. “I’m glad you took care of the fuckwits. I’m especially happy to hear you don’t lump me in with them.”

“You’re in a class all your own.” DJ hiccuped, a sound between a laugh and a sob. “Don’t imagine bad things, Ace. Those other men never got far enough to hurt me physically. Not like…” Her voice trailed off. She visibly shuddered and moved back into Tweeter’s arms, then laid her head on his shoulder.

Sean Varney.
Tweeter filled in the blank. He had no problem making the fucker disappear permanently. His brothers had also indicated an interest in making that event happen. DJ would never have to know. One day Sean Varney would simply disappear. End of threat.

Tweeter rubbed DJ’s back in slow, comforting circles and leaned his head against the top of hers. Her hair and skin always smelled like oranges and vanilla. He wondered if her skin tasted—

Rein it in, Walsh.

She was nervy, reliving past emotional and physical traumas—and he wasn’t a beast.