by Zoe Dawson
Failure lay heavily on him, his relationships ending with him not understanding why they had ended. The answers tantalizingly close, lost behind some kind of barrier he couldn’t seem to breach.
He wanted to be the kind of man his father was, loyal, strong, dedicated and fearless, yet he was plagued by the thought that he always fell short.
Until the day he proved himself.
He woke early, as natural as breathing. He showered and dressed for the day, noting the drizzle. So much for a dry run down the mountain. He was psyched, his body restless and his mind completely focusing on Paige Sinclair from the moment he opened his eyes. He tried to ignore that buzzing along his skin, but when he was attracted to a woman, his inclination was to go after her hardcore.
Dressing in layers, he left the hotel and headed back toward the office and Café del Mundo, his hands deep in the pockets of his cargo pants. He was going to be early, but that would give him time for some breakfast. He was going to need the fuel.
He breathed deep of the cold mountain air, the sun barely up in the gray light of the new day. Kid had always been comfortable in the shadows, and it was where he did his best work.
The streets were quiet, so quiet from the day before with the hustle and bustle of the late time of day. But, that was okay, chaos lived in the quiet times so that when the frenzy began, it was already comfortable.
He approached the café and there she was, striding toward the door. Their trajectory would bring them to the same space in a matter of moments. Of course, he expected her to be here, but not this early. Mia hadn’t gotten out of bed until probably nine on a good day. But, here Paige was, living in his early morning world, looking good enough to eat for breakfast. She had on purple hiking tights that hugged the curve of her thighs, a short, black jacquard miniskirt tight around her hips and curvy butt, a green pullover hoodie and a pair of black, stylish hiking boots. He clenched his jaw to make sure his tongue was still safely inside. He should really be focusing on the ride. That wasn’t a damn leisurely Sunday trek. It was an adrenaline pumping, treacherous hurl down a narrow mountain path on a slick surface. Certainly nothing with the word slick in it was going to be safe or easy. SEALs knew that the only easy day was yesterday.
She made the door just a fraction of a second before he did. “Ma’am,” he said, his training and mission readiness took over because he was off the charts, pure, unadulterated havoc here. He reached in front of her and went for the door handle to hold it for her, but instead of doing that, the edge cracked her right in the forehead.
She took a step back, “Ouch,” she said, her hand coming up to her face, rubbing at the spot he’d hit, that long, dark hair rippling around her like liquid silk.
“Oh, geezus,” he said, immediately contrite. “I’m so sorry!” You are so freaking smooth, Kid! Yeah, banging her was the idea, but not in the head for Christ’s sake.
She turned to look up at the idiot who had just cracked her skull. Her eyes squinted at him. “You?” She chuckled, and he liked that she had a sense of humor about this little mishap. “Are you sure you want to go on this trip? It’s going to require balance and coordination.”
He laughed softly. “I’m beginning to think the same thing. But the only two times I’ve lost my balance and my coordination have been around you. Normally, I’m a badass.”
She stepped out of the way as he pulled the door completely open and waited until she moved. But she didn’t and for a moment, he thought she might be exercising caution. He couldn’t blame her. Instead, she just looked up at him, color flowing into her cheeks. Damn, she was beautiful. Not pretty. Not cute, but freaking gorgeous.
Her eyes were so amazing, unique and contrasted with her dark hair. Even with the gold color shot through with rays of vivid green, she gave him a direct, penetrating stare. She was no shrinking violet, not a woman who blushed, but then wouldn’t make eye contact with him. If she was nervous, she showed none of it. Bold, beautiful, and in charge of herself. He didn’t like the last part so much. He was nothing but restless energy right now as if he could explode out of his own skin.
She gave him the once over and, damn, if he didn’t like the way those eyes took him in a smooth, hungry slide. He was used to women looking at him like that. It wasn’t ego; it was just fact. He’d lived with female attention his whole life, and he always loved it. What red-blooded man wouldn’t?
He wanted to fuck her right now just from sight and smell. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he touched her. She was stirring up the chaos in him and it was never far from his center…it was his center.
“How about some breakfast?” he asked when he really wanted to say: How about some hot, incredible, the-best-you-ever-had, mind-bending sex?
“Sure,” she said in passing, throwing him a nonchalantly simple look over her shoulder. He grinned. He couldn’t help himself. Then in the next instant, his grin faded completely.
She’d walked on by, leading the way through the door and into the café, leaving him to follow the black skirt, behind the languid movement of her boots, shapely calves, and the smooth rolling motion of her hips, behind the finest ass he’d ever seen—shapely, tight. And he was dying, the awful, wonderful feeling from yesterday rearing up again and swamping him in one big crashing wave.
Pure lust had never come so close to dropping him to his knees. Never. He could handle lust, so this had to be something else, but he’d be damned if he’d put any kind of label on it, not after those previous relationship wrecks. Whatever it was, it didn’t relent, not all the way past the tables and chairs or across the polished wood floor and into a booth. It was like a fist around his heart, a tight, aching feeling in his balls.
She kept up a casual, mostly one-sided conversation about what he could expect on the trip, lamenting the weather and driving the van. He heard himself agree—yes, ma’am, it was going to be an adventure—all the time trying to tear his gaze away from the movement of her butt and the barely-there fragment of black cloth trying to cover it—and failing. The only success he could call his own was the impulse he overcame to keep his hands to himself and his tongue in his mouth; he didn’t jump her. Yeah, that was a win, a pitiful, embarrassing win.
She made him feel like a sorry, out of control teenaged boy. He’d like to think he was more in control of the measured chaos in him, but she was taking him down with every step she took.
He tried for sniper focus, to absorb her words and reply in some format that was close to an answer. But it was like falling over those bikes yesterday as she filled his senses.
BUD/S, combat, training, or badassery didn’t prepare him for Paige.
He’d never, not once while a SEAL scrambled for sanity, not like this. He wanted this girl like he’d never wanted anyone, not Caitlin, not Mia, not all those women he’d done since he’d broken up with Mia.
But he wanted temporary, even a controlled temporary, the woman was definitely not into risk, not with her comment yesterday about his lack of hotel skills or her caution about driving the van down the mountainside. That was all he could handle right now and a fling with a beautiful woman like Paige would take the edge off. He was always running hot and his edge was as hard as granite and sharp as a knife.
“How long have you been driving the van?”
“Two weeks,” she said, focusing more on the approaching waiter than him. “Hello, Marco.” The waiter flashed her a bright, white smile, the kind of hope in his eyes contrasting with Kid’s confidence. Yeah, back off, buddy. You can’t compete with Kid Chaos, even with those pretty boy looks. Hoo-yah. Paige was obviously used to getting hit on. Kid was sure it was a minute-by-minute problem for her.
She didn’t open her menu, but instead said, “Go ahead. I know what I want.” He glanced down at the offerings.
“Coffee?” Marco asked.
“The usual,” she said to him.
“Carrot juice,” Kid said.
“No coffee?”
“Nah, I’m wou
nd tight enough.” Kid closed the menu. “I’ll have pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon.”
“Now, you’re talking,” She handed her menu back to Marco. “I’ll have the same.” Kid did the same with a smug look on his face. He and the babe had stuff in common. Wasn’t looking good for ol’ Marco.
“I’ve only seen pictures and a couple videos on the ride. Looks pretty intense.”
“It’s pretty hairy going around some of those hairpin turns. Had some close calls, and I’m an excellent driver, but with the drop offs and the sheer cliff walls, the narrowness of the road…well, it’s hellish.”
Her version of hell didn’t even scratch the surface of his.
“I bet you do it very well,” he said. The calm, matter-of-fact tone to her voice told him this woman liked to be in control, and when she wasn’t, that pissed her off. Control was an illusion. People might think that was strange coming from a guy in the military. It was all about control and discipline. But Kid did what was necessary in his own way. For that alone, the SEALs fit him like nothing else ever would. The bonus was working with his elite team members who embraced the exact same philosophy.
She met his eyes and something intangible flowed between them. She blushed at his frank, steady gaze.
“I’m not much into four-wheeling with a minivan, but I do all right.” Damn, he’d never felt this way before, and it sent a shiver over his skin that had nothing to do with the cold of this place. She smiled, a smile that was meant completely for him and his heartbeat tripled. He drew in oxygen and for the first time in the Andes, he was feeling the thin air. When Marco came back with their drinks, he had a sour look on his face.
Paige gave him a conspiratorial smile when Marco turned away, and regardless of the complications he could literally feel coming his way, he wanted this woman. A week in bed with her would certainly take the edge off.
Kid’s plate landed with a rattle. He gently placed Paige’s in front of her, and Kid couldn’t help but grin. Eat your heart out, pretty boy. I’m way too cute for her to resist.
She dug into her food. After a few mouthfuls and a sigh, she asked, “What exactly are you good at, Ashe Wilder?”
“Things that matter the most,” he said after inhaling his own food.
“That so? Like what?”
“Work, family, friends. Coordination and balance.”
She nodded and laughed. The sound of it resonated and made him quiver. “Right.” Her eyes danced a bit, a wry smile playing across her face. And a mouth he couldn’t stop noticing. Looking at. And wondering.
“What exactly do you do for work?”
“Government.”
“Vague.” She sipped her coffee.
He shrugged, downing the last of his carrot juice. “It’s a job.” He didn’t go around broadcasting he was a SEAL. He wasn’t going to be here long enough for her to find out that much about him. It didn’t really matter at this point. He snagged the bill Marco had set on the table.
“You don’t have to—”
“I got it,” he said. He figured out the money and a generous tip. The guy could use something to brighten his day. They rose and headed for the door. When he reached it, she stepped back, giving him a dubious look. He laughed. “I promise I won’t give you another concussion.” When she went in front of him, he couldn’t resist setting his hand against the small of her back.
Outside the day had brightened some, but still had a gray cast to it. “And, this adventure? You do this a lot?”
“Yes, I do. I love the challenge.”
“People like you always do.”
“People like me?”
“Adrenaline junkies.”
“The adrenaline is a by-product of the experience, not the goal,” he said.
“Oh, how do you mean? What is the goal?”
“I’m more interested in the challenge.”
“Why?”
“It makes me feel alive.”
“So these trips are a way for you to seek the meaning of life?”
“Not exactly. I’m not really looking for the answer to that question. I’m looking for the experience of being alive, so that my physical encounters resonate with what’s here.” He tapped his heart. “With what’s real. So I can actually feel the joy of being alive.”
She stared wordlessly up at him for several heartbeats. “That’s a very eloquent way of putting it,” she murmured. They walked for a bit in silence.
“Have you ridden down the road?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m not all that keen on extreme sports. I enjoy the work here in the office more than the trip, to be honest. But the scenery is breathtaking, and I completely love it when I’m not driving.”
“What brings you to Bolivia?” he asked.
She shrugged, her eyes going to the cobblestone. “A change of pace. I took a year off to—”
“Eat, pray, Love?”
She smiled softly at his humor. “Something like that.”
“So, you’re trying to find yourself?”
“No. Not exactly. Let’s just say Bolivia has interesting hidden secrets.”
They came abreast of the van and the tourist group from yesterday was assembling near the front door.
“I’ve got to get going and ready everything for the trip. Have a great ride if I don’t get a chance to tell you after we get on the road.”
“I will.”
He headed toward the van, making small talk when a booming voice said from behind him, “You’ve got to be Pete Wilder’s kid.” Kid stopped and turned around. “You’re the spitting image of the guy.” He reached out his hand, “Bryant Anderson.”
A pained sigh escaped him, echoing the ache in his chest. “Ashe, and, yes, Pete Wilder was my dad.” Kid shook his hand, Anderson’s grip crushing. Dropping the contact almost immediately, Kid turned to enter the van. Anderson followed.
“I knew it. I was there when he was killed in action. I remember the funeral and you. Your dad was one tough son of a bitch.”
For two heartbeats, Kid just stood there, the crashing memory of the day he’d lost his father washing over him like ocean foam and heavy water. If he’d been at the funeral, Ashe couldn’t remember him or place him, except for a vague familiar look about him, but that could be the shaved haircut, the honed and muscled body and the look in his deep blue eyes that screamed warrior. Grief, hard, heavy and aching hit him like a ton of bricks. It’d been so long since that beautiful sunny day when through fanfare, twenty-one-gun salute, and heartbreaking tears they had buried his father.
Kid’s gut churned and he nodded toward the big man. “I’ve heard,” Kid said, his tone abrupt and unwelcoming, a funny feeling going up his spine, getting sharper, even more intense. He didn’t really want to rehash the day he’d lost his father, a day lost in time.
Paige slipped past Anderson and entered the van just after Kid had. He met her eyes and then looked away. The wealth of her compassion was overshadowed by her dislike of Bryant Anderson. The look she gave him piercing and reprimanding. She had known loss, too. It drew him as much as made him want to push away.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he wiped his hand across his mouth. He’d never talked about his dad’s death, not to anyone. Not his mom, his sister, his teammates. His face suddenly felt hot. He’d been obsessed with his dad’s homecoming only days away. They were going on a family trip—camping and fishing. God, he’d loved fishing with his dad.
The memories piled up on him, the man with shaggy black hair and a shit-eating grin, strongly built, ripped and lean through the waist, a man who resembled Kid in every line of his face, the same brows, the same cheekbones, and the same color in his eyes.
But that man hadn’t come home. Instead there had been a knock at the door and a man that wasn’t his dad stood there dressed in an impeccable blue uniform with a white brimmed cap on his head. The minute his mom opened the door and saw him, she’d clutched her blouse over her heart and burst into tears. The man leaned forward a
nd embraced her, his hand patting her back.
The heat in his face spread, running down his neck and onto his shoulders, sliding like water down his chest to his stomach and down to his legs and to his feet, his heart squeezing so tight. It was beating hard and slow, feeling like a half-ton weight.
Anderson shouldered past him to take a seat. He smiled like this was the greatest thing ever. “Maybe before you leave, we can sit down and I’ll give you the lowdown on him.”
Not damn likely, Kid thought. He gave the man a tight smile and turned his back, settling in a seat in front of Anderson, one that gave him a vantage point, not only to the scenery out of the front window, but to Paige. She waited until the others were tucked away in their seats before she put the vehicle in gear and headed out.
His dad wasn’t a subject for conversation—any conversation. He drew in a long breath, fighting the pain, waiting for everything to go back to the status quo. Back to where he was unbreakable.
Back to where he needed to be.
4
Anderson was such a jerk, a brutal, Mack truck-like jerk. Either he hadn’t clued into Ashe’s physical cues or he had ignored them.
She was betting on the latter.
Ashe’s reaction had been subtle, molded in the curves and angles of the man’s face. It was written in the sudden tightening of his sexy mouth, in the breadth of his stiff shoulders and the clenching of his jaw, in the way he shifted.
Gone was the teasing, cute man who had eaten breakfast with her. Gone was the twinkle in his blue eyes and gone was the calm, easy-going demeanor.
In its place was someone who was wound very tight, locked and loaded and ready to explode into action. She got a twinge of concern about the now imminent ride down Death’s Road. Ashe looked way too reckless.
Pain gathered in her gut like a stone. The kind of pain that was associated with losing a parent, only, in Paige’s case, her mother had left them. Her, her three brothers, and her wonderful father. Mixed in there was anger and resentment and Paige only acknowledged the pain on rare occasions when she witnessed someone else’s.
