Page 18 of Beachcomber Enemy

“Dane.” She breathed his name into his mouth and arched up against him as he took her, pulling himself against her with one hand. She felt the hot convulsive expansion of him inside her, the shooting of hot cum filling her and then the spiral of every muscle clenching into an unforgiving blinding moment of paralyzing pleasure.

* * *

As the convulsions subsided and his clenched muscles released, the world around Dane came back into focus, first with the sound of his own animal-like panting. He realized his lovemaking had been fast and inelegant, too desperate. But he couldn’t regret the frenzied sex since she’d been right there with him.

Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her face all over, light loving kisses, meant to amend for the brutal taking. She purred her response, moving under him, stroking his sweat-slick back, outlining the scars the way she always did. As if loving his scars with her soft caresses would make them disappear.

Hell, maybe it would. Some day.

But not today. Not now.

Now he felt every last one of his damn scars, inside and out. Guilt hammered at him with each beat of his heart against his tightening chest. He rolled off her.

Even her clutching hands and voiced protest couldn’t make him feel less of a lying SOB. They just made him feel worse.

“We should get some sleep.” His voice came out hoarse, sounding broken to his ears.

When she propped herself up on her elbow to look down at him, to study his face, he flinched. But only on the inside. He was too well trained to let his guilt show. God, he was a nasty, deceptive f—cker—even to the one person he loved most, the one who loved him most. The one he owed everything to.

“Shana . . .” He had no idea what he would have said, but she saved him from trying to confess his sins by shushing him with a finger to his lips. And a heart-crushing soft smile.

“Don’t worry, Dane. It’ll be okay. We make a great team. We’ll get Whitey Nash. Together.”

She thought she was consoling him, but her words twisted the stinging knife in his belly 360 degrees, effectively gutting him. Numbness settled into the void. It was a familiar state. He’d been there before Shana. Almost daily.

He gave her his best imitation smile and, owing to the waning daylight, maybe she didn’t notice the forgery. She lay back down beside him. He felt her relaxed softness, listened to her slowing breathing, let the easiness seep into him and dispel some of the numbness and pain of his guilt. She was safe. She would stay safe. These were his words of consolation and they were no small thing.

They were everything.

Because he couldn’t resist, needed the comfort, he turned to his side and watched her fall asleep. His guilt faded to a dull ache as he watched her breathe softly, watched her luxurious round breasts rising and falling, the nipples inviting him. Instead of sucking on her nipples as he longed to do, he fell back against his own pillow, his body nestled next to hers, one leg flung over her. He stilled, calming himself with deep breathing. He needed to sleep. Needed most of all to keep her safe. No matter what.

Eventually he allowed himself a few hours, setting his mental alarm.

* * *

When Dane met Joe in the governor’s library, he was fully alert. Joe had gotten there ahead of him and laid out the clothes and accessories for their disguises.

“We’re undercover as motorcycle gang members. Got us some fake tats and dark sunglasses, but you’ll need to do more to disguise your identity,” Joe said. He produced an electric shaver.

“Shit.” It was not what Dane had in mind, but there was no room for vanity in undercover work. So he let Joe shave his head.

After they each applied some purposefully nasty tattoos, Joe took two well-worn leather jackets from the trunk he’d brought in. Dane didn’t question where Joe had come up with the gear but figured it must have been confiscated by the state police from some perps at some time. His jacket was loose and he threw on some jeans lent to him from Joe’s own closet. They were tighter than Dane would have liked, but this was an exfiltration operation, not a fashion show.

It took less than ten minutes to fully dress the part. Dane stood facing Joe since there were no mirrors in Peter’s office.

“I still know who you are, but I think your identity is obscured enough for casual observers,” Joe said.

“It’ll have to do. We have no time for face putty or anything more sophisticated. I’ll keep the sunglasses on whenever I’m in public.”

Dane was about to head to the door to the back hall when he heard someone outside the room in the main corridor.

“Shit. You hear that?” His heart began hammering in fear of Shana storming in on them and derailing their operation.

Joe nodded and held himself still as stone.

The door swung open and Peter stepped inside, quickly shutting it behind him. Dane’s pulse returned to normal, to pre-adrenaline rates, at the sight of his friend. If it had been Shana discovering him, the operation would have been blown. A wave of relief, quickly followed by guilt, went through him. He swiped a hand over his now-bald head. And he smiled big at Peter’s stare.

“I wanted to see you before you left. Impressive change. Not foolproof, but you should be able to evade identification.” Peter walked over to his desk, nodding at Joe. “I wanted to brief you on the arrangements that have been made. Between me and Cap, we were able to persuade the medical examiner to make an announcement scheduled at a press conference at 8 a.m. for news channels far and wide. Cap and I will be present.”