CHAPTER 13
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat!
Sweat stinging his eyes, he emptied his magazine, the recoil making the pain in his back that much more unbearable.
But he didn’t give a damn about pain, not when his team was depending on him for their survival.
Across on the opposite hillside, bodies dropped, wounded men crying out, others running for cover as the Taliban fighters realized they were under fire.
One walked in mindless circles, clutching the stump of his arm, as if looking for the rest of it.
Zach needed more ammo, but the spare ammunition was in his pack a good three feet away.
He dragged himself inch by inch across the ground, the pain in his back tearing through him.
He reached with bloody fingers, grabbed a full magazine and a fistful of stripper clips, then shoved the magazine into place and raised the weapon.
But by then most of the Taliban fighters had already disappeared down the side of the hill, out of his sight.
He opened fire again, taking down a handful of stragglers, including the man whose arm he’d shot off.
And then . . .
The explosion of an IED and a cry.
Brian?
Fuck! Fuck, no!
His element, his team, his friends—they were dying.
Zach tried to crawl to the edge of the cliff, inching his way forward, but he’d lost too much blood, black spots swimming before his eyes. He looked skyward, hoping to hear the sound of a Blackhawk. “Come on, goddamn it!”
Another cry.
A woman’s high-pitched scream of terror.
Natalie?
How in the hell had she gotten here?
Jesus, no!
He clawed at the dirt, trying to pull himself forward, trying to reach her, calling for her, AK fire drowning out his voice, only one M4 firing now.
“Zach, wake up!”
Zach jerked upright, choking on terror, his eyes flying open to find Natalie kneeling beside him. Still lost in his nightmare, he reached for her, his fingers sliding through her thick hair, feeling their way over her face and down her neck to her shoulders, searching for injuries.
She caught one of his hands, held it. “It’s okay. It was just a dream.”
Just a dream.
He stood, pushed past her, his heart hammering, his lungs hurting for breath.
But there was nowhere to go. He crossed the small room, turned, walked to the other side of the bed, then back to the table again.
He slammed it with a closed fist, making Natalie jump, a strangled cry working its way loose from his throat.
He turned, crossed to the other side of the bed again, and, adrenaline finally spent, sat on the corner of the bed, his back to her, no sound in the room but his own rapid breathing and the rattle of the AC.
He closed his eyes, tried to slow his breathing, his insides shredded, his stomach churning, the taste of death fresh in his mouth.
It had seemed so real, so goddamned real. It always did.
You are such a fuckup, McBride.
He sensed her behind him, felt her hand rest against the nape of his neck, her cool fingers caressing his hair in soothing strokes. A part of him wanted to shout at her to get the hell away from him. He didn’t want her compassion. He didn’t need her compassion.
Oh, but he did. Jesus, yes, he did.
Her touch was a lifeline, the only one he had. A light in the darkness, it called him back from the abyss. She started to pull away, but he couldn’t let her go.
He caught her hand with his, drawing her around the corner of the bed to stand in front of him, needing . . . Needing what? Hell, even he didn’t know.
He felt empty, broken, defeated.
He wrapped his arms around her, refusing to let go, his head dropping to rest against her chest.
Without a word, she enfolded him in her embrace, holding him to her breast like a mother comforting a child, her fingers curling in his hair, her heartbeat steady in his ear. And he clung to her.
Natalie felt the tension roiling inside Zach, and wished she knew what to do for him.
She’d heard him cry out and had been out of bed and on her way to the bathtub before she’d realized that they weren’t being attacked, that he was asleep and caught in a nightmare.
Covered in sweat, his face had been a tormented mask, red neon spilling across his features like blood.
She’d never seen such anguish on a human face before.
The nightmare had clearly shaken him to his soul. And although she didn’t know him well, she knew without a doubt that he rarely asked for help or accepted comfort from others. He wasn’t the kind of man who let himself be vulnerable.
But he was vulnerable now.
She pressed her cheek against the crown of his head, offering him what solace she could. And for a while they stayed that way.
Then something began to change. Zach’s breathing deepened, his head coming up just enough that his lips touched her skin.
He slowly turned his face, one big hand feeling its way up her spine as he kissed first her breastbone, then the swell of her left breast, the unexpected contact making her shiver.
Confused at the shift in him, she said nothing. But her hands had ideas of their own. Hungry for the feel of him, they slid through his hair, working their way to his nape then on to his bare shoulders, hard muscle shifting beneath her palms, his skin soft.
He pulled back, and for a moment she thought it was over. She bit her lip, torn between relief and disappointment.
Then she felt his fingertips skimming their way up her arms, his touch raising bumps on her skin. Only when his thumbs caught the slender straps of the nightgown did she realize what he meant to do. She tensed, anticipation twined with nervousness inside her, making it hard to breathe.
With agonizing slowness, he drew the straps over her shoulders and down her arms, baring her to her waist. She looked down to find his gaze fixed on her breasts, a strained expression on his face.
She felt—and saw—her nipples tighten under the heat of his perusal, heard the breath leave his lungs in a long, slow exhale.
Then he reached up with both hands and cupped her.
Without warning, her mind flashed back to the Zeta hellhole, rough hands squeezing and pinching her. She closed her eyes, forced the unwanted memory away, unwilling to be robbed of this moment. This was Zach, not the Zetas, and he wasn’t hurting her. Far from it.
He ran circles over her nipples with the pads of his thumbs, teasing their sensitive tips, sending sparks of pleasure skittering into her belly.
She arched into his touch, her fingers sliding into his hair again, urging his head forward, her breasts longing for his mouth.
He groaned, held her tighter, gave each nipple a flick of his tongue, then drew one into his hot, slick mouth—and suckled.
“Oh!” She gasped, her head falling back, the delicious sensation making her inner muscles clench, the heat inside her turning to honey.
He went greedily back and forth from one breast to the other, tugging at her nipples with his lips, tasting them with his tongue, teasing them with the sharp edges of his teeth, his hands cupping her, holding her for his mouth.
Had her breasts always been this sensitive?
She couldn’t remember. All she knew was that she felt every touch, every tug, every flick of his tongue all the way to her core.
Drenched in sensation, she dug her fingers into his shoulders, her breath coming hard and fast, need for him a raw ache inside her.
This is what it felt like to want and be wanted, to be a woman, to be alive.
Feeling almost euphoric, she let the nightgown fall to the floor, climbed onto his lap, and wrapped her legs around him. Then she took his face between her hands, drew his mouth down to hers, and kissed him.
A groan. His fist in her hair. His tongue thrusting deep.
He forced her head back and took control of the kiss with an intensity that left her breathless, plundering her mouth, nipping and sucking her lips, crushing her to him.
Oh, yes!
And then she was beneath him.
Zach was breaking the rules, but he didn’t give a goddamn, her impatient hands spreading fire over his skin as she explored his shoulders, chest, abdomen.
Blood roaring in his ears, he tasted her mouth, cradling her head with one arm, his free hand skimming over the puckered velvet of her nipples, down the silky skin of her belly to that little landing strip of dark curls that had been driving him insane.
He wasted no time, feeling his way through those trimmed curls to cup her, his dick nearly splitting his jeans when he discovered that her labia really were waxed bare—and that she was wet.
He looked, took in the erotic sight of her vulva, and almost freaking lost it.
Holy God in heaven.
The musky scent of her arousal urging him on, he parted those soft, naked lips, gave the swollen bud of her clitoris a few teasing strokes, then slowly nudged first one finger, then two, into her slippery heat.
She whimpered his name, her sharp little nails digging into his shoulders, her thighs parting to give him better access.
He found a rhythm, his thumb rubbing circles over her clit, while his fingers stroked her deep inside. He swiped at a puckered nipple with his tongue, tugged at it with his lips. “Does that feel good, angel?”
A long, breathless moan.
God, she was responsive. As badly as he wanted to get inside her, he couldn’t get enough of watching her, of watching what his touch did to her.
He sucked a nipple and felt her vagina clench, kissed her throat and saw goose bumps rise across her chest, thrust his fingers deeper inside her and watched her belly jerk. And her scent . . .
Jesus!