Saving Ariel: a Protective Hero Second Chance Romantic Suspense Page 4

  “Mr. Cole …” A nurse stepped into my wife’s room. “It’s time.”

  “Can you get my mother-in-law?” I wouldn’t leave Sam’s side, but her mother needed to be here.

  “Of course.” The nurse left and brought my mother-in-law and Callie into the room.

  Callie’s soft coos sounded and she blew raspberries while her mother took her last breath. I held my wife’s hand while Samantha died, knowing I would never love another.

  “You don’t have to talk about it,” Ariel says in a rush.

  My knuckles turn white with the death grip I have on the counter, and my cheeks are wet with tears. I swipe at my cheeks, angry and embarrassed by the rare show of emotion.

  “Sorry about that. It never gets easier.”

  “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.” The pilot holds out her palm and places it against my chest.

  Such a simple, comforting gesture, I don’t know how to react. I’m used to being the strong one, not an emotional tear bag. It isn’t the best way to impress a woman, but whatever, I can shed a tear or two for my dead wife.

  “Sam isn’t a bad memory. She was an amazing mother and a wonderful wife who wished for nothing more than for her husband to live a full life.”

  Now I’m rhyming? Can this get any worse?

  I hope Ariel understands what I’m getting at. The air crackles between us, an attraction that can’t be denied. I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s as if I’ve been struck by lightning and the pilot is at the center of it all.

  Samantha made me promise I would move on. I haven’t, but that’s only because there hasn’t been a woman smart enough, strong enough, or tenacious enough to hold my interest. I’ve known this woman less than an hour and my skin hasn’t stopped buzzing.

  Ariel’s smile returns. “She sounds like an amazing person, but I think cunt might not be the best word to teach your daughter.”

  She doesn’t shy away from curse words, either. Many women find the word cunt highly offensive, but the word practically rolls off her dirty tongue.

  I like that.

  I let out a deep belly laugh. Even better than her filthy mouth, she has no problem calling me out on my bad language.

  I love it.

  “Now, that's great advice. Which is where the swear jar comes in. Callie makes a fortune off my little slip-ups.”

  “I bet she does.” Ariel spins around. “As for us, motherfucking cunt is a pretty apt description of our situation.”

  “Doesn’t look good?”

  Damn, the woman switches gears without missing a beat. I haven’t had a chance to work anything else in before she goes all professional on me.

  “Wind speeds are gusting at fifty knots. I could take off, but by the time we get your guys loaded on the helicopter, wind speeds will be far in excess of that. Julian has stepped up its game. It's not worth the risk. We’re grounded until this blows over.”

  “We should probably tell the others.”

  “You go do that. I’m going to find out about your ride. They need to turn back if they haven’t already.”

  “Did you forget about me not leaving anyone alone?”

  She gestures to the room. “Where exactly do you think I’m going? I’m not heading out for a stroll, and I think I can find my way back. For the record, you left the rest of them alone.”

  “For ex-military, you’re not that good at following orders.” I watch for the slightest reaction, wondering how I should play this.

  “Sorry, didn’t know that was a command, sir.”

  Her deliciously brown eyes darken as her pupils dilate. And I don’t miss the way she licks her lips. Is it possible she feels the energy sizzling between us too?

  “Say that again.” I take a step toward her.

  She takes a step back but is stopped short by the console. I take another step, and she grips the edge of the counter but doesn’t move away.

  I level my entire focus on her eyes, holding her with the force of my will. Her chin juts forward. She gulps and licks those damn lips again.

  “Say what?” A quiver bounces in her voice.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I take another step. Only a few inches separate us. Over six feet tall, I tower over her small frame. Now is the time for her to step to the side, but she doesn’t.

  She holds my stare, then drops her gaze as I lean slightly forward.

  “Do you like bossy men?”

  “That depends on the man and where we are.” Her words come as a breathy whisper. “It’s also important he’s not an asshole.”

  “Is that so?” I itch to touch her but will wait until there’s no doubt as to whether she wants more.

  “Are you an asshole?”

  Damn, but her words set my blood on fire.

  “I’m not an asshole. I have a little girl to raise and have very specific ideas on how women should be treated … depending where we are.”

  I toss her words back at her, gauging her interest and whether I read her right.

  Her gasp tells me everything I need to know.

  “Although, I run a tight ship, or rather, a tight rig. I can be a certified asshole if the safety of my men is compromised.”

  Her gaze bounces to my eyes, but she doesn’t hold it for long before dipping her chin and biting at her lip.

  “I’m wondering what you’re going to do.” I lean in, crowding her space.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I kiss you ...”

  Her eyes widen, and her lips part ever so slightly.

  “You’ll understand why when I do.”

  Words aren’t necessary for what comes next, and screw professionalism.

  A Category 5 hurricane barrels down on us. We’ll be stuck in close quarters with the others until the infernal storm blows over or sinks the rig. It makes no sense not to go for it, and I’m long past ignoring the electricity crackling between us.

  I wrap a hand around her waist and pull her to me. I really should ask permission, but the hand she places on my chest doesn’t push away. Her fingers curl in my shirt and tug. When I pull her close, my body roars with its need to possess, but this isn’t something I intend to rush.

  No, I’ll savor the moment, drawing it out until she begs for contact. I glide my hand up the nape of her neck and slide it over the perfection of the tight bun at the back of her head. I look at her in a way I haven’t looked at any woman since my darling Samantha passed away.

  Ariel’s eyes glitter in the overhead lights. Sparks of passion and lustful desire flash as a teasing smile creeps across her face.

  Samantha made me promise to move on and open my heart to the possibility of loving again. I haven’t been able to honor her dying wish.

  Until now.

  With the demands of work and raising my daughter alone, there simply hasn’t been the time to date. I could’ve frequented any strip club and slaked my physical ache, but that isn’t the kind of woman I desire.

  I need confident and self-assured; a woman strong enough to allow herself to be vulnerable and yet willing to yield to a man like me.

  The acceleration of my heart is a blend of everything my body wants, mixed with a tinge of fear. The desire in Ariel’s eyes can’t be ignored. It mirrors mine.

  No hesitation.

  No guilt.

  With a gentle press of my finger, I lift her chin, tilting her face to meet my gaze. The passion brimming in her eyes, that hot intensity, is all the permission I need to ignite the inferno to come.

  The rest of the world becomes unimportant. The storm outside fades into insignificance, and the men down the hall disappear. Everything but Ariel is banished into the far recesses of my mind.

  The heat of her breath brushes against my skin, but I don’t rush. This is a moment to savor. A nearly impossible task, I ignore the stirring within me. My desire is a caged beast that has been contained for far too long. It struggles to be free. The only thing that matters is touching her
more.

  I would try to be gentle but know I’ll fail. I cup her cheek with one hand while freeing the long lengths from the bun at the back of her head. She shivers as I shake out the wet lengths of her hair. I lean in and feather my thumb against her lower lip, demanding she open for me. Completely in tune with my need, she parts her lips and swipes her tongue along my thumb.

  “Do that again.” Deep, raw, and hoarse with tightly held restraint, I give the command.

  Her eyes close, and a curtain of dark lashes sweeps over her high cheekbones. She presses the tip of her tongue to my thumb, then sucks my thumb into her mouth. The warmth of her mouth makes me groan with need.

  Her eyes open and she stares at me through those thick lashes. I weave my fingers through her hair. Pulling her head back, I pull my thumb free of the wet heat of her mouth.

  I want to take the zipper of her flight suit and yank it down, but we are still in the getting to know you stage. She reaches up and grips my neck, pulling me down while she rises up on her toes.

  I yank on her hair, a firm tug to let her know I’m in charge and give a satisfied nod at her frustrated whimper. She holds her hands around my neck but no longer tries to force the kiss. I don’t make her wait long, needing to feel her lips on me. Leaning down, I close the distance.

  Demanding and determined, I don’t take time to coax a response from her. I plunder and plunge, taking what I want.

  Her fingers lose their grip around my neck and slide down my chest, clutching at my shirt. Her entire body seems to melt into me as I swirl my tongue against hers.

  Long dormant nerves stir to life, hardening me in an instant. My entire body seems to come alive with a riot of sensation as desire ignites into an unslakable thirst for more.

  I rock my body against hers, allowing her to feel the boldness of my erection pressed between us. That will come later, but it will happen. An inevitability exists between us, and I determine then that I will pursue this woman.

  For the first time ever, honoring Samantha’s wish feels like the right thing to do.

  Chapter Five

  Ariel

  A toe-curling, heart-stopping, soul-tingling wave of sensation sweeps down my body with the unapologetic ferocity of a single kiss.

  His name? What is his name?

  He mentioned it, but for the life of me, I can’t remember the name of the man kissing me. Hell, I can barely remember to breathe.

  The kiss overwhelms nearly every thought in my head. Delicious. Sensual. Arousing.

  Long-slumbering parts of my anatomy wake up and take notice. This isn’t something I’ve ever felt before.

  He has me by the waist and pulls me hard against him. There’s no denying the rock-hard prominence pressed against my belly. The swell of his arousal is thick, hard, and persistent.

  What the hell am I doing? Am I really grinding my hips against his erection? And I don’t stop. Although I should. There are hundreds of reasons why I should stop.

  This is highly unprofessional. Like, not a little bit wrong, but a major, hard stop, ‘Do not pass go’ kind of wrong. Not that we work together. It isn’t like I’m his boss, or he’s mine, but this isn’t the time or place for hormones to take over.

  Just a little more friction.

  I grind against him and dig my fingers into the back of his neck, pulling him down, or trying to claw my way up his towering height.

  What am I thinking? Or doing?

  Wow, but he tastes amazing. It’s that kind of sinful, sultry, dark, give-me-more kind of taste I can’t get enough of.

  Third, this isn’t—I’m not that kind of girl. Hot and heavy are never words used to describe anything sexual about my existence. The quiet, reserved, shy one, I haven’t had a boyfriend in years, with the horrible exception of the asshole, Rick. And I’ve never experienced unbridled passion.

  In contrast to the bumbling attempts Rick made, this nameless man tastes like sin and moves with unapologetic determination in his quest for more.

  What the hell did he say his name was?

  Not to mention, we just met, but there’s no denying what I want at the hands of this man. There’s simply something about him I can’t explain.

  I’m not the girl who kisses on the first date. None of this stops my hands from exploring the hard planes of his chest or tracing the rippled terrace of muscles spanning his back. My hands move with a mind of their own, wandering, exploring, memorizing every sculpted nuance of muscle girding his frame.

  The excuse I give my mother about not dating is always the same. There’s never time. All my potentials are arrogant assholes. The men I work with aren’t the kind I date. Don’t shit where you eat. There’s great wisdom to that saying. And when not working, my life is that of a hermit: isolated, alone, and safe from the eventual heartbreak men bring.

  In the end, they’re all arrogant assholes who care about nothing except their next lay, and I'll be damned if I let a man use me and toss me aside the next morning.

  Am I doing that now?

  Who the hell cares?

  This, this explosion of passion might be worth the risk.

  I tilt my head back as his fingers stroke my hair. The gentle glide feels amazing but isn’t nearly as mind-blowing as when he tugs at the roots. That makes my insides churn and my lady-bits pulse with aching need. It does things inside my head as well; dark, delicious, and forbidden things.

  I wrap my arms around his waist and try really hard not to wrap my leg around his and climb on board. Ruggedly handsome, blue eyes, authoritative.

  Check, check, and double—no, triple-check.

  He’s everything I can’t resist in one dominating package. I’m one step away from dry humping him right here.

  Men don’t look at me the way he does, all hungry and determined. I’ve read about such things, but never experienced it. And my body? What is with all the tingly nerves?

  That warmth that spreads outward from my heart? And the needy pulsations between my legs? Rubbing against his very hard erection is something I have to consciously choose not to do. I’m not a needy and weak thing who loses my mind the moment a man kisses me, current situation being a notable exception to that rule.

  But damn, what a kiss.

  The acceleration of my heart intensifies as he sweeps his tongue along the seam of my mouth. My hands grip the fabric of his shirt as his fingers tighten and yank on my hair. Why does that seem to be the one thing that drives me the most insane?

  I know the answer to that, even if I don’t want to admit it. There’s a reason I don’t date. Men are intimidated by what I do for a living. Put off by my hardness and strength, none ever step up to the plate to take control.

  This guy doesn’t seem to have a problem with taking charge, and my entire body takes notice. I crave more, even if I will never, ever voice my true desires. Forbidden, those remain relegated to the darkness of my late-night dreams. Besides, what will he do if I say something and he thinks it’s weird?

  Goosebumps line my skin, and it isn’t because I’m cold. My flight suit might have soaked me to the bone, but electricity skates along my skin and tunnels along my nerves. I may have been cold a few minutes ago, but a fire burns within me now.

  So hot!

  I want to strip out of my clothes and rub against every inch of his skin.

  His shirt needs to come off.

  I pull at the fabric. Grasping, I yank his shirt from where it’s tucked in his pants. I have every intention of pulling it over his head and stripping him bare when he ends the kiss.

  “Luv, if you do that, there is only one way this is going to end.”

  He presses his forehead against mine and those piercing blue eyes of his sear my soul. Warmth envelopes my wrists as he grips my hands. I give a whimper as he tugs.

  “As much as I’d love to strip you out of your clothes and bury myself deep inside of you, there are men back there who might be wondering what’s taking us so long. I’m sure your crew is eager to know if they’r
e prepping for a flight or hunkering down for the next forty-eight hours as this thing blows over.”

  I relinquish my hold and allow him to lift my hands to his mouth. His lips press against my knuckles as he gives each a kiss.

  “Fuck,” he says with a growl, “but you taste like sin.”

  With the power of the kiss fading, a sense of shyness and uncertainty overcomes me. Is this regret? Do I feel bad about that kiss? My brows scrunch together as conflicting emotions rush through my mind.

  “Hey,” he says, “penny for your thoughts? Don’t shut me out. After a kiss like that, you can be damn sure I’m barely getting started. I don't like the way your brows are pinching together. Do you regret what just happened?”

  “No.” My hands lift, and my fingers feel the puffiness of my lips. “What’s happening?”

  “Something amazing.” He draws back, stooping to look me in the eyes. “Definitely something amazing, and that’s just a warmup.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Raw desire fills his words. “It means I want to know if your pussy tastes as good as your lips, and how it’s going to feel when I slam my cock in real deep. I’m not a slow as you go kind of guy, Ariel.” He gives a smirk. “At least, not once things get started. When we fuck, you can be damn certain you’ll never forget me. Is that what you want?”

  Actually, it isn’t what I want at all. A quick and hasty fuck? It might feel good in the heat of the moment. If he fucks with any of the devastation of his kisses, it might be worth it, but I will regret it every day for the rest of my life. My heart isn’t wired for a one-and-done fling. As silly as it sounds, I believe in true love, romance, and finding the one I want.

  “About that …” I can barely look at him.

  “Shush,” he says.

  “It’s just, I don’t think—”

  “If the next words out of your mouth are that you don’t think we should’ve done that, then you and I are going to have a problem. I don't regret that kiss, and I damn well plan on doing it again."

  “Why’s that?” I have every right to say no, even if that’s not what I want at all.