But after their mom had been killed, and after some folks in the area had started spreading vicious gossip that maybe—just maybe—Ava had been involved in that killing, things had changed.
All of the McGuires had become harder. And Ava...
It had hurt to look into her eyes for a while. Because he’d felt as if he’d let her down. Let her down and failed their mother.
I should have protected them. I didn’t.
“Mac?” Worry had entered Elizabeth’s voice.
He turned the car, heading toward the guesthouse. “It is beautiful,” he said. He would remember the good times, just as Brodie and Davis had done. He would see the good memories that had shaped him.
A few moments later, he braked the car and turned off the ignition.
Elizabeth leaned forward. “That’s some guesthouse.”
“Davis and Brodie have been on a remodeling kick.” That was an understatement. “They expanded the guesthouse. Updated the place.”
“It’s a house, Mac. There’s nothing guest about it.”
He exited the vehicle and headed around to her side of the car. They’d stopped by her place just long enough to pick up her bag and fresh clothes. Luckily, the bag she’d packed before had been all ready to grab.
When she got out of the car, he couldn’t help but admire the way her jeans clung so nicely to her curves.
He might be exhausted, but he wasn’t dead.
He had a feeling he’d always be admiring Elizabeth.
She looked up at him. “I know it’s not over.”
The sun was bright now. He could hear the birds and feel a breeze lightly blowing against him. Everything seemed perfect around them, but the rest of the world was still out there, waiting.
“I know someone hired that man. I know someone put all of this into motion, so I know... I know it’s not done.”
“We’ll deal with it. Whatever is coming, we can handle it.” Did she think he was just going to walk away? No, he was in this for the long haul. “But first, you need sleep. Sleep then food, then we’ll go from there.”
Her lips curled. It seemed as if it had been far too long since he’d seen that slow smile of hers. The one that lit her eyes.
The one that made his heart ache.
“Come inside,” he said gruffly. “You’re safe here.” With me.
* * *
SHE DIDN’T DREAM of a cold, snowy night. She didn’t see the ghost of a boy long dead. She didn’t remember what it was like to huddle in a closet, holding a shaking gun in her hands.
Elizabeth slept like the dead. A hard, deep sleep with no dreams. And when she woke, it was to darkness.
The dark scared her, reminding her of what had been and making her tense as she realized—
No, I’m at the guesthouse. I’m safe. Mac is here.
Or he was...somewhere around. She slid from the bed and tiptoed into the hallway, wearing sweats and a T-shirt. When she and Mac had stopped by her house, she’d grabbed the bag that she’d haphazardly packed before, when she’d been planning to run from the danger.
And to go back home.
The guesthouse was quiet. There was no sound except—
A clatter, coming from the kitchen. Her heart lurched in her chest, and she raced down the hallway, worried that someone else had been sent after them and that Mac might be in trouble.
The light was on in the kitchen. And Mac—
Well, he sort of was in trouble.
A plate had shattered near his right foot, and a serious mess ravaged the kitchen.
“Mac?”
His head shot up. At first, he looked uncomfortable when he saw her, maybe a bit nervous, and he said, “You’re up.”
Her brows rose. “You don’t sound exactly thrilled about that.” What was wrong with him?
He motioned to the madness around him. “I was going to make you a meal, but there wasn’t a whole lot to work with here.”
He was cooking.
“I can normally cook pretty damn well,” he said, and she saw that his cheeks had stained a bit red. “But seriously, Brodie has got to stock this place better. I’m not built for the whole from-scratch baking scene.”
She stepped over the broken plate and peered at his creations. Actually, the food looked really good. And her grumbling stomach reminded her that she couldn’t even remember her last meal. “You’re not going to hear me complain,” she said, then she reached out and sampled their “dinner.”
“Bread and soup isn’t exactly a four-course meal,” he muttered. “We can go up to the main house and there will be plenty—”
The bread was melting in her mouth. “Heaven.” Amazing. Perfectly moist and sweet, and there was a whole plate of intricate twists that he’d made.
Color her impressed.
He moved their soup over to the table. She kept a hand on the bread. And so yes, she did eat like a desperate woman, but that wasn’t something she was going to worry about at that moment. She was just going to eat and thoroughly enjoy herself. When the soup was gone and she’d devoured the last bite of bread, Elizabeth told him, “You are a man with secret skills.”
He’d grabbed some wine for them and poured them each a glass. At her words, his gaze seemed to become shuttered, and he took a long gulp of the wine. “Most of my skills...you don’t want to hear about.”
“Actually, I do.” He sat on the other side of the table from her. She had no idea what time it was, and Elizabeth didn’t care. What mattered to her right then—Mac. Talking to him. Learning as much about him as she could.
The real world would intrude on them soon enough. The danger and the drama would come calling. For that moment she just wanted to be with him.
“I want to know everything about you,” she told him. “Every secret.”
He saluted her with his wineglass. “Does that mean I get to learn your secrets, too?”
Elizabeth tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll answer any question you ask.” It seemed like the only fair exchange. She hadn’t been close to anyone—not really—for years. In some ways the idea of sharing her secrets was almost a relief.
She’d already pulled Mac into danger. Didn’t he deserve to know all about her past?
And she...wanted him to know. It seemed important for him to know all about her life. She was so curious about him. They’d reached some kind of turning point; Elizabeth could feel it. There was no going back for either of them.
“You were Delta Force,” she said.
His gaze was shadowed. “First Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, yeah, that was me.” He poured a little more wine. “I joined the army young, and I always knew I wanted to be Delta.”
Since meeting him, she’d read more about Delta Force and all of the dangerous work that group did. “You worked counterterrorism?”
“Some days. We also engaged in hostage rescue and a lot of direct action assaults.” His fingers slid along the stem of the wineglass. “What is it that you want to know, Elizabeth? If I’ve killed? I have. Did I like it? No, I killed only when there was no choice. When I was fighting to survive or to protect my teammates.”
“I already knew that would be your reason.”
His eyelids flickered.
“I want to know, why did you become Delta?”
“Because I wanted to make a difference.”
That seemed like him. “A true-blue hero.”
“Hardly.” He drained the wine. “Maybe I’m just an adrenaline junkie. Plenty of folks think so. They say I’m the dangerous one. Of all the McGuires, they think I’m the one you should avoid when the sun goes down and the shadows slip out.”
She took another sip of her wine. “Actually, they say that about all of your brothers.”
His lips twitc
hed a bit. She liked it when he smiled.
“But you are mentioned as being a bit more...intense,” Elizabeth allowed.
His faint smile faded away. “Is that why I scare you? Because I’m intense?”
She needed more wine. “I don’t remember saying that you scared me.” Quite the opposite. He excited her. He made her want things—so many temptations that she’d tried to resist.
“You know I want you.” His voice was a low rumble that rolled over her.
“Yes.” And if they were being honest...say it. “And you know I want you.”
His face hardened. A muscle jerked along his jaw. “You’re the one who put the brakes on things before.”
Yes, she had been. “I’m not stopping anything now.”
Very carefully, he put down his wine. “You should know, my control isn’t at its best now. I thought I was going to find you dead. I was desperate to get to you—I was pushed too far.”
“So was I.” While his voice had roughened, hers had gone soft. “Pushed over the edge because I realized I wasn’t really living. I’ve tried to play it safe. I’ve tried to do everything right.” Tried to be so perfect, all the time. Elizabeth shook her head. “And I could have died. Do you know what I thought about right then? When the lights went out and I heard that guy calling my name?”
His gaze burned as it held hers.
“I thought about you, and I wished—I wished so much that I hadn’t stopped you. Hadn’t stopped us. Because you’re what I want. You’re—”
He was on his feet. He shot around the table and pulled her into his arms. His mouth crashed down on hers, and they both ignited. No other word for it. The passion burned hot and bright, and she kissed him feverishly. She didn’t want any control.
No control. No fear. No worries about the past or the future.
Only that moment mattered. Being with Mac mattered. Holding him tight.
Going over the edge—with him.
She’d thought they’d go to the bedroom.
Instead, he stripped her right there. His hands caught the edge of her jogging pants, and Mac pushed them down. The pants pooled at her feet even as he kept kissing her. Then his hands were on her waist, sliding over the curves of her hips, and his callused fingertips slid under the edge of her cotton panties.
She could feel the bulge of his arousal pressing against her. He wore only a pair of low-slung jeans, and there was no way she could miss his need.
Her hands slid over his back. She wanted to touch all of him and—
He lifted her up and put her on the edge of the table. Her legs were splayed, and Mac stepped between them. He kissed a scorching path down her neck. Her head tipped back as she moaned. He was licking her and lightly using the edge of his teeth, sending tremors of sensation shooting through her. The rough fabric of his jeans made her inner thighs even more sensitive, and her eyes tipped closed as she just felt.
Need.
Passion.
“I want to see all of you,” he said.
He lifted up her shirt and tossed it aside. Her eyes opened, and she stared at his face. Intense. Definitely the word to describe him right then. And all of his hot, feral intensity was on her. One hundred percent. His hand reached out and he caressed her breast, skimming his fingers along the nipple.
“So pretty,” Mac muttered. “Got to have a taste.” Then his head bent, and his mouth closed around her breast.
Her breath choked out, and her fingers clamped around his shoulders.
“Cinnamon,” he whispered. “Love the cinnamon.”
Elizabeth had no idea what Mac was talking about, and she didn’t care. Her legs curled around him as she urged him closer. He was driving her insane with need. She wanted him to feel the same madness.
Her hands slid down his chest. Over the faint scars that marked him. Scars that showed his strength. She lightly traced the marks and felt him go rock hard beneath her touch.
“Elizabeth...”
She kissed his neck, giving him the same sensual treatment that he’d given to her. She licked, she caressed, she let him feel the faint edge of her teeth, then she slid down.
He moved back, but only just a little. Just enough for her to kiss his chest. To press her lips softly to the marks on his body. For her to have a turn licking his nipples. And then her hands went lower. She unhooked his jeans and slid down the zipper.
He caught her hands. “Baby, you are driving me insane.”
Good. That was exactly how she wanted him.
Mac kissed her again. Ever harder. Even hotter. And his hands were the ones moving now. Sliding between her legs. Pushing up between the folds of her sex. Caressing her. Stroking her. Making her whole body quiver because she could feel her release building.
Her hand flew out, and she grabbed the table to steady herself. She knocked over a wineglass, but she didn’t care.
She only cared about Mac and the way he was making her feel.
His fingers pushed into her and withdrew, a maddening rhythm that had her arching into his touch and needing more. “Mac.” His name was a demand. They’d waited long enough. She needed him.
“Oh, damn, you are gorgeous.” And he stroked her more. His fingers slid over the center of her need. Pressing, sliding, pulling her closer and closer to that release.
His fingers thrust into her and he kissed her.
Her climax hit her while she kissed him. It roared through her body, making every muscle go tight. Her eyes squeezed closed even harder as she savored the pleasure pumping through her.
“Yes,” he whispered against her mouth. “Baby, yes, and we’re just starting.”
He kept caressing her, and her flesh was so sensitive now that she shuddered. Only—he pulled away. He stepped back from her.
Oh, no, that was not happening. “Mac.” Again, his name was a demand.
Then she saw what he was doing. He ripped open a foil packet, sheathed his arousal then was back to her. He positioned himself between her thighs. This time both of her hands clamped tightly around the edge of the table as she balanced herself. She could tell by the blaze in his eyes that his control was gone. He was just as lost as she was, and Elizabeth loved it.
He drove into her, thrusting deep, and she clamped around him. Their gazes held as the passion spiraled between them. Fast and hot. She was panting. He was holding on to her like he’d never let her go. The pleasure mounted again. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.
She couldn’t look away from his green stare. He was gazing at her as if she were the center of his world. As if nothing else had ever mattered to him.
As if nothing else ever would.
Her legs wrapped around his hips, and she surged up toward him, frantic, so desperate and—
Pleasure. It exploded over her, and she saw the same rapture hit him. His gaze seemed to go blind and he shouted her name. His hold was fierce, too tight, but she didn’t care. Right then she was far too gone to care.
They rode out that release together, a hot pleasure that drove away all sane thought.
Nothing was supposed to be that good. Nothing. The pleasure wasn’t stopping. It kept rolling through her, and Elizabeth couldn’t pull in a deep-enough breath.
“So good,” Mac whispered. “Knew it would be like this...first time I saw you.”
She hadn’t known. She’d never realized anything could be this good.
There were no defenses between them. No masks. No shields. She could swear in that moment, as she looked into his eyes, that she was staring straight into his soul.
Mac leaned forward and kissed her.
The need built once more.
Chapter Eight
“Do you know who the hell that guy is yet?” Sullivan demanded as he paced in police captain Ben Howard’s
office.
“He hasn’t spoken since being taken into custody,” Ben said as he sat in his chair, expelling a long sigh. “But we’ve got his prints. We’re running them through the system—”
“I don’t think that guy is in your system,” Sullivan said as he started to pace. “He’s a professional, and I don’t think he’s been caught before.”
Ben nodded. “But we caught him this time.”
Only because the guy had been so determined to kill Elizabeth Snow, at all costs. “He went off the deep end on this one. He could have played it cool...gone after her when there was less heat but...”
“But he didn’t,” Ben said, his voice hardening. “Maybe the guy has been killing so long that he thought no one could ever stop him. I’ve seen that crap before. Perps think they’re untouchable.” He grunted. “The guy is plenty touchable now. He’s in lockup, and he’s not going anyplace.”
It didn’t make sense to Sullivan. “Why did he have to eliminate Elizabeth right now? Why not wait a few days? Why get so desperate?” He just didn’t understand that. “If the guy is really a professional, he should’ve had more control. He—”
“Maybe he did have more control,” Ben cut in, voice turning thoughtful. “Maybe it’s his boss who didn’t.”
Sullivan stilled as possibilities began to buzz in his mind. “The boss got desperate. He thought the reporter and Elizabeth were about to spill his secrets, so he ordered their deaths. Kill them,” Sullivan said, thinking this through, “at all costs.”
Ben’s head inclined toward him. “That scenario works for me. The guy pulling the strings is the one who told the hit man to act. And I can’t help but wonder if that same fellow is the one who told him it was fine to kill a cop along the way, as long as it helped to get his dirty job done.”
“How is Detective Chafer? Is she going to be okay?” Sullivan asked quietly.
Ben rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t know. The doctors are working on her, but she’s in ICU. She just survived one firestorm down here at the station. IA put her through the ringer, trying to see if she was dirty like Shayne Townsend.”
Sullivan didn’t let his expression alter. Shayne had once been a friend, a close friend, but ultimately the cop had betrayed the McGuires. “And what do you think about her involvement?”