The Unsung Hero (42 page)
And this is Kelly, who wants only sex from me. Yes, Kelly supposed there were worse things than not being introduced.
She stepped forward. “I’m volunteering, too.” She held out her hand to Jazz. “Hi, I’m Kelly Ashton. It’s a pleasure to meet you—Jazz, right?”
She shook with Sam/Roger/Bob/whoever, and with Alyssa Locke as well. Alyssa did more than shake her hand. She sized Kelly up with her cool green gaze.
That’s right, Kelly tried to say with her smile and her eyes. Tom’s mine, babycakes. Hands off.
Except Tom still didn’t do more than glance briefly in her direction. Maybe he wasn’t hers, not after the things she’d said last night.
“Dr. Ashton’s got a pediatrics practice in Boston,” he told his teammates. “She won’t be around a lot.”
“Oh, but that’s going to change,” Kelly said. “I’m taking the next three weeks off. I spoke to my partners this morning.”
Tom looked at her then. Direct eye contact for the first time that day. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. . . .
“I’ll go in if the McKennas need me,” she told him, willing him to hold her gaze, to believe her silent message. “But that’s it for me for a while. I hit some kind of wall last night.”
She couldn’t read his expression, and he turned away before she could say what she most wanted to say. I’m so sorry you caught most of the fallout.
“Well, great,” Tom said. “We’ve got a doctor on the team. Not that we need one. Here’s hoping we’ll continue not to need you, Doctor.”
Kelly’s heart sank as he led his friends inside. Her unspoken apology was apparently not accepted.
“Are you . . . alone?”
Tom looked up from one of the new computers that had arrived just that morning. He and Jazz, Sam, and Locke had set them up in this room in the east wing of the Ashton’s enormous house.
Their new headquarters had once been the Ashton’s music room—it still held a grand piano they’d pushed into the corner. They’d moved in tables and desks and a bunch of corkboards from an office supply store.
Joe and Charles had spent a good hour using pushpins to tack up all the pictures Tom had of the Merchant.
“Yeah,” Tom said, spinning in his chair to face Kelly. “I’m alone.”
She came in cautiously. As if she wasn’t sure of her welcome.
“Where’d they all go?”
He leaned back, looking at her. She was wearing a sundress with a tiny flower print. With her hair up off her shoulders she looked cool and sweet. Almost angelic.
“Your father’s taking a nap on the deck. Joe’s sitting with him. My team’s just gone out to get familiar with the town, particularly the hotel and the marina. Locke’s probably going to check out the church tower. One of the tricks to stopping a terrorist attack is to occupy all the good sniper positions.”
“I thought you said this Merchant guy specializes in car bombs.”
“He does. I’m just covering all the bases.”
“Alyssa Locke and Jazz both called you . . . was it L.T.?”
Tom nodded. “It’s short for Lieutenant. It’s a little more respectful than Tom, not as formal as sir.”
She moved farther into the room, looking at the pictures on the boards, looking at the computers. “This is . . . pretty intense.”
“Do you want something, Kelly?” he asked abruptly. “Because I’m in the middle of trying to track down a van.”
She gazed at him, her eyes wide. It wasn’t her innocent face. This one was for real. She was uncertain, a little afraid. “Yes, I wanted to . . . talk to you. I had the opportunity this morning to do a little research about patients who’ve suffered feelings of paranoia caused by severe head injuries.”
“Ah,” he said. “You’re here as a doctor.”
She shook her head. “No, I . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m here as your friend.”
He didn’t say a word. He just waited for her to go on, torturing himself by watching the way the light from the windows gleamed on the smoothness of her shoulders.
“The more I read,” Dr. Ashton continued—it helped if he thought of her as Dr. Ashton, “the more I was convinced.” She took a step toward him. “I really don’t think that’s what’s going on with you, Tom. The paranoia most patients experience is less specific than what you described to me. It’s more like waves of anxiety and vague feelings of persecution. I didn’t see a single mention of the kind of severe condition that actually has people seeing a specific threat—and especially not a threat to people besides themselves. Paranoia generally means someone’s after you. The way you described it, this guy doesn’t even know you’re here.”
“So either my case is so unusual, I should be written up in a medical journal, or—”
Kelly took another step toward him. “Or you’re not paranoid. Maybe you really did see the Merchant. I’ve been thinking about this all day and I think you should do more than this.” She gestured around the room. “I think you should call someone. Tell the authorities that you’ve seen this man here in Baldwin’s Bridge.”
She was close enough now for him to smell her subtle perfume.
“Yeah, well, I’ve already made that call,” he told her. “I did it right away. But no one’s taking me seriously. And if I persist in calling for help, I’ll be putting my career in jeopardy. There’s that rear admiral I told you about—Tucker. He’s been after my ass for years. I have no doubt that he’d try to use this situation to force my retirement.” He laughed in disgust. “Now that sounds like feelings of persecution, doesn’t it? But it’s true. Admiral Crowley said as much to my face. He’s the one who warned me to back off.”
“How about the FBI, then? Can you call them?”
“Yeah, I might do that. There’s also a guy I know in the SAS. I’m waiting to see if I can find any concrete proof the Merchant is here, though. Because if my own superiors don’t believe me, why should anyone else, you know?”
“This must be hard for you,” she said softly.
Tom stood up. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he said. “When you’re my team doctor, that’s when we talk. But when we’re lovers, all we do is—”
“I want us to be friends,” she said, flushing slightly.
“That’s not the way I understood it. You told me last night all you wanted was to—”
“I also came to apologize,” she said. “Last night I—”
Tom moved closer to her. “Apology accepted. Because you know, you were right.”
He stopped hardly a foot away from her. He was close enough to see it all in her eyes. Everything she was feeling. Anxiety. Hope. Desire.
Desire.
He knew Kelly had come here because she could no more stay away from him than he could stay away from her.
This conversation was just an excuse—a way to get her in the door. She didn’t really want to talk to him. She was here because she wanted him, wanted sex. She was just too damned polite to admit it.
Tom touched her. Just one finger down the side of her face.
She trembled and he knew he was right.
“We’ve got a few weeks,” he told her, told himself, too. “Let’s not waste a second.”
He kissed her, and she exploded, kissing him back furiously, frantically, almost knocking him off his feet.
Jesus, had she really thought that if she came to him, wanting him so desperately, he’d actually send her away?
He kissed her harder, deeper, and she was right there, pushing him to the max. Her arms were locked around him, her body close to his. He pressed his thigh between her legs and she rubbed herself against him.
No, he wasn’t crazy enough to push her away. And now that he understood, now that he knew exactly what she wanted, he was going to give her just that, and nothing more. Yeah, from now on, he was going to keep his heart to himself.
This time, and for ever after, it was going to be just sex.
Tom pulled down the top of her dress, and the elastic straps that held it up gave just enough to expose her breasts, pushing them up and out into his hands, his mouth.
He felt her hands on the velcro fastener at the waist of his shorts, felt it give, too, felt her reach for him, find him. Yes . . .
But, God, the door was wide open. Anyone could walk in. Still, she’d had the opportunity to close and lock it when she came in. Maybe she’d wanted it open. She liked risk—she’d told him so.
But being caught with his pants down by his teammates—or Kelly’s father—wasn’t quite Tom’s idea of fun.
However, there was a closet in the room. It was a walkin, filled with overcoats and out-of-style suits that Charles Ashton would never wear again. A closet could be very, very much fun.
Tom dragged her toward it, pulled her inside. It was dark and airless and smelled of mothballs.
But damn, the door didn’t latch. The ocean air had warped the old wood and it hung slightly open, letting in just enough light and barely enough air and an enormous amount of highly charged risk. Anyone could still walk in.
But Kelly kissed him again so urgently, Tom didn’t give a damn.
She pushed down his shorts as he pulled up her skirt and then—
She wasn’t wearing any underwear.
She moaned as he touched her slick heat, pushing herself down to drive his fingers more deeply inside her.
“Please,” she breathed, and pressed a condom into his hand. She must’ve had it in the pocket of her skirt.
No underwear. A condom. The woman had come here prepared.
For sex. Only sex.
She kissed him again, and again he found he didn’t care.
Tom swiftly covered himself and lifted her into his arms. She pulled her long skirt out of the way as she gripped him with her legs and then, yes, yes, he was inside of her.
She moaned her pleasure as she clung to him, as he drove himself fiercely into her, setting both a pace and rhythm that was on the verge of too rough.
“More,” she gasped. “I want more.”
Yeah, she’d told him that, too, that she liked it a little wild, a little bit rough.
Tom pushed her up against the back wall of the closet for leverage, thrusting deeply inside of her. She gasped. Maybe too deeply. “Don’t you goddamn let me hurt you,” he rasped.
“You’re not, oh, God, please Tom, you’re not—”
“ ’Lo?”
He froze. Kelly froze, too, staring directly into Tom’s eyes.
Someone had come into the office.
“He’s not here.” It was Ensign Starrett’s familiar Texas drawl.
Tom and Kelly were surrounded on both sides by winter coats wrapped in plastic. If he tried to pull her back, farther into the shadows, that plastic would crinkle loudly, giving them away. It was better just to not move. To stay completely still. With his body buried deep inside her.
God.
Tom felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back.
“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn I heard voices.” Locke was in the office, too.
Kelly was still gazing into his eyes. But then, slowly, she leaned forward to kiss him.
“Tom? Hey, Tommy, you hiding beneath the desk or inside that there piano?” Starrett laughed. “Nope, he’s not here.”
It was a slow kiss, a deliberately languid kiss, a white-hot but completely silent kiss.
The sweat down his back turned into a river.
Locke snorted. “That’s obvious. Like you’d ever dare call your CO Tommy to his face.”
Just as silently, Kelly pulled back. Gazing into her eyes, Tom could see heat. She actually liked this. She actually wanted . . .
So he moved. Slowly. Silently. Out. And in.
And Kelly smiled, catching her lower lip between her teeth, deep pleasure in her eyes. Oh, yeah, she liked this.
“We’re actually pretty tight,” Starrett said. “Me an’ ol’ Tommy.”
“Right. Just grab the map. Jazz is waiting in the car.”
Tom did, too. He liked it, too. So he did it again. Just as infinitesimally slowly. Nearly all the way out.
“At least Tom knows I’ve had experience shooting more than paper targets, sweetheart.”
Locke’s voice was tight. “I know we’ve been told to dispense with rank and respect due to the covert nature of this assignment, but from now on, when we’re alone, Ensign, you will address me as ma’am or Lieutenant. Is that clear?”
And all, all, all the way back in. Kelly made the start of a small noise and Tom kissed her, covering her mouth with his, swallowing the sound.
“Yes, ma’am.” Starrett’s surly voice faded as they left the room.
And just in time.
Because Kelly was coming. Right there, around him. In slow motion. He could feel her body’s release as he kept that erotically, decadently, intensely slow movement.
She was trying hard to be quiet, but the small sounds she was making were enough to push him over the edge.
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