The offer was too
tempting to refuse. The soft, clean bed was a definite step up from the bed
they slept in the night before and the added bonus of air-conditioning went a
long way to improve her disposition. “You’ve made me soft, Delaware. I’ll be trading my passport for a
damn wedding photographer business card soon if I’m not careful,” she muttered,
heading for the bathroom with her
pyjamas
, closing
the door firmly behind her.
* * * *
When Willow
came out of the shower, a towel over her shoulder as she rubbed her hair dry, Del had to force himself
to stop staring. His condition seemed to be getting worse. He was sinking
deeper into this bog hole of emotion. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top,
her wet hair looking sexy and ruffled as it fell to the tops of her shoulders.
It made him want to run his fingers through it and smell the clean fresh scent
of the lemon grass and eucalyptus shampoo she used.
He’d caught himself
opening the small bottle and inhaling the smell the other night after she’d had
a shower—locking the scent into his memory. He even found himself taking note
of the brand so he could buy a bottle and keep it in his bathroom. When he got
too miserable he could take a sniff and feel like she was still somehow around.
He hoped to God the guys never found out just how low he’d sunk…he’d never live
it down.
He
wasn’t looking forward to today’s venture. The FBI were getting impatient and
today they would be raising the stakes. No crowded shopping malls today, just a
long empty beach. A picnic and the two of them out there…alone, well, except
for the three or four snipers, the FBI agents and the rest of his unit, but effectively—they’d
be alone.
It wasn’t a settling
thought—he wasn’t sure how he was going to protect Willow when he was about to do stuff that ran
against all his training. You didn’t put yourself out in the open as a target.
He saw from the dubious expression on Willow’s
face once she caught a glimpse of the picnic basket, delivered by room service,
that she was having similar misgivings.
“A picnic? They want us
to sit there and wait for this guy to pick us off while we sit and eat a
picnic?”
Yep, there’s definite reluctance there.
“You ready to do this?”
he asked, bending to pick up the basket. “You don’t have to come,” he said,
giving her an out if she wanted it.
He watched a slow smile
spread across her face and his lower regions gave a twitch.
“Just you, and a
basket, sharing a romantic picnic? The guy would probably think he was doing
you a
favour
by shooting you just to put you out of
your misery, Delaware.”
He stood back as she
sashayed past, allowing his gaze to roam across the shapely backside and long
slender legs as she walked in front of him to the car.
Focus, Delaware
, he warned himself, shaking his head to dislodge
the veil of desire that threatened to descend. There wasn’t any room for error
here. A moment caught unaware and he’d end up with more than a few bashed ribs.
Chapter 17
The beach had been
scouted and men positioned around what they assumed would be the most logical
sniper point, a high rocky outcrop overlooking the beach and giving a perfect
vantage point for any would-be shooter to hide in and take a shot.
Del calmly scanned the
area while in the process of shaking out the blanket and, satisfied it was the
most likely place a sniper would choose, he made certain he was in the direct
line at all times. There wouldn’t be time to do much to stop Willow getting shot if he went down first,
but with any luck the FBI would move in on this guy before he had a chance to
set up his equipment.
“I want to swim,” Willow announced, standing
and already pulling her shirt off to reveal a deep red bikini that made his
mouth water just seeing her in it.
“What the hell are you
doing?” he snapped once he’d recovered from his initial surprise, restraining
the urge to look over his shoulder and make sure no one else was ogling her,
even though he damn well knew every man out there would be doing just that.
“Put your damn clothes back on, Sheldon,” he said, reaching for her shirt to
throw over at her.
Willow
sent him a surprised smile.
“Why? It’s the beach, it’s going to look a bit odd if we don’t swim, or at
least
sunbake
,” she said, placing her hands on her
hips and staring down at him.
“Damn it, Sheldon,” he
swore under his breath as she turned away and headed for the water, leaving him
to follow her.
The water was
surprisingly cold, and he had to grit his teeth as it inched its way up his
thighs and beyond as he hurried to catch up with her. He stood waist-deep and
watched as she surfaced from the water, hair streaming and large drops of water
beading on the ends of her eyelashes as she emerged before him, looking like
every man’s mermaid fantasy come to life.
Del
hardly dared to
breathe in case she disappeared like some damn apparition. Something had gotten
into Sheldon, he wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t like it right at this
very moment when he was helpless to do anything about it and the threat of
danger was lurking so close around them.
“Tell
me what you want, Willow?” he asked in a rasp of his usual tone, as she slowly
stood up and came to a stop mere inches in front of him, pinning him with an
intense gaze that had grabbed far more of his attention than he liked.
A small smile touched
the corner of her mouth, and a shutter dropped over her eyes that only moments
before had been unguarded and open. “The impossible, Del,” she whispered softly, “that’s what I
want.”
He had no idea what to
say to that, and he was still trying to come up with a response when she sank
back beneath the water and swam back towards the shore, leaving him alone—his
head even more muddled than it was before.
* * * *
Willow
trudged back up the
beach and bent to pick up her towel, burying her face into it and smothering
her moan of frustration. Waking up this morning, she’d been thinking about
today and the danger they were in, and a surge of rebellion rose up inside her.
She’d be damned if she was going to cower around and wait like some sacrificial
lamb for the slaughter. If today was the day their hit man tried to kill them,
then she was damn well going to make sure she went down living, not whimpering
like a pathetic martyr. Snatching up her bikini, she’d decided to at least go
out in style. Let him ogle what he was about to snuff out. As for this
irritating attraction between herself and Del—well, why pretend any more? They were supposed
to be acting the part but she knew they weren’t fooling anyone—the attraction
was there between them for any fool to see, and she was tired of fighting it.
If their time was limited, then she’d make sure it wasn’t wasted.
She spread out the
towel and lay down on her front, digging through the bag to bring out a tube of
sunscreen. Handing it over to Del,
she flashed a bright smile and asked him to rub it on her shoulders.
She had to admit, she
was enjoying the slightly off-balance version of Del that stared at her. “Please?” she added,
and saw the slight shift of his gaze from her eyes to the swell of her breasts
as they threatened to overflow from the bikini top, against the soft towel
beneath her.
Taking the tube, he sat
down next to her and took his time unscrewing the lid as she held his gaze
steadily. “This isn’t a game, Sheldon,” he said softly, as he squirted a small
amount of white cream onto his fingertips.
“I know,” she said and shrugged,
her voice calm. “But do you want to us sit here all day and try and
out-smart-arse each other, or would you rather give in and do what we’ve been
dancing around for the last two years?”
“You were the one who
said we weren’t compatible,” he reminded her in a strained tone.
“Maybe I was wrong, and
maybe we only have a few hours left to live—you really want to waste them?”
He swore again, this
time with a frown directed solely at her. “You think this is some last fling
before you die? I’m trying not to take that as an insult,” he growled.
Willow
grinned. “Does it make
you feel better to know if I had to have a last fling with someone, I can’t
think of anyone else I’d rather it be than you?” she added seriously.
His eyes darkened to a
deep sapphire. Pushing herself into a sitting position beside him, she leant
close and held his gaze steadily. “It’s true, Del, there’s no one else I’d rather be with
than you.” She touched her lips to his and felt them soften fractionally
beneath hers before he made a low growl in his throat and took control of the
kiss, slanting his mouth over hers in an act so territorial and possessive, it
took her breath away with its power. She wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but a
beeping of the phone in the bottom of the picnic basket dragged them back to
reality and in a flash, Del pulled away and was immediately back in Marine
mode.
“Let’s eat,” he
growled, opening the basket and pulling out food, as she stared at him
dumbfounded.
“Now?” she stammered.
He flashed her a quick
glance and gave a dry chuckle before withdrawing a mobile phone as he handed
her a plate, carefully reading the text without drawing attention to himself.
“Make like you’re starving, and whatever you do, don’t look around,” he
murmured in a low voice as he slipped the phone back in the basket. To anyone
watching they’d never even known he’d done it.
“What’s happening?” Willow asked, reaching
for a container of salad.
“Don’t
panic, okay? It’s all under control, but when I give you a signal you do
exactly as I tell you,” he said, reaching back into the basket and bringing out
something wrapped in a tea towel. As he unwrapped it, Willow caught a glimpse of a sleek, black
handgun and felt the
colour
drain from her face.
Sending her a swift
glance, he leant close and slipped a hand behind her head, drawing her close in
what would look as though it were a simple lover’s caress. “I’m here, I won’t
let anything happen to you, okay? Trust me,” he said, his eyes holding hers in
a look so deep and honest she had no option but to believe him.
“Okay,” she whispered,
and felt his lips, firm and real, against her own before he pulled back and
began to load his plate with food once more.
To say she lacked an
appetite at that precise moment would have been an understatement—she could
barely think about eating without her stomach threatening to heave, she was so
wrought with anxiety, but she somehow managed to push the food around on her
plate and looked as though she were making some kind of attempt. Del, it seemed, had no
such problems, woofing down his food as though he were really sitting on a
beach with the woman of his dreams and not a care in the world.
If she wasn’t frozen
stiff with fear, she would have hit him for being so calm.
A gunshot rang out and Willow felt her heart
stop—for a moment she wondered if she’d been shot. But then she was knocked
backwards and covered by Del’s body—a human shield against the danger, and she
knew in that precise second, without a doubt, she was in love with Peter
Delaware.
How could she not be?
The man had thrown his body across her. He’d die in order to protect her. The
second discovery she made, was that she couldn’t breathe. As he’d knocked her
down, she’d had the breath knocked clean out of her and in a painful, blinding
panic she
realised
she couldn’t catch her breath. Her
lungs were paralyzed—and then in a whoosh of excruciating agony, they inflated
and she was gasping deep, rugged gulps of air looking up into Del’s face, as he
frantically ran his hands over her body, searching for injuries. “I’m okay, I
was just winded,” she managed between gasps. “Is it over?”
His eyes softened a
fraction, and his gaze searched her face restlessly. “It’s over, they got him.”
Willow
looked over Del’s shoulder and saw
Tate and the two others running toward them. “Willow? Del? You okay?” Tate’s deep voice broke the
intimate bubble of Del’s
nearness and she managed a jerky nod in response.
“Yeah, we’re okay,” Del said, reluctantly
easing away from her, and she caught his grimace of pain, as he moved.
“Are you okay?” she
asked urgently.
“Just aggravated the
old injury. I’m okay,” he said before clutching at his rib cage and falling
backwards.
“Del!” Willow’s
scream echoed along the beach as hands pulled her away and began assessing Del’s condition. Within
moments, there was a hive of activity along the once empty beach and all she
could hear were radio voices carrying over the air, and sirens. An ambulance
was on its way and Maloney was frantically working over his friend and colleague—his
face a mask of concentration and concern.
“He’s punctured a lung,
get that ambulance here now,” he yelled, his gaze never leaving Del as his struggle for
breath was becoming harder with each attempt.