She scooted until she sat in his lap, her legs looping around his waist.

With her br**sts pressed to his chest and the hot core of her pressed against his erection, he wondered if he might finish before he even got his clothes off.

No way was he letting that happen. He eased her back onto the blanket, licking and tasting his way down her body until he tugged her panties with his teeth. He looked up at her briefly to see her reaction. He found hesitation but acceptance.

He tugged at the waistband of her underwear and discovered… two tiny tattooed pawprints along her hip bone. Now wasn’t that a surprise?

“How many of these are there?” He kissed one, then the other.

“Why don’t you count?”

Which meant there were more beneath her underwear.

He yanked her panties off. “I still see just two.”

She stroked his cheekbone. “I was trying to get you to take my clothes off faster.”

“Smart woman.” He smiled against her skin, then lower into the silky soft curls between her legs. “You’ll need to make sure you’re quiet.”

She leaned on her elbows. “You’re mighty confident that you can—”

His mouth closed over her and she gasped. He drew in the scent and taste of her, all the while still tuning in for cues of what she wanted. More of those breathy gasps and her slick readiness. Her elbows slid away and she gripped the quilt in her fists.

Just the sign he was looking for. He teased with his tongue and fingers, hitching her legs farther apart with his shoulders. She spread for him, welcomed him, and heat surged through him until his heart just about pounded out of his chest. The need to be inside her, deeper, seared him with an aching drive. But he held back.

Watching her. Working her. Waiting for her.

She bit her lip. Hard. Encouraging him with the way she wriggled her hips. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts. How her heels dug into his sides as her legs fell open.

He coaxed her the rest of the way over the edge. A moan vibrated up her throat, and as much as he reveled in the sound, he didn’t want her to be embarrassed. Just as he considered moving up to kiss her and finish her with his hand, she twisted her fingers in his hair, holding him in place. She stuffed her fist in her mouth fast. Her back arched and, hell yeah, he felt her come apart for him. Perfectly. Beautifully.

“Magnificent,” he whispered against her with a light cooling puff that brought another moan from her.

He damn near ripped his clothes off, finesse fading fast. Until he remembered he didn’t have a condom. Damn it. He was without protection when he had the first for-real, usable erection since a bomb exploded beside him in the Middle East.

Catriona’s hand landed languidly on his shoulder. “Looking for one of these?”

Her other hand came out of her hobo sack—holding a condom packet.

He cupped the soft curve of her bottom, bringing her even closer. She suckled gently on his bottom lip before kissing and nibbling along his jaw. Nipped at his ear.

Her cool hands stroked his chest before he had time to think, much less warn her.

Gasping, she rocked back on her heels. “Brandon, oh my God.”

Her fingertips hovered over the scars wrapped around his abdomen, striping upward. Healed burns and grafts mottled his flesh. Lightning streaked through the room, illuminating what she hadn’t already felt. He should have told her before now, but he hadn’t been thinking. Just feeling—feeling good—for the first time in so long.

Discussing what happened overseas sounded like a massive mood killer for the first hard-on he’d experienced in months. He wanted to shove her hands aside and just push inside her. Except she clearly had questions, and as much as he ached to put those questions on hold, he owed her better. He needed to be sure she understood just what she was signing on for in sleeping with him.

He shuffled to sit beside her and turned on the small lamp beside the bed. She might as well see and hear it all.

“These came from the explosion in Afghanistan, a mix of chemical burns and fire.” He relayed the information in a flat voice, the easiest way he’d found to get it out when asked. By rote. Just the facts. Don’t think about the pain or the fear, and then the deeper pain that made thinking of anything else impossible. “There are more scars on my back and on the inside of a thigh, but those are from the skin grafts.”

Scars gained from protecting a traitor. Except the guy died, was given a hero’s funeral, and any chance at getting the truth from him was buried along with the man. Now all Brandon had were suspicions and an encrypted disk he wasn’t even sure would be enough to stop this.

The heat of the attack, the betrayal, and the gut-twisting horror of having his life stolen from him flamed in his head until—

Gentle hands.

Catriona, touching his chest. Stoking the fire all over again.

He blinked through the haze and looked into her clear hazel eyes. His body reacted to the sight of her every bit as much as her touch.

She smiled softly, rolling the condom along the hard length of him. “Do you want to finish this or not?”

He laughed. For the first time in months, he laughed and meant it. Tucking her against him so every silky inch of her pressed to his overheated body, he rolled her under him. “Yes, ma’am, if you’re still willing, we’re most definitely going to finish this.”

“Thank God, because I was starting to get worried there for a second.”

Her little wriggle to settle beneath him sent a bolt of lust straight to his groin. A most welcome bolt that made him want to shout yes, yes, yes about damn time, to reclaim this part of himself.

He pushed inside her, drawn in by her moist heat, ready. Just one stroke and he had to fight back the urge to come, it had been so long. Which made him all the more determined to work harder for her—sliding a hand between them, kissing her and caressing her as he plunged again and again. The need to explode inside her almost tore him apart. He ached for it. For her.

Her slim legs wrapped around him with surprising strength. And thanks to the lamp, he could see her more clearly, be certain of when she was ready again so he wouldn’t leave her behind… Male pride? Maybe. But he needed her there with him.

She gripped his hair again and brought his mouth to hers as she cried out her release, her body clenching and holding him tighter with wave after wave that pulled him under. Pleasure sliced through him like lightning cleaving him in half.

So much.

Almost too much, the good so good, it almost hurt until he collapsed on top of her. He didn’t even have the strength to lever off of her. He just buried his face in her neck, twitching in the aftermath.

For how long? He didn’t know. Another zone-out? Or a micronap? Either way, not how he wanted to end this encounter. He rolled to the side and pulled her against him.

He knew sex wouldn’t fix everything, and already the myriad complications ahead of them was weighing on his shoulders like an M1 main battle tank. Although for right now, he planned to savor this night, this moment in time with an amazing woman who’d just given him one incredible gift.

He hadn’t solved all his problems. But he was going to give thanks that life could still surprise him with something so beautiful in this long trudge through hell to get back to normal.

***

Sunrise weakly pierced the drizzling rain.

Sitting on a plastic sheet on the porch, Rachel hugged her knees and stared out over the misty swamp. Her Baby Eagle rested beside her. The weather was clearing enough that she could actually see for target practice, but they didn’t need to draw attention to themselves with gunshots. And they needed to prep as much as possible to leave.

The Internet signal was strengthening. Jose had uploaded whatever that chip stashed in Brandon’s phone contained and sent a copy to their buddy Data and another to Special Agent Sylvia Cramer.

Now they just needed to wait for the okay to return to base, where finally the right authorities would take Lieutenant Brandon Harris seriously and get to the bottom of this. She willed that call from Sylvia Cramer to come through, itchy to get moving. To make something happen. To expose the people responsible for trying to kill her and her friends—people who wanted to do a lot worse.

She wanted her life back. And she wanted to know why—after hinting around at marriage—Liam was suddenly so reserved this morning. Was he angry because she avoided the conversation? Was he regretting what he’d said? Good God, for a funny guy, he sure was moody underneath all those laughs, and her heart was getting a serious workout, being yanked around this way.

Watching him prep the airboat, she thought of how she’d woken to an empty bed, the dent in the pillow and tenderness between her thighs the only proof he’d even slept with her. Sure he’d smiled at her from across the room and touched her shoulder as he walked past, but there was no missing the shadows lurking in his expression.

She sipped lukewarm coffee, more for the caffeine and something to do with her hands than out of any need to drink. “What can I do to help?”

Liam checked the magazine on his gun, tucked it back in the holster. “There’s not much to load up, but the more we get done now…”

“The faster we can leave later when the call comes.”

“Roger that.” He hitched his duffel over his shoulder and strode down the dock toward their airboat.

She scooped up her backpack. It felt like eons since she’d loaded it up, rather than just three days prior. Might as well have been a lifetime ago.

Liam stood at the end of the dock and shouted, “Toss it to me. No need to get wet until you have to.”

It was almost as if he didn’t even want to be near her. What the hell? Could he possibly be the kind of jerk who stopped wanting a woman the minute he got her?

Although he had been divorced three times.

“Here!” She threw her backpack like a basketball, pushing away from her chest. Hard.

He caught it without budging. It figured. He turned to walk away.

“Liam?” she called out, frustration stirring. “Liam? What’s going on?”

“I’m busy packing,” he said without looking back. “We can talk later.”

“Liam!” Aggravation tangled up with anger, not to mention all the fear piling up these past couple of weeks. “Liam! William McCabe! I’m not some quiet, laid-back person who’s just going to sit back and pretend I don’t notice you’re in a mood. What’s wrong with you today?”

He tossed her pack on the boat without a word and started back down the dock. His closed-off face didn’t promise much conversation. His boots hit the muddy bank. He picked his way over the wandering tree roots poking out of the muddy incline.

“Damn it.” She stomped her foot, not caring who heard. “Just talk.”

He turned sharply to face her, smiling. Sort of. “Now isn’t the time.”

“Because I’m getting too close? Too real?”

Cursing, he looked away, but he didn’t leave. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, he might tell her what was bothering him. What had changed between last night and this morning?

She’d opened up to him after pushing men away ever since Caden’s death. Her relationship with Liam was significant for so many reasons—not the least of which was because she was actually falling for the guy—and now she was scared of something she couldn’t pinpoint.

“Well, Liam? Aren’t you even going to answer me?”

His head went back as he stood tall and hard bodied in the rising sun. The only man who’d hadn’t eventually backed off from her strong will—okay, she’d pushed most men away. But there was no pushing Liam.

He was all man.

So much so, he didn’t even sway as the ground shifted under his feet. She frowned, trying to figure out what wasn’t right about the picture in front of her…