Reckless Surrender Page 7

  “How are you doing out there in the boondocks, Wilson? Learn anything yet?”

  “Plenty. Did you know there is some crazy tradition up here where they burn a monk in effigy every twenty-fifth of October? And that the symbol carved on the women’s chests wasn’t a pentagram. There is a good chance it’s the symbol of a Native American evil spirit called a wendigo, although I have to get to a library to confirm. The internet doesn’t have a reliable source.”

  “No shit? What about the military’s involvement? Find any proof of a cover-up?”

  “Well…” Phoebe paused, thinking about the warning in blood on her door. She decided to take precautions. “Hold on a sec, Henry.”

  Minimizing the phone screen, Phoebe brought up her Pandora account as she turned on the mini Bose speaker she always traveled with. The thumping base of Little Big Town’s Tornado filled the room. She double-checked that the door was locked before returning to her call.

  “Okay, I’m back.”

  “Did you enter a nightclub?” joked Henry.

  “Things are getting a little hinky here. I want to make sure I’m not overheard. Oh! And thanks for telling me I resemble both murder victims! That was a fun little fact to discover once I was already trapped here in Buzzards Bay!”

  “I gave you the file,” said Henry unapologetically. “It’s not my fault you didn’t look it over till later.”

  “It’s still creepy as fuck,” grumbled Phoebe.

  She then related what she had learned from the students’ files as well as her careful prodding of several professors and staff around campus. She had even approached a midshipman or two about it.

  “I think you’re right. There’s a story there. Not a big splashy one, but it can’t hurt your career to please the owner of the paper,” said Henry after hearing all her evidence. “What about the new commander. Do you think he’s in on it?”

  Bonnie Tyler’s I Need a Hero started to blare over her speaker.

  Phoebe’s stomach twisted at the thought. Trying to keep her voice neutral so Henry wouldn’t suspect her true feelings about Michael, she responded, “He seems straight. He came after the murders, so I don’t think he was involved in deliberately keeping the police out of it or in any cover up, although like I said, I think a member of his staff may be. I just can’t wrap my head around the idea of straightlaced Mrs. Ludtz carving up a woman and eating her liver!”

  “Jesus Christ, Wilson. I remember when this used to be a gentleman’s game.”

  Phoebe smiled. That was Henry’s standard comment whenever she got too casually gruesome with the details of an investigation.

  “Well, it’s either her or the evil ghost of a mad monk committing murder,” quipped Phoebe.

  “What the fuck is going on in here?”

  Phoebe dropped the phone as she turned to see Michael standing in the middle of her room.

  “Phoebe? Who’s that? What’s going on?”

  Recovering the phone from the bed covers, Phoebe could hear the concern in Henry’s voice. He never called her Phoebe. “I…I…it’s fine. I have to go,” she responded as her startled eyes remained on Michael.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Henry.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” For the moment, thought Phoebe as she hung up.

  Phoebe wasn’t sure what to focus on first. The sight of Michael standing before her out of uniform in a pair of jeans and a gray hoodie. The fact that he had entered her locked room. That she didn’t know how long he had been standing there or what he had heard. Or maybe just the raw anger that was clearly emanating from his powerful form.

  Pants!

  Focus on putting on pants first, thought Phoebe as she realized with a start that she was standing dumbfounded before him in just a T-shirt and panties.

  Grabbing the first thing she could lay her hands on, the pillow from the bed, she held it over her exposed thighs.

  “How the hell did you get in my room? The door was locked!”

  “I’m the commander,” came his clipped, completely inexcusable response.

  “Why are you here?”

  “We have some unfinished business, princess.”

  His blue eyes were iced over. The firm set of his jaw and the way his fists were clenched at his sides told her he was going to be immovable on this front. She would need to have an answer for her strange appearance in his office. Trying to buy herself some time, she accused, “A gentleman would retreat from the room or at least turn around until a lady could cover herself.”

  “I’m no gentleman. I’m a Marine. We only know how to advance.”

  Phoebe gave a cry of alarm as he took two determined steps toward her. Having nowhere else to run, she dropped the pillow and jumped up on the bed. Holding her hands out defensively, she warned, “You come near me and I’ll scream.”

  Michael’s lips split into a wolfish grin. “You are the only one bunked in this corridor. Scream all you want.”

  He reached out and grabbed her ankles. Pulling her legs up and wide, causing her to fall backward onto the bed. Standing over her, Phoebe watched as he unzipped his hoodie, exposing a desert-tanned chest and flat stomach ridged with muscle. As he shrugged out of the garment, his wide shoulders and thick biceps were exposed. She remembered her initial impression of him as a marble statue come to life.

  “Do I need to tie you to the bed or are you going to be a good girl and give me what I want?” he asked huskily.

  Phoebe swallowed. Her stomach clenched as she felt a tingling surge between her legs. Damn, the man knew just how to speak to a woman in a way that both infuriated and inflamed her. She didn’t know whether to slap him or kiss him. Damn his arrogant ass!

  Part of her wanted to see if he really would be bold enough to tie her to the bed. Just as she was about to turn over and play at still being frightened and fighting him, his hand went to the zipper of his jeans and she was transfixed. She watched as he slowly lowered the zipper, opening the flaps with both hands. Exposing the chiseled cut of his abdomen and hips. The faint dark waves of hair just above his cock…and….

  Good God!

  He fisted his shaft and pulled it free from its denim confines. Confined. That was a good term for the beast he had just unleashed from inside his jeans. His cock was thick and long with a large bulbous head. It was as threatening as its master.

  Now Phoebe wasn’t playing. She really was frightened. There was no way this was going to work. No way. She was not that girl. The sexually experienced kind who could take a beast of a cock like that in stride.

  Leaving his jeans clinging to his hips, Michael placed one knee on the bed between her open legs. Phoebe immediately started to scurry back against the headboard. Once more raising a defensive hand, she stuttered, “Wait…I…we…no…this…can’t…you!”

  “Don’t worry, princess. You’ll like it when I make it hurt,” he growled as he gripped her thighs and pulled her back down onto the bed. Grabbing the hem of her T-shirt, he whipped it over her head before she could make any further protest.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured before taking one pert nipple into his mouth.

  Phoebe groaned and arched her back as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip, only lightly scraping with the edge of his teeth. His warm hand caressed her stomach before shifting between her legs to pull on her panties.

  In a panic, Phoebe reached for the thin pink fabric. Her slightly fearful eyes clashed with his determined ones. After a brief tug-of-war, he twisted his hand into a fist and tore the silk off her body.

  “No more games, princess. I’ve won the battle and I want my prize.”

  Phoebe could not deny the truth. From the moment she had laid eyes on this man, he had both angered and fascinated her. She was drawn to his raw display of power and strength. As much as her mind rebelled, there was no denying her body loved how he just took what he wanted. It made her feel desired. A desire beyond reason or the polite niceties and dictates of society. The rules be damned. She wanted to
feel overpowered. Taken.

  Fucked.

  Raising her arms up to grip the edge of the headboard, she opened her legs wider. A silent assent.

  There was a low, dark rumble in Michael’s chest as he settled his weight on top of her. She could feel the scrape of metal teeth against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs from the zipper on his jeans. He rose up slightly on his knees as he braced one hand by her head, the other brushing a fallen curl back from her face. The head of his cock pushed against her entrance.

  Leaning down, he whispered against her lips, “Baby, this is going to hurt. I need inside you right now like I need to breathe, but if you say no, I’ll do all in my power to pull back.”

  It was the nicest thing this stern and implacable Marine had said to her so far.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she craned her neck up and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, unable to form the words.

  He nipped at her full lower lip. “There will be no turning back. Once I take what’s mine, I keep it.”

  He talked in forevers.

  It was insane. It wasn’t real. The way he acted. The way he looked at her. It was with such primal possession. As if she were not just some quick conquest or a tumble in the sheets, but a treasure he would hold onto tightly. Her own reflections on his character came back to her. He was a man of focus, of determination. Who took what he wanted.

  This wasn’t a man who needed months or even weeks getting to know a woman to realize she was what he wanted. This wasn’t just an idle statement but a warning.

  Phoebe raised her hips as she crossed her ankles over his lower back.

  Michael pulled his hips back and thrust hard.

  Her cry echoed in his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was from pleasure or pain but he couldn’t stop. He was a man possessed. An animal. His only focus was the wet heat of her body and the primal surge of feeling the moment he joined his body with hers. His blood pounded through his veins. His vision blurred. Gripping the sheets on either side of her head, he looked down into her wide, emerald eyes and forcefully thrust his flesh inside her own. Her body clenched around his thick shaft like a vise. Wet heat. Her fingernails clawed down his back. The sting of pain only spurred him on. His hips moved, driving his cock into her cunt. He could feel the sweat bead between his shoulder blades. Smell her own musky scent blending with that of her perfume. A need to mark her even more clearly rose in his chest. Lowering his head, he opened his mouth over her soft shoulder. The tip of his tongue swiped at her skin. Tasting her before his teeth sunk deep.

  She moaned at the pain before wrapping her legs more tightly around his hips.

  His tongue swept across her skin again, feeling for the crescent indentations of his mark.

  “Oh God! Oh God!” she breathed against his chest. “Harder,” she screamed.

  Michael smiled. Damn she was an amazing woman.

  Leaning back on his knees, his hands spanned her hips, lifting her higher till her ass was off the bed and the rest of her weight was resting on her shoulder blades.

  “You want it harder, princess,” he ground out, “ask me nicely like a good girl.”

  “Please! Fuck me harder,” she challenged. A fighting fire in her eye.

  He drove full force into her tight cunt. He would make sure she felt the bruise from his touch for days. Placing his thumbs between her thighs, he opened her pussy lips, wanting to see his cock as it thrust inside. Wanting to see how her small body stretched around his thick shaft. The pad of his thumb pressed against her clit. A soft touch despite the violence of his thrusts.

  Phoebe moaned and bucked her hips against him, her hands fisting in the sheets over her head. He swirled his thumb again, this time putting more pressure.

  She bucked again, her body clenching even tighter around his cock.

  “That’s it, baby, come for me.”

  Phoebe’s arms lowered as her hands covered her breasts. Squeezing and kneading her own flesh. Michael thrust faster at the sight.

  As if she were truly under his command, Phoebe screamed her release.

  Michael continued to thrust. Relishing in how her body clenched and gripped his cock while she came, he could feel his balls tighten as the pleasurable pressure increased. One final thrust. He threw his head back and let out a roar of completion as he released deep inside her body. Once again marking her as his own.

  Michael lay on his back in the narrow bed. Phoebe was snuggled up to his side, a slim thigh tossed over his own. Her head on his shoulder as he caressed her hair.

  He had never fucked a woman like that before. It had been almost violent. The fierce need to be inside of her, to mark her, to possess her, had overcome him like a force of nature. Their short acquaintance did not bother him. Marines learned to not fear the possibility of death tomorrow by living for today. He was drawn to this woman, it was as simple as that. He was drawn to her intelligence, her stubbornness, her spirit. When she’d walked into his office he’d desired her. When he’d seen her standing on that chair reciting Shakespeare as if she were a general trying to inspire her troops into battle, he half fell in love with her. Then later, when she broke into his office and he realized his stubborn princess may be in some kind of danger and every instinct to fight and protect came to the fore, he knew he was in trouble.

  Kissing the top of her head, he said, “You need to tell me what is going on. What you are involved in.”

  He could feel her small frame stiffen. Her gentle breathing stopped.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She was lying to him.

  “You’re being careless and I’m a dangerous man to cross. Something is going on and I need you to tell me what it is so I can handle it for you.”

  She leaned up on her elbow. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulder to tickle his chest. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes in the fading light. Despite their dark depths, he knew she was lying.

  “I can’t and I don’t need you to handle anything for me. I can take care of myself.”

  He brushed the hair off her shoulder. With his fingertip, he traced the fading crimson crescent moons. His mark was already disappearing off her skin.

  “‘Who knows what intimacies our eyes may shout. What evident secrets daily foreheads flaunt. What panes of glass conceal our beating hearts?’”

  “More poetry.” Her tone was low and remorseful.

  Michael shrugged his shoulders. “A career in the military can bring a lot of darkness and solitude. I’ve always turned to books and poetry for companionship and to keep a sense of beauty with me even when surrounded by ugliness.”

  He watched as her eyes teared up.

  “Excuse me,” she sniffled as she ran into the bathroom.

  Michael rose and lithely crossed the room to her desk. If she wasn’t going to trust him with her secrets, he was just going to have to learn them himself. He would be damned if he stood idly by while she could be putting herself in danger. Flipping open the notebook on the desk, he read the careful outline she had written. He was back lounging in bed before she returned.

  So his lying little princess was getting herself caught up in the murders. He would just see about that.

  Holding out a hand to her, he said, “Come back to bed, babygirl. We’ll worry about all this tomorrow.”

  She gave him a soft smile and curled up again by his side. He could feel her body relax in sleep a few minutes later.

  He stayed awake. Watching over her. His sweet, stubborn babygirl.

  Planning.

  When Phoebe woke the next morning, he was already gone. Placing a hand on the pillow where he’d slept, she thought back to the poem he’d quoted. It was Betrayal by Emily Dickinson. She laid her cheek on the pillow, inhaling the spicy sandalwood of his cologne.

  What had she done?

  In the span of a heartbeat she was quite possibly falling in love with an arrogant, overbearing, poetry-reciting, passionate, amazing man.

  And he would hate her fo
rever when he found out she had been lying to him from the beginning.

  Chapter 9

  Michael tried to control his anger.

  It wasn’t her lies. It was that she didn’t trust him with the truth. It cut him to the core to read in her notes about the symbol painted in blood on her door. That, mixed with what he’d overheard of her conversation, her theft of the student files from his office and what he’d seen in her notebook, convinced him she was putting herself in danger by investigating these murders on her own. But why? And why hadn’t she reached out to him when she first was threatened?

  He should be fair about this. Not everyone was trained to assess situations as well as character from a first meeting. Not everyone had their instincts honed from years of battle. He shouldn’t blame her for not knowing he could be trusted based on their brief acquaintance. It wasn’t fair of him to expect it of her.

  Problem was, he wasn’t in a fair mood.

  He was in a vengeful one.

  And he wanted answers.

  “Well, this certainly is a surprise, Colonel. I’m sorry for not getting up to the school myself to greet you properly. We’ve just been a bit short-handed as of late.”

  Michael waved away Sheriff Stevens’ apologies. “No need, Sheriff. We’re both busy men, which is why I would like to get straight to the point.”

  The sheriff was a tall, lanky man of about sixty. With his large, white handlebar mustache, he gave the impression of belonging more in an old western frontier town than a small bay village in Massachusetts. With a nod of understanding, he motioned for Michael to join him in his office. “Dolores, don’t bug me,” called out the sheriff before shutting the door. Michael smiled, liking the man instantly.

  Sheriff Stevens placed two coffee mugs on his desk. Opening the bottom drawer, he pulled out a bottle of bourbon. “It ain’t morning drinking if it’s medicinal,” he said with a sly wink before pouring them both a generous amount.

  After taking a swallow, the sheriff leaned back in his chair. “I expect you are here to ask me about those poor women.”