He couldn’t tear his eyes from her. Her round breasts, tipped by beaded pink nipples. Her firm thighs and shapely legs, the delicate arch of her feet. His gaze rested on her belly, and his heart did a strange lurch when he noticed the tiny bump. There was a baby in there. His baby.
Christ.
“What are you doing?” he choked out, suddenly wishing he’d taken all his clothes into the bathroom instead of just a pair of black boxers. His body’s reaction was not one she’d fail to notice. His erection hung hot and heavy between his legs, straining against his boxers.
“I’m waiting for you to join me.”
“Lana.” He gulped. “You know this isn’t a good idea.”
“Sure it is.” She shot a pointed look at his groin. “And I think you know it, too.”
How could he argue with that? How could he explain that although his body was raring to go, his brain was screaming for him to get dressed and walk out the door? A part of him wished he could. Just cut and run, let Lana make it back to her family on her own, so he could leave the country and forget he’d ever met her.
But he couldn’t do that. The sheer thought of leaving her sent waves of agony roaring through him.
He stood there frozen in place, torn between marching back to the bathroom or climbing into bed with her. Lana apparently decided to make the decision for him, because she swung her bare legs over the side of the bed, stood up and sauntered over to him.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pushed her breasts into his chest. He almost keeled over with arousal.
“Lana,” he began, taking one last stab at derailing this potentially destructive train.
She cut him off with a kiss.
The ability to form articulate thoughts disappeared in a sharp gust. Her lips were soft, warm, and she teased his mouth, brushing barely-there kisses over it, the tip of her tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. He instinctively parted his lips and granted her entrance, and then their tongues met and a rush of pure pleasure flooded his groin.
And just like all the other times he’d tasted her, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Craved it on a raw, visceral level.
Somehow they made it to the bed, mouths and tongues fused together, hands moving and exploring, legs tangling together. Deacon was panting as he brought a hand between her thighs, as he rubbed, stroked, brought her to new levels of pleasure while she moaned against his lips. He nearly lost it when she climaxed against his palm, her core rippling and pulsing, moist and slick, while she shuddered against him.
A groan squeezed out of his chest when she encircled his shaft with warm fingers, still rocking against his hand to prolong her release. He could barely move, his muscles were taut with anticipation, but the need to be inside her broke through his lust-crazed paralysis. He covered her body with his and slid into her in one smooth glide.
He almost lost control right then, stilling her hips with his hands before she tried to move. When he looked into her eyes, the passion and acceptance he saw there nearly ripped him apart. “I won’t last long,” he choked out.
“I don’t care,” she whispered back, and lifted her bottom to fully join them together.
It was all a blur. The hurried, desperate thrusts, the feel of her fingernails digging into his back, Lana’s soft voice urging him over that precipice and finally, white-hot pleasure seizing every inch of his body. He groaned into her neck, latching his mouth onto her warm flesh as release pulsed through him. He’d never felt this way with any other woman. It wasn’t just the force of the climax, but something more. A tight vise around his heart that he didn’t quite know how to interpret.
Kissing the side of his jaw, Lana rolled over and rested her head against his damp chest, one dainty arm slung over his abs, one leg hooked over his thighs.
Deacon stroked her blond hair and stared up at the ceiling, riddled with pain and confusion. Lana’s silky tresses slid through his fingers, her breath warmed his chest. He was amazed by how small and fragile she felt in his arms, by the complete trust she offered as she nestled close to him and drifted off to sleep.
That strange and painful vise returned, squeezing tighter this time. Why did this keep happening each time he let himself get close to Lana? What was this?
You love her.
Deacon almost scrambled off the bed in alarm. Love? No. That was utterly illogical. He couldn’t love Lana. She turned him on, sure, and she definitely inspired a powerful protective streak inside him. But love?
Lana made a contented little sound in her sleep and he instinctively tightened his hold on her.
I love her.
He tested the words in his mind, letting them sit, settle, develop some sort of meaning. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Loving Lana. Protecting her, raising their kid, sharing his life with—
Out of nowhere, a grisly image slammed its way into his brain. The pool of blood surrounding his mother’s long black hair. The gun dangling limply from his father’s cold fingers.
Deacon sucked in a burst of oxygen, his mind reeling. Christ, who was he kidding? Of course it would be bad, loving Lana. She was the kindest person he’d ever met. Not to mention the most optimistic, smartest, prettiest… She had it all, which made his feelings for her all the more dangerous.
If he let himself love her, the darkness inside him, the darkness he’d inherited from his father, would eventually eclipse the light Lana seemed to radiate. What if he destroyed her one day, the way his mother had been destroyed?
He could never take that chance. He’d rather die first.
“Why are you so tense?”
Her concerned voice broke through the silence. She touched his chest, which was tightly constricted thanks to the breath he’d been holding.
“It’s nothing,” he said in a strained voice. “Go to sleep.”
Her blond head lifted. Propping herself up on her elbow, she studied him with weary blue eyes, the expression revealing she knew exactly what he’d been thinking just now.
“You’re not going to stick around when we get to Montana, are you, Deacon?”
He finally let out that breath. “I’ve been telling you that from the start.”
“I know. I just hoped…”
The disappointment he heard in her soft voice almost made him backpedal. He couldn’t bear hurting her, not after everything she’d been through. But he couldn’t lead her on, either. She deserved much better than that.
“You hoped we could pretend I never had a hand in your kidnapping, that we’d get married and raise this kid together and live happily ever after?” He injected a note of sarcasm into the fairy tale, trying not to wince when he saw the hurt flood her face.
“Is that so far-fetched?” she whispered in the darkness.
“Yes.” Slowly, he lifted her arm from his chest and tucked it against her side, then slid off the bed in search of some clothes. “It’s a damned fantasy, Lana. People like you and me, we don’t get together. We don’t live happily ever after. You do, but not me.”
His hands were oddly shaky as he picked up his boxers and yanked them up his thighs. Lana didn’t say anything as he dressed, just lay there on her side, her blue eyes glimmering with unhappiness and some more of that disappointment.
“I still think you’re wrong,” she said, but this time, the conviction in her voice wavered. “You’re a good man, Deacon. We can still make this work, if not for us, then at least for this baby—”
“I don’t want a damned baby!” he cut in. “And I don’t want to be married to a spoiled young heiress who lives in a damn dream world.”
She flinched as if he’d struck her.
In that moment, he felt everything she did. The hot agony stabbing into his insides, the sorrow weighing on his chest.
He hated hurting her. He loathed it.
But it had to be done. She needed to face reality and understand that he was not the man for her.
Silence stretched between them like a deep abyss, and Deacon forced himself to main
tain his uncaring expression. The sparkle of tears clinging to her eyelashes almost did him in, but he stayed strong. Whether she believed it or not, this was for the best. However you looked at it, his destiny led to utter destruction. Maybe he’d go to prison. Or maybe he’d die at Le Clair’s enraged hands. But the biggest maybe of all, the one that had him following in his father’s footsteps and hurting Lana, was one he refused to risk.
“Do you finally get it now?” he asked coldly, avoiding her tortured eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered.
There was a rustling sound, and when he turned, he saw her stumbling from the bed. Without looking his way, she hurried into the bathroom and slammed the door.
You did the right thing. You protected her.
Deacon sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his jaw with both hands, trying to cling to the confidence his brain seemed to possess.
His heart, on the other hand…well, it might need some more convincing.
Chapter 15
Lana did her best to avoid looking at Deacon during the drive to Montana. Didn’t say a word, either. Because really, what was the point? He’d said everything that needed to be said last night, after he’d reached into her chest, ripped out her heart and crushed it to dust between his cruel fingers.
His words refused to leave her mind, though. I don’t want a damned baby…I don’t want to be married to a spoiled young heiress who lives in a damn dream world.
Was that truly what he thought of her? That she was spoiled? Living in a dream world? The former didn’t trouble her as much as the latter. What was so wrong with believing she and Deacon could have a future? He’d rescued her from Le Clair, kept her safe this entire time and if he’d asked—heck, even if he didn’t ask—she would have done everything possible to make sure he wasn’t punished for his role in this abduction. He was the father of her baby, after all.
But he didn’t want to be.
Glancing out the window, she focused on the mountains in the distance, but the familiar sight didn’t soothe her. Soon she would be home with her family.
And soon Deacon would be gone.
“We should be there in a couple of hours.”
Deacon’s voice sounded rough, rusty even. He hadn’t said a single word to her in eight hours.
“Uh-huh,” she said dully.
She heard him let out a heavy breath. “Lana…I know you don’t want to understand it, but—”
“Oh, I understand perfectly!” she interrupted. Before she could stop it, the pain and regret and anger she’d been harboring all morning exploded like a grenade. “You think I’m spoiled, you think I’m a foolish idealist, you don’t give a damn about our baby and you want nothing to do with me. Is there something else I’m not understanding?”
He went deathly quiet, and she noticed the flicker of anguish in his eyes.
Good, let him be upset. “That’s what I thought,” she muttered.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before the excruciating silence in the vehicle was broken again.
“Damn it,” Deacon swore.
She glanced over and saw him peering at the rearview mirror. Another curse hissed out of his mouth.
Alarm trickled inside her. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re being followed.”
The stretch of highway they were on had been deserted all morning, so when Lana turned to look at the side mirror, she immediately noticed the white van behind them.
“It could be nobody,” she offered.
No sooner had the words exited her mouth than the van picked up speed, now hugging their bumper.
Deacon slammed his foot on the gas pedal and the pickup hurtled forward. The van matched the pace.
“Damn,” Deacon mumbled again.
Lana held her belly protectively as they sped down the two-lane road, the white van continuing its pursuit. The highway was one long stretch with no curves in the distance, but the faster Deacon drove, the more panicked Lana became. The driver behind them wasn’t making any move to run them off the road, but stayed on their tail like a thoroughbred straining to close in on the front-runner.
“What do we do?” Lana demanded.
“We try to make it to the next exit and lose them then.”
Deacon’s plan erupted in flames as the screech of tires filled the air and a black SUV suddenly launched out from behind the white van and sped alongside them.
Heart thudding wildly, Lana peered at the windows of the SUV, but she couldn’t see through the tint. Not that there was much doubt about who it was. Le Clair’s men had been driving similar nondescript vehicles since they’d first abducted her.
Deacon released another wild expletive. “Get your head down,” he snapped.
She obeyed instantly, ducking down and keeping her head in her lap. They hit a pothole and her butt fully lifted off the seat from the force. Deacon kept driving, flooring the gas, but the SUV beside them was faster.
Lana peeked over and her heart lodged in her throat when she saw the SUV overpower them. The wind shrieked through the window she’d left a crack open, as Deacon drove at a furious pace, and then the crunch of metal had her flying into the door. The SUV had hit them!
Deacon worked valiantly at trying to control the pickup, but the truck lurched and rocked from each vicious slam. Fear paralyzed her limbs, while her pulse drummed loudly in her ears. She wasn’t sure how long Deacon would be able to keep going, and just as the thought entered her mind, the scent of burnt rubber filled her nostrils. A blur of black flew past her peripheral vision and suddenly the SUV wound up in front of them, blocking both lanes as it came to a jarring stop.
Deacon slammed on the brakes, and she would’ve gone flying through the windshield if not for the seat belt. But her head did connect with the glove compartment, and Lana saw stars for several long seconds. She blinked wildly, drawing in gulps of air. A car door slammed, and despite the ringing in her ears, she heard footsteps approaching their vehicle.
A second later, her door ripped open, somebody unbuckled her seat belt and she was pulled from the car and thrown into the dusty shoulder of the highway. She instantly cradled her belly rather than breaking the fall, and her forehead bounced off the gravel and sent a streak of pain through her.
A pair of black boots entered her line of vision. When she raised her head, a wave of complete misery consumed her.
“Missed me?” Le Clair asked cheerfully.
Goddamn O’Neal. As he was being hauled out of the truck, Deacon had no illusions about how Le Clair and his men had found them. Shane O’Neal had evidently given them up. Hell, the bastard had probably even put a GPS transmitter in the damn truck.
So much for the tight-knit mercenary community.
The moment Deacon’s boots connected with solid ground, a fist connected with his stomach, making him double over. He glanced up to see Kilo winding his arm again, and then he gasped for air as his kidney took a vicious hit.
“That,” came Le Clair’s hard voice, “was for all the trouble you’ve caused me, Delta.”
Breathing through the pain, Deacon met Le Clair’s empty gray eyes. “How much?” he demanded.
“How much did it cost me to retrieve you?” Le Clair said with a knowing smile. “The original price on your head was fifty grand—I figured that would catch some attention when I spread it over the mercenary grapevine. But your friend O’Neal, I was surprised by how persuasive his negotiation skills were. We settled for seventy-five.”
Seventy-five thousand bucks. Good to know how much money his fellow soldier was willing to defect for.
“More?” Kilo asked his boss in an indifferent tone, curling his fist again.
“No, we’ll save the rest of Delta’s punishment for later.” Le Clair clapped his hands. “Tie them up and get them in the van.”
Relief rippled through him when he noticed Oscar approach with Lana. Although faint smears of blood covered her forehead, she looked unharmed. Their eyes locked, and the hurt and anger he’d
seen on her face since last night had vanished, replaced with cold fear. He wished he could reassure her, but as Kilo clamped his wrists together and wrapped a thin black cord around them, Deacon knew there was nothing he could say.
They were in Le Clair’s control again, and this time, there would be no escape.
“What are you going to do with us?” Lana asked in a shaky voice directed at Le Clair.
He smiled broadly. “I’m still debating the best way to kill you both. Or should I say, the most entertaining way.” He nodded in approval as Oscar tightened the cord around Lana’s wrists. “You’ve really been a pain in the ass, princess. I’m overwhelmed with anticipation at the thought of finally being rid of you.”
“What about my father?” Desperation crept into her tone. “You said something about an exchange.”
“Funny you should ask. We’re on our way to meet your daddy right now.”
The look of shock on Lana’s face matched the one Deacon tried to hide. The deathly chill in his bones told him this was just another game, and Le Clair’s next words confirmed it.
“Rather admirable of your father to trade his life for yours, huh, princess?” Le Clair smirked. “Unfortunately, Daddy dearest isn’t very smart. If he were, he’d realize that the men he pissed off don’t care about his life. They’re eager for his death.”
Lana gasped. “You’re going to kill my father?” She swayed on her feet, looking close to fainting. “So this is all a trap? Make him think he’s going to give himself up for me, and then kill him? Kill all of us?”
“That’s about the gist of it.” Le Clair gestured to the white van, then nodded to Kilo and Oscar. “Get our passengers settled, boys.”
Deacon stiffened as Kilo dragged him toward the van. This “exchange”…it was simply another word for bloodbath. They would all be slaughtered—Hank Kelley, his daughter, Deacon himself. His own death didn’t bother him. It was Lana’s. The thought of watching her die sent pulses of rage to his blood. It spread, heating his insides, squeezing his heart, until he could barely see straight.