by Cindy Dees
“Why?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“Take you and me, for example.”
She was tempted to say, “Let’s not.” She had no desire to dissect her attraction to him like a bug under a microscope.
He continued, “Let’s say we decided to date each other.”
Her pulse jumped even more wildly, shocking her into stillness. Was that what she wanted from this man? A relationship? She hadn’t even considered the idea of a relationship since she’d found out the military was going to open up every career field to women. From that day forward, she’d dedicated her entire life to becoming a special operator.
Beau was speaking again. “At work, we would have to set our feelings for each other aside completely. It would have to be only work. Nothing personal.”
She frowned, not seeing where he was going.
“But if you’re my teammate, I want you to have feelings for me.” He frowned, obviously searching for words. “I want you to be fiercely protective of me. Be prepared to die for me if necessary. My teammates are my brothers. You’d need to be my sister. And there’s no way in hell I would sleep with my sister, let alone have romantic feelings for her.”
Tessa frowned. Where was all of this coming from? Beau didn’t strike her as the type to drill down into interpersonal relationship issues for funsies. Still, she considered his words. She’d never had a brother, but out of general principles, she imagined it would be gross to have romantic feelings for one.
She said slowly, “So if you and I were da—” her voice cracked, but she forged onward “—dating, you and I could have, umm, romantic feelings for each other on the side, but have only platonic—brotherly/sisterly—feelings at work.”
“Basically,” he agreed.
“So what’s the problem?” she asked.
He shot back, “Can you compartmentalize your feelings like that?”
She stared at him in dismay, seeing the problem.
“Could you love me one minute like a man, but then only love me the next minute as a brother in arms?”
She answered honestly, “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
His stare bored into her as if he was trying to see her innermost feelings and thoughts. He declared, “I can tell you right now, I couldn’t do it.”
This was a conversation she would really rather not have, but she also saw the necessity of laying all these particular cards on the table between them. If nothing else, she owed this talk to all the Medusas who would come after her.
To that end, she said thoughtfully, “What if men and women didn’t have to separate out their private feelings from their work feelings? Why wouldn’t it be okay for me to be in love with you—hypothetically—and still work with you?”
“Would you be willing to let me die if it became necessary? If you were my team leader and had to send me into a fight I might not come home from, could you do it?” he retorted.
She sighed. “I see the dilemma.”
“Only way it would work would be for the job to come first.”
“Isn’t that how it is for most Special Forces types?” she asked curiously.
“Hence the high divorce rate,” he retorted. “The guys whose marriages survive have wives who understand they play second fiddle for as long as their husband is on the teams. But once he leaves the military, he’ll spend the rest of his life being there for her.”
She snorted. “No one ever said being a military wife was easy.”
“But for a both-military couple, the oath to country, the commitment to the job, would have to come first for both of them.”
“Which would basically doom the romance,” she finished for him.
He shrugged. “Maybe not for all people, but it would for me. When I love a woman, I’ll do it with everything I have. I’ll most certainly be willing to die to protect her, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe.”
His words rattled through her with the force of prophecy. What would it be like to have a man love her like that? Unconditionally. To death and beyond. It sounded like pure heaven.
It also sounded like pure crap. No man she’d ever met was capable of that kind of selflessness and self-sacrifice.
“Part of Qual training is for the guys on a team to get to know the person they’re training. To form the rapport necessary to work together. That’s what you and I are supposed to be doing out here over the next few months.”
Which she gathered was his way of saying that they could never have anything more than a platonic work relationship.
Talk about feeling like a fool. What an idiot she’d been! She’d practically thrown herself at him in the motel. And on cue, tears burned at the backs of her eyes and her throat felt unnaturally tight. No way was she going to cry in front of him, particularly not moments after he’d told her they couldn’t have a relationship with each other.
She stood up quickly and moved over to the door. She paused, forcing words past the clog in her throat. “Message received loud and clear. And thanks for the talk. I know that was a whole lot of words for you to string together all at once.”
A crack of laughter escaped him. “Screw you, Wilkes.”
“Right back atchya, Lambo.”
And the line in the sand was drawn. Look but don’t touch. Think but don’t act. Imagine but don’t ever, ever make it real between them.
She lay back down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the rain pound against her window. She’d already sacrificed so much to get here. She wasn’t about to blow it all now over a guy with great abs and a killer caboose. He wasn’t worth it.
Right?
Right?
* * *
Gunnar Torsten was a dead man. Beau tossed and turned, his gut burning with embarrassment and discomfort. The last thing he’d ever expected to have to do was have a birds-and-the-bees talk with a Medusa candidate.
Particularly one who had him sporting a hard-on pretty much every moment she was around him.
Talk about awkward.
Worse, he didn’t believe a single word he’d said to her. Well, he was pretty sure he was right about the separating work and personal life stuff. But his ability to follow through on his big statement? That was another matter, altogether.
Man, he dreaded tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that.
He stared up at the ceiling for hours, listening to the rain come and go. He didn’t know what he was more terrified of: the woman across the hall or the nightmares waiting for him if he closed his eyes.
He resorted to his sniper breathing exercises eventually and finally managed to drift off to sleep.
She was waiting for him in his dream.
Of course, she was.
Her thick, wavy hair loose around her shoulders, her shoulders bare, her eyes sultry.
“Let me help you forget your nightmare,” dream-Tessa murmured low.
He shook his head. “You don’t understand what you’re offering.”
“Show me.”
* * *
Tessa tossed and turned, sleeping restlessly. Even asleep, she was more nervous than she wanted to admit when Beau showed up in her dream, shirtless. Smoking hot. Looking at her like he wanted to eat her alive.
Fear coursed through her. Along with confusion. Wait. She wasn’t afraid of Beau. Special operators were honorable men. Good soldiers. She couldn’t live in fear of them.
Reaching up, she tugged on dream-Beau’s neck, pulling his head down toward her.
His hands landed on the mattress on either side of her head. Her hands drifted across his powerful shoulders and down his arms to wrap around those biceps.
He lowered himself in a slow-motion press that stole her breath away as his stare never left hers, weighing her response, testing her reaction to him.
“We s
hould stop,” he said with considerably less conviction.
“Kiss me, Beau,” she whispered.
“You’re sure?”
She gulped. It was all or nothing. She either beat the monster in her head or she was done as a Medusa. Right here. Right now. “I’m sure,” she whispered.
His mouth captured hers and dream-reality evaporated, leaving behind only a vast, empty darkness cocooning the two of them in a private world of their own.
Okay. This wasn’t so bad. She kissed him back tentatively.
* * *
Beau inhaled sharply in his sleep, tensed enough to momentarily wake up and then exhaled as he settled back into his dream.
His tongue plunged into her mouth. She met the invasion with her own tongue, testing and tasting him as he claimed her in no uncertain terms. Her body moved against his, and he gasped at the amazing sensation of her strength and femininity mingling together.
He couldn’t have remained still if his life depended on it as she kissed him hungrily, her hands roaming across his back, measuring the width of his shoulders, sliding down his ribs to his hips. Everywhere she touched him, he burned for her. Lord, she was addictive.
She matched his lust with abandon, kissing him like she’d been looking for him her whole life. His hand skimmed up her side, past the indentation of her waist and forward to cup her breast.
“Been a while?” he muttered.
“You have no idea.”
A short grunt. “I might.”
* * *
Tessa groaned as her dream intensified, flinging her arms wide, restless.
She slipped her hand between them to grasp his erection. Sensations slammed into her. Hard. Satin-smooth. Pulsing. “Oh, my goodness,” her dreaming self breathed.
A silent gust of laughter escaped dreaming-him. “And nothing but goodness,” he growled as he pushed on her shoulder, rolling her to her back and looming over her. He asked darkly, “Are you okay with this?”
“Try me,” she challenged.
“You really shouldn’t throw down dares in front of men like me,” he muttered warningly. And then he was all heat and motion and muscle and hot skin against her.
“Beau, please,” she begged.
“Please what?”
“Now. Take me now.” Her limbs moved restlessly and her entire body strained toward him.
“You gonna freak out on me?” he challenged.
“No. I’m fine.” And shockingly, she was. Surrendering to this man didn’t scare her. “Go ahead. I dare you.”
“Positive?” he ground out.
“Never been more positive,” she declared.
* * *
Beau plunged into Tessa, sheathing himself to the hilt. Her groan wrapped around him like her body did.
Terrible tension stretched his entire body into a taut bow, pleasure bordering on pain, it was so intense. He reveled in torturing himself and her by holding himself still as long as he could.
Or until she begged.
She obliged without hesitation. “Please. I can’t stand it anymore. I swear I won’t break. Let go.”
Still, he held back.
“Oh, for the love of Mike, Beau. That was me saying, will you just go for it already?”
He half laughed, half groaned and gave in all at once in his dream, plunging into her with all the power and abandon he could muster. She rode the storm with him, matching his passion with unbridled lust of her own, matching thrust for thrust, groan for groan and shout for shout.
He woke abruptly, breathing hard, drenched in sweat.
He was in serious, serious trouble.
Chapter 8
Tessa flopped onto her back, so wiped out she couldn’t move a muscle if she had to. At least Beau was equally wiped out, stretched beside her on the front porch. He had just put both of them through a calisthenics workout a professional athlete would envy. Cripes. If she never did a burpee again as long as she lived, that wouldn’t be soon enough.
Let the record show, the man did not do anything halfway.
They’d spent the past two weeks running, climbing, crawling, hiking and swimming over every inch of the bayou in these parts. They’d been there for over two months, and day by day, the regimen got harder.
He’d finally agreed to let her do deep tissue massage on his knee, and she’d broken up most of the leftover scar tissue. He’d even consented to do daily stretching and strengthening exercises for his hamstrings, quads and knee. It was a slow road back, but his knee was coming along nicely. She couldn’t be prouder if it had been her own knee.
But no matter how exhausted she was when she fell into bed each night, the dreams kept coming. Always a variation on a single theme—sex and more sex with Beau. And her imagination was getting hotter over time. Lately, she’d been dreaming some downright wild stuff with him.
The sound of Beau’s hoarse breath reminded her sharply of her erotic dream last night, this one involving oil and full body massage. Languid warmth flowed through her joints that had nothing to do with push-ups and sit-ups.
“I think you’ve killed me,” he muttered.
“I know you’ve killed me,” she retorted, still panting.
“That was...” he searched for a word.
What would he mutter after sex with her? “Epic?” she supplied.
“Energizing.”
Liar. “Yes,” she agreed. “That.” Of course, she was lying, too.
He lifted his head to stare down at her. “Ready to go another round with me?”
Like in her dream? “Oh, hell to the yes.”
He made a sound that might be taken for unwilling laughter. He looked at her sideways as if he’d caught a hint of what she was envisioning. Abruptly, he rolled away from her. He was obviously attempting to distance himself from her. Again. She had to give him credit for trying to do the right thing like they’d talked about that first night at the cabin. She was trying, too. But damn, it was hard. Especially when her dreaming mind kept betraying her so completely.
She felt his withdrawal like a physical blow. Crap. She had to get control of this raging attraction to him.
But seriously. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to a man like him, shirtless and sweaty, sprawled out like a god beside her, radiating raw sex appeal? She didn’t care what big speeches he made about how they couldn’t be together. The man spent a good portion of the time he was near her aroused. Either that was his normal state of existence, or he thought she was hot, too.
She sighed. Regardless of her lust for Beau, she had to play along with his stupid no-romance rule. To that end, she propped herself up on an elbow to gaze down at him. She asked lightly, “How did you sleep last night?”
For just an instant, his eyes darkened to a deep, deep shade of blue, like the ocean on a clear, sunny day, stretching away into forever. Memory of a dream came into his eyes, turbulent and sensual. Sexual tension poured off him like the sweat from their workout, and her breath hitched at the heavy-lidded look he threw her.
The instant passed, and his expression became impassive once more. But it had been enough for her to know. He hadn’t slept any better than she had and had possibly experienced dreams along the same line as hers.
Hah! She did get under his rhinoceros-tough hide!
She asked blandly, “Until there are more Medusas, will you be on the same team as me?”
“Don’t count on it.”
Really? Did that mean they could date each other...hypothetically? If they didn’t work together, did that mean the whole brotherly love argument was moot?
Aloud, she asked, “Why wouldn’t we work together?”
He sighed heavily. “Who the hell knows what Torsten has planned for you? He hasn’t shared his intentions with me.” He added heavily, “And besides, I’m on my way out. My body’s beat up. I’ve been
on more missions than I can count. I’m—” he took a deep breath and plunged on “—getting old. You don’t need a dead weight like me hanging around your neck.”
“Ohh, puh-lease.” She rolled her eyes. “You ran me into the ground today, and you’re at least twice as strong as me. Not to mention, you’ve probably forgotten more about how to operate in the field than I’ll learn for years to come.”
“Like I said. Old.”
She snorted. “If you’re that decrepit, what we just did would have given you a coronary.”
He smiled a little, involuntarily.
“Your knee’s coming along great. In a few months I see no reason you can’t go fully operational—”
“Don’t worry about it. Not your problem.”
“Aww, c’mon. For now we’re on the same team. I’m just helping you out like I would help any of my teammates.”
He scowled, which she took to mean that he wanted to disagree with her but realized how stupid doing so would sound.
She warmed to her pep talk. “I have a vested interest in getting you back out in the field. After all, you’re the first and only guy besides Torsten to even entertain the possibility that I might have something useful to offer the Spec Ops community.”
He snorted. “I’m also the only guy to train with you.”
“You haven’t washed me out yet.” Which frankly surprised her. She’d gotten the definite impression when they first came out here that he would yank the plug on her the second she messed up. And Lord knew she did that on a daily basis. But he shrugged off her mistakes, saying they were normal and that all newbies made them. The key was not to make them twice.
Beau was speaking. “...giving me way too much credit. I was not happy when Gunnar Torsten told me he wanted to train more women. To be dead honest, I still hate the idea.”
“Are you at least willing to entertain the possibility now that women might be able to hack this job?” she asked.
“Shockingly, yes.” He added, “But it’s not like there are many women like you out there.”
