Fevered Nights

by Jillian Burns

  Piper.

  Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he rolled to face her, but she had her back to him. She was curled into a tight ball, sleeping on the edge of her side of the bed. He scooted close against her spine, gently moving thick strands of hair off her wet face.

  Crying in her sleep?

  During an op, a guy caught sleep whenever he could. Even standing up, if he had to. And he always knew his platoon had his back. He’d seen a couple of guys jerk awake with a nightmare or two. Maybe even yell out. Hell, he probably had himself. But to actually cry while sleeping? What monsters haunted her dreams?

  He lightly touched her shoulder. “Piper?”

  As he stroked her arm, her body lost its tension, and eventually she uncurled a bit. When he heard her sigh softly, he slid his arm around her waist and snuggled in beside her.

  The next time Neil opened his eyes, the sun shone dimly. But he was alone in bed. Looking through the open French doors, he found Piper standing at the edge of the surf. The Gulf sparkled like a sapphire beyond her, and the sun at her back illuminated her caramel-colored skin and black hair. She wore short white shorts and a lime-green tank top. After a moment she turned and shaded her eyes with her hand to watch a flock of pelicans soaring just above the ocean’s surface.

  Throwing back the sheet, he climbed out of bed, his knees and ankles protesting as usual. He debated putting on some coffee, but the desire to be with Piper won out. So he slipped on his swim trunks and tromped out to the beach, encircling her in his arms from behind. “Good morning.”

  She gripped his forearms and leaned her head into the crook of his neck. “It is. It’s beautiful here. Thank you for bringing me.”

  Renewed guilt settled in for subjecting her to the boat ride. “I was thinking we’d rent a car and drive back to Miami. It’d only take a couple of hours, so we’d have more time here tomorrow before we have to head out.”

  “But what about your boat?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll have someone return it to Miami.”

  She turned in his arms. “That’s very sweet. Thank you.”

  Yep. That was him. Sweet. Nice. So much for no more Mr. Nice Guy. But who had he been kidding? He couldn’t be someone he wasn’t. He smiled. “Let’s eat. I make a mean egg-white omelet.”

  She returned his smile. “Sounds delicious.”

  As they headed into the bungalow, he took her hand. Her soft, slim fingers wrapped around his and he squeezed. Something about the action felt as though they’d been walking side by side like this for years.

  As he started cooking, she peeked over his shoulder until he finally asked if she would prefer to take over. She confessed that she didn’t know how to do more than push a button on a microwave. So he taught her. Chopping a few veggies, cracking a couple of eggs, grating cheese. What pan to use. She was a quick and eager student, and Neil felt...relevant.

  Not that what he did as a SEAL wasn’t vital. He knew his actions affected lives, specifically the lives of his team during an op. He knew he was needed. But it wasn’t the same as making a difference to one specific person. Especially one who looked at him as if he’d just rocked her world by showing her how to chop an onion.

  When they sat down at the little table, she dug in and devoured every bite. Maybe her restless sleep last night had just been a matter of eating too late. He hoped so. But it wasn’t likely. Not with the tears he’d seen.

  Neil decided against bringing up her nightmare. After cleaning the kitchen together, they parted; he headed outside and stretched out on the hammock. Piper walked down the hall to the bedroom.

  He stuck his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. But after a quarter-hour or so, she didn’t join him. He kept a one-eyed surveillance on the bungalow. Maybe she’d gone back to bed? Or she was making phone calls?

  He quite interrogating himself and tried to relax, irritated with himself for speculating. If she needed time alone, he’d give her space.

  Then she appeared at the French doors and his heart actually skipped a half beat.

  She pointed her phone at him. “Say cheese.” With a mischievous grin, she snapped his picture, and then headed for one of the Adirondack chairs.

  He extended a hand. “Swing with me?”

  She didn’t hesitate. She veered toward him and climbed in beside him. He made room for her, sliding an arm beneath her. She turned and snuggled against him, but kept one long leg hanging off the side to rock them. She held up the phone again and took a photo of the two of them.

  “Okay, no more.” He gently nudged her phone away.

  With a sigh, she tossed it into the soft sand and then fingered the tattoo on his arm. “That’s the trident you were telling me about that first night, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the date? 9-13-1972.”

  “The day my uncle was killed.”

  She nodded, and they were silent for a while. He was glad she didn’t try to sympathize or analyze, or even make him talk about it. It was what it was.

  “No tattoos on you, I noticed. Because of your career?” he asked.

  “Too right. I’m contractually obligated not to get one.”

  “Besides liking chocolate, tell me something else about you that no one knows.”

  At first he thought she wouldn’t answer. He’d interrogated enemy informants that had given up hideout locations easier than this.

  “My real name is Anju,” she said quietly.

  He blinked and turned his head to look into her exotic eyes. “Anju. That’s a beautiful name.”

  Her gaze drifted away to the waves in the Gulf. “Mrs. H said I had to change it.”

  “Who’s Mrs. H?”

  Her face scrunched up and she squirmed until she’d settled on her side, pillowing her head on his arm. “I’m really knackered.”

  He noted she hadn’t answered his question. But he wasn’t going to push it. “Knackered? Is that a word?” He grinned and winked, and it worked. She smiled and playfully slapped his chest.

  “You Yanks would say tired.”

  “How about a nap, then?” He traced a path along her arm and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  But they didn’t sleep.

  As the tide slowly came in, they watched a flock of white ibis wander in from the copse of mangrove trees and wade into the surf. Their long, curved orange bills poked around in the wet sand catching insects and crayfish.

  The water was calling to him, so Neil got up and waded past the waves before diving in, swimming out far enough to catch glimpses of a pod of dolphins. He called to her to join him, but she wouldn’t wade any farther than knee deep. So he swam back and splashed her and they played in the surf.

  The sounds of her shrieks and laughter melted his heart as she ran from him.

  He caught up to her and scooped her into his arms, pretending to carry her out to sea. She screamed and pounded his chest, but she was laughing, head back, long hair lifting in the wind.

  Their mouths met in a soft, sweet kiss, and she cupped his cheek and opened to him. Their tongues teased and lapped until he stumbled and landed on his knees in the sand. With a shout she tumbled out of his arms and rolled to her stomach. She stayed that way, sifting her fingers through the tiny grains.

  With her legs kicking up and down on the sand, she looked so pleased and carefree. Then he pictured her on the hammock last night, those same legs wrapped around his hips as she came apart in his arms.

  Without thinking, he began molding the damp sand into a fort.

  “What are you doing?”

  He gave her a funny look. “Building a sandcastle.”

  “Oh...you don’t need special tools for that?” She watched him, tilting her head.

  “You’ve never built a sandcastle before?”

  She fr
oze. “When would I have? Other than flying over the ocean when I left India, I’d never seen a beach until I posed for my first swimsuit shoot.”

  “How old were you when you started modeling? I saw you were on the cover of some teen magazine. You looked pretty young.”

  “I was fifteen when I started modeling for department store websites. Seventeen when I got my first magazine cover.”

  “Fifteen.” He whistled.

  She shrugged. “Most of the other girls were younger than me. I had a lot of catching up to do.”

  He packed sand, shaping it into a tower as best he could, and then building a wall for a sniper to hide behind.

  She watched him intently, studying his movements.

  “You want to help?” he asked.

  She nodded, her eyes twinkling. He jogged over to the bungalow for cups and bowls to use as molds and some utensils for shoveling and shaping. He had to show her how to carve out a moat. “Tell me about growing up in India.”

  She stilled, her gaze concentrated on packing a bowl with sand. “You’ve heard of the caste system?”

  “Sure, but it’s illegal now, right?”

  She glared at him. “That doesn’t prevent discrimination.”

  He nodded. “Just like the Civil Rights Act didn’t automatically stop racism.”

  She was quiet for a while, continuing to pack sand and then dumping the bowl. Neil waited.

  “I am—was—Dalit. One of the untouchables.” She was using a spatula to shape a wall and didn’t even look up.

  Ah. Maybe this was the stuff of her nightmares. “That must’ve been difficult for you and your family.”

  She stopped fiddling with the spatula. “Yes.”

  “Were you—” He measured his next words carefully. He knew the violence that discrimination could provoke. Knew a guy in his platoon who’d been beaten when he was younger by a bunch of morons out looking for a fight. Maybe he should let it go. Change the subject. “Were you—or someone you love—hurt?”

  Her brows crinkled. “Someone I love. Yes.”

  A rage flamed up like hot embers doused with gas. He wanted to fly to India, track down whoever had hurt her loved one and beat them to a pulp. She’d been just a kid. And he wished he could’ve been there for her. The words I’m sorry seemed disgustingly inadequate. But he said them anyway.

  She stood and brushed sand off her legs. “I think you should teach me to swim.” She marched toward the water.

  Message received. She didn’t want to talk about it.

  He jumped to his feet and caught up to her. “You sure you want to do this?”

  She bit her bottom lip and stared out at the waves. Then she looked at him and stuck out her chin. “Yes.” She took a tentative step into the water, then reached back and grabbed his hand. “Don’t let go, okay?”

  “I won’t.” He tried squeezing her hand to encourage her as they waded farther ahead. She hesitated every time a wave slammed her, and she almost lost her footing twice. Her hand gripped his so tightly that her nails were digging into his skin.

  Once the water was waist high she refused to budge.

  “The thing is,” Neil coaxed, “if you can get past the break of the waves, they won’t knock you around so much.”

  She stared at him for what seemed like several minutes. “All right. That sounds logical.”

  Holding on to her wrist, he helped her fight past the break until the water was up to her chest. The calmer water seemed to relax her.

  She gave him a trembling smile. “This isn’t so bad.” Finally taking her gaze off him, she scanned the sparkling ocean and the horizon. “I’m still not sure—” She shrieked suddenly and jerked out of his grasp.

  In her face he saw pure panic just before she disappeared under the water. What was happening?

  “Piper!” He dived, reaching for her, but she was gone. There was a strong undertow he’d underestimated.

  Feeling his anxiety rise, he ignored it and dived in the direction of the undertow, and thankfully felt her legs. A powerful sense of relief, one he’d never felt before, soared through him. Thanking every deity he could name, he grabbed on and dragged her to him, then brought them both to the surface.

  She spluttered and thrashed about, fighting him.

  “Piper, listen to me. Focus. You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s Neil.”

  She dragged in a breath and coughed for several seconds. Good. She was okay.

  He slipped his arm around her and tucked her head against his shoulder, then led her to shore with every last ounce of strength he had. Within seconds he had her on the sand on her side, in the recovery position.

  She was still coughing quite a bit and had vomited seawater. Shaking and dazed, she reared up and clung to him, sobbing.

  He held her close, shaking a little himself.

  “Something bit me. I tried to hop away. Then the water dragged me and I didn’t know which way was up.”

  “Shh, it’s all right. You’re fine. Everything’s okay.” He kept up the soothing words as he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the house. He didn’t set her down—couldn’t even if he’d wanted to—as he turned on the shower and stepped in with her.

  Shedding suits and washing the sand and saltwater off, he slowly lowered her to her feet, and her grip on him eased a fraction. They stayed under the warm water for who knows how long, until, eventually, she let out a long sigh and lifted her head from his chest.

  She raised her right foot and pointed to a red mark on the outside edge. “See? I told you something bit me.”

  Neil knew she was focusing on the mundane to avoid thinking about the monumental. It was a coping technique and a good one. For now. Mortality was a heavy topic. He stepped out of the shower and brought over a towel, swaddled her and carried her from the bathroom to the bed. “Let me see.” Kneeling, he took her foot and carefully studied the bite mark. Then he kissed the spot and rubbed his thumb over it. “Probably a crab. I bet he was more scared of you than you were of him.”

  “I seriously doubt that.” Sarcasm practically dripped from her words.

  He grinned. Her sass was back. He looked into her eyes. “Maybe you’re right.” He stood and sobered. “This was my fault. I should’ve—”

  “No. Don’t even.” She reached for his hand, tugged him down beside her. “I’m fully responsible for my own decisions. Don’t take away my agency.”

  “What?”

  “It was something my therapist once said. My agency is like my feeling of empowerment. When I blame others, I give them my power. I hadn’t really understood it until you tried to take the blame for this just now.”

  Neil blinked. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?”

  Her expression softened and her eyes warmed. She pushed at his chest, but then cuddled into him. “Hold me for a while?”

  As he did as she’d asked, something took hold inside of him, giving him that power she was talking about. Which was crazy and didn’t make any sense because he’d never not felt empowered—if he had ever thought about it at all. But Piper seemed to bring out the best in him. And made him believe his life counted for something more than being a SEAL.

  * * *

  WHEN PIPER AWOKE hours later, they ate a late lunch on the deck and fed pieces of orange and mango to a two-foot-long iguana that crashed their impromptu picnic.

  “After what happened I thought you might want to leave,” Neil ventured.

  Piper’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “No way.”

  He grinned, although he still wasn’t entirely convinced. “Good. Once we’re done with this, I thought we’d get out of here for a bit.”

  “Where to?”

  “You’ll see. Get dressed.”

  He took her to Key Largo’s
wild bird sanctuary, guessing correctly that she’d enjoy the exotic birds and the idea of a place of refuge for injured or displaced animals. Plus, he wanted to take her mind off what had happened earlier in the ocean.

  Piper’s eyes sparkled as she wandered around the sanctuary. She found the owner at the visitors’ center and asked the woman several insightful questions and the two got into a lengthy conversation.

  Neil stood back and watched.

  Piper was so much more than he thought most people gave her credit for. Intelligent. Open. Caring.

  At one point she glanced over at him and he caught her eye. Her expression relaxed and her gaze warmed. It was a moment of pure connection. As if they were the only two people on the planet.

  When they returned to the cottage, she pulled him over to the hammock and slowly tugged off his T-shirt. The sound of the waves and a bird calling did nothing to distract him as she unbuttoned the sheer white blouse she was wearing.

  He wanted to tell her to forget about the buttons, but he admitted to himself he was enjoying this—her frankness, her passion, the desire in her eyes. She was the most special, most unique woman he had ever met. He wouldn’t have traded this moment for the world.

  She bent and eased out of her shorts; the blouse puddled at her feet, her bare breasts full and round, the sight chipping away at his control. Next she peeled off the satin thong and then straddled his lap, rubbing her softness against his hardness.

  Neil enfolded her in his arms, wanting to keep her safe within them forever. He could’ve lost her. No matter what she’d said about agency, it would’ve been his fault. He squeezed her to him, and then kissed her eyes, her nose, her earlobe. She turned and gave him her mouth, her lips trailing down his jaw, his neck.

  She placed her palms on his bare chest and rubbed up and down, then over his shoulders and back. When she reached for the zipper on his shorts, he held her off. “I don’t have protection.”

  With a sly smile, she grabbed her shorts and pulled out a packet. He chuckled.