by Angel Payne
“Well?” Rayna abandoned his brows to sift her hand back through his hair. “Unless it’s classified, you’re spilling, Sergeant.”
Z took her hand and returned it to his chest. He kept his on top of it. “I’m—” He huffed and rolled his eyes. He really needed a good lie right now. But all he knew with this woman was the truth. In every word or thought they’d ever shared, even the crappy stuff, they’d always had their honesty. “Rayna, I’m not top forty.”
She reacted to that as he assumed she would. By giggling into his chest. “Thank you, Sir,” she drawled. “Think I’ve got a good handle on that one by now.”
He should’ve joined her in the laughter. Written the whole thing off with a bite of sarcasm, kissed her, and given her another mind-melting climax. But another memory from today haunted across his mind like a vindictive ghost, keeping him somber. “You cried today.”
Her brows scrunched. “Well, yeah. Several times. My best friend finally had the wedding she wanted. I was happy.”
“Not every time.” He curled his free arm beneath his head, giving his gaze some elevation over hers. “Not every time, Rayna.”
Brutal honesty. It was the hugest strength in their relationship and their most disgusting enemy. “Zeke, I—”
“During the ceremony,” he cut in. “During that sappy Celine Dion song. You were looking down at your flowers, and your face was drowning in sadness.”
Her gaze lowered. Her lips wobbled. “I just really like that song.” A nervous laugh toppled out. “When I was little, I used to fantasize I was dancing to it with Justin Timberlake. He’d broken up with Britney and only had eyes for me. Of course, Finn and Shane tormented me endlessly about it. They even drew a mustache on my favorite poster of him, saying he’d ‘thanked’ them after all my lip gloss stains from kissing it.”
He still didn’t grab the bait of her humor. Instead, with his knuckles grazing her cheek, he murmured, “See? You want top forty. And honey, you deserve to have—”
“Ohhh, no.” She bolted upright. He’d expected that too. And much to the regret of his churning gut, he also expected the renewed emotion in her voice. “You’re not going there, Sergeant Hayes. We’ve been there already. You know how I feel! Why can’t you get it through that steak you call a brain sometimes and realize that I am helplessly, hopelessly, in love with you?”
He released a heavy breath while scooping her hand back in his. “And I with you, my little bird.” After he gently suckled her knuckles, he ran his thumb along her ring finger. “But one day, you’ll want the dance to Celine more than me. You’ll need the ring and the I dos and the guy who comes home to you every night…and there’s not a damn thing wrong with that…and fuck, how I wish I could be the guy wired to give it, but…”
He let his voice trail off, getting ready for what always came next in this dialogue. She’d twist her hand tighter into his and then hurl herself against his chest. After that, she’d tell him he had a Porterhouse between his ears again before begging him to take her to bed so they could screw each other into oblivion. After that, they’d be okay. He’d forget he’d ever been this morose on a day they should both be remembering only for its happiness.
But his brain got done running the scenario—twice—and she barely moved.
His lungs hurt. Her stillness…and the emerald pain in her eyes when she lifted her face toward him…tightened the terrible knots around his stomach, his lungs, his heart.
“Zeke, do you want to release me?”
That was no fucking help.
She gave the words, which evoked the D/s lifestyle’s version of a breakup, in sparse whispers—but bamboo shoots under his fingernails sounded awesome in comparison. But the thing that sucked shit more? Her face was painted in the same shades of agony.
“Damn it,” he snarled. “Of course not.”
But he couldn’t change who he was, either. He couldn’t go back and park his ten-year-old ass in the middle of the living room so Mom wouldn’t leave that night. What would’ve stopped her from pulling the same shit on a different night? After that, even if he’d decided to take his chance on a foster family instead of living on the street, who knew if he’d have popped into adulthood any less fucked up? He had to live with the cards fate had dealt—but it was disgustingly unfair that she did too.
As if she’d watched that dialogue roll across his face, Rayna returned his hold with even harder pressure before rasping, “I’m not asking you to change, Z. I love this. I love us.”
“I know.”
He sent her a smile filled with gratitude and love and meant it. But as he pulled her down to him for another soft kiss, his heart’s return shot was impossible to ignore.
How long until it’s not enough? Until you want something different and I can’t deliver?
In the army they had a word for situations like that.
Discharges.
Chapter Four
The wine was perfect. The candle glow was perfect. The crisp white table linen, topped by shimmering china and gleaming crystal, was perfect. The sweeping view of the city lights was beyond perfect.
Rayna let out a soft but heavy sigh.
Perfection was exactly the problem here. No, worse. It was fate’s gigantic hand, hovering in the air between her and Zeke, getting ready to give her a five-fingered fister that was going to hurt like a concrete slab. She glanced at the other couples across the room. Everyone was marveling at the beauty of Seattle’s newest chichi dinner and dancing club, glittering in their trendy finery. She wondered if any of them also wished they weren’t here, swallowing against a chest that imploded in anguish and a heart that sobbed in apprehension.
Tonight, perfection was the beginning of the end.
After they looked over their menus and ordered from a waiter who was too damn dapper for his own good, Z poured her some more wine and then sipped from his own. “Hmm. That’s good shit, for wine.”
She nodded. His words were all Zeke; his tone was all park bench. Wooden and caked in crap.
“You look incredible tonight, firebird.”
She nodded again and managed, “Thanks. You too.” But he always looked amazing in his charcoal dress suit. The ensemble was cut so similarly to his dress uniform, he’d already been asked for his autograph once tonight. Seattle still loved their “Dark Knight,” Special Forces style. She’d had a wonderful year since the adventures that had earned him the designation, being his lover, his submissive, and his friend—up until the muck-fest of a confrontation they’d had at his place three nights ago.
On two of those three nights, he’d headed to his cabin in the Cascades, no invitation to her extended. Yesterday, he’d actually stopped by the base health clinic to see her, along with a sweet invitation for this dinner. But after she’d readily agreed and hugged him, thinking her Dom had finally gotten his shit together again and was back for her, he pulled away and kissed her goodbye—on the cheek. His phone call a few hours later, stating he had to stay late at the base for gear inventory and would be sleeping at his apartment instead of her place, only solidified the dread in her heart.
When it came time to get ready for this date, she couldn’t bring herself to get into anything besides funereal shades as well. She was pretty certain how this was going to go down and didn’t see how cringing in the powder room, bawling her eyes into slits, was going to look great against winter white. The black dress she chose instead, with its scalloped neckline, sheer lace sleeves, and A-line skirt, was the ideal choice. Classy for dinner but practical for soaking up a torrent of mascara.
Just as they finished their shrimp-en-croute appetizer, the ten-piece band started to play. The group was known across the city for their ballroom-style takes on modern pop favorites. As a tango-influenced nod to Shakira’s Objection ended and became a slow waltz version of Bittersweet Symphony, Z stood and held out his hand.
“Come on, honey. Dance with me.”
She readily lifted her fingers into his. Never mind th
at the song was spookily appropriate; the sight of him encompassed everything she physically adored the most about him. His proud stature. His enigmatic smirk. His resolute jaw. And most of all, the magical blend of colors that turned his hazel eyes into her version of paradise.
She made it a point not to look at those eyes now.
The resolution was much harder to keep once they reached the dance floor. All too easily, memories flowed of the first time they’d ever waltzed, when Mua was still hunting her and they’d turned a muddy Cascades forest clearing into an impromptu dance floor. Z’s possessive hold on her waist had all but ordered her eyes to meet his…and her soul to twine into his. Every time they’d waltzed since then, usually in the cabin with the real world far away, she was helpless to look anywhere but at him…letting him see the heart he’d captured not long after that magical winter afternoon.
Tonight, she gripped one of his broad shoulders while keeping her eyes riveted on the other. It didn’t help her equanimity by a shred. She could still breathe in his scent, pine, spice, and musky man. She was still excruciatingly conscious of every huge muscle and hard angle in his body, especially as it took leadership of hers around the dance floor. She could still bask in his strength and warmth and try to accept the fact that this would be the last time she’d ever feel them.
Grief welled in her throat.
But hope fought back.
Maybe she was wrong about this. Maybe she’d connected all Z’s dots backward and this picture wasn’t what she’d assumed. Maybe all he’d needed was a little man-cave time, and this was his way of reconnecting after it. Granted, Z’s definition of “reconnection” usually involved Nine Inch Nails on the speaker and her in cuffs and tethers instead of heels and earrings, but since she’d known him, the man had always been full of surprises.
She had to reprise all of it three more times before she believed it enough to raise her head.
It was clear Zeke had been waiting for her to do so. His eyes were dark as scorched copper. His lips were stiff as a mausoleum effigy. His jaw clenched until it reached the same texture. He took her breath away with his beauty…and his solemnity.
The song swelled through the air between them.
I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down…I can’t change, no, no, no…
Every word burned as the truth in his eyes.
Rayna stopped dancing and shoved at him. Well, tried to. With that damn speed of his, he had both arms secured around her waist before she could get more than a step away.
“Honey.” His voice was a determined murmur. “Okay, listen. I didn’t want—”
“What?” Spitting it was a formality. She could easily supply that answer now, couldn’t she? Me. You didn’t want me, right? And though I swore I wouldn’t hate this time when it came, I do. I hate it. Because I love you, Zeke Hayes. Blindingly. Dangerously. You now have the power to rip my guts out and turn them into emotional coleslaw. And you’re going to. Goddamnit, you’re going to.
He huffed through his locked teeth. “I just didn’t want this to be shitty for us.”
A bitter laugh spilled, piercing through the tears that finally came. “Put a pig in Prada and it’s still a pig,” she returned. “Buying me some shrimp and a good Pinot doesn’t make this less shitty. Would you please let me go?”
He tugged her in tighter with one arm. With his free hand, he lifted her face toward his. “Listen to me. I love you. You’re the submissive of my fantasies and the woman of my dreams. But damn it, I can’t be the man of yours.”
She wrenched her face away. “Now we can toss the pig into the river, because that’s water under the damn bridge, Sergeant.”
His face turned ferocious. “The fuck it is, Sergeant.” He let her go, though his vehemence was like emotional hot glue, still rendering her helpless to move. “You weren’t the one standing there in that wedding, having to look at you struggle with your feelings for an hour. Having to watch all that longing on your face and knowing you yearn for that with me—”
“I don’t yearn for it, all right?”
He stepped back, making her feel like an astronaut floating in the space where the sun had once burned. “I call bullshit.” He shook his head, the wrath in his gaze joined by something terrible and twisted and full of fury. “Your ass may be the most delectable thing on the planet, but it’s dunked in bullshit, Rayna Chestain.”
She cocked her head in defiance. “Then maybe you need to take me someplace and spank it.”
“And maybe you need to stop lying to me like this.” His features broke into a snarl, a look she hadn’t seen him use on anyone since the day Mua had tried to steal her back to Thailand. His torment had petrified her that day, because she’d known if the neurotoxin hadn’t debilitated him, it would’ve induced him to kill Mua with his bare hands. His conflict terrified her even more now.
“Lying?” she sobbed. “Because I’m trying to save this? Trying to save us?”
“We can’t be saved, Rayna.” He roped his hands around her shoulders and jerked her close, towering over her. “I can’t be saved!”
She didn’t move for a long second. At last, she raised her fingers to his face, pressing them to his cheek as her chest compressed beneath the weight of wonderment.
The intense light in his eyes wasn’t the fire of rage. It was the sheen of tears.
“I love you so much,” she whispered.
“I love you more.” His words peppered her face in harsh bursts. His stare never left her. “That’s why I have to let you go.” He pressed closer, dipping his mouth toward hers, before yanking back with a brutal choke. “I have to let you find your happiness.”
As grief clawed at her soul, she curled her fingers in and raked at his face. Hot, wet stings tore down her cheeks. “Does this look like happy?”
When Z responded with nothing but grim resignation, she clearly recognized her position: at the base of his cliff of stubbornness, without any climbing gear or helicopters. He thought that this valley would bloom for her, make her happy, but the bastard failed to see a crucial factor in his warped plan. She made damn sure he knew about it now, though.
“You took away the sun.”
A frisson of confusion twisted across his face. “What?”
Rayna gazed up at him once more. With shaking fingers, she reached up and unfastened the latch on her collar. As she pressed it into his wide, warm palm, her whisper was as broken as her heart. “You beautiful, amazing idiot. Nothing grows without the sun. Especially happiness.”
* * *
She’d managed to turn and stumble away, though she’d be damned before returning to their table. Luckily, she found her way past the hostess stand and onto an empty outdoor patio.
The club was located at the top of a fancy downtown office building, which meant the views were spectacular on the three nights a year the city didn’t get fog, mist, rain, or sleet. Right now, it seemed the elements had tuned themselves into her psyche and decided to bring on a mix of all four to match the freezing agony she’d once called her heart and mind.
She fell into one of the chairs, hard and wet without its cushion, and curled her knees up to her chest. The patio had a roof, but the air itself was a sponge. Within minutes, she was damp and chilled. That was good. Really good. She sat, shivered, and prayed for numbness. And begged heaven to make her body so cold that her heart couldn’t feel anything either.
Heaven wasn’t listening.
The bitter weight of her tears, spilling from her soul, confirmed that ruthlessly enough. She peered through the haze of them, seeing the world in a blur.
I have to let you find your happiness.
She had no idea how she was going to take her next damn step, and he wanted her to go Indiana Jones into the wilderness for happiness? She couldn’t even take retribution by making him sit still for a Raiders marathon.
She palmed her cold cheek, feeling her lips quiver against it as she did, and rasped, “You still owe me that maratho
n, Hayes.”
And a trip to Comic-Con. And tango lessons. And a repair job on the broken shelf in her garage. And a thousand more things that their life together was supposed to be filled with. That their life could be happy with.
Grief tore through her chest and left her lips on a grieving choke. “Shit!”
“Not my favorite subject to discuss, but it’s a start.”
She was about to let the sob-fest commence when the voice, smooth and male and confident, slid across the patio. She looked up to observe a stranger who’d also scooted beyond the glass doors and now leaned against the wall in a stance as polished as his designer tie. The green-and-black-checked pattern of the thing was a trendy contrast to the stripes in his equally expensive-looking shirt, which was encased in a luxurious charcoal jacket. He looked like a guy who occupied one of the huge mergers and acquisitions offices below them.
And he eyed her like his next big-dollar deal.
Before Rayna could collect herself to respond, he walked over, pulled a chair next to hers, and sat down in it. That definitely jump-started a few words.
“Uhhh…as you can tell, I’m not great company tonight.” She nodded toward the door. “I’m sure there’s someone in the bar who’s more your speed, my friend.”
“You mean the bimbos in matching minis who just want to snag a guy from the tower?” He extended an arm across the chair behind her shoulders. “I was over that an hour ago, which was why I went to enjoy the band.” His eyes, framed by a head of expensively cut hair, gentled. “As I walked in, you walked out. It appeared your night was turning out as lovely as mine.” He put a scornful spin on the assertion.
Rayna averted her gaze to her hands, now meshed in her lap. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Suit Stud didn’t take the hint. He tucked a couple of fingers against her nape and circled them there. “For the record, he’s an idiot.” At her curious glance, he clarified, “The gorilla in the dark suit? You came here with him, right? He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, either. Looked like you made off with his favorite teddy bear, which certainly begs the question why he let you walk away. Not sure I’d have been so stupid.”
