The Maverick Page 7

  “I thought I might.”

  “That easy to read, am I?”

  That sexy mouth curled around the edges and she quirked a pointed brow. “You’re a man, aren’t you?” She dried her hands, then looked around the kitchen, presumably to make sure that she hadn’t forgotten anything. “We should probably get going.”

  “Hey,” Guy teased, feigning offense. “Don’t be insulting my gender.” He followed her back to the living room and waited while she collected her purse and attaché case. “What’s for dinner, by the way?”

  “Chicken Marsala.”

  “I’m invited, right?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I thought I’d better qualify it.”

  He’d give her something to qualify, Guy decided, the little smart-ass. She’d just reached for the doorknob when he snagged her elbow and whirled her around to face him. A startled oomph of air leaked out of her mouth…and promptly into his as he sealed his lips over hers.

  Yum.

  Breakfast had been good, but this was better.

  She responded instantly, her mouth going soft and welcoming and there was nothing tentative about her tongue tangling around his. He felt her body quicken with instant desire, then melt against him and his dick instantly went hard, nudging her belly. A tingle started at the nape of his neck and zipped down his spine, making him rock forward against her.

  It wasn’t nearly close enough.

  She whimpered into his mouth, the sound desperate and needy and it vibrated something deep inside of him.

  And she thought something was wrong with her? Guy marveled again. She was the most responsive woman he’d ever touched—absolutely lit him up—and yet she didn’t see it?

  Mind-boggling. Absolutely mind-boggling.

  He didn’t just want to take her—he wanted to consume her. He wanted to taste her all over, the side of her neck, the fragrant valley between her breasts, the silky, perfect line of her hip…then feast between her thighs, the softest, sweetest part of her.

  Julia tore her mouth from his. “We’ve…got to…go,” she gasped brokenly, her gaze heavy-lidded and darkened with need.

  “To the bedroom?”

  A helpless chuckle bubbled up her throat. “To work,” she said.

  “Oh.” He rested his forehead against hers, willed his racing pulse to slow and his aching groin to subside. “Have you thought anymore about my offer?”

  “What offer?” she asked though he could tell she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  “Last night I offered to sleep with you, remember? To prove there’s nothing wrong with you.”

  She giggled. “Vaguely.”

  “You should probably take me up on that,” Guy told her matter of factly.

  She smiled and hummed under her breath. “What’s in it for me?”

  He drew back, a bit startled by the question—possibly because the women he’d had sex with had always anticipated the benefits—but ultimately recovered. She wanted to know what was in it for her? Fine. He’d tell her. Guy lowered his voice. “A night of hard, back-bending, balls-to-the-wall, no-holds-barred wild gorilla sex.” He rocked forward, punctuating the promise with a deliberate thrust. “Satisfaction guaranteed.”

  Julia’s gaze darkened even more and a shaky breath leaked gratifyingly out of her lungs. “Oh,” she said weakly. “Is that all?”

  Guy leaned his head back and laughed. “Baby, if it’s not enough then we’re in trouble.”

  SHE WAS ALREADY IN TROUBLE, Julia thought helplessly as every particle in her body thrummed with unfulfilled sexual agony. Between that bone-melting lip-lock in Guy’s truck last night, and the spine-tingling tender kiss he’d given her right before he’d walked over to his side of the duplex when they’d returned from the restaurant, Julia’s sexual frustration levels had reached critical mass.

  When he’d offered to sleep with her to prove that there was nothing wrong with her sexually, he’d had no idea how close he’d been to her own thoughts. She’d wanted him to sleep with her for completely different reasons, of course—to teach her how to properly have balls-to-the-wall, no-holds-barred wild gorilla sex.

  She swallowed a whimper at the mere thought.

  Oh, who the hell was she kidding? She wanted to have sex with him because he absolutely tripped every possible trigger she possessed—and some she hadn’t known were there. That crooked grin made her belly go all hot and muddled and her brain turn to complete mush. He was gorgeous and charming, wicked and witty and the devil in her recognized the devil in him. He was funny and chivalrous and…and wounded, Julia thought, remembering the haunted look in his eyes when he’d told her about his friend.

  Because she was a nurturer by nature and because she felt the inherent need to “fix” everyone, Julia instantly wanted to reach out and help him. His pain tugged at her heart-strings, and his vulnerability somehow made him all the more appealing. It meant he had the capacity to feel—to really care and love—and if she wasn’t careful she’d inevitably end up wanting him to care and love her.

  And that was guaranteed heartache.

  Not exactly what she was looking for with her guaranteed orgasm.

  Ultimately, it had occurred to her that she wasn’t the only one who needed a lesson. She needed a skilled sexual instructor, and Guy McCann needed to a.) realize that he wasn’t responsible for his friend’s death and b.) learn to trust himself again.

  Because he didn’t.

  He hadn’t told her as much, of course—pride wouldn’t allow it—but it was easy enough to see when she read between the lines.

  For the time being they needed each other and once Julia had realized that she had something to offer Guy in return for his help—other than her body—she’d decided she’d be a fool not to take advantage of the situation.

  Right, wrong or stupid—and two out of three of those were probably accurate—she fully intended to have wild gorilla sex with Guy McCann.

  Julia released a slow breath. Business first, pleasure later, she told herself and fished the keys out of her purse. She locked up and started down the sidewalk, Guy and his satisfaction guaranteed promise at her back, making her pulse sing in her veins.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “I thought you said we’d ride together.”

  She blinked innocently and looked from him to her car and back again. “We are.”

  He paused, a slow-dawning smile sliding across his lips. “In my truck.”

  “You never said that.”

  “It was implied.”

  “I must have missed that.”

  “Julia.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Guy” she finally said, exasperated. She opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “Just get in the damned car. We’re going to be late.”

  “It’s a chick car,” he grumbled under his breath. He scooted the seat back and reluctantly climbed inside.

  Julia smiled, started the car and pulled away from the curb. “It’s a Volkswagon. Men drive them, too.”

  “Men don’t drive Bugs. Especially baby blue ones,” he added grimly.

  “Men who are confident in their masculinity don’t mind.”

  He grunted under his breath and scowled adorably at the flower in the cup holder of her dash. “Spoken like a true chick.”

  “Do you want to tell me where we’re going?”

  He slid her a slightly smug glance. “Where’s your map?”

  “Beneath your ass.”

  Guy laughed and looked away. “I can’t win, can I?”

  Julia felt her lips twitch. “Are we playing a game?”

  Guy sighed and his strangely puzzled gaze drifted over her face, making her belly clench. “No, but I think I’m losing anyway.”

  “Tell me where we going,” she said, warmed by that hot green stare.

  Guy did and in five minutes they’d pulled into the parking lot. Julia climbed from the car and snagged her attaché cas
e. Guy merely adjusted his shades and seemed to be bracing himself for what was to come.

  “I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say to these guys,” Julia told him. “You must have several good stories to tell.”

  Guy smiled, seemingly recognizing the gesture for what it was—a vote of confidence. “Some,” he conceded. “Come on,” he told her, snugging a finger into the small of her back and nudging her forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Outfitted in serviceable beige tile and painted cinder block walls, the educational building was functional with no frills. The scent of bleach, sweat and various men’s colognes hung in the air and an occasional potted plant offered the vaguest attempt of décor. Guy unerringly led them to their classroom, then with his mouth set in a grim, resigned line, he opened the door for her and ushered her in.

  Four men sat in regular classroom chairs at the front of the room and each one of them turned around as they entered.

  “Speak of the devil,” one of the men said in a heavily sarcastic voice Julia recognized from last night. A gust of dread blindsided her.

  Oh, God.

  Richard Rutland.

  Behind her Guy went dangerously still. Julia turned around in time to watch him and Rutland lock gazes. Guy’s was hard and ominous, while Rutland’s seem positively—evilly—delighted.

  “Give me your keys,” Guy said in a voice so devoid of emotion it practically thundered in the suddenly silent room.

  Julia did.

  Oy. Apparently men did drive baby blue Bugs.

  7

  GLADYS’S MOUTH WORKED up and down in apparent surprise, then she shot up from the chair behind her desk as though she’d been poked in the ass with a straight pin. “Sir— McCann—Stop! You can’t just barge in there!”

  “The hell I can’t,” Guy said, striding into Garrett’s office. “Watch me.” The colonel’s startled blue gaze swung to his and Guy knew instantly that the older man knew exactly why he was here.

  His brow wrinkled into an annoyed line. “McCann—”

  Guy planted both fists in the middle of Garrett’s desk and leaned forward. “What the hell are you playing at?” His voice was so hard he barely recognized it as his own.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fuck it,” Guy said, instantly disgusted. He wasn’t going to play word games with Garrett. The crafty old bastard knew exactly why he was here and yet he wanted to pretend to be thick? Waste more of his time? His life? Guy drew back and pivoted on his heel. “I’m through. I don’t owe you a goddamned thing. Debt paid, Garrett.”

  Guy heard Garrett’s chair slam against the credenza behind his desk. “Wait.”

  Guy didn’t know what made him turn around—the fact that Garrett had actually vaulted out of his chair or the slight hint of desperation he heard in the old man’s voice. “What?”

  Ashen-faced, his brow dotted with perspiration, Garrett gestured toward a chair. “Please hear me out.”

  Guy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his back against the door. “I’ll stand. You have thirty seconds. Don’t mince words and don’t leave anything out. I. Am. Done. Do I make myself clear?”

  Clearly shaken, Garrett resumed his seat. “I’m assuming you’re here because of Rutland?”

  Guy grunted and felt a smirk roll around his lips. “That’s why you’re the colonel. You just wasted five seconds.”

  Garrett paused, seemingly at a loss. He sighed and in that instant he aged ten years right before Guy’s eyes. “He’s the best we’ve got, McCann. The cream of the crop is in that room right now and unfortunately—like it or not—he’s part of it.”

  Guy snorted darkly. “Well, if he’s the best you’ve got, then you need to scrap this plan altogether because it won’t work.”

  He felt betrayed, Guy realized. He’d always secretly suspected that Garrett had been proud of him, Jamie and Payne when they’d put that arrogant bastard in his place. And yet he wanted Guy to teach him? Work with a man who absolutely no respect for his fellow peers? For the risks they took, the lives which had been lost?

  He couldn’t do it.

  Wouldn’t.

  “I can’t scrap it,” Garrett said, seemingly agitated. “I need this to work, McCann. That’s why I brought you here, dammit. You’re the only guy who can make it happen. I have faith in you.”

  Then that made one of them, Guy thought, smothering a grunt of derision.

  “My back’s against the wall,” Garrett finally—reluctantly—admitted. “If this team isn’t successful, I might as well retire.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  Garrett smiled sadly. “For a man like me? Yes.”

  The man was old and in fear of becoming a has-been. He’d become the job—it defined him—and retiring clearly meant losing his identity. Guy felt sorry for him, he really did. But favor or not, honor be damned, he couldn’t do this. It would never work.

  Guy released a pent-up breath and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Colonel, I have always had the utmost respect for you, but I won’t work with Rutland—and you know why. Danny was my friend—more than a friend—and I won’t help a man take his place who had so little respect for the life he lost.” He lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “If he’s the best you’ve got, then we’re both wasting our time.”

  Garrett sighed as though he fully expected Guy’s response. “Do you have an alternate suggestion?”

  “Eliminate him. Poll the other guys for a replacement. Trust is key here and they’ll never trust Rutland, and if they do they’re idiots. You know as well as I do that Project Chameleon doesn’t have room for idiots.”

  Furthermore, given Rutland’s penchant for running off at the mouth, Guy knew he’d have a helluva time getting them to trust him now. No doubt the mangy SOB had already filled them in on his failure and undermined his authority. Guy mentally swore, his mouth went dry and nausea crept up the back of his throat.

  He’d have to tell them about Danny.

  Garrett studied Guy, seemed to be weighing his advice.

  “This is a deal breaker, Colonel. Who do you need worse—him or me?”

  “Send him to me,” Garrett said without hesitation. His brows formed an intimidating line. “This had better work, McCann. The remainder of my career is riding on it.”

  “Trust me. It’s the only way it’ll work.”

  Satisfied and looking forward to wiping the smug smile off Rutland’s face, Guy backtracked across base, parked Julia’s little car as close to the building as he could and then made his way back upstairs to the classroom.

  In the middle of dispensing handouts, Julia’s questioning gaze swung to his as he reentered the room. “—and p-please give it a careful read before coming back to class tomorrow. There’s a questionnaire in the back which will help us determine how each of you, on an individual basis, learns to trust.”

  Guy strolled to the front of the classroom and joined Julia. He felt his lips slide into a smile and his gaze found Rutland’s. He paused, savoring the moment. This is for you, Danny. Not as good as decking him, but it’d do in a pinch. “Colonel Garrett would like to see you.”

  Rutland’s jaw tensed. “I’ll go after class. I’d hate to miss anything you’re going to teach us.”

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll be hating it. He wants to see you now.” Guy jerked his head toward the door, dismissing him. “Collect your things and go.”

  Rutland laughed and shook his head. Hate blazed from his eyes. “Got me bounced, didn’t you?”

  Guy nodded once and a hard smile curled his lips. “Count on it.”

  From the corner of his eye he caught Julia’s pleased expression and for whatever reason, that tiny smile and look of satisfaction in those clear green eyes made him want to beat his chest and roar like a true Neanderthal. She was proud of him, Guy realized, and the idea made him feel positively…wonderful.

  Grumbling under his breath, but not loud enough for Guy to understand what he was s
aying, Rutland gathered his things—loudly, of course—and slammed the door on his way out.

  Guy surveyed the other three men in front of him, gauging their response. One guy—O’Malley—according to the white sticky name tag adhered to his shirt—Julia’s work, no doubt, he thought stifling a smile—looked openly relieved.

  Jamie, Guy thought.

  His gaze shifted to the next man—Holt. Cool, impassive, the perfect poker face. He kept his own council and you wouldn’t know his opinion unless he chose to share it with you.

  Payne.

  Guy surveyed the last man in the room, a dark-haired clear-eyed man named Mitchell who met his gaze directly. Smart, a bit cocky and from the vaguest hint of relief in his gaze, he too was glad to see the backside of Rutland leaving this crew. He smiled at Guy and gave a slight up-nod of appreciation.

  And him, Guy realized, recognizing the similarities.

  “Richard Rutland will no longer be a part of this unit,” Guy said. “I’ve spoken with Colonel Garrett and he’s given me permission to poll the three of you for a replacement.” He paused, letting the statement sink in. “Any recommendations?”

  The three men looked at each other and though no one said a word, Holt finally spoke up. “Jack Anderson.”

  Guy looked to the other two men. “Anderson is a stand-up guy,” Mitchell said, adding his approval.

  O’Malley nodded once, indicating a decisive nature. “I’d want him at my back.”

  “Will he be interested in becoming part of this unit?”

  “Definitely,” Mitchell told him.

  Guy nodded and set his hands at his waist. “Good. I’ll alert Colonel Garrett of the replacement and see to it that Anderson reports ASAP.” He glanced at each of them in turn. “Any questions?” A thousand hung in the air, but no one voiced any, so Guy merely nodded. “Okay. I’m former Lieutenant Colonel Guy McCann and I was unit commander of Project Chameleon until the death of a good friend of mine.”

  Better to address it head-on, Guy thought, bracing himself for the confession. He hadn’t truly spoken of Danny’s death to anyone since it had happened—with Jamie and Payne he hadn’t had to. They’d gotten it, had known what he’d been going through without him having to spell it out for them. Words hadn’t been necessary. Grief had had a language all its own.