Wild Card (54 page)

man," he said gently. "Nathan Malone didn't know the darkness, Sabella. He didn't know the

hell other men could inflict. He didn't know the monster that lived under his own skin."

She shook her head.

"Listen to me, baby. The man you married didn't kill first. He didn't go after blood on a

mission. He pulled his punches, he tried to be fair. Until he was forced to spend nineteen

months pumped up on hell's own mix of drugs. All he had to do was break his marriage vows

to find death. To escape it. All he had to do was fuck whatever they brought him, and he would

have known peace."

Shock and disbelief brought her mind to a stop.

Noah sighed heavily. "I was a SEAL, but I was also one of the few used for extreme high

clearance missions. I knew things. They thought if they could force me to break my vows, then

the rest of my honor would fall by the wayside." He shook his head at the thought. "They

brought women that looked like you. That could mimic your pretty Southern accent. But I

always knew. I knew; I would look at them and in my head, I'd come here." He looked around

the room, his expression heavy, filled with pain. "I saw through your eyes. I felt your pain.

Your love. And went mad from the agony. But you were seeing through me too, weren't you,

Bella?"

Bella. He called her Bella. Not Sabella, rife with hunger and pain. But Bella, as he had called

her before.

"I knew," she whispered tearfully. "I called Jordan, and he lied to me." Her lips trembled. "And you lied to me, Noah."

He shook his head. "I never lied to you."

"You told me you were dead," she cried out furiously. "Stared me in the eye, and lied to me."

"Bella. Nathan Malone
is
dead." He caught her shoulders, shook her.

"No!" she screamed back. And she couldn't hit him. She wanted to, and she couldn't.

"Look at me," he yelled. "Look at me, Bella. What happened killed the man you loved. All

that's left is this. The man you see now. The name I carry now. Anything else is not possible."

"No!" She pulled away from him, stumbled to her feet, and shook with the rage pounding

through her. "The name might be dead, but you are not dead. You weren't just a SEAL," she

cried. "You weren't just a friend, or just a son or a grandson or brother. You weren't just a

warrior." She clenched her fists, pressed them to her stomach as the agony welled through

every cell of her body. "You are my husband. My lover. And you hid that from me, Noah. I had

the dark passion you hid from me while we were married, and I saw the ferocity of the man

who would protect me in those mountains. It doesn't matter if your name is Nathan, Noah, or

Hey Fucking You, you are my lover. My soul. My heart. And by God, you are not dead.

Because if you were." Her lips trembled. "If you were, then I'd be dead. Don't you know that?

Don't you see that? If the man that loved me was gone, then I'd be ashes now. Not standing

here screaming at a moron with more pride than good sense."

Noah felt his heart unclench. He felt something dark, something nearly rabid in his soul, finally

shudder as it eased. He rose slowly to his feet and stared back at his wife, seeing all that

strength. Seeing the woman who had always watched him with what he knew now was a touch

of amusement. Because she had known, he had no idea that she was so much more than he

realized. But she had always known him. Had always sensed the darkness. Had always sensed

the pride that he had in overabundance.

"You always knew," he said then. "Didn't you?"

"I always knew you," she cried angrily, swiping the tears from her face and staring at him

scathingly. "Big tough SEAL. You would walk into this house as though nothing existed in it

until you entered the door. Lord of your domain. The big warrior who could fix everything."

She sniffed. "How often did you have to fix anything?"

He never had. Sometimes, he swore she had to think of things to do, and he had accused her

more than once of hiring people to fix things he was certain should have needed fixing.

"Bella." He shook his head. "You were always my soul."

"Except for eighteen months." She sneered. "Where were you?"

"Recovering. Retraining."

"Alone." Her finger poked into his chest, dug in. "Without me."

Without her.

God, his hands were shaking. He was staring into her face and he wasn't looking at a woman

willing to forgive and forget.

Noah swallowed tightly. Had he waited too long? Christ, no. He couldn't consider that. He

hadn't waited too long. Made mistakes, yes. She would forgive mistakes. She would have to.

"I love you, Bella," he whispered.

The look she gave him caused him to wince. Feminine fury, disbelief, and intolerance. Fuck.

"Why?" she snapped. "Why did you wait?"

"Because I was a mess," he said simply. "A hard-on-packing, ignorant fool too fucking scared to have his wife see him weak," he snarled. "Is that so fucking hard for you understand?"

"Weak, my ass," she yelled back. "You were probably a son of a bitch railing and growling at everyone and everything in sight."

His lips almost twitched and he should have been raging now.

"You think I wanted to rage at you?" he bit out instead.

"It was my right." She was back in his face. "Do you hear me, Noah? My fucking right to put up with it. And to do it gladly. You bastard!" He caught her fist, stared at it. His eyes narrowed.

"Sabella, you're not allowed to hit," he reminded her carefully, staring into her bruised little face, her thunderous gaze.

God, he loved her. Wanted to go to his knees and thank God for her.

"Are you staying?" Her chin lifted. "If not, get the hell out now."

"Yes!" They were nose to nose now, anger flipping and flaring around them rather than

contained as it had always been in their marriage. "By God, you're not getting rid of me."

Nose to nose. He'd never gone nose to nose with her. He had brooded, hid in the basement. But

maybe he liked this better. Because the arousal was suddenly bursting, burning, whipping

through him like the storm raging in her eyes.

"Did I say I wanted to be rid of you?" Hoarse, furious, her voice caressed his senses as nothing else ever had.

"It wouldn't do you any damned good if you did," he bit out. "But Malone stays dead, Bella. It's Blake. Period."

Her eyes narrowed. "The team you're a part of? Is that why?"

"We'll talk why later." He gripped her arms, jerked her to him. "This is us, Bella. Me and you.

He stays dead. Do you hear me?"

She knew her husband. She knew that look in his eyes. This was for their safety, not for his

pride.

"The name stays dead," she amended. "But the man." Her lips trembled. "The man you are is my soul."

Two tears ran down her bruised face again. Sienna had died for those bruises. Man or woman,

nothing, no one, would risk what was his again.

He cupped her tender cheeks and felt the pressure behind his eyes, the lump in his throat.

"My Bella," he whispered. "My heart died for you. Every day, every minute. Every second that I thought you believed I was another man. Every second you believed I was dead."

And her smile lit him, from the inside out. A tremulous, vulnerable smile. "I always knew who

touched me," she whispered. "Only you, Noah. Only you can touch me." Then she touched his

cheek, her fingertips touched his lips. "But you really need a shower first, sailor boy. You

reek."

The laugh that tore from him shouldn't have surprised him. The surge of love, of pure joy that

ripped through him, should have been uncertain, should have been rife with the fears he knew

had consumed him for so long. That Sabella couldn't accept the man he was. That she might

regret. That she might see him without those rose-colored glasses he thought she wore.

He realized now, she had never worn the glasses. He had. Deliberately. Because of pride.

Because of that fear inside him that he'd lose her. And losing her was his greatest fear.

"Shower with me." He picked her up, cradled her in his arms. "I'll wash your back."

He moved through the broken glass, took the stairs easily, held her to his heart.

"We'll talk terms later." She snuggled against him.

"What terms?"

"Marriage terms. Mr. Blake," she informed him. "Our baby isn't being born without a marriage.

Don't even consider it."

Smug satisfaction filled her as he came to a blinding stop in their bedroom. He could feel his

eyes widening, feel the panic that bit at his chest.

"What did you say?"

Her smile was female, triumphant. Loving.

"Our baby, Noah. When I went to the doctor yesterday, she told me. Antibiotics and birth

control don't mix, and I just didn't think."

He shook his head. "A baby?"

Their baby? Jesus. She was pregnant?

She cupped his jaw, kissed his lips, and whispered, "Our baby, Noah. I'm pregnant, with our

baby."

He set her slowly on her feet.

"I can't wait to shower." His cock was pounding. So hard it was brutal. The engorged length

felt bruised. Desperate.

"Shower," she whispered, caught his hand, and led him to the bathroom.

Mindless, in shock, he could only follow. He'd follow her, no matter where she led him.

He was alive. And he was hers.

Sabella stood beneath the shower, staring up at him. She couldn't stop touching him. His face,

his wet hair, his scarred chest, his powerful thighs. The heavy, thick erection that bobbed out

from his body. Luscious and wide, dark and delectable.

She let him wash her hair. It was something he had always done years ago. Washed it slow and

easy, threading his fingers through it as he conditioned it, kissing her brow, holding her to him.

Then he washed her body.

She almost cried as he kissed the bruises on her cheek, whispered how sorry he was. Didn't he

know? It was worth it. It was all worth it to have him with her, to have him alive and touching

her.

"I dreamed of you," he whispered against her lips, holding her face between his hands as the

water fell around them. "Every time I closed my eyes, Bella, I saw you as you were the day I

left. Teasing me. Laughing at me. I saw you tempting me to take you, one more time, and I

ached until the ache nearly destroyed me."

"I touched you in my dreams." She touched his lips, caressed his beard. "I kissed you, I held you."

"You saved me." His head lowered and the kiss he gave her was more than lust this time, it was

more than hunger. It was a homecoming, and her breath caught at the sweet heat of it.

His lips loved hers, made love to them. They stroked and caressed as his tongue licked and slid

over hers, tasting her, sinking into her, until Sabella felt lost in the wonder of it.

This was her husband. He hadn't died. He had been wounded. Perhaps hiding. But the man who

loved Sabella Malone was still there, and he was still living proud.

"Bella, if I don't do you soon, my brain is going to explode."

His hands were clenched at her waist, his expression tight, honed with the lust he did nothing to

hide now.

Well, the dirty talk was new, but she liked that. And she had a feeling that like the naked lust

that slipped out of control, the vocalization of it had just been hidden before as well.

Her hand slid down his chest until she could curve her fingers over the thick, iron-hard shaft.

"Hmm, How are you going to do me?" She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes. "All

those threats you've made over the past weeks, maybe I should be wary?"

His gaze flared, blue back lit by a fiery blue flame.

"I don't make threats. I make promises," he warned her, watching her now with a sensual intent

that had her body humming.

He shut off the water before reaching outside the shower and dragging one of the large bath

sheets from the towel rack.

"I think you're all talk," she breathed out before rasping her teeth over her lower lip and giving him a look that promised she belonged to him. As long as he belonged to her.

He didn't say a word. He dried them both off. The look in his eyes warned her though. Warned

her that the promises that had slipped past his lips over the past weeks were going to be kept.

Her rear clenched at the thought, her juices spilled from between her thighs, creating a hot,

sensual, sexy feeling that she couldn't escape. Didn't want to escape.

Her husband had always made her feel this way. Like a woman, desirable, earthy, willing to be

pleasured. Waiting to be pleasured. But so eager to pleasure in return.

She watched as he dried her. Watched as he knelt in front of her. For just a second, the barest

second, his fingers splayed over her lower stomach and his lashes flickered over his eyes.

She wished she could see his eyes. Wished she could see the same hopes and the wellspring of

paternal pride she knew he would be feeling. They had always wanted children. But they had

always wanted to wait until he would be home more to see their baby grow.

Those thoughts became swamped then. Pleasure whipped through her like lightning gone wild.

It sizzled over her nerve endings, attacked her fingertips, her toes, her hard nipples, and the

burgeoning knot of her clit.

And he was just kissing her. Kissing the rise of her mound, just above her clit, feathering his

breath over her clit and sending erratic, ecstatic impulses of pleasure racing over her flesh.

Her fingers dug into his wet hair as his hands pressed against the inside of her thighs, parting