King of Hearts (Deuces Wild Book 1) Read online

  She doubted he’d tell her what happened, so she hadn’t asked. She knew how closed-mouthed special operators were. Brady never shared, either.

  Tucker kept his fingers intertwined with hers as they ran. They were good this way, running side by side, her long legs keeping up with his ground-eating stride. She could imagine them on the beach, him in his swimming trunks, her in her one-piece bathing suit. Running. Laughing. The sea breeze in their noses and sunlight on his handsome face. He’d be tanned and morning scruffy, his chin unshaven and his black hair mussed. Sexy. He’d wink that sinfully wicked wink of his, the one that melted her core every time. The one that made her knees weak. The world would stand still.

  She licked her bottom lip at the thought. Isaiah, the man to her right, was every bit the athlete. Tall, dark, and handsome, with bedroom eyes, but Tucker? Eye-candy, pure and simple. Heart-throbbing, panty-melting soul food. There was no other man in the world for her.

  After they’d put a couple of miles between them and the sporadic gunfire far at their rear, Tucker slowed to a stop beside a grove of tall, spindly bamboo. “Take a load off.”

  She crouched to the ground, her palms to her knees, thankful for the breather. He handed out two water bottles, one to her, one to Isaiah. Melissa took a quick gulp and offered the rest to him. Tucker upended it and swallowed, and…

  Man, oh man. She could’ve knelt there all day watching the way the strong muscles on his neck worked as he gulped the liquid down. How his Adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow. He hadn’t shaved in days, the shadowy scruff on his chin and neck tempting her libido. She curled her fingers into her palms, wanting to trace that strong chin and neck just to hear him purr.

  When he crunched the plastic in his fist, he looked down at her. She couldn’t look away. The man glowed. Even as battered as he was, he absolutely glowed, and she knew it then. This was Tucker in his true element, a jungle cat on the loose and against all odds, untamable, lethal, and one hundred percent deadly.

  She got it then. The world she’d signed onto with that impromptu marriage proposal wouldn’t be easy. The road would be long and hard, and there’d be more lonely days and nights wondering and worrying. But Tucker Chase was not Brady. This man standing proud and ready to take on the world didn’t need her to fight his bureaucratic battles for him. He didn’t need her to run interference with doctors, nurses, and lawyers. This was a warrior to the bone. Healthy. More than able. More than willing. Strong to the point of brash, maybe even daring to the point of foolhardy.

  He cupped his chin like he was sizing her up, his gaze narrowed, flicking his thumb over his whiskers as if he ran through the jungle for his life every day. “You’re sure a sight for sore eyes.”

  “You mean eye,” Isaiah teased. “I’m gonna call you Cyclops.”

  Tucker leveled a spiked brow at his partner and grunted. That broke the magic spell.

  “What happened to you?” She had to ask. Isaiah sported a few bruises, but nothing like Tucker’s.

  Predictably, he winked. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  She swallowed hard and lowered her chin, all of her feminine receptors tingling, her fingers itching to get him alone and out of his clothes. To run her hands over every plane and edge and furrow of his rugged body. To nibble and lick and...

  A lightning bolt of craving for this outrageously brave man shot through her. The hairs on her arms lifted as searing heat unfurled in her blood. Living on the edge had opened her eyes and she saw him. Finally. She got it.

  Tucker Chase wouldn’t change. He couldn’t. This bigger-than-life warrior standing before her, the handsome guy bristling with weaponry and shouldering an over-sized pack that looked plenty heavy, needed that brash, cocky part of his soul to do the impossible jobs others shirked. To face the evil in the world and run it to the ground. To fight the odds and save people like—her.

  Simon had a veritable army at his disposal, but Tucker had one man, yet there he was. Winking and telling her not to worry. Denying his pain. Putting her first when he obviously needed someone to put him first for a change.

  Tucker Chase was fighting the world alone. Something in her gut told Melissa he always had been. It was no wonder he’d continually pressed her for intimacy since they’d met. The man was lost. He had to crave stolen moments of peace like this one amidst the battles he fought daily. How else could one stay sane while fighting the good fight if not for the recharging lift from a soul mate, if not for someone standing at his side, loving him, trusting him? Willing to fight for him.

  Her heart swelled. Love for Tucker lifted its head and roared. Melissa wanted to seduce him in every way she knew how.

  “Are you coming, babe?” he asked, his hand reaching for hers, his voice uncommonly husky.

  “Yes,” she answered, her tone definite and sure. Wasn’t he in for a surprise?

  She let her gaze drift down his belly to his zipper, hoping he caught her brazen signal and that Isaiah hadn’t. It was no wonder Tucker could barely speak with that bulge in his pants. Every last nerve ending responded to the sight. Her muscles clenched with an insane need to grab hold of him, to feel him moving inside of her. To be the one who saved him for a change.

  She lost her voice when she placed her fingers in his palm and that manly hand closed around hers, pulling her up from the ground and against that tremendous hard-on. It was a simple, ordinary action between a man and a woman, but it seemed so much, umm, larger. Maybe even life-changing. He wanted her the same way she wanted him, and he’d meant for her to know it.

  “You’re breathing hard,” he murmured into her cheek as he rubbed his nose into her hair and inhaled. “God, you scared the shit—I mean, the life out of me.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. If they’d been alone, she would’ve surprised him by smoothing a palm over that bulge in his jeans. The idea was tempting, but they weren’t alone. She opted for casual conversation instead. “Are you trying not to cuss?”

  His mouth roamed over the curl of her ear and ended with a moist nip at her earlobe. “Maybe. Isaiah seems to think it’s a good idea. Is that what you want, me to clean up my mouth?”

  And there he was, that tender man hidden beneath the rough, macho exterior, trying to please his woman. Her eyes brimmed. She blinked to keep the tears from falling. “I don’t care if you cuss like a sailor,” she managed to breathe out. “Kiss me, Tucker, just kiss me.”

  A groan lifted up from his gut as Tucker framed her head with his palms. His mouth closed over hers, devouring her lips and the last of her self-control with it. He hooked one hand under her knee and drew her leg up to his thigh, and she let him, needing him, wanting him with every fiber of her being.

  Liquid fire pooled at her core as his scorching male brand rubbed against her, whetting her appetite for that more he’d always wanted, that intimate part of herself she’d not yet relinquished to any man besides her husband.

  “Ahem,” some guy mumbled.

  “Go away,” Tucker growled, his lips still fast at work, his tongue still dancing over hers, trailing a warm, moist line of desire that arced straight to her core.

  Melissa giggled. She honestly felt like a treat in Tucker’s arms. A treasure brought out of the dark into the light. She felt—alive.

  “They’re getting closer.” Isaiah. That’s his name.

  Melissa caught her breath and whispered, “He’s right, Tuck. We have to go.”

  He growled, barely easing back from her. “I want a rain check to do this right.”

  She had to smile. “I don’t think you’ll need a rain check with your wife,” she said softly and suggestively, her tongue sliding slowly over his bottom lip.

  “Woman, you’re killing me.” He bumped her nose with his. “Have I told you yet today how much I love you?”

  “Guys, enough already,” Isaiah hissed, his rifle sweeping their backstop. The noise of men and machinery had gotten closer. “Stop making out. It’s time to go.”

  Enough said
. Tucker geared up, and after one more kiss, he disengaged, and they headed north into more jungle. The afternoon faded into evening. They stopped for another break before Tucker turned away from the sun and headed east.

  “How much farther?” Melissa asked. These two men seemed ready to walk all night, but she was tired. They needed a safe place to stop for the night.

  Tucker shot a questioning glance at Isaiah. “How far are we from the city?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Because you’re psychic.”

  “I’m psychic, not omniscient.”

  “But you found Melissa.”

  “Of course I did. I was there when they took her. I knew who I was looking for.”

  Tucker grumbled, his hands on his hips. “Well, I thought you knew where we were going.”

  Isaiah’s chin stuck out. “You’re the SEAL. How would I know?”

  “Because you’re psychic!”

  Melissa chuckled at the banter. For as capable as he was, Tucker could be so obtuse. “Guys. I’m pretty sure we keep going east, but not during the night; it’s too dangerous. Let’s stop here. I don’t hear gunfire anymore. I don’t suppose either of you has any blankets in those bags?”

  Isaiah tugged out three plastic packets. “I’ve got rain ponchos.”

  She turned to Tucker, her brows raised expectantly. “What do you have?” She shouldn’t have asked the question, much less allowed her gaze to flutter down to his zipper again. It was very obvious what Tucker had.

  He shifted his stance when she noticed. One stern eyebrow spiked in her direction. “I’ll find us something to eat,” he muttered and stomped off, grumbling, “How the hell would I know where we are? I’m not a mind reader.”

  She suppressed another giggle. Yes, they were all hungry and grumpy. Once they ate—if they ate—things would settle down, and they could plan sensibly for tomorrow.

  Isaiah shook one of the ponchos out of its plastic wrapper and offered it to her. “This will keep you warm and dry.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any Deet in that bag, would you?”

  “You bet.” He rummaged in his backpack until he found it. “Here you go.”

  “Ah.” She sprayed a layer up her arms and around her neck. “Thank you. The mosquitoes have been eating me alive. They don’t seem to bother you guys.”

  “We sprayed up when we ditched our truck.” Isaiah wandered into a stand of nearby bamboo. “Did you see that stream we crossed back a ways? One of these might make a good fishing pole if I had some line and a hook.”

  “I’m going to find a bush.” She looked around for suitable cover wanting privacy within a reasonable distance. “I’ll be right over there.”

  “Scream if you need me.”

  “She doesn’t need you,” Tucker muttered, startling Melissa.

  “That was fast,” Isaiah commented drily. “Forget something?”

  “No, I found something,” Tucker said as he slapped a big ugly fish with black whiskers at Isaiah’s feet. “Clean this. Skin it while you’re at it, while I make a fire.”

  Isaiah frowned at the still gasping fish, his nose wrinkled in dismay. “Where’d you get that? You’ve only been gone a couple minutes.”

  “In the creek.” Tucker jerked his head to some vague place behind him. “It’s shallow. You’ve just got to know what you’re looking for. Why? Isn’t it big enough for you?”

  Isaiah sputtered at Tucker’s snarky tone. “It’s not that, but I... I don’t know how to clean fish.”

  “Stop whining. It’s easy.” Tucker dropped to his knees, pulled a knife out of the sheath at his hip, and promptly cut the fish’s head off with one clean slice. He held it up at the end of his knife, a glint of despicable mischief in his eyes while the rest of the fish kept wriggling and slapping its tail. “See? Nothing to it.”

  When he dropped the head to the dirt and poked the point of the blade into the fish’s yellow belly, Melissa turned on her heels and headed for cover. “I’ll be right back,” she said, giggling, not wanting to watch what happened next.

  “I’ll make a fire,” Isaiah volunteered.

  Dinner that night was a little charred, but tasty.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “That fish was good, even if I do say so myself.” And the company wasn’t so bad either. Tucker settled with his back against a fallen tree and Melissa curled on his lap, her head on his chest and her slender hand tangled in his. He loosened the thin piece of rag she’d used to tie off her braid, and tugged the different strands out of their tightly woven pattern. Crimped ribbons of honey gold slipped through his fingers like silk.

  The jungle nearly felt like paradise, full of bugs and unknown animals skittering up the trees, but peaceful. A man couldn’t ask for more after a tough day than to rest with his woman safe in his arms. Melissa filled an empty hole in his heart, the one he’d tried for months after his divorce to fill with hard liquor, living on the edge, and flat-out denial that he had feelings.

  Isaiah ended up roasting the fish on a bamboo spit he’d rigged. The kid knew how to cook, and the meal was surprisingly good, but it was Melissa’s butt planted on Tucker’s lap that made the night perfect. Her slender frame fit inside the shelter of his larger body like she belonged there. He didn’t mind that she used him like a sweater, snuggling under one arm for warmth, and wrapping his other arm around her.

  But something was missing. Something very essential to the end of a good day—a little guy named Deuce.

  Tucker had no doubt he could get his kid free from Nguyễn Vin Li, aka Vinnie. He just wasn’t sure the guy would live to talk about it, and that could pose a problem. Killing Vinnie meant trouble if Tucker got caught. He needed to know more about his adversary, how well connected he was, who he knew, and exactly which authorities he had in his pocket before he faced off with the jerk. A powerful man in a foreign country would twist the truth to suit his agenda. Tucker couldn’t risk going back to jail and losing Deuce and Melissa forever. He had to do this right. What a dilemma.

  Isaiah leveled two more broken chunks of some rotted tree into the fire, sending a rush of orange-red sparks skyward like falling stars. Tucker watched them drift back to earth. They weren’t stars. Not really. They were like him. Falling back to—nothing.

  He worried. Melissa might have said yes to his marriage proposal, but he had his doubts. Adrenaline tended to skew people’s thinking when they were running for their lives. Of course she’d said yes. She would’ve agreed to anything in that intense moment. The problem was the timing. Would she have agreed if he’d asked her when they were safely back home? Something deep in his gut told him no. She was too good to be true.

  It might be better if she backed out and left his sorry ass. She could live her quiet, sedate little life and forget about him. He had too many ghosts hanging over his head and sitting on his shoulder. His old buddy, the Grim Reaper, kept showing up like the ghoul he was, demanding blood. Sometimes Tucker worried only his blood could pay the price for what he’d done in the name of the gods of war. It felt like an honest trade somehow, that whole eye-for-an-eye thing, but Melissa didn’t need to be a part of it. She’d had enough crap. One dead husband was enough.

  Tucker had struggled with the dilemma for years. He’d never let himself get carried away or go too far in all the firefights he’d been in. Not once had he let the blood lust win. As pumped up as a man got in hand-to-hand combat, he’d always kept the rage controlled. He’d stayed sane and followed the rules of engagement religiously, but this next battle would be different. No father followed ROEs when it came to his son.

  Once he had Melissa and Isaiah on a plane to America, he’d go after Deuce. Then they’d need a way out of this country. Tucker wasn’t about to double-back through Cambodia. There had to be a smarter way.

  “Alex will help if you ask,” Isaiah whispered in the farthest recesses of Tucker’s mind. That was odd, a psychic whisper. It almost felt like his own thought, but he knew it wasn’t
. He looked at the kid sitting cross-legged on the other side of the campfire from him, his hands on his knees like he was meditating.

  Isaiah shrugged, like it was no big deal to read minds. “Some thoughts are quiet. That’s the best way to get through to people.”

  “You did good today.” Tucker meant it. “So don’t spoil it. Get out of my head.”

  Isaiah sighed the warning off. “Sorry. It’s a habit,” he said out loud, his dark eyes drifting over Melissa. “Is she asleep?”

  “No.” She snuggled under Tucker’s chin, her voice thick with slumber. “I’m just thinking about all those children in Simon’s camp. What will happen to them?”

  Tucker tightened his grip. “Weren’t their parents with them?”

  She nodded. “That’s the problem. Their parents put them in danger to begin with.”

  Like me... I’m the reason Deuce is in the fix he’s in today. None of this would’ve happened if I’d been a better father. If I’d been a better husband.

  “And there were so many girls. I think they were orphans.”

  He kissed the crown of her head. “This is a different culture, Melissa, and these people are poor. They do what they think they have to do to survive. We’ll never understand what motivates them.”

  “I really thought I was helping refugees,” she murmured, squeezing Tucker’s fingers up to her lips and ending with a kiss along the pad of his thumb. “That’s the whole reason I came here.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t plan to be kidnapped. You did good,” he told her with certainty. “Your heart was in the right place. Simon’s the problem, not you.”

  “Still...” Her voice trailed off.

  “Mimi and Peewee will be okay,” Isaiah assured her. “That’s who you’re worried about right now, isn’t it?”