Lucky Harbor: At Last Part 18

"Not even a little bit," she said. "But I rarely make promises." She thought of the last one she'd made, to Riley, the one she was still conflicted about. "And I never make one I can't keep."

Or so she hoped...

His eyes held hers. "Never?"

She drew a deep breath. "Not yet anyway."

"Good to know." He left the highway and drove them up toward Crescent Canyon. The road turned into a dirt fire road that forked off a dozen times or more. Amy was completely lost in three minutes, but Matt seemed to know exactly where he was going. The road narrowed, and the going got so rough she ended up clinging to the sissy handle.

Matt glanced over at her. "You okay?"

"You tell me."

He flashed a grin. "No worries, I hardly ever drive off the edge by accident."

She steeled herself and took a peek over the "edge." A three-hundred-foot drop. "Good to know," she said dryly, repeating his earlier words back to him, making him laugh.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a clearing in front of a small building, just as Sawyer did the same from the other direction in a black-and-white official Bronco.

There was a car already parked, an older Ford truck of indeterminate color and rust. "Stay here," Matt said to Amy, eyes on the building, reaching into the back for a utility belt, gun, and cuffs. "Under no circ.u.mstances are you to get out of my truck. If it all goes to s.h.i.+t, I want you to slide over behind the wheel and drive out of here, do you understand?"

"What? No, I'm not going to leave you here," she said.

He spared her a quick look, mouth and eyes grim. "I can take care of myself. Promise me, Amy."

G.o.ddammit. Thanks to her own big mouth, he now knew that she took her promises very seriously. "I promise."

He and Sawyer got out of their vehicles and drew their guns. Amy watched the two of them as they looked at each other, seeming to communicate without a word. Sawyer gave a quick hand gesture, then went toward the front of the building while Matt vanished around back.

Just as Sawyer reached the front door, it crashed open. Three huge guys flew out, tackling Sawyer to the ground. The dirt pack was dry, and dust flew up, making it impossible for Amy to see anything but a tangle of limbs. From inside the car, she gasped, horrified, sitting up straighter, desperately trying to keep her eyes on Sawyer at the bottom of the pile. Her first instinct was to do something to help, and she whirled around, looking for something, a weapon, anything. A baseball bat would have been her first choice but there was nothing. She carried a knife in her backpack, but all she had tonight was a small purse with a little cash and her phone. She hadn't planned on needing anything else except maybe a condom.

And then there was her promise to stay in the truck.

It was the worst feeling, the most helpless thing imaginable, sitting there watching Sawyer go down, unable to help.

From inside the building, another guy came stumbling out. His hands were cuffed behind him, and he was being pushed along by Matt. Matt caught sight of the scuffle and shoved his guy down to the ground. "Stay," he barked and broke into a run toward the mlee.

One of the men broke away from the fight and staggered for his truck. Matt dove after him, taking him to the ground.

Amy gasped again and covered her mouth, as if by making any sound she might distract Matt and get him hurt. The two men rolled twice, and then Matt was on top, flipping the other man over, holding him there with a knee in the small of the guy's back. Matt reached behind himself for a set of flexi-cuffs from his utility belt and cuffed the guy. Without looking at him again, he turned back to Sawyer's fight and waded right in. He grabbed one of the two remaining guys by the back of the s.h.i.+rt and hauled him to his feet. No easy thing considering that the guy appeared to be six and a half feet tall and close to three hundred pounds. "Down," Matt said, and pointed to the ground, both his voice and actions cool and calm and utterly in control.

The big guy dropped to the ground.

Sawyer had the other one facedown in the dirt now and was cuffing him. Sawyer had a cut lip and torn clothes but otherwise appeared unharmed. The cuffed men were all moaning and groaning about their injuries, which both Sawyer and Matt ignored. There was a short conversation between Sawyer and Matt, then they both made calls.

Twenty minutes later, three more black-and-white SUVs appeared. Matt spoke to the officers, then to Sawyer. Then the cuffed men were loaded up and driven away.

Matt turned toward his truck and Amy. He was head-to-toe filthy. He had a tear in one knee and another on his elbow. He was sweaty.

And he looked like the best thing she'd ever seen.

He ambled back over and slid behind the wheel, pulling out of the clearing and back onto the fire road as if nothing had just happened. Like it was an everyday thing to drag bad guys off his mountain and engage in hand-to-hand combat.

And h.e.l.l, maybe it was.

Clearly, he knew what he was doing. Protecting himself and Sawyer, and by extension her as well, had been as second nature as breathing. Not for the first time, she wondered about all he'd seen and done and how it'd molded him into the man he was, so laid-back and quick to smile and yet ready for battle at all times.

She also wondered why the h.e.l.l she felt so on edge right now, like she was going to die if he didn't grab her and kiss her. Strip her. Take her.

"You okay?" he asked, making her jump. He swiveled his head to look over at her, and their eyes held. Suddenly there wasn't enough air in the vehicle, not even close, as the tension rose. It was a good kind of tension, the kind that had her squeezing her thighs together. Was she okay? She had no idea, but her insides were quivering, her hands itching with the need to lay them on him. "That was actually my question for you," she managed.

His gaze never left hers. "You're shaking."

Yeah, she was. Every part of her. "I was scared for you." She hugged herself. "Which is ridiculous, since like you said, you're good at taking care of yourself." Something they had in common.

They were on a deserted road, hidden from all sides by trees so thick she couldn't see beyond them. Still trembling, and greatly annoyed, she stared out the window, gasping in surprise when Matt pulled off the road. Turning to her, he slid a hand along the back of her seat, palming her neck. "It's okay, Amy. Everything's okay."

Feeling stupid for her shocked reaction, she nodded and drew in a shaky breath, but his touch had only accelerated her heart rate. She didn't know what to feel, or do. She wanted to jump over the console and personally search every inch of him for injury. She also wanted to rip off his clothes and climb on top of him. "Matt."

"Yeah?"

"I need-" Breaking off, she closed her eyes.

"What do you need, Amy?"

"You."

A low sound escaped him, and then his other hand joined the fray, cupping her face, gliding down her arms, pulling her toward him.

She wasn't exactly sure what happened next, whether she'd done as she'd thought about and climbed over the console, or if he actually lifted her, but then she was straddling him, and nothing else mattered.

He was holding her above himself, trying to keep her from touching him. "Wait-I'm all dirty and sweaty."

"I don't care."

With a groan, he hauled her in close, kissing her long and deep.

He was right; he was hot and dirty. And he was real, more so than anyone she knew, and in turn he made her feel real. She forgot that they were stuffed together in his driver's seat, that the steering wheel was pressing into her back, or that anyone could come upon them. She only knew a need for this man so close against her, his scent, his taste, and she rocked into him.

Beeeeeep, went the horn when she knocked against it, startling her into jerking upright, where she banged her head on the visor.

Laughing softly, Matt cupped her head in one big palm, rubbing it. Then he sighed against her neck and dumped her back onto her side of the vehicle.

"Hey," she said.

"Not here."

"Why not? We're on a date."

With a rueful smile, he adjusted himself. "Is that what you think a date is about? s.e.x?"

"Well... yeah."

He shook his head. "Even if that was true, there's not enough room in this truck for what I want to do to you."

Her nipples tightened even more. "Now you're just teasing me."

"Sweetheart, when I start teasing you, you'll know it."

She shuddered in antic.i.p.ation. She knew him now, knew the magic of his touch. She knew he could back up that c.o.c.ky statement with shocking ease.

"I need to go change," Matt said.

"Are you going to tell me what happened back there?"

He looked at her, a.s.sessing, and she held his gaze, seeing the concern in it. Was he worried she was too fragile to hear about his work? Had his ex been that way? Because Amy was as far from fragile as she could get. "I want to hear about it," she said. "I'd really like to know."

"Not too long ago, we made that big drug bust I told you about," he said. "We found some of the princ.i.p.als and what we thought was all the drugs. Wrong on both accounts."

So casual. But what she'd seen had been anything but casual. It'd been like something right out of a movie. "You and Sawyer took on four guys," she said. "Four huge guys."

"We've faced worse."

That thought gave her a s.h.i.+ver as he pulled up to his cabin.

"I'm sorry I screwed up our date," he said.

She shook her head. "You didn't."

"I'll shower and change real quick," he promised, and left her in his living room while he vanished into his bedroom.

Through the open door, Amy heard the thunk of his shoes being kicked off one by one, and then the shower came on. She tried not to think about him stripping down to skin and failed. To distract herself, she looked around. The first time she'd been here, she hadn't had time to take it all in, what with the jumping of each other's bones and all.

He had running shoes half under the couch, a newspaper scattered on the coffee table. Next to the front door was a baseball bat and mitt. A laptop sat on the couch.

This wasn't just a place where Matt hung his hat at night. He lived here.

Had he loved here?

She was surprised at the yearning to know. His shower turned off. Next came the sound of a drawer opening and then some rustling.

"We missed our reservations," he called out to her. "But maybe they'll still take us anyway."

It would be at least a forty-five minute drive, and undoubtedly a wait, and while she imagined the food would be worth it, she didn't want the fancy dinner, the crowd, the candles and dancing thing. "We could just eat here," she said.

A beat of silence, and then he appeared in the doorway wearing low-slung Levi's.

And nothing else.

He held a s.h.i.+rt in his hands as his eyes met hers. "You want to stay here?"

His hair was wet and had been barely finger-combed, leaving it standing up and spiky. He smelled like soap and shampoo and himself. And he hadn't been all that efficient with a towel either because his chest was damp.

And so was she. "I'll cook," she said, thinking she was already cooking, from the inside out.

He followed her into his kitchen. "You don't like to cook."

Actually, she liked to cook just fine. She just wasn't all that good at it. But she did have one specialty. "If you have bread and cheese and a pan, we're in business."

He shrugged into his s.h.i.+rt, and she wished he hadn't. Eating grilled cheese with the spectacular view of his chest and abs would've been better than any dessert she could have whipped up.

He stepped close, his eyes dark and heated. "I like where your thoughts just went."

"Did I say them out loud?" she asked, startled.

"No, but you were thinking them clearly enough." He backed her to the kitchen counter and caged her in with a hand on either side of her hips. Ducking a little, he looked into her eyes. "You want me."

She blew out a breath. Seemed silly to try and deny it now, especially since she'd said so in his truck. His eyes were deep and dark and beautiful and filled with affection and a devastating heat. He looked so... alive, him and that megawatt smile as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her to the counter.

"Um..."

With a polite c.o.c.k of his head to let her know he was listening, he pushed between her legs, spreading them wide so that he was flush up against her. When she didn't finish her sentence-couldn't even remember what she'd wanted to say-he kissed her. He kissed her until she couldn't remember her own name and then backed away and went to his refrigerator.

She stared at his back and tried to access some brain cells. "So what made you decide to be a ranger? SWAT not exciting enough for you? You decided you'd rather rescue fair maidens and wrangle drug runners?"

He pulled b.u.t.ter and cheese from the fridge. He grabbed a loaf of thick sourdough bread from the counter and grabbed a knife. "It's complicated."

"Yeah?"

He set a pan on the stovetop and turned on a burner. He began to b.u.t.ter the bread slices, but she took the knife from him and took over the task.

"I promised to cook for you," she said. "You talk."

He met her gaze. "I didn't think talking was one of your favorite things to do."

He was throwing the ball back at her. She recognized the technique well. And he was right, she wasn't much of a talker. She'd never been all that curious about a man either. There were a whole bunch of firsts going on here tonight. "I want to know," she said simply. "I want to know more about you."

Chapter 14.

There are two food groups: chocolate and fruit. And if it is fruit, it should be dipped in chocolate.