Highly Charged! Page 6

  Your forsaken love,

  Chloe

  U.S.S. Zeilin

  1943

  My Dearest Malcontent,

  Excuse my penmanship if it is a bit shaky. I have caught cold, you see, and all my comrades agree it is because I’m the only man in the company without a scarf from home. But since your knitting talents are not your best asset and you have so many extraordinary others, perhaps you would strive to be a bit more diverting in your letters to keep me amused. Although I am not really ill, I am honestly cold at heart and could use all the warmth you can spare. Don’t hesitate to be graphic. Hearing about your state of longing in detail would do wonders to raise my temperature. If you are diverting enough, I promise to hurry home all the faster to divest you of that inconvenient virginity I insisted you maintain before I left.

  Frozen Until I Hear From You,

  Eduardo

  BRAD TURNED THE PAGE in the diary, but the next entry from Chloe was not a letter. Instead, she discussed the weather in California when they’d made a trip to see her stepbrother Harold before he left for his next assignment. No mention of Eduardo.

  Out of sight, out of mind? Brad didn’t want to think that had been the case. He knew his naval history enough to know the Zeilin would have a rough time of it that year. If Eduardo was cold, he could have easily been part of the transport’s Attu landing—a hairy operation in the Aleutian Islands during a foggy, frigid spring. And damn it, how had he gone from thinking about Nikki to another crap mission?

  He supposed the idea of Chloe forgetting about Eduardo while the guy was freezing his ass off in Alaska struck too close to home. But more often than not, those relationships couldn’t survive time and distance. Maybe Eduardo had been right to concentrate on the physical in their letters.

  Live for the here and now. When you risked everything day in and day out to perform a job you believed in, sometimes the best approach was to scrape together whatever happiness you could before it vanished. Or—in his case—exploded.

  5

  THE SHOUT IN THE MIDDLE of the night brought Nikki upright in bed.

  Had the vandals returned to do more damage? Before she was fully awake, she was on her feet and running across her bedroom to the window overlooking the garden. Her gaze swept the landscape, the dark shape of the tractor taking form on the side of the yard. The overgrown rock garden tumbling down toward a small pond that needed to be cleaned and filled. But there were no people that she could see. All was quiet. Dark.

  Her heart still pounding hard, she stood motionless. Alert to any hint of sound.

  “Get them out of here!” Brad’s voice cut through the silence like a sonic boom.

  She jerked away from the window—startled. Scared for him. Who else was in the house?

  “Brad,” she shouted, running barefoot through the dark house. Thank God for the moonlight filtering in bare windows she hadn’t bothered to cover yet. “Brad, what’s going on? Whoever is down there, I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it!”

  Heart in her throat, she plucked the cordless phone off an upstairs table. She pounded down the stairs double time and skidded down the hall into the den. At first, she didn’t see anyone. On the verge of calling the police for the second time in a handful of hours, she stilled as she heard Brad’s voice. He bit off a ripe curse. Trying to quiet the rush of blood in her ears, she strained to listen to see where the sound came from. Then, a dark shape moved in the far corner of the room.

  Brad’s blanket. Brad.

  He was here. Alone. Dreaming.

  Though relieved the vandals hadn’t returned, Nikki had a whole new batch of different things to worry about now. First and foremost, should she wake him? She could hear his breath coming fast, a whispered litany of words muttered into the pillow and punctuated by curses. Clearly, he was distressed. But wasn’t it a mistake to awaken someone in the midst of a nightmare for fear they’d remember it all the more vividly?

  “Get down!” he shouted, spiking up off the futon and scaring her so badly she stumbled back a step.

  His eyes were vague and distant, the way her old roommate in college had looked when she sleepwalked. The dream had him in a powerful grip. She couldn’t let him battle it out any longer.

  “Brad.” She approached the bed, reaching out to touch the bare expanse of his chest. “Wake up.”

  His skin burned even though the house remained cool after the sun went down. Fever?

  His hand locked around her wrist, eyes open but unseeing as he turned toward her. His hold was tight and unrelenting, her arm captured at an awkward angle until she lowered herself to the bed beside him. Her crisp cotton nightgown rode up her thigh and she shifted awkwardly to stay covered. She hadn’t given a thought to what she was wearing when she’d leapt out of bed, the lightweight cotton and Battenberg lace providing little coverage.

  “They shouldn’t be here,” he told her, his voice softer but no less urgent.

  “You’re sleeping,” she assured him, flexing her fingers against his chest to increase the pressure—to get through that foggy barrier where dreams seemed so real. “You’re at my house. Nikki’s.”

  The sound of her name finally had a noticeable effect. The ragged breathing slowed. His eyes cleared by degrees, revealing a tortured shade of blue.

  “Are you okay?” She kept her hand on his chest, thinking she might be all that anchored him to the here and now. “Bad dream?”

  He shook his head. But she didn’t take that to mean “no” so much as that he had no intention of speaking about whatever had just happened.

  “But maybe if you talked about it—”

  “I can’t.” The words were harsh, but there was such starkness behind them that she couldn’t possibly take offense.

  “Is there anything I can do?” She didn’t know how to help when she didn’t know what was wrong. But the tension and raw emotion hung in the air even if he didn’t have one word to say about them.

  His gaze narrowed as he finally gave her his full attention. Somehow, he’d shaken off the dream for at least that moment. His nostrils flared. His lips parted. She thought he would speak, but instead he loosened his grip on her wrist, his thumb soothing the place where his fingers had been the moment before.

  “Nikki,” he said finally. “Kiss me.”

  Her heart did a kind of stop, drop and roll in her chest. He was obviously upset. And it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. He needed something else from her right now.

  The intimacy of being on this futon with him, the sheets tangled around his legs so badly that it was very evident he wore a pair of boxers and no more, suddenly seemed very unwise. Hadn’t she run from this moment just a couple of hours ago?

  But she was right back here, inches away from a guy who’d dominated her fantasies for over a week. And he needed her.

  Whether or not he could articulate it in so many words, she understood that much.

  “It’s not a date,” Brad whispered, so close that his jaw brushed her cheek while he spoke into her ear. “Just a kiss.”

  The open windows ushered in the scent of honeysuckle, the fragrance that reminded her of those nights when she’d peered in through his window at this very chest. Those nights, when he’d been wrapped in a haphazard towel, and she’d seen the vee of dark hair pointing a path down his abs.

  Now, hypnotized by a man far more complicated than she’d imagined, stuck in this moment that felt more like a dream, Nikki couldn’t imagine why a sane woman would say no to a kiss. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t a relationship.

  He needed her kiss and she wanted to give him one he’d never, ever forget.

  “Okay. But you gave me the last one. I’m in charge this time.”

  His touch skimmed up her arm to the loose sleeve of her nightgown, reminding her she wore precious little in the way of clothes, too. Her breasts pebbled at his touch.

  “I want your mouth on me any way I can have it.” His questing fingers dipped beneath the fabri
c to cup her shoulder, his palm within deliciously easy striking distance of one tight, aching nipple.

  Still, she wouldn’t waste her one opportunity to kiss him by falling on him with more hunger than finesse. She cupped his face in one hand, the bristles of late-night stubble scratching pleasurably along her palm. And, once she was certain he no longer lingered in a dream, she guided him closer. Closer.

  Her eyelids fell shut at the last moment and still her mouth landed precisely where she’d wanted it, brushing his with featherweight pressure. Her breasts knew no such restraint, however, shamelessly pressing against the solid wall of muscle of his chest.

  He groaned, and she thought she echoed it, the vibration of pleasure a mutual music that made all her nerve endings tingle. His hands speared deeper under her nightdress until they spanned her bare back and pressed her tight to him. He felt so very good. Even better than in her fevered dreams about him. The temptation to strip off her nightclothes and climb into the sheets with him was strong, but she’d only signed on for the kiss. And by God, it was going to be a good one.

  With a dart of her tongue, she massaged his lower lip. She remembered the words of the book he’d quoted about the phantom licks along a throbbing sex and wondered if he’d been equally plagued by the notion. Ah, but it was different for a man, wasn’t it?

  Parting his lips with hers, she captured his tongue and drew on it lightly. His grip on her lower back tightened, his own back arching in response.

  No question, he’d felt a few phantom strokes right where she’d wanted.

  Giving herself over to the pure pleasure of the moment, she reveled in the sensuality of that hot connection. All around her, a cool spring breeze blew against her skin wherever Brad didn’t touch her. By contrast, she burned everywhere his body grazed.

  More.

  When she pushed closer, he lifted her onto his lap.

  Her thigh met the impressive resistance of his erection. She gasped at the feel of it, as rigid and well proportioned as everything else on him. “Come here,” he urged, tugging her down to the open futon with him as he fell back onto the pillows.

  Not that she required urging. She didn’t think she could stop until she knew what it felt like to have his hand palm her breast. Everything about Brad’s kiss excited her, made her want more and more.

  She normally felt clumsy in bed, her experience limited because of her focus on her career and her reservations about romance in general. But here in this awkward futon with Brad, Nikki felt like a goddess of pleasure. Her senses roared to life. Her sex clenched with readiness until her thighs turned damp.

  And still the kiss went on and on. Languid. Delicious. She wanted more and couldn’t wait any longer, then remembered he’d promised a kiss only.

  Gladly, she ended any moral dilemma he might have had about that promise by transplanting his palm to the aching weight of her breast.

  Freed to touch her, Brad squeezed gently, circling the tight crest with his finger until she whimpered impatiently. Only then did he leave her mouth to trail kisses down her throat to the swell of cleavage above the neck of her nightgown. It required only the smallest effort to sweep aside lace to expose her nipple. He feasted on her there, treating each breast with thorough reverence.

  And still there was no moment when she wanted to stop, no natural breaking-away point when she feared what came next might be a disappointment. No, she knew now that this highly charged current between them would only get hotter and more powerful the longer they lay together. Even now, her body wept for the completion he could offer. She had to squeeze her thighs tight against it, and that only made it worse.

  “Nik?” Brad’s whisper in her ear sent sweet ribbons of pleasure chasing down her neck.

  “Mmm?” She smoothed her palm across the plane of his chest and down to a tight six-pack.

  “I need to stop here if we’re not going to finish this tonight.”

  She struggled to make sense of that, her skin burning for more of anything he wanted to give her, not sure how she could peel herself away from him. He was addictive. She didn’t think she could get enough of him, let alone walk away. But that’s what he was warning her about, wasn’t it? She’d made it clear they couldn’t go any further and yet she was writhing around in his bed as if she hadn’t known the man all of one day.

  “Oh, my goodness.” She gazed at him in the moonlight, his aquamarine eyes promising fulfillment such as she’d never experienced. She’d been the one to set the ground rules, hadn’t she? Yet he’d been the one who had to remind her of them. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tugging her nightdress back into place, she covered her breasts.

  “Don’t be sorry on my account.” He lay very still, not touching her, his breathing shallow. “I’ve been dreaming about what you would feel like all day.”

  Embarrassed, she sat up, pulling her hem down as far as it would go and not coming close to her knees. His reference to dreaming made her remember the nightmare he’d had and how haunted he’d looked afterward. Why had he needed the distraction of a kiss so badly?

  “But if you hadn’t stopped me, I would have—” She shook her head, knowing she must have looked like a tease when she put his hand on her breast. How quickly she’d forgotten all about the nightmare and how upset he’d been. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never—”

  “You can’t imagine how happy it makes me to think I could affect you like that.” He stroked her hair, the barest brush of his fingers through tangled locks, and she felt all mushy inside. “But I know you have reservations. I can promise you I won’t take advantage of this thing between us until I’m sure all of you is on board with taking it further.”

  Her eyes burned at the realization that he would hold back like that for her, even though she hadn’t been able to restrain herself. Brad Riddock had needed her for comfort and it had turned into something combustible.

  “Thank you.” But she wouldn’t get carried away like that again. “And I promise I will be far better behaved in the future. Between being exhausted from working so hard and then waking up to your shout, I think I was in a kind of dream state myself.” Would he talk about what was bothering him now that he was more relaxed? “Do you know what you were dreaming about earlier? I was really worried about you.”

  “Nothing.” He yanked the covers back up, establishing a barrier between them as tangible as his suddenly cool tone. “It was nothing. We’d better get some sleep if we want to get any work done tomorrow.”

  “Sure.” Nikki rose, feeling dismissed and unsteady, the floor cold under her feet. She felt hypersensitive to everything around her, her body still abuzz with unfulfilled hunger. She’d been moments away from giving him everything, so it hurt to be shut out now. Still, she couldn’t resist calling back to him when she reached the door. “Sleep well.”

  His grunt of assent could have meant anything. Leaving her to wonder if his growled response was a sign he was more annoyed by having to cut things short than he let on.

  Or was he frustrated with her for asking about his nightmare? Tomorrow, she would find out.

  HE WAS SCREWED IN THE HEAD.

  Brad lay in the dark long after Nikki walked away, trying to come up with any other answer beside the obvious to explain the persistence of his nightmares.

  He was sleeping in the home of a gorgeous woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her. She’d felt like an angel in his hands, her body so smooth and perfect. Her touch had been sweet and gentle when she’d awoken him from his private hell. And when things turned carnal, she’d been right there with him. Her brain might not have approved the plan yet, but her body had spoken volumes—enough to assure him they’d be finding mutual bliss together soon. He’d kissed her before bed. He’d worked his way into her good graces.

  By all accounts, he should have gone to bed one happy freaking dude. Still, he’d woken up screaming like a pansy and replaying the scene in his mind before that bomb had exploded and sent his world to shi
t.

  Brad had been wearing protective gear that afternoon when he’d dismantled the IED. The local kid who’d secretly followed him into the field hadn’t been so lucky. The kid’s father—a subsistence farmer with more offspring than resources—had pulled the kid back, shielding him at the last second. Saving the boy. Losing an arm.

  How the hell would he farm now? Brad had the benefit of the U.S. government to swoop in and provide topnotch medical care for the burns and shrapnel wounds in his leg. What did the Middle Eastern farmer have for support? While military hospitals patched up any number of civilian casualties, the guy had refused assistance from a military doc for fear of retaliation from insurgents in his town.

  And Brad blamed himself. Not for detonating the bomb. That was his job. He was guilty for befriending the kid in the first place, working around the language barrier to form a bond with a local boy in need of a role model. Some freaking hero he was.

  He didn’t know what to do with all his anger. And it only pissed him off more that he was stuck here—motionless and useless in Virginia.

  At this rate, he’d be lucky to receive his Get Out of Jail Free card from the base shrink. He pounded his head against the pillows that smelled like Nikki’s shampoo. Obviously, he’d lie through his teeth when they asked him if he was still having nightmares. But what if the flashbacks interfered with his ability to do his job?

  That, he could not even consider.

  Nikki had no idea how much he needed her. How much he wanted to be here, away from the four walls at home that he’d been starting to climb. At least here, she’d awakened him before the worst of the dream came, when he started to re-order all the sequence of events to try and come up with a scenario that wouldn’t have resulted in a bomb going off and almost killing that kid.