Heston (In the Company of Snipers #25)

Chapter Twenty-One

This wild, impulsive, audacious, headstrong woman was it for Heston. London had been it since they’d met in college, and yet he’d just mugged her in an empty conference room like a horny inexperienced teenager. Once again, she’d shaken his world. Uprooted the damned thing. Shook it like a dog shaking a rug, then threw it down between them. A challenge: Where do we go from here?

To bed. His bed. Not at the walnut conference table that would be damned hard to sit at during upcoming meetings. Not that there weren’t other conference rooms at TEAM HQ. But how could he sit here and pay attention while remembering how she’d tasted on that table? How she’d panted into his mouth when she’d come? How much he loved her?

The ride to his place was short and sweet. Unfortunately, it was too quiet and he understood. London thought she was getting her way, and she had, up to a point. But there was so much more going on between them than just what happened after that foolish fight in Killeen. She didn’t need to apologize. Not anymore. Their problem now was that he wanted forever, but, at the same time, he refused to stand in her way. She had so much potential and he didn’t want to be the past mistake holding her back. She was made to fly. She could and should leave him behind. A woman with her uncanny investigative talent should never settle for less. For him.

Heston stopped at a local bakery on the way. The tiny shop was owned by Charlee O’Donnell, the blonde, amber-eyed woman Asher’d had his eye on for months. Up to now, Asher turned into a tongue-tied moron whenever she brought cinnamon rolls and fudge brownies to TEAM HQ. Which was at least twice a week. The idiot had better make a move on her before someone else did.

Whatever. Heston didn’t have enough brain bytes to solve Asher’s relationship problems tonight. He purchased a dozen donuts, then hustled London to his place. While she grabbed the treats from the backseat, Heston climbed out of his black Challenger, ran around it in time to open her door, then headed up the walk and inside. The irony that he drove the same type of car as Tucker Chase didn’t escape him. At least his wasn’t a flashy red neon sign.

“Nice place, Agent Contreras,” London said quietly after he’d unlocked the deadbolt on his front door and gestured her inside.

At that Agent Contreras comment, Heston had a feeling he’d missed something. He re-engaged the deadbolt, took the box of donuts from London, dropped them on his kitchen counter for later, and started a pot of coffee brewing.

His place had been a garage back in the 1950s. Its inside walls sported raw, unpainted brick on both levels, a concrete floor at ground level and a massive loft that overlooked most of the lower floor. The common area, kitchen, full bathroom, and his office were tucked under a wide staircase that led to the loft. Besides his bedroom, upstairs housed a furnished guestroom and a smaller room full of storage.

He’d bought the garage during his one-and-only house-hunting trip to Virginia, and he’d been remodeling it ever since. There was still plenty to be done, inside and out. Funny how he’d always pictured London there, had even included certain items in his renovation plans—just for her—just in case. And now, there she was.

“I should’ve asked earlier,” he said, peering around the kitchen door jamb. “I’m making coffee, but I’ve also got beer, wine, or whiskey, if you’d rather something stronger.”

“Coffee’s fine,” she replied from where she stood gazing up at the framed portrait on the mantle. “Is this picture recent?”

“Yes, taken last year. That’s Mama and Dad in the middle, as you know. Good photo, huh?”

“Roberto’s still not married?”

Heston shrugged. “He’s too busy touring the world. Last I heard, he was in Manchuria, headed for India.”

“What’s he do?”

That was a tough question. “Mama says he hasn’t found himself yet. Guess he’s still looking.”

“Hmm…” There was something odd in London’s tone, as if she were being extra-polite. Extra nice. “You look like your dad.”

Heston let that observation slide. Carter Contreras might look like a nice guy in the photo, but he was and always would be a badassed Marine. Gruff. Rude. Sharp-tongued when dressing down a kid who spilled milk at the dinner table. Growing up, he’d been unreasonably tough on his boys, but never Belinda. He’d spoiled her, which had always been a sore spot between Carter and Bellisa, Heston’s mother. His Mama.

“Where were you when it was taken?”

“Afghanistan. Alex sent Mark, Harley, and me to track down a friend of his, to bring him and his family to America.”

“And did you?” Again, her tone sounded remote, like she was holding back. Was she having second thoughts about her marriage proposal?

“Mostly,” Heston answered, remembering locating the wizened, little man, Arzad and his worried wife, Gulnar, in their tiny mud-brick home. How small they’d looked inside the giant C-130 that had flown them to Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. Worse, how Gulnar had cried for their only granddaughter when the plane lifted off, and left the dust and stink of Afghanistan behind. Najela was still living somewhere near the abandoned American Air Base with her aid-worker husband, Benny. With their three small daughters. In abject poverty, like most of the country, now that the Taliban was on the move again.

‘I need to get them out,’ he thought to himself. ‘Their country’s turning back into the shithole it was before. That’s my next mission. God, I hope they’re still alive.’

“Hey, where’d you go?” London asked, her brows narrowed in that adorably inquisitive frown he adored.

Heston shook off the worry for the young woman a world away and looked into the turquoise eyes blinking at him now. “Just thinking. Coffee should be ready.”

“Stay here. I’ll get it.” London was back in seconds with two mugs of steaming brew. “You still drink yours black, right?” she asked, one cup extended toward him.

Heston took the mug and set it on the side table. “I do, thanks. But first, conversation.”

She wiggled her backside into the corner of the couch opposite from him, put one knee between them, and balanced her mug on that knee. Like a barrier. “So talk.”

He pursed his lips, not sure where to start. The knee between them looked like a castle wall with a steamy cup of ammunition between them. Whether she knew it or not, she’d created a boundary he knew he should respect, not breach.

But it was now or never. “I can’t survive another break-up,” he said quietly. “If you need to leave me behind so you can fly, London, go. Please, just go. I won’t hold you back. I’m proud of you, and I’ll support you every way I can, even if it means letting you go. I understand the drive that propels you to serve your country, I do, and I don’t blame you. I feel the same call. It’s a powerful force that doesn’t allow for much compromise, does it? When called to action, we’re the ones who jump first, ask questions later. While others run from it, we run into trouble. We never give up on our dreams, which is precisely what you did the night you left me. You followed your dream. You jumped at your chance to serve. I just—”

“For your information, I left because you attacked me and my dreams,” she said firmly. “Not because I no longer loved you.”

He nodded. “Copy that. I did attack your dreams. I minimized you as an individual and as a woman, and I’m damned sorry.” Heston swallowed hard. “I’m not the modern thinker you are. I’m still the guy from the stone age who wants to be the only man in your life. The one who runs to protect you.”

“You are the only man in my life.”

Heston noticed she didn’t admit she might never need his protection. Looking down at his boots, he shook his head. He couldn’t change who he was. The drive to protect London was fiercely strong, maybe too strong for a modern-day relationship to work. He refused to be less than who he was. And yes, his inner caveman didn’t have a submissive bone in its body. Or in its pants. “I’m not the only strong one in your life, London. You don’t need me for that. You’re strong enough all by yourself. I see that now. And because I do, I love you enough to finally let you go. If that’s what you want.” Man, he hoped it wasn’t, but she needed to know she had choices. That he wouldn’t stand in her way.

“Not good enough, Contreras,” she bit out, moving her mug from her knee to the coffee table with a sloshy thump. “Is that why you didn’t go all the way with me back there? Is that why you stayed dressed while it was okay to get me naked and finger me? Why you wouldn’t let me love you back?”

“No,” he exclaimed, shocked she’d even think that. “Hell, no. But it’s been a long time, and I couldn’t resist, and I—”

“And once again, you thought you knew better than me, right?” London said that with a cocky shoulder swagger that sent out a loud and clear, ‘Danger, Will Robinson!’

He dragged a hand over his head. “I can’t win, can I? I didn’t have a condom, and I didn’t allow myself to fuck you because I wanted to make love with you, London. Make love, understand? I wanted to make love to the only woman I’ve ever loved, not screw you on a hard table like a one-and-done. Would it have been fun? Maybe. But the first time I sink into your beautiful body again, I want you to be comfortable and somewhere safe and—”

London jumped to her feet, huffing through her nostrils like a bull in a china shop. “That’s not love, Hes. That’s chicken shit and you know it.”

He’d screwed this up and now she was pissed.

“What’s so wrong about both of us being strong, huh? Can’t you handle me being a smart, capable woman and making my own decisions? Is that it? Does one of us have to be weak before this thing between us works?”

Lifting off the couch, he took a strong step into her. “Is that what you want, London? Is that what’ll work for you, us being an even match?”

Her brows slammed together. “There’s nothing even about us, Hes. Look at you.” She waved her hand, flipping all five fingers at him. “You’re sexy and handsome as sin, and you’re stronger than me. Hell, you’re stronger than most guys I know. You’re Superman to my Lois Lane, only my Lois Lane is more like—”

“Wonder Woman,” he breathed, finally understanding the difference between them through her eyes. London wanted strong because she was strong. Not na?ve. Not inexperienced. She’d learned her lessons the hard way, by failing and getting up again, by fighting for the right to be what and who she already was. Strong and perfect.

“No, I was going to say like wimpy What’s-Her-Name in that “Avengers” movie,” she snapped.

“You mean Scarlett Johansson? But you’re precisely like her.”

London dismissed his comment with another dismissive wave of her hand. “Not her. The other one, Tony Stark’s wife. That blonde. Wait a minute.” Her head jutted back a notch on her spine. “You think I’m like Scarlett?”

Finally, she was getting it. “I sure do. Look at you. You’re beautiful and you’re stronger than most men I know. You know what you want, and you go after your dreams. Only…” He took another step toward London. “You’re hotter and smarter than Scarlett.”

She shook her head, sending those long turquoise bangs tumbling into her eyes. “Really? Me? I guess I am kind of strong. I do work out, and I like a good run every morning. But I’m no good at hand-to-hand fighting.” She tapped the side of her head. “Two strikes, remember? I’m not even up for even matches. I’ll always lose.”

Heston took another step into her. This conversation was all over the place, and he wasn’t sure she was hearing what he’d meant at all. His voice sounded weak and whiney, and he wasn’t portraying himself as the strong personality he truly was. How could he turn this around? He needed to understand her better. Might as well jump into the fire.

“Are you planning on leaving the first time we disagree, argue, or fight?”

She cocked her head, her eyes bright and as belligerent as ever. “No, Hes. I’d really like to stay if you’ll let me. We’ve got things to figure out, I get that. And yeah, I realize we’ll still argue. That’s what people who love each other do. We’ve both changed these past few years. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, starting with the night I took off and left you.” She swiped a hand over her head, tossing those jewel-toned locks away and making sure they’d fall back over her eyes as she did. “But I’m here now, and you’re here, and I don’t like it when you decide who gets to keep their clothes on and… and I never stopped loving you, damn it.”

Her bottom lip trembled.

Heston took that final step, took a firm hold of her hips and, hopefully, the situation. “There hasn’t been anyone since you. Promise. We were always good together.”

London draped her hands over his shoulders and ran her fingers up the back of his neck into his hair with a sultry, “Aww.”

He closed his eyes, time-warping back to the days when one touch of her hand was all it took to get him hard.

“And we can be better, Hes. Both of us, individually and as a team. A team of two. Our team.”

He liked the way that sounded. “Stay?” he asked, so damned smitten with this amazing woman that he felt like a fool. A fool in love with a woman with wings. Wings he meant to protect and guard the rest of his life. If she wanted to fly, by hell, he’d make sure she could soar as high and go as far as she wanted.

Her lips slammed together in a pout. “Of course, I’ll stay. Think you can get me an interview with that Mark Houston fellow?”

Heston shook his head, charmed to his socks. “Baby, I’ll get you anything your heart desires. Mark will be thrilled to talk with you.”

With that, negotiations were over. He grabbed her waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. “This is me being a caveman,” he told her, in case she had other plans. “Want me to stop?”

“No! Don’t ever!” she squealed even as she ran her hands over his ass and down his thighs. “Is this where you give me a tour of the house?”

He landed a playful smack on her rump. “No, baby, this is me dragging you off to my cave and thumping my chest all night long while I fuck your brains out.”

“Aww. You’re such a romantic. But I wanted to—”

He landed another sharper smack on the gorgeous ass that would soon be bare, blushing red, overheated, and—his. “You’ll want what I give you, brat, and I’m going to give you exactly what you need. What you’ve been asking for.” What I was once too dumb to see that you needed.

“A spanking?” she teased, wiggling that warm ass under his palm.

“I was thinking a nice, hot bath.” This time he smoothed a gentler hand over her backside while he climbed the open staircase to the loft.

She froze. “Seriously? A bath? What? Do I stink?”

He was on the top step by then, outside the master bath off his bedroom. “No, never. We’ll skip it if you don’t want to.” She’d want to. He knew that for sure. He tipped her off his shoulder onto her feet and told her, “Close your eyes.”

Once she did, he opened the bathroom door, turned her around to face the delicately fashioned surprise, and whispered, “Welcome home, London.”

When she opened her eyes, her mouth fell open, as she took in the red brick walls across from the door, their reflections in the mirror over the sink, and the bright white ceiling overhead. He flipped the switch beside the door to heat the dark gray slate under her feet. For once, Heston kept his mouth shut and let her process his gift.

London entered the room, her bare feet on the slate a mere whisper, her eyes wide. He’d bought the antique, hammered-copper tub on a whim after he’d remodeled the loft. Two giant Boston ferns sitting in hard-as-hell-to-find wrought-iron plant stands, graced one end of the free-standing tub. London used to love ferns. Another hung from the ceiling like a leafy pi?ata. He flicked the switch on the wall behind him, and the fairy lights he’d strung around the floor-to-ceiling window became flickering fireflies in the dark room.

Shelves of all the scented candles, soaps, bath bombs, and lotions she used to love lined the wall at opposite end. Fluffy white towels waited on warming racks. London might think she was badasssed, that she had to be, to compete like a man in this dog-eat-dog world. But she was also a girly-girl who loved to relax in a steaming tub of bubbles, with a glass of wine at the end of a hard day. In here, she’d be safe to be herself. The ugly world wasn’t welcome.

“It’s a really big tub,” she said quietly.

He held his breath, afraid he’d done it again. Overwhelmed her with his idea of what she liked, instead of first understanding what she thought was important. Maybe this wasn’t such a grand surprise after all.

London was studying her reflection in the beveled mirror over the double sink. One hand went to her cheek, the fingers on her other hand went to her lips. She looked shocked standing there, as if she were seeing herself for the first time. Maybe she was.

Heston backed out of the door and let her have whatever time she needed to decompress. Damn. He’d done exactly what she’d told him not to do. Thought he knew better. Had to be the hero. Never earnestly listened to understand what she tried so hard to tell him.

He was still as dumb as a box of rocks.

“Hes,” she said, stopping him before he moved too far away. “Join me?”

His heart skipped a beat. “Me? Yeah, sure. If that’s what you want.”

“I’ve only ever wanted you.” She turned her back to the sink, and in one fell swoop, ripped her t-shirt over her head. “I want you. In that tub. With me. Now. Crank up the water. I like those twinkly lights, but leave the others off. Let’s party like we used to. Remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Heston couldn’t help the grin that cracked his face. Party like they used to? That, he could do.