She slapped one of her hands over his lips, halting his words. To hell with not saying anything until he’d finished. It wasn’t going to happen, she wouldn’t allow him to shoulder the blame for what happened. “No way, Cale. Don’t blame yourself for that. It was Haley. That had been her purpose, to get close to me so she could take me back with her.”
He gently removed her hand. “Why? Why would she do that?”
“She was born into it. Her father is some being named Hara.”
His expression could have been carved out of ice. “What did you say?”
“Hara. Did you catch her? She was there. Along with Blake and they were worried about a man named Lamar. Well, more Blake was. She seemed to think her father was one of the beings you wanted to kill.”
“We didn’t catch either of them, they must have slipped out.” He nudged her over and sat on the bed beside her, gathering her close.
“That Tryvek thing was still dead though, right?”
“You met Tryvek?”
She shuddered at the memory. “I killed him. Or at least I think I did.”
His lips brushed the top of her head. “He’s dead all right. You did that?”
“Baton through the eye.” She shrugged. “Who knew.”
“When I think about how I could have lost you,” he began. “No, let me talk, Taylor. It tears me apart. It’s why you’re here in my room. I want you to stay. Forever. In my room. At the vineyard.” He cleared his throat. “With me.”
She tipped her head back and peered at him. “With you?
“Only me.” He traced her lips with his fingers. “I love you, Taylor. I think I’ve half been in love with you since the first time I saw you.”
Her heart kicked up. “Because of the thing that just happened?”
“Because of who you are, Taylor Kenyon. Nothing other than that.” He kissed her tenderly. “Because of what you represent, to me.”
She broke their eye connection and stared across the room. “I’m no one special, Cale.”
“You are to me, Taylor. To me, you’re the world.”
He put her on his lap and she rubbed at the skin just under the cast on her arm. She wanted to wind her arms around him, but she couldn’t, so she rested her head against his chest.
“I love you, too, Cale. I want to stay here with everyone. With you.”
His kiss dominated her and she arched into him, body burning for more. When he pulled back she whimpered in frustration. She wanted him, his thick cock inside her. Delivering her to the heights she knew he would.
“Cale,” she begged.
He readjusted them so she lay between his legs and wrapped his arms around her. “I want you too, but you’re still recovering.”
Like hell. She refused to be deterred and took his hand, moving it under the blankets, to settle it over her pussy. She only wore his shirt and a pair of underwear.
“Does that feel like I need more recovery?”
She knew she was wet and ground against his hand. He groaned and rubbed her. Taylor nearly purred and widened her legs, grasping his wrist to keep him there.
“You’re killing me,” he swore.
Cale readjusted his hand and slipped his fingers beneath the material. She moaned aloud as he skimmed her sensitive flesh. He began to tease her, up and down her slit he moved. Brushing her clit and almost—
almost
—entering her. But he didn’t. She writhed and begged, whimpered and cried, yet he refused to allow her to reach that peak.
“Tell me again,” he whispered, bringing her tight to his chest, nipping the side of her throat. “Tell me the words.”
“I love you.”
“Once more.”
“I love you, Cale Mattox.”
He entered her with two thick fingers and she bucked her hips up into his hand, driving him farther inside her. The palm of his hand pressed against her clit and as he began to move, she crested. It didn’t take much. Just him. His touch. His love. She rode out her orgasm and Cale didn’t let her off with just one. He gave her more than that. She slumped against him, exhausted, and he kissed her again.
“I’m not letting you go, Taylor.”
She smiled into the crook of his neck. “Good. I’d hate to get kidnapped again just so you could come rescue me.”
She fell asleep that way and when she woke, he lay in the bed with her and she rested upon his bare chest.
“The others want to see you,” he said, his hand smoothing up and down her back.
She moved the fingers of her broken arm. “Do we have to go now? I was hoping we could figure out how much more I could do with a broken arm.”
His gaze turned fiery hot as he grinned. “They can wait.”
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
In Aeternum: Casanova in Training
Aliyah Burke
Excerpt
Chapter One
Rain ran in rivulets from both his black coat and the brim of his cover. Lieutenant Commander Giovanni Cassano barely moved, even with the loud and angry retorts of gunfire. The noise sounded ominous. Three sets of shots fired by the seven impassive men. He flexed one hand into a fist before relaxing and allowing the smooth glove to straighten.
Through the dreariness, the beginning notes of Taps started to play, weaving in and out of the raindrops with haunting precision. His right hand snapped up in a sharp salute as his shoulders automatically squared even more.
With a deep breath, he fixated on the casket and the two stoic men who had the honour and privilege of folding the flag. Their movements precise and perfected. Each of the thirteen folds corresponded to an important meaning and allowed him to see the wet gloves the men wore. White cotton to his black leather.
First fold was representative of life. He swallowed hard and blinked. Two, three and four took place. The fifth fold, a tribute to the country. Tears burned the corners of his eyes. Six, seven, eight and nine. The tenth fold was a tribute to fathers, for they, too, had given both sons and daughters for the protection of the country since they were first born.
Stiffening his spine, Giovanni clenched his jaw as he watched the remaining three folds to complete the thirteen, so the flag looked like a cocked hat. A reminder of the soldiers who served under George Washington, the sailors and marines who served under Captain John Paul Jones, and all those men and women who followed them in the United States Armed Forces
, preserving the rights, privileges and freedoms enjoyed today. As the two men finished folding, the final poignant note faded from the air. And the salutes ended.
He stood ramrod straight. Only his gaze moved as he tracked the presenter who paused before the slender auburn-haired woman clad in black. Michelle Walker. She sat there under a canopy beside her father to accept the flag.
None of the military members there seemed affected by the steady downpour.
“On behalf of a grateful nation,” the presenter said, offering the folded flag.
Giovanni saw Michelle hesitate. The man with the flag waited, unmoving, until she finally took it. His hand rose into a salute and, when she gave him a nod, he completed it. The rain increased but Giovanni watched Michelle hold the flag to her chest.
Over the pounding of the rain came the unmistakable sound of fighter jets. He lifted his gaze to see the four planes scream overhead, his heart clenched with a mixture of pain and regrets that he wasn’t even close to being ready to face. A lone jet peeled off and his heart did that same thing again. It should have been him up in the one that honoured the fallen man. But no… He had yet to be cleared for flight status.
He ground his jaw and ignored the threatening tears. One by one people filed away, the rain not allowing the mourners any respite. Finally it was him and the two family members. His legs wouldn’t cooperate and he had to force them to move him closer.
Stopping at the middle of the closed casket, he took a deep breath, and snapped a salute. “Goodbye, my friend,” he murmured before lowering his hand and walking off.
Anger ate at his gut. It was never easy to lose a member of the military. However, when it was a fellow pilot and best friend, it became that much harder.
“Giovanni?” a rattled yet distinctly feminine voice reached him. And halted him.
He swallowed before pivoting around to face her.
Damn it!
For a brief second he was seeing him again. Alive and well. Michael Walker. Sidewinder. Best friend.
She moved closer, the folded flag still clasped tightly to her chest. It hurt looking at her. Mike’s twin. A softer, feminine version of Michael, but he was still there in her delicate features.
“Michelle.” He hated how gravelled his voice sounded.
Green eyes watched him steadily. “You were going to leave without a word?”
He put his gaze on their…her father. Martin Walker showed his age. He seemed so tired and worn out. However, in his eyes, there was anger. The siblings had taken after their mother. Giovanni had always teased Mike about being so pretty. Now his body had been so badly burnt and mangled it had had to be a closed-casket ceremony.
“No,” he managed to say as he glanced from father to daughter. “I was going to wait by the car. Allow you final moments.”
Martin shook his hand briefly then nudged Michelle. She lifted one gloved hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Take this.” She held the flag out to him.
His heart seized as he glanced at the flag.
Stars uppermost to remind us of our nation’s motto.
“No. I can’t. That is for you.”
Her smile was shaky at best. “Mike would want you to have it.”
Giovanni glanced to Martin, ready to plead his case, only to pause. The look Martin bore told him the flag wouldn’t be going back with them. Martin was in a rage from having just buried his only son. He focused on Michelle and saw the opposite. She loathed to give it up and was only doing so for her father.
Almost as if he hovered outside his body, he saw himself reaching for the flag. Michelle relinquished it to him but didn’t step back. Instead, she lifted his hand, pressed the flag against his chest, and hugged him.
“Keep him safe,” she whispered in his ear.
More of those damn tears threatened. “When you’re ready to take it…” He trailed off.
“Thank you, Giovanni.”
“Michelle!” Martin barked.
She flinched at the tone but squeezed him one more time. A quick peck on the lips and she was gone. They were gone. Moreover, he stood in the raining cemetery, holding the flag given for the loss of his best friend’s life. The thunder rolled, ominous, and the rain picked up even more.
He needed a drink. Badly. And, after he returned to his hotel room and changed from his uniform, he set off to do just that.
* * * *
The bar was crowded and noisy. Just what he wanted—a place to become invisible. He claimed a corner booth and sat there, bottle of Jack on the table beside him. He poured a drink for his fallen friend and drank it.
“Here’s to you, Sidewinder.”
Then he did his best to forget the pain inside him. He knew what Mike would have said. “Find a woman and enjoy life. Don’t cry for me.”
Easier to think than to do. With dispassionate eyes, he watched the activity around him. Many women sauntered up to him, only to leave again when he ignored them.
He poured another drink, craving the blur it made of his memory. He paused with his glass halfway to his lips. An unfamiliar tingle skated along the back of his neck. Glancing around the establishment, he found himself focusing on a woman he didn’t recognise or recall entering. She sat with another but he couldn’t look away from her.
She had skin that reminded him of hot chocolate, with some whipped cream blended in. Lickable. Black hair drawn up and away from her face in a ponytail, it fell down to almost her shoulder blades. A low, purely animalistic reaction hit him square in the gut. His cock sprang to attention and he was halfway out of the booth before he realised it.
He sat back down, continuing to stare unabashedly at her. He could see she wore an ice blue crossover top. All he longed to do was trail the straps with his tongue and see where they would lead. Discover her taste, her smell.
Her head fell back and her laughter—he assumed it was laughter by the smile on her and the other woman’s faces—seemed to add to the glow about her. He scowled when two rather large men blocked his view.
Draining his drink, he pushed to his feet then headed over there. It made absolutely no sense, especially for not having even been introduced to her, how possessive he felt towards this mystery woman. He came up around them and immediately his gaze honed in on her.
Yes, definitely lickable. And biteable.
She had full lips he wanted to kiss, a small, cute nose, and large eyes that were framed by thick, curved lashes. A punch to his solar plexus had him sucking for air when she pinned her gaze on him. Those eyes were killers, multi-hued like a tortoiseshell, and he felt himself willingly falling in.
He glanced at the other two men, moved his gaze on to the second woman before settling once more on his woman. “Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question or a request, but that was his way.
She stared at him, her unique eyes assessing, and he fought the urge to shift when he believed she’d seen past the outer shell. A slight grin lifted the corners of her lush mouth.
“Sure.” Her voice fell smooth, thick, and rich like honey.