Fatal Strike (38 page)

Read Fatal Strike Online

Authors: Shannon Mckenna

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense, #Action & Adventure, #Contemporary, #McClouds and Friends

She clutched his shoulders for balance, her thighs clamping tight around his hand like she wanted to trap him there. Fine by him.
But she was shivering, hard. “You’re cold,” he said.
She shook her head. “Hot,” she corrected him. “Very hot.”
“We should get you someplace warm,” he said, but still he teased his finger deeper, to feel her muscles clench and pulse around him.
“I’m fine right here,” she said.
He withdrew his hand, sucking on his finger. Oh, God, yum. Heaven’s balm. So good. “Not here,” he said, resolute. “It’s too cold. You’d freeze your ass off, and besides, we have to keep this dress nice.”
She was laughing again, a high pitched vibration. “We do?”
“Yeah. We take it someplace dry, and wrap it in plastic and hang it up carefully. I want you to wear it on the day that you marry me.”
Her teasing smile softened to a look of startled wonder.
Suddenly, they were locked in a desperate kiss, with all the explosive power of fireworks, all the melting tenderness of coming home. But the kiss had a thundering agenda of its own, as usual, and Miles had to stagger back from it, face hot. Brain fogged with lust.
“Not here,” he repeated, more to himself than to her.
“Where, then?” she asked. “The trailer?”
“No. The bed’s not soft or warm or clean enough for you, and I don’t have anything fit for you to eat there.”
“I’m not fussy,” she said. “Or hungry. All I want is you.”
“I’m thinking of this lodge up at the lake,” he said. “I stayed there while I was buying this place, and I fantasized about having you there, in that big four-poster bed with me. Clean white sheets, patchwork quilts. An old-fashioned clawfoot tub in the bathroom, big enough for us both. A good restaurant downstairs, for after. When we’re hungry.”
She hid her face against his chest. “As long as you’re there.”
“Hell, yeah. You could not pry me away with dynamite.”
As soon as he could lift his head from the tight, trembling hug, he prompted her. “So, uh. You didn’t actually respond to my formal proposal of marriage.”
Her laughter rang through the trees. “Come on. You just told me what you wanted me to wear. That’s not a formal proposal.”
He jerked her coat closed, and started to button it. “How many ways do I need to declare myself? I declared myself in the diner, too, before you got on the bus. Remember? The days and the nights? The meals and the talks, and the winters and the summers?”
“I remember,” she whispered. “I thought it was all lost forever.”
He bent to finish buttoning, and since he was down there already, what the hell. He dropped to his knees. Which was right where she’d had him since the moment he’d first seen her anyhow. “It’s not lost. I’m offering it to you now, formally. All my tomorrows. They’re all yours.”
She dug in her coat pocket for a tissue, dabbing at her eyes, her nose. “Oh, get up. You’ll get your knees soaked,” she said. “Of course I’m yours. Of course I’ll marry you. You’re making me cry. Stop it.”
He rose, running his hands over her slender, perfect body all the way up. She seemed so frail, so fragile, as if she’d snap, but she was anything but fragile. God, how he loved that. So sexy. So freeing.
“Just making it official,” he said. “Tomorrow, let’s take off. Go on a road trip, someplace warm. We could go down the coast, see the Grand Canyon. Or head down into Mexico. Do you have a passport?”
“I’ve been back to my place in San Francisco,” she assured him. “I have all my documents again.”
“Good. Let’s go. Anywhere you want.”
She snuffled into the tissue again. “It sounds so wonderful,” she said. “I just can’t quite believe it’s real. My fantasy come true.”
“Nah.” He grabbed her hand, pulled it up to stroke over his beard stubble. “If this were a fantasy, I would have showered and shaved, and I’d be wearing a clean shirt. What you have here is nude, crude reality.”
“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “You’re gorgeous, and you know it.”
“Let’s get you someplace warm,” he said again, scooping his arm around her waist.
She held him back. “One last thing you’re forgetting.”
He read what she wanted in her eyes. “Really? After all we’ve been through, all we’ve seen, you want to risk head-texting again?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “It’s not a risk. Not with you. It’s wonderful, and I trust you. Besides, I’m strong. You couldn’t swallow me up if you wanted to, because I wouldn’t let you. You’d choke on me.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he murmured. “You’re pretty yummy, Lara.”
“Seriously.” She gripped the lapels of his coat. “Please, Miles.”
He stared into her searching eyes, and let his tension out in a long, quiet sigh. He rested his forehead against hers. Closed his eyes.
It wasn’t automatic to tease it apart again, the braided energy flows, to open that sealed shield again. Not anymore. He couldn’t do it at the first level of concentration he reached, or even the second. He had to go deeper. He was just getting some traction when she spoke up.
“You know, for a mindbending killer monster freak, you sure are a slowpoke,” she murmured.
“Give me a break,” he grumbled back. “I have to go in and reprogram the bastard on the spot. Write new code. Under pressure.”
“So rise to the occasion, already.”
“So stop distracting me.” He couldn’t stop grinning, shaking with laughter. “This takes concentration.”
It was the laughter that did it. It kindled a glow of happiness that pulled it all together for him.
The door opened, wide and welcoming, just for her. Beckoning her in with perfect trust.
She made a soft sound of pure wonder, and
ahhh.
She was inside.
o god i missed u so much. i missed this.
me 2 yours now forever and always my love
They stood in the swirling snow, locked in that tight, swaying embrace. The deepening shadows swathed them like a dark cloak, but they were warmed from the inside. Lit up, glowing. Shining with the perfect, holy rightness of it.
With no fear at all of losing their way.
Shannon McKenna
is the
New York Times
bestselling author of numerous romantic thrillers and several novellas
.
After a bizarre assortment of jobs, from singing cocktail waitress to medical secretary to strolling madrigal singer, she decided that writing hot romantic suspense suits her best. She lives with her husband and family in a small seaside town in southern Italy. Write to Shannon at her website
www.shannonmckenna.com
, or visit her on her Facebook fan page. She loves to chat with readers.
ONE WRONG MOVE
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FADE TO MIDNIGHT
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