HardWind (10 page)

“How’d he get them off?”

“He had to scour them off,” Dáire said, chuckling. “Some of them had to wear off

‘cause he couldn’t get me to scrub them off his ass cheeks. I’m not sure, but I believe he

may still have some of them on his cock.”

Star’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope. He had a cobra drawn on his pecker and as I remember, it coiled around his

balls and the tail came out his butt crack.”

“Oh Jackson!” Star said, laughing.

“He said he was held captive and that the senator was behind it. He then said it was

our target who had given the orders to have him tortured by the whore.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Hell, no, I don’t believe it,” Dáire replied. “I think Jack Off got his pole waxed by

the whore, he inhaled a goodly amount of opium and was so wasted he forgot all about

the senator and me waiting out on the street for him.”

“Opium? Jackson?”

Dáire grinned. “Stranger things have happened when he and I have been on

assignment,” he said.

Star hadn’t taken the first drink of her soda. The can was clutched in her left hand,

condensation dripping onto her leg. She glanced down as a drop rolled down the inner

surface of her thigh, drawing her attention. Dáire had successfully pulled her away

from thoughts of what had happened to him on his last assignment.

Just as he had intended.

“He’s going to smack you for telling me that,” she said softly.

“Won’t be the first time,” Dáire said.

“He needs a woman in his life to keep him on the straight and narrow,” she

commented.

“Don’t we all?” Dáire asked.

She raised her head and looked at him. There were dark shadows lurking in his

brown eyes. For the first time, she saw the faint circles hiding under those sensual orbs

and the lines that now bracketed his full lips that weren’t there when last they were in

bed together. There was suffering etched beneath the handsome exterior that looked

back at her and it made her sad.

“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly. He crushed the now empty can in his hand

and—she would have sworn on a stack of bibles—didn’t even look, but pitched the can

unerringly into the wastebasket near the hallway into the bath.

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Untouched, she sat her can of soda on the bedside table and then lay down beside

him. He twisted so he faced her, propping his head on his right fist as he gazed down at

her. Her legs were bent over the side of the mattress. His right leg was stretched out

beside her. He lifted his left to crook it over her thighs, effectively pinning her down as

his left hand toyed with the long braid that lay over her shoulder.

“When I was over there, I would lie awake at night and mentally trace every inch of

your flesh. Sometimes, I could almost smell the sweetness of gardenias drifting on the

air and I would ache so bad inside I couldn’t keep from crying.”

She stared into his face, saw the loneliness and the despair he didn’t try to hide.

“Dáire, I—”

He put his fingertips to her lips. “Shh,” he whispered. “I didn’t tell you that to make

you feel sorry for me. I told you because I think you’ve forgotten how much I love you,

Star.”

She searched his eyes. “I love you too, Dáire.”

“Then what are we doing, baby?” he asked. “Why are we apart?” He didn’t try to

stop her when she sat up, crossing her legs beneath her.

“When it was just you and me, I could cope with your leaving for months on end,”

she said softly. “It hurt and I worried myself into more than one migraine wondering

what you were doing and if you were safe. When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I’d

never be able to make it through the entire pregnancy with those worries dogging me.”

“You think because you were worried about me that’s why the baby was—”

She cut him off with a violent shake of her head. “No, of course not. I know it

wasn’t. But breaking it off with you, trying not to spend those months in fear, flinching

every time the phone rang and praying it wasn’t Jackson telling me you wouldn’t be

coming home took its toll on me, Dáire. I just can’t go through that again.” She locked

gazes with him. “I won’t go through that again.”

“So if I want to be with you, you’re making it a stipulation that I leave my job,” he

said.

She lifted her chin. “That’s what I’m saying. If you can’t do that, it’s best we not see

one another again. I’m willing to buy your condo and…”

“And what?” he said, eyes narrowing. “Move Yuppie Bad Weave in?”

Star’s lips twitched. “I broke it off with him this evening,” she told him. “He didn’t

like it, but he was getting a bit too possessive for my comfort.”

“I’m not selling my home,” he stated, his eyes fierce, although his heart was soaring

with the news she’d just given him.

“Okay, then if you want to stay at your job, you can buy me out,” she said.

“And if I decide to call it a day? To quit?” he asked.

“You’d make me the happiest woman in Bay County,” she replied.

They stared at one another for a long moment then Dáire let out a long breath. “All

right,” he said. “I’ll call Gentry tonight and let her know I won’t be coming back.”

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“You’re sure?” she pressed. “If you need to take some time to think about it—”

“Gentry gave me an ultimatum this morning. I could either get you out of my

system or work things out between us. If working things out means giving up my job,

then that’s what it will be. I don’t know how the hell I’ll make a living, but we’ll cross

that bridge when the time comes,” he said.

“You could always become my boy-toy,” she declared with a smarmy grin.

“There’s always that,” he agreed. “Might be a kinky enough arrangement, I guess.”

The grin slowly disappeared from her lush mouth. “If you do this, Dáire, there

won’t be any going back. You can’t slip behind my back and take on assignments,

trying to hide them from me.”

“I understand,” he said, shifting uncomfortably as he lay there looking up at her.

“No lies between us,” she stressed.

“No lies,” he capitulated. He reached up to cup her check. “I promise.”

“It’ll be a deal breaker otherwise,” she wanted clarified.

He pulled her down beside him and curled her body close to his, his chin resting

atop her head. He spent the next hour staring blindly at the ceiling.

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Chapter Five

Star was asleep in his bed when Dáire quietly left the rumpled sheets behind and

went into the great room, gently closing the bedroom door behind him. Lightning was

flaring out on the bay and the wind was singing in the eaves as he went to stand at the

sweep of windows overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. Even though he was standing there

in the nude, he wasn’t concerned with anyone seeing him from a passing ship out on

the water. Such things had never bothered Dáire Cronin.

A few spots of water had already gathered on the windowpanes, sparkling like

loose diamonds in the flash of light. Thunder rumbled out on the water in a low, bass

voice, signaling one of the frequent summer storms that brewed in the warm clime.

Dáire stood there for a long time, watching the advancing storm, feeling as

unsettled in his personal life as the skies were in its upheaval. Indecision struck at him

with blunt talons raking down his back and he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to rid

himself of the uncertainty that sat so heavily on his soul.

Having been born to a career Army father and Air Force brat mother, Dáire had

never lived anywhere other than base housing until he left for college. He had gone to

FSU on an Army ROTC scholarship. Upon graduation, he’d received his commission in

the regular Army and had been chosen for Special Ops, assigned to Fort Benning,

Georgia, in the seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment as a member of America’s elite Rapid

Deployment Force. He had been twenty-two years old, a brand-spanking new second

lieutenant with more fervor than sense. Now—fourteen years later—he was still a

soldier but in a clandestine government Black Ops unit known only to a select few as

The Cumberland Group. He knew no other way of life than that of the military, of guns

and war and doing one’s duty for his country. He didn’t think he was suited for

anything else.

Raking his hands through his hair, he tugged at the thick strands, welcoming the

slight pain that took his thoughts temporarily from the reckless promise he’d made Star.

As much as he loved her, as much as he wanted to be with her, he had no idea how he

could possibly keep that promise. He’d never lied to her—at least that he could

remember—and knowing he would never be able to break away from The Cumberland

Group either easily or successfully until they were ready to allow him to go sat heavily

on his mind like a lead weight. They might terminate him—as Gentry had threatened

that morning—but it also might be with extreme prejudice. He knew far too much to be

allowed to just walk away.

And there was the matter of Jackson. Who would Jackson be partnered with if Dáire

were allowed to quit? Would that man look after the bumbling, retired Fibber or cast

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him to the winds the first time Jackson screwed up—something he regularly did, living

up to Dáire’s nickname for him.

Dáire turned and looked at the phone. He needed to talk to Gentry, and he knew

even this late at night the woman would still be up, still be at her desk. Sometimes he

thought she was nothing more than an automaton, a cyborg programmed to work 24/7.

That she had little human feelings—no human emotion other than anger—made her a

formidable enemy, and making her his enemy was not something Dáire wanted to do.

He was about to walk to the phone when he felt Star’s presence in the great room.

She was standing in the doorway, the sheet from his bed wrapped around her.

“It’s about to storm,” she said, and there was disquiet in her pretty green eyes.

Knowing she was terrified of bad weather, he went to her and drew her into his

arms. He could feel her trembling against him even though the thunder was miles

away. Swinging her up against him, he carried her back to the bedroom and laid her on

the bed, tugging the sheet away from her naked body before settling his own beside

her.

“What were you doing?” she asked, flinching as light pulsed beyond the windows.

“Just watching the storm coming,” he answered. He knew the best way to get her

mind off the tempest and slid his hand to her breast, gently squeezing.

“You were thinking about your job,” she said.

“That too.”

He molded the sweet flesh of her breast then leaned over her, drawing the dusky

nipple into the warmth of his mouth. He closed his eyes as she threaded her fingers

through his hair to anchor his head to her.

“Are you having second thoughts?” she asked.

“Uh-uh,” he grunted, and swirled his tongue over her hardening nipple, flicking at

the pebbly head.

“Did you call your boss?”

Dáire slid his hand to the juncture of her thighs. Gently he spread her vaginal lips

apart with his index and ring finger and used his middle finger to slowly stroke her

clitoris.

Star squirmed beneath his ministrations. She drew in a long breath and held it as he

continued to rub her most sensitive nub. A little moan pressed from her throat and her

fingers tightened in his hair.

Dáire caught her nipple between his teeth and lightly nibbled, hearing his lady’s

gasp of pleasure, then slipped his finger into her wet sheath. The muscles of her vagina

clenched around him, warmth flowed and her body tensed under his touch. She

flinched as a shriek of lightning pierced the sky so he drove his finger deeper, wriggled

it within her.

“Dáire,” she whispered, almost purring like a little kitten. She writhed, squeezing

her legs together.

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He released her nipple and lifted his head. “No,” he said, and withdrew his finger

to push her legs apart. “Lay still, baby. Let me pleasure you.”

Star tucked her lower lip between her teeth and did as he commanded. She reached

up to grip two of the thick vertical spindles on the brass headboard in her hands. She

clung to them as waves of delight rippled down her body. A fleeting thought of how

much she loved Dáire’s wicked bed—as she had labeled it—drifted through her mind

and she smiled.

Cast from genuine brass, the bed had been designed by Dáire long ago. The six end

posts of the wrap-around headboard and footboard—two at each compass point, one

six inches lower than the other—were six inches in diameter with the tallest ones on the

headboard being six feet in height.

“It’s my six, six, six bed,” he’d informed her when the delightful bed was being

brought in by the master craftsman who had created it. “Six posts with two six-feet-tall

head posts, each head post six inches in diameter.”

“A wicked bed,” she had remarked, impressed by the high sheen of the brass and

the six jet-black porcelain finials that capped the posts.

“A wicked bed in which to do wicked things,” he had boasted, slipping his arm

around her waist.

A chisel-carved intricate center scroll in a Celtic bird design graced both headboard