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Travis looked at Becky, then up at Zachariah and winked. “I’d give it a good forty-eight hours or so before you make any phone calls. I expect you’re gonna be busy for a while.”
THE MAN OPENED HIS TOP RIGHT desk drawer and pulled out papers and file folders until he uncovered the photograph at the bottom.
After a quick glance around his bustling office to verify that he was alone and unwatched, he pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and reached in to touch the picture. Clarified and enlarged on his home computer, the photo provided a remarkable likeness of the woman captured there. He traced his fingertip around the woman’s wide, slightly crooked mouth, lingering on the natural pout that was evident even on this unsmiling government ID.
He liked that mouth better when it was closed.
She was pretty enough, in a Rubenesque kind of way. Her hair was so blond, it nearly hurt the eyes to look at it straight on in full sunlight. And the expensive layered cut she wore it in spoke of family money rather than a government salary.
She was class.
She was style.
“You bitch.”
A familiar rage sparked through his blood.
“You think you’re going to make the world fall into place the way you want it, don’t you?” He splayed his fingers over her face and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply to control the anger. Breathing deeper to control the animalistic urges that fired through his body. “I gave you every chance to do right by me. To understand the way things should be. But you just like to screw with a man when he’s down, don’t you? Makes you feel like you’re something special, doesn’t it? Like you’re too high and mighty to ever fall off your throne.”
Still smothering her face with his palm, he opened another drawer and pulled out the envelope he’d brought from home. “I’m going to put you in your place, Princess. If you’re going to deny me what should be mine, then I’m going to destroy you. I’m going to make you suffer. I want to see you weeping. And if you still don’t learn your lesson…
“I’m going to kill you.”
3
ZACHARIAH KNEW HIS MAMA WOULD have had his hide if she’d been there to see him in action that morning.
As he followed the enticing bounce of Becky’s bottom to her car, he had only one thing on his mind. And it wasn’t the apology he needed to make.
He’d like to think he had a fever—or blame it on eighteen months of celibacy or on the memorial service he’d attended two days ago at the base. But something wasn’t right in his head. From the moment he’d spotted Becky’s deep blue eyes, he’d been drawn to her like a moth to a back porch light. If he could just get to her, get a hold of her—get inside her—then everything would feel right again.
The crap that had been plaguing him since that last mission into Al-Bazan would fade away. He could replay the awful way he’d reacted to those two kids—acting like the enemy instead of a colleague to their daddy. Maybe he could get a laugh out of them instead of instilling in them the urge to run away. He’d be able to stand back for a moment and figure out why he’d snapped at Becky for calling him on his behavior, and why he’d held something back from his best friend, Travis McCormick.
He was happy to be stateside. Happy to see Travis back on the job and looking as fit and fine as ever. Happy to find his woman—his new wife—waiting for him now that he was officially off duty.
But from the moment Becky had launched herself into his arms and her sweet, full lips had softened beneath his, Zachariah had been waging a war inside himself. Fighting to control a battle between a shameless hard-on and the seething emotions that itched at him like intel of an ambush. He knew all hell was gonna break loose—he just didn’t know when or where it would happen. And he wasn’t sure he could control the situation.
He hadn’t controlled a damn thing in Al-Bazan.
Shit. Zachariah crushed the strap of his duffel bag in his fist and slammed the door on the memories that tried to escape. He blinked himself out of that desert hellhole with the dead bodies and acrid smoke, and concentrated every bit of his considerable will on counting the number of metal buttons running down the side of Becky’s blue-jean skirt. He hoped to hell that thing had a zipper on it.
He desperately needed to recapture the normalcy of his life here in the States. And normal with Becky meant something blessedly physical. The lacy V-neck blouse she wore, which covered up enough to look classy and ladylike while still clinging in all the right spots to remind him of the size and weight and beauty of her breasts, didn’t help. Neither did the deep rose of her painted toenails or the alabaster skin showing beneath the hem of her skirt.
He was horny. He was simmering. He was full of a need that went beyond basic sex and had him ready to bust out of his skin.
Yet he had to make nice. He had to be civilized. After all, he was stateside. He was off duty. He was home.
But Zachariah didn’t want to reminisce or discuss new job opportunities or listen to small talk.
He wanted Becky.
Now.
If he could just recapture the mindless perfection of that week they’d spent together in D.C., he could get this fever out of his system. He could feel like himself again. He could cope.
“This is it. Shall we?” With a sweeping flair as stylish as any game-show model’s, Becky pointed to a silver, late-model Nissan sedan. She pulled a ring of keys from her pocket. “You can put your bag in the back.”
She opened the trunk and Zachariah dropped his duffel inside, inhaling a whiff of her warm, exotic perfume as he bent beside her. The remembered scent filled his head and his fantasies, and he scooped her up into his arms as he turned back around.
“I missed you, darlin’.” He’d kissed off all her lipstick earlier, but her nude pink lips seemed to beckon him all the more. “I can’t wait until we’re alone together.”
Her mouth was soft and hot and eager beneath the claim of his lips. Becky wound her arms around his neck and pulled herself into his kiss. Her lips parted. Her tongue danced against his. Breasts pillowed against the ache in his chest, her nipples beaded, branding him.
Humming her needy sound, which was as potent as a caress, she hooked her tongue around his and pulled it into her mouth. Aw, geez. Zachariah’s body lurched in response, mimicking the same push-pull gesture. With one arm still anchored around her waist, he slid his hand down over the curve of her butt and boosted her up, aligning their bodies together like snug puzzle pieces. Her skirt inched higher as he found naked skin and dragged his palm over the back of her velvety thigh.
Zachariah’s blood was humming right along with her seductive moans. This was the way it had been between them in D.C. The way it should be between them. Just them. Just this.
But with a breathless laugh, Becky pulled her fingers from his hair and slipped them between their lips. “We’re not exactly alone yet. People are watching.”
“They’re jealous.” Though a weak voice inside his head backed her up with the message that this was neither the time nor the place to relieve their sexual frustration, his body wasn’t listening. He kissed her fingertips, working his way back to her mouth. “Tell ’em to get their own girl. You’re taken.”
With a laugh that jiggled against his chest, she pushed his chin up into the air. “Not yet, I’m not. But I trust you’ll see to that later?”
She was killin’ him with her lush body and naughty double entendres. But he discovered he still knew how to laugh as he lowered her back to the ground, testing that suddenly shaky will of his by enduring the friction of her soft curves along his harder planes. Once she was standing on her own again, he adjusted her skirt to a more modest level and tried to breathe some sanity back into his brain. He touched his forehead to hers, grinning at the stain of passion he’d stamped onto her swollen lips. “Have I told you how happy I am to see you?”
The blue-eyed temptress palmed the hardest part of him through his pants. “I know how happy you are to see me, big guy.”
Zachariah jerked in her grip, squeezed his eyes shut and silently begged for strength.
“Beckster…” he warned. Audience or not, if she didn’t move her hand, he was going to finish what they’d started. Here. Now.
Becky released him and stepped back, holding her hands out to either side as if she were surrendering to his plea. But that clever, daring look in her eyes told him she was taking charge rather than giving in. “Get in. You can nap while I drive since I can’t guarantee how much sleep you’ll be getting once we reach our destination.”
“A woman after my own heart.” He leaned down to kiss her again, but Becky was made of stronger stuff and his lips skidded over her cheek as she dodged his mouth and nudged him toward the side of the car.
“Get in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” After closing the trunk, Zachariah climbed down into the passenger seat. Even sliding the seat all the way back, he had to fold himself in like a pretzel and lean against the door to keep his shoulder from bumping into hers. He barely had room to spread his legs far enough apart to give his woody a chance to relax. He removed his cap, but still had little clearance between his crewcut and the roof. “Oh, man. Why don’t you just put me in a sardine can?”
He hadn’t known how small a sporty little Nissan could be. Definitely no room for playing in here. The cramped space should be incentive enough for him to be a good boy and mind his manners a little while longer.
“I won’t ask if you’re comfy,” she apologized, backing out and pulling into traffic. “But I do promise it’ll be a short drive.”
Short was a relative term that had more to do with time than distance. The way Becky Owens—make that Becky Clark, he amended—put the pedal to the metal, she should be driving at Daytona instead of zipping along the highway that connected the Marine base in Quantico to the outskirts of Washington, D.C.
“We’re not heading down to Richmond?” He knew she lived in Virginia’s state capital. With his base housing surrendered and his stuff all in storage, he’d just assumed they’d be spending the next several hours at her place.
She shook her head as she checked her mirror and zipped between a semi and a pickup truck. Zachariah gripped the dashboard and held on. Forget Daytona. This woman could be driving on the battlefield, dodging incoming fire. How had he missed her lead foot tendencies before? Had they really not gone anywhere besides hotel rooms and the courthouse?
“So was your flight home really that bad?”
He grinned as they sped past a string of cars and cut over to catch the exit ramp. “It lasted about twenty-seven hours longer than this trip is gonna take.”
Becky downshifted and adjusted her speed to merge with the city traffic. “And you don’t have to be anywhere for a while?”
This polite chitchat wasn’t on his to-do list.
“As of ten-hundred hours this morning, I’m on leave to do whatever the hell I want for forty-two days. And you know what I want to do.” He reached over and traced a finger along the line of her jaw before winding it into her pale golden hair. The chin-length silk tumbled over the back of his hand like a thousand tiny kisses. She’d cut her hair since he’d seen her last, but one thing sure hadn’t changed. She was still icy cool to look at, but fiery to the touch. His touch, at any rate.
Her full lips pouted with a smile as she turned to kiss that finger before batting him away to keep her focus on the road. “I want that, too. I rented a room at that same hotel we stayed at after that first night at Groucho’s Pub.”
Yeah. The night they’d first met. The night they’d first had sex. The night Zachariah had first started to wonder if the bachelor’s life was all it was cracked up to be. Not when he could come home every night to something as smart, sassy and sexy as Becky Owens.
Becky Clark. He winced at the name that refused to click into place inside his head. Maybe if she’d say it. Just once.
But talking was for later. Though he’d showered and gotten some shut-eye before boarding the bus to the base, Zachariah was beat. Eighteen months on active duty, running more missions than he could count—he swallowed hard and pushed his thoughts right on past that last mission that had gone so wrong so fast—and an endless flight did that to a man. No matter what kind of fighting shape he was in.
“Stay in the moment,” Becky had said. Sounded like good advice. No past. No future. Just now. Just them. He leaned back against the headrest and let his eyes drift shut.
She’d warned him he needed to take a nap before she got him back to the hotel. He intended to do her bidding in whatever she asked of him.
But the name issue wouldn’t seem to let him be. Maybe it was his fault as much as hers that it was an awkward point of discomfort between them. “Hey, sorry about that whole confusion with the ‘wife’ thing when I was introducing you to Travis. I guess when he startled us, I kind of lost my train of thought.”
“No problem. It’s not something we need to concern ourselves with right now. I’m content to go with plain old Becky Owens. Don’t worry about it.”
Zachariah winked one eye open. No problem? Was her response to his apology just a little too glib to be sincere? Or was his weary brain reading something into the fierce grip she had on her steering wheel? “You sure? I mean, it wasn’t an intentional stumble. Becky Clark. Becky Owens-Clark. However you want to say it, I’m proud to claim you as mine.”
“I know.” Did her knuckles just turn a little whiter around the steering wheel?
Zachariah shook his head and let his eye close once more. Too much thinking. He needed sleep. He needed sex. He needed Becky. “I’m not used to saying it out loud. One minute we’re in front of a justice of the peace, and the next I’m on my way to Reagan International to catch my plane to…hell.”
Even if he was cleared to talk about Al-Bazan now, he didn’t want to say the words out loud. The memories were like poison stirring in the pit of his stomach. And he was pretty sure it was the past few months trying to sneak into his thoughts—not Becky’s speedway driving—that was making him a tad queasy.
She shifted the car and slowed for a turn. Then he jumped when she reached farther across the front seat and squeezed his thigh. “Don’t sweat it. We’re going to stay in the here and now, remember? Let’s enjoy the homecoming before we worry about anything else.”
Zachariah’s eyes popped open. There was something to worry about.
But before he could ask what it might be, her hand slid higher. Closer to the action. The electric current that had been buzzing through his body ever since that kiss in the parking lot zinged up to a higher voltage. Just like that. He was hard. He was ready.
“Beckster.” His warning was a low-pitched growl in his throat. “I can’t maneuver in this car.”
She dutifully returned both hands to the wheel. “Then you’d better lean back and relax. Like I said, you’re going to need your strength.”
With that husky promise lacing her voice, Zachariah could have damn well found a way to maneuver.
But he was smart enough to know when to advance and when to retreat. It would be a good idea if they actually got to the hotel in one piece—and without having to explain themselves to a traffic cop if they got pulled over for reckless, er…driving.
He could forget. For now.
He could wait. A little.
Closing his eyes, Zachariah leaned back against the headrest. But even with the deep breathing exercise that normally relaxed him, sleep wasn’t coming. With every inhale, his nose filled with the spice of Becky’s perfume. With every exhale, his mind filled with images of each delicious thing he was going to do with her once they reached their destination.
“Becky?”
“Yes?”
“Drive faster.”
BECKY PULLED INTO THE Wardman Park Hotel’s circular drive. It was sentimentality as much as the desire to put distance between her and the problems waiting for her back in Richmond that had prompted her to make this reservation. But a momentary glitch in her courage tried to surface as she thought back to the last time she’d been here with Captain Zachariah Clark.
Checking into the posh, discreet hotel with a man she’d just met in a bar—okay, after getting better acquainted with his hands and mouth in the parking lot outside the bar—had to be the craziest thing she’d ever done.
Correction. The second craziest.
She’d avoided dealing with number one on her crazy list longer than she’d allow any of her clients to put off such an important decision. But she didn’t intend to ruin tonight’s festivities by addressing the marriage issue now.
Squelching the nagging misgivings over the conversation she knew they needed to have, Becky parked the car. Stay in the moment. That would be her treat for herself this weekend.
No past. No future.
No family.
No clients.
No messages for the bitch who was ruining her anonymous fan’s life.
Becky shivered in the summer heat as the tension filled her, then gradually dissipated with a mental affirmation of her resolve.
She was going to do this. She wanted to do this. With Zachariah Clark she could enjoy the here and now. She could let out the sensual, decadent side of her that had no place in the rest of her life. She had a man to welcome home after serving overseas in a war zone. And from the look—and feel—of things, the big guy needed some serious welcoming.
Becky looked over at him dozing in the tiny confines of her car and smiled. She was torn between the soft tug at her heart at his deep, soft snore—indicating just how exhausted he must be after being on guard every waking moment for the past eighteen months—and the firmer tug at her libido. Zachariah was an adrenaline rush to her hormones. There was just so much of him. So much muscle. Such broad shoulders and long legs—like tree trunks. Such big hands with an amazing coordination that must reflect in his work as well as his loving. And the whole of him was in fine, fighting shape. So much man. So much to want.
Tiny muscles, deep in her belly, clenched and yearned just looking at him. She licked her lips, feeling a sudden thirst as she ran her gaze over his wide, firm mouth. His square jaw. The bump on his nose—a remnant from an old fight, perhaps? One he’d no doubt won. She visually caressed the strong brow and masculine crop of sandy-brown hair that framed his commanding, if not handsome, face.
Becky slowly exhaled, letting the warm breeze of her desire dance across his skin.
One bold green eye opened and met her gaze. “I told you I can’t maneuver in here, darlin’.”
Oh, yeah. Conversations could definitely wait. She wanted this. She stretched up and pressed her lips to his cheek in a mild hint of things to come. “Then get out. We’re here.”
Suddenly, it was a race to get checked in and carry their bags up to the room. They scrambled to hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob and then locked the door behind them.
And then Zachariah had her backed against the door. The buttons of her blouse flew by the wayside. His hands were on her breasts, lifting, squeezing, flicking the nipples to attention through the silk of her bra. She gasped as the instant fire rocketed from the tips of her breasts down to the juncture of her thighs. No man had touched her like this. Ever.
Ever. She groaned aloud as he dipped his head and guided one straining peak to his mouth, swirling his tongue around the distended tip. “Oh-h.”
Becky needed something to hold on to as her knees went weak. She needed him.
