Extreme Danger (McClouds & Friends #5)(49)

Neither had he. That was the problem. He couldn’t do the nice-guy postcoital routine in this condition. Not if his life depended on it.

He was scared out of his f*cking wits.

And exactly what had made him think he’d be able to nail this girl, blow off some steam and walk away, relaxed, refreshed? Jesus. He’d fallen to pieces when he’d f*cked her that afternoon in front of the vid cams and that monster, Zhoglo. Of all places to get emotional. Needy. He hadn’t felt that since he was a little kid. Look at him, begging her to look at him. Inches away from sobbing in her arms.

He still wanted to. She was so sweet and generous, underneath her shield of sarcasm. He could feel how it would be, how she would wrap herself around him, twine those slender arms around his neck, press those jiggly, petal-soft tits against his face, let him nuzzle and kiss and lick her. She would cradle his head, croon comforting things, and he would melt into her. Dissolve into her tender warmth until he no longer existed, until it was all comfort, all bliss. All safe.

Nope. It wasn’t right. She was too nice a girl to be messing around with him. He was too cold, too cynical, too rude. A depressed, egotistic bastard, just like his daddy. His sharp edges would bruise her.

They were bruising her now. She lay there, breath still hitching. Waiting, while he lay there like a bump on a log, throat frozen, muscles locked, staring at the f*cking cracks in the ceiling.

He could sense how badly she wanted him to reach for her. They all wanted it. This part was always awkward and sad and flat. His least favorite moment in the sex act. When he disappointed them.

But what skidded him into a heart-thudding panic was that he wanted to reach for her, too. He wanted it bad. That woke up feelings he’d forgotten about, an abandoned place inside him with barbed wire, chain link, Keep Out signs. Goddamnit, he could not afford this frivolous bullshit. He was marked for death, as would be any woman Zhoglo could connect to him. Especially Becca.

Hell, she was marked for death on her own merits.

Zhoglo would find him eventually. The bastard was filthy rich, wily, persistent. It was just a matter of time.

He pictured it. The best he had to offer the chick. Hey, wanna get a new face and go into hiding with me in Outer Mongolia? C’mon, didn’t you say you wanted more adventure in your life?

No. One searing lay and he was out of there. It was the only way.

He dragged himself up, and sat slumped on the bed with his back to her, just like the stony, indifferent bastard that he was. The colder he was, the easier it would be for her to dismiss this night as a big mistake with a heinous *. So she could forget and move on.

He felt weird about spurting his come all over her, too. There was a sleazy vibe associated with coming on a woman’s body, like he was marking his territory or some crap like that. He’d probably watched too much porn. Not that he watched a whole lot, since the stuff bored the shit out of him, but when he channel surfed on sleepless nights, it was hard to look away sometimes, when it had been awhile.

Speaking of marking his territory. He could have gotten her pregnant this afternoon. That zinged through his body. Froze up his chest muscles until he couldn’t breathe at all.

“Um, Nick?” Her voice was timid, nervous. “Are you…OK?”

“Nope,” he said, his voice muffled. “Not particularly.”

“Did I—was it something that I—”

“No,” he cut her off. “You’re the best lay I’ve ever had. You’re white-hot. You are not the problem.”

“Then, ah…what is the problem?” she faltered.

He made a rude sound. “You met my problems today, babe. My problems almost got you raped and killed. Any more questions?”

He got up, thigh muscles weak and wobbly, and waded around in the pillows, kicking them aside to get to the door. His filthy, sodden clothing was strewn in the corridor outside. He yanked the clammy fabric of his jeans up over his legs. A crumpled pack of cigarettes fell out.

He picked it up, shook it. One last smoke rattled around, bent but not broken and amazingly, not soaked. He fished in his pocket and found a lighter. Might as well smoke that sucker up. Celebrate saying goodbye to Arkady.

And Sveti.

Pain stabbed through him. He went back into the bedroom and grabbed the SIG he’d laid next to the bed. He shoved it into his jeans, carefully not looking at Becca. On the plus side, it was good to be done impersonating a scumbag drug dealer and arms trafficker. That had been a big flesh-creeping bummer.

He looked around Becca’s bedroom, and quickly concluded that no woman who piled twenty lace-trimmed pillows on her bed was going to let him stink up her apartment with smoke. The way he was acting, she’d probably tell him to take his cigarette and shove it up his ass.

It would be exactly what he deserved.



Oh, boy. That stung. Becca squinted at the door that had swung shut, after Nick had retreated into the blur of the corridor.

That was about as bad as it could get. Her worst case scenario. It made her realize just how many silly, hopeful fantasies had been bubbling in the back of her head, when they were dashed to pieces.

She had no one but herself to blame if she felt slapped down, used, sad. She had to dig her dignity out from under the rock where she’d hid it and act like a grown-up. She dashed her tears away, sniffed. Enough wishing for something she just couldn’t have.

No, worse. Wishing for something that didn’t even exist.