by Zoe Dawson
“Oh, get on with you. The bacon will burn.”
She turned away and wiped her eyes, then took a deep breath. Flipping the pancakes that she’d poured onto the griddle, her gran held back a smile, but her eyes twinkled. “What do you want for lunch then?”
The doorbell chimed and Chry breathed a sigh of relief.
“Saved by the bell?” Gran asked.
Casting her an amused look, Chry left the kitchen and limped to the door. “I’m expecting a delivery,” Gran called from the kitchen.
“I think it’s too early for—”
Her heart lurched to a stop when she pulled open the door, and she closed her eyes, sure her mind was playing tricks on her.
He looked so good. Healthy and whole, his hair shorter, his face shaved, those beloved features as handsome as ever.
“I know,” he said, shifting a little, the muscles in his jaw bunching. “I should have called first.”
“Neo,” she said breathlessly.
Suddenly her legs trembled beneath her, and she had to grasp the door for support, her heart hammering so hard she swore he could hear it. Then a wave of joy slammed through her. She launched herself at him and he stumbled back at the force of her embrace, catching her with his strong arms, his hard body feeling so good against hers.
“You okay, babe?”
She tightened her arms around his neck and nodded, focusing on the warm scent of him, the weight of his arms around her. Those were real and solid. And secure. He held her for a long time, rubbing her back, talking nonsense to her. Finally, he loosened his hold and swept her hair back and tipped her face up. His expression was open and tender as he bent his head and kissed her—one of those long, open-mouthed kisses that made her senses swim and her body go weak. And Chry sank into it, tears seeping out from beneath her lashes, not sure how this was all going to work out, but sure she was not going to let him go again.
Dragging his mouth away, 2-Stroke pressed his face against her neck and hugged her. “Can we talk?” he whispered gruffly. He kissed her again.
Shaking and laughing because she was so glad to have him back, she hung onto him with every ounce of strength she had.
He slid his fingers into her hair and drew her head against him, then began stroking her jaw. “Ah, babe,” he whispered. “I fucking missed the hell out of you.”
“Granny’s making blueberry pancakes.”
“Damn right, I am. Get your butt in here and close that door. I’m not heating up the outside.”
Chry clasped his hand and pulled him inside. “I need to talk to you.”
“Come on. We don’t have all day.”
As they came into the kitchen, her gran had a steaming platter of pancakes, three place settings, syrup, butter, and three mugs of steaming coffee.
She came over to 2-Stroke. “It’s been a long time, boy. Too long. She hugged him tight and Chry watched his face as it contorted, then relaxed as he hugged her back.
“I never thanked you for taking me in when you did. You saved my life.”
“Oh, sit down,” she said, waving her hand and sniffing. “I never regretted a moment of it. You have grown up to be a fine man.”
They sat down and she lifted the platter and passed it around. 2-Stroke talked about his brother, the death of his stepmother, which her gran only huffed at, and that they had cleaned out the house. He pulled a small square box out of his pocket. “I saved this for you. I know how much you love…well, open it.”
Her gran accepted the box and lifted the lid. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, Neo. I adore it.”
“It was in with a lot of jewelry, but I remembered you loved cameos.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled, and it was easy and warm. Had he dropped all his barriers? She was dying to talk to him alone.
“Well, I’m going to go get my shower done. I’ll clean this up later. You two shoo. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“We can walk to Jackson Park,” Chry suggested.
“You sure you’re up for that?”
“Yes, I’ve done it a lot.” Of course, that had been with her cane. But she was determined to stand on her own two feet, regardless of what 2-Stroke had to say.
He rose, and after grabbing a light jacket, she followed him out.
He set a sedate pace and she was grateful. By about halfway there, she was regretting not bringing her cane. Her pride was going to be her painful downfall.
2-Stroke stopped and asked, “Are you all right?”
She bit her lip and said, “No. I should have brought my cane, but I thought I could make it.”
He slipped his arms around her and easily lifted her against him.
She smiled at him. “Should you be doing this?”
“Yes, I got a clean bill of health, and unlike someone I know, I rested when I was told to do so.”
“Okay, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes.”
When he reached the park, he set her down on a bench, then settled down beside her, turning toward her.
“I have been thinking about this for a long time. I know it’s not going to be easy, but—”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“What? No. I don’t want to get rid of you. I love you, Chry. I don’t want to go back to San Diego without you and me having a plan. You can keep your place. I won’t pressure you to move in with me—”
“What if I want to move in with you?”
His gaze softened, and he smiled at her. “You do?”
Chry tried to smile, but emotion lodged in her throat, and she looked away trying to bring it under control. When she finally managed to speak, her voice was still wavering a bit. “Yes, I do.”
2-Stroke caught her under the chin and lifted her head, forcing her to meet his gaze, his expression taut. “This isn’t going to be easy. I’ll be deployed a lot, back into harm’s way, but for the first time in a long time, I have clarity of mind about why I’m doing all this.” His eyes dark and somber, he drew his thumb across her cheek, then eased in a deep breath. “It’s for you and the country and all the relationships and the people I love. I’m a shield and a sword and proud to be both.”
Touched by his confession, even more deeply touched by the now warmth in his eyes, Chry touched his mouth, her fingers not quite steady. “I’m proud of all that, too. I know this will be tough and we’ll have to work at it, but the alternative is just unacceptable,” she whispered.
He looked at her, his gaze unwavering. “It is for me, too,” he said quietly. “I want this for us.”
Chry pulled her arms from around him and took his face in her hands, feeling such a rush of love for him that it made it hard to breathe. “I love you, Neo,” she whispered brokenly. “God, how I love you.
By the time he carried her back home and up the path to the house, her thigh was aching, and her head was throbbing. He moved toward her gran’s comfy couch and set her down. “Let me get you something to drink,” he said.
Maybe she did have to take it easier, and an hour’s nap would be good for her.
The next thing she knew, the feel of someone pulling the comforter up around her woke her, and she tried to swim through the gray weight of unconsciousness, her mind heavy with sleep. It vaguely registered that she was huddled in bed with her hands tucked under her cheek, trying to ward off the chill, her oversized T-shirt twisted up around her waist. Feeling as if she weighed a ton, she slowly opened her eyes, her body so heavy she couldn’t move. 2-Stroke was sitting on the bed beside her, his hand on her shoulder, gazing down at her. “Hello, sleepyhead.”
She stared at him, feeling almost drugged. “Hello, Prince Charming.”
He tucked the quilt around her shoulders, then drew her hair from around her face, his touch warm and comforting. “Does your leg hurt?”
She nodded, and 2-Stroke helped her take some pain reliever and some sips of water. “Do you do this for all the damsels?”
“No, only the difficult ones.” He started
rubbing her thigh, a smile appearing in his eyes. “You overdid it, beautiful.”
She didn’t even have the energy to smile.
He snuggled the comforter around the back of her neck, then rubbed her collarbone with his thumb. “Still cold?”
She nodded, feeling wonderful that he was here with her.
“Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
Withdrawing his arm, he stood up and pulled off his belt and sweater, setting them over the armchair near her bed. Taking his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, he laid it on the bedside table, then stretched out beside her. “Come here,” he said, sliding his arm under her neck, pulling her toward him. “Let me warm you up.” He drew her head onto his shoulder, then kissed her on the forehead and wrapped both arms around her.
Chry closed her eyes and rested her arm across his chest, sighing contentedly.
“Your granny doesn’t still have that shotgun, does she?”
Chry started to laugh softly. “As a matter of fact, she does.”
“Hmm, maybe I better get out of your room before she fills my ass with buckshot.”
“I don’t think she can tell us what to do anymore. We’re not teenagers.”
“No, and if she knew what I had been thinking back then, she would have filled my ass with buckshot.”
“Then I would also have to take a blast or two.”
He chuckled and she was content to listen to his breathing until she fell asleep. When she woke up again, she felt completely refreshed. She looked at the clock and saw it was nine and the sun had gone down.
He had taken off his jeans and T-shirt, leaving only his briefs on. It was clear that night wood lay beneath the hard ridge of cotton. She ran her hand over him, and he stirred. When she delved under the waistband, cupping all that powerful hard heat, he groaned, turning toward her.
“What’s up, babe?” he said.
“You, apparently.”
2-Stroke lowered his head, gently covering her mouth with his as he tightened his arms around her. He caressed her back, his movement slow, languid, soothing as he pressed her closer, and Chry let her mouth go pliant beneath his. The scent of soap and cinnamon clung to his skin, his mouth hot and sweet, his sensual textures elevating her awareness of him. She sighed and smoothed her hands across his muscled back, savoring how good it felt to have his arms around her.
Very slowly, 2-Stroke withdrew. “You sure you’re as up for this as I am?”
“I am so ready for this,” she said, her voice soft.
He smiled, his eyes locking on hers as he trailed a finger down her cheek, his touch tender and lingering. He kissed her again, his gentleness in every movement. His warmth and strength surrounded her, his touch like silk against silk, yet for all the softness, there was an underlying strength, a depth of feeling. When he made love to her, it was always there, silently reaffirming his commitment to her, that he would always be there for her, no matter what.
And he had been through it all.
It was like light amidst darkness. It was gentleness amidst strength. A fierce ache constricted her throat.
She pulled off her T-shirt and he shed his briefs. The bed sagged with his weight. She turned toward him, and he sighed and drew her against him, molding her to his long, hard frame as he held her.
Splaying his fingers against her scalp, he turned her head, his mouth finding hers in a softly searching kiss. His tenderness mesmerized her, binding her to him with threads of sensation, and she moved closer, wanting to hang on to all the poignant feelings his affection awakened in her.
Sliding her hand across his naked chest, she pressed him back, and he caught her head, holding her mouth against his as he yielded to the light pressure. He drew her with him as he rolled onto his back, and with his arms encasing her, she straddled his hips.
His breath caught, his voice so gruff it was barely audible as he whispered against her mouth. “I love a woman who takes control.”
“I love you,” she murmured. Then rising, she guided him into her.
His whole body tensed as she slowly settled her weight on him, and on a ragged inhale, he tightened his arms around her, molding her against him. Aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every movement he made, Chry began to slowly work her spell, wanting to immerse him in a pleasure so intense it would swamp his senses.
She wanted to experience the full measure of his need.
Bracketing his face with her hands, she held his head immobile as she moved against him, her mouth brushing against his with teasing lightness, his breathing suddenly uneven. She stared at him as she thought she’d never expected to see this man humbled to anything. Yet he was now. It was in his eyes, his expression, telling her that he was her match, everything he wanted, and he was everything she wanted.
He whispered her name, locking her hips against his as he took full advantage of her movements. But Chry kept to a subtle, tormenting rhythm, each penetrating thrust making her groan, setting her body on fire, tightened her passion to a feverish pitch. A low sound groaned out of him, her body making his want more and more. Her heart was so full of him, responding with an uncontrollable, tingling need aching in every muscle, bone and pore.
Hauling in a ragged breath, he dragged his hands up her back, releasing his hold on her hips, and she launched an assault on his senses as she settled deeper on him. A tremor coursed through him, rippling up his body. He surrendered to her, and she experienced a rush of emotion so overwhelming that it left her unsteady, but she forced her body to respond, moving against him, pushing him deeper and deeper into the sensations.
Wanting to give him all she had to give, Chry yielded her mouth fully to him, and he shuddered against and twisted beneath her. “Chry—fuck—”
She rose, drawing him with her, and he went rigid beneath her, suspended at the very edge of release as her body pulled just as tight, spiraling into the center of her. She rubbed her breasts, pinching her nipples and slipping her hand down to her core, caressing and pushing herself closer to the brink, the pleasure almost mindless. Overwhelmed by all the feelings she had for him, she leaned back, giving him the full depth of her as she arched up, tremors coursing through him as he climaxed deep inside her.
With his soft cry, his reaction set off a chain reaction in her and she came in a long, hard orgasm.
With protectiveness welling up in her, she cradled his face against her shoulder, holding him with every ounce of comfort she possessed as the aftermath left them shaking.
She held him like that for several moments, feeling so surrounded by him that it was like he had drawn her inside his very soul. And she closed her eyes, soaking up the feeling of being loved by him.
2-Stroke stirred, just barely, his fingers tangling in her hair as he turned her head, then covered her mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. He heaved a sigh as she settled against his chest, her face tucked against his jaw.
“I feel so connected to you,” he whispered. “It’s the most humbling and fiercest feeling I’ve ever had. Damn, I love you.”
He tightened his hand against her scalp as he kissed her again, his mouth soft against hers. He exhaled, his touch slow and soothing as he began stroking her back. Chry closed her eyes and relished the feel of his hand against her skin.
He was such a sensitive lover. Not only did he meet all her physical needs, but he also met a need that in some ways was even more elemental to her.
“Let’s go back to San Diego. I’m ready. Are you?” she asked.
“I am.”
That was that. They packed up the next day and flew back to San Diego. Immediately they went to her place and started to pack. The whole team showed up, and after they had packed and moved all her stuff, she used 2-Stroke’s grill to cook up a barbeque feast.
Later on that night, she was sitting outside on his patio when he came out of the house, bidding farewell to the last of his teammates. She loved how they seemed so close to each other after what had happened in Bosni
a. Losing Speed…a brother-in-arms like that had been hard on them.
He settled on his knees in front of her. “The guys told me I’d be a fool to not take the next step since we’ve been in love since we were kids.”
“Next step?” She seemed unable to take a full breath, a tingle slipping down her spine.
“Yeah.” He pulled out a ring box and opened it. A gorgeous round diamond was nestled in black velvet. “Will you marry me, Chrysanthe Steele? You are my heart and soul, and I can’t live without you.”
She stared at him for an instant, then sank down to her knees, her eyes stinging. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him like there was no tomorrow. 2-Stroke kissed her back just as fiercely.
“I can’t live without you either. Yes, so many yeses.”
Wrapping his arms right around her torso, he totally enveloped her and pressed his face against the top of her head.
When they parted, he took the ring out of the box and slipped it on her finger. They went into the house, made love, and afterward basked in the glow of their happiness.
“When do you have to go back?” she asked.
“Not until next week. We’ll have enough time to get settled before I get deployed again.”
In the past that would have scared her, but she knew there was nothing that could break this bond between them.
They would make it. She was sure of it. They had a love that would transcend hardship and distance.
After all, it had already survived many years and miles between them, and she was sure it would continue to do so.
Epilogue
Six Months Later, Mogadishu, Somalia
“Are you sure we can trust this guy?” Agent Jason Farber asked.
Special Agent Aella Mikos looked over at her partner and fellow undercover operative. “We have no choice. This is the first lead we’ve had on Darko Stjepanić and Zasha Vasiliev in four months. I am not giving up.”
“That’s clear.” He took a hard breath. “Mogadishu isn’t exactly the tourist capital of the world. They don’t like Americans. The last time we lost here, they were dragging bodies through the street.”
