Out of Time Read online

  Overabundance of pride was obviously in the DNA.

  But recognizing any similarities only made Scott more furious. It felt like a betrayal of the father who’d raised him and the man he’d looked up to more than anyone else on this planet. Knowing that he looked like his biological father was bad enough; he didn’t need any more connections.

  That was why he hadn’t wanted to come here. Scott had one father; he didn’t want another.

  But lying in bed, trying to force the sleep that wouldn’t come, he could feel the relentless prickle of emotions he wanted to ignore. Guilt and, worse, compassion.

  The bastard was dying.

  Scott twisted around a few minutes longer before tossing the covers back and getting out of bed. He wasn’t going to get any sleep like this.

  Not for the first time, his gaze shifted to the closed door that was another reason for his edginess. The thin piece of wood that separated him from what he really wanted seemed to be taunting him.

  There were a lot of reasons he shouldn’t give in to that temptation, but he couldn’t think of any of them right now.

  He crossed the room and opened the door. If she’d been sleeping, he might have turned back around. But she wasn’t. She was lying in bed, reading a book that she must have picked up from one of the shelves.

  She glanced up, obviously surprised to see him.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he said, as if him showing up in her room in nothing more than his boxer briefs was the most natural thing in the world.

  Maybe it was.

  There was nothing in his voice to give him away, but she heard it anyway. She looked at him with such compassion and understanding that he knew he didn’t have to explain.

  It was like the night when he’d gone to her after Mark had died. Mark Fallon had been a fellow officer, the OIC of Neptune Platoon (the other platoon in Team Nine), and one of his closest friends in the navy. While on a joint mission, Scott had sent him and half his platoon into a building on overwatch. The building that was supposed to have been deserted for some time had been wired to explode. Mark had gone in first and had died instantly. He was the only casualty, although a few of the guys had been badly injured.

  Scott had gone to Natalie’s after the funeral at Arlington. She’d opened the door, took one look at him, and didn’t say anything. She knew exactly what he needed. Someone to be there for him. Someone to turn to. Someone not to ask questions.

  She did the same thing now. Wordlessly, she lifted the covers and opened her arms.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  Scott crossed the room in a few strides and slid in next to her. The next moment her arms were around him, their bodies were pressed together, and his mouth was on hers.

  The edginess was gone, and all he could feel was warmth. Warmth that penetrated to the bones. Warmth that made everything else around them disappear.

  This was all that was important.

  This was the answer.

  He groaned at the taste of her. She was like sugar, melting under his lips. He couldn’t seem to get enough of that sweetness before it was dissolving away from him, so he kissed her deeper and deeper.

  Their tongues twisted and twined, circled and stroked, until the soft moans and pants urging him on became more than he could take.

  He couldn’t wait. She was giving herself to him, opening her body and her heart with no questions asked.

  With no conditions.

  No promises.

  Maybe it was wrong. Maybe she deserved something more in return. But this was all he could give her right now. His body. His desire. His need.

  And God, how he needed her. He wanted to feel her under him. Feel her silky skin sliding against his. Feel her body squeezing him like a glove as he pushed inside. Feel her hips lifting and circling as he thrust. And most of all he wanted to feel the cries of pleasure reverberating through him as he forced her over the edge.

  He tore away with a groan long enough to get rid of the limited clothing that was in his way.

  She was reaching for him even before he finished, and he moved over her, pausing just long enough to look into her eyes. He might be out of his mind with need for her, and they might have made love a hundred times before, but he needed to hear her say it. She might have been able to get beyond what had happened to her, but it was new to him, damn it.

  “I need you to tell me you want this.”

  His voice sounded as tight as the rigid muscles of his neck and arms.

  “What?”

  He could see the confusion in her half-lidded gaze. “I need you to say it.”

  Suddenly she seemed to understand. Her eyes grew suspiciously shiny. She reached up and cupped his grizzled jaw, with a look of tenderness in her eyes that melted what little ice he had left around his heart.

  “I want you to make love to me, Scott.” He would have groaned with relief if she hadn’t stopped him. “It’s just . . .” Her voice dropped off.

  He frowned. “Just what?”

  A slow smile spread over her face as she took advantage of his position looming over her to let her hands slide over the muscles of his flexed arms and stomach. He sucked in his breath at the bolt of pleasure that surged through his veins from the delicate touch.

  When she reached the thick column of his erection, she took him by the balls—literally—squeezed as if she owned him, and then circled her hand around his cock, gripping him with a long hard stroke. She leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Just hurry.”

  Scott groaned and thrust deeper into her hand. There weren’t many things he could do with her hand working him like this, but hurry . . . that he could do.

  He bent down and kissed her again. But the milking torture of her hand made it harsher. More demanding. More carnal. And maybe even a little raunchy.

  He licked, he sucked, he coaxed her with his mouth to stroke him harder.

  He could feel the pleasure pulsing. Feel her thumb swirl the heavy head with the drop that seeped out.

  The pounding of his blood, the beating of his heart, the pressure building at the base of his spine started to overwhelm his control. He was close. Too damned close.

  She knew it too and guided him between her legs. He wanted to push inside so badly, his raging body started to sweat. But he let her tease herself, as he was incapable. He let her dampen herself with the sensitive tip, let her circle and nudge. But the feeling of that soft warm flesh was too much.

  “Enough,” he bit out. “I can’t . . .”

  This wasn’t going to be pretty; he needed to be inside her too badly, and it had been too long.

  She released her grip, moved her hands around to his ass, and he started to push. He let out a deep, primal groan of pleasure as he sank deeper and deeper, as her body squeezed and clenched, as everything slipped into place.

  He reached the end, and with one final nudge that made her cry out and their bodies lock into position.

  He stilled. Their eyes met. He would die and never be tired of that look of surprise—of wonder—on her face. It happened every time. Which given how many times he’d made love to her didn’t make any sense. Except that he understood because he felt it, too.

  He’d always felt it. He was just surprised to feel it now. He’d thought being with her again after all that had happened—after what he’d learned about her—that it would be different.

  But it wasn’t. She wasn’t. The connection between them was real. Whatever else had happened between them he could trust that.

  He could trust this.

  He started to move. Slowly at first, trying to make it last as long as it could when every instinct—every primitive impulse—was crying out to take and plunder. To unleash the powerful emotions that were raging inside. Emotions that he couldn’t talk about but that she understood.

  She wouldn’t let him go