A Wanting Heart

by Christie Adams

  Work had flooded in, more than enough to keep himself and the former servicemen he employed busy. Joel had joined him first, followed by the rest of his old team from the SBS, as the time came for them to consider their futures. The Ministry of Defence brought them in as specialists in the field of maritime security, work that regularly sent them all around the world, to advise on the protection of British Government assets.

  Although work had left him too exhausted to do anything but sleep when he wasn’t on the job, it hadn’t kept his thoughts away from Fiona or impeded his ability to recall, with brutal clarity, the last words she’d said to him.

  And now, with her standing beside him in the lift, the pain of losing her had come roaring back to shred his heart all over again. At least she wasn’t wearing any rings, nor did she appear to have a partner for this shindig. Still, it didn’t do to assume.

  “Where’s your boyfriend, Fiona? Couldn’t he make it?”

  Even though he was expecting the sharp look, it still stung. “On a fishing trip, Ryan? What do you want me to say? That there hasn’t been anyone since you?”

  The lift doors opened. Ryan followed his woman out into the corridor, falling into step beside her and putting a protective arm around her waist again. He didn’t want to hear the words, but he had to know. “Has there, Fiona?”

  They reached her room. She fitted the key card into the slot and opened the door, turning to face him on the threshold, at the same time effectively barring the way into her room.

  She looked him in the face, treating him to the full effect of those blue eyes he’d drowned in so many times before. Ryan held his breath, waiting for the final twist of the knife he’d already plunged into his own heart by following her out of the ballroom.

  “No,” she said, her voice quiet but clear.

  Ryan started to breathe again. “Why not?”

  “None of your damn business, Quinn.”

  He fished the note out of his pocket. Taking one of her hands in his, he pressed it into her palm and folded her fingers over it. “My mobile, Fiona. If you ever need me, any time of the day or night, call me.” He kissed the back of her fingers. “Sleep well, darlin’.”

  Fiona watched the former Royal Navy officer head back towards the lift. The unmistakable pain in her chest was her heart breaking all over again. Why couldn’t he have left her alone? Why couldn’t he have hated her for kicking him out of her life the way she had?

  I love you, Fiona. We belong together.

  That was why—the last thing he’d ever said to her, until he’d approached her tonight. Fiona closed the door and leaned back against it, acutely aware of every breath and every beat of her heart. A wave of intense pain swept over her. If things had been different—if she’d been the kind of woman who deserved someone like Ryan—he’d have been there with her now, instead of heading back to the wedding reception or wherever it was he was going. And they wouldn’t have spent the last three years apart.

  She crumpled the note he’d given her. His mobile phone number—why in the name of God had he given that to her? As if she didn’t remember it, even after all this time. Didn’t he realise that it was only going to open old wounds, whether she used it or not? Fiona tossed the piece of paper onto the dressing table; what she needed right now was a shower, a hot drink and some downtime in front of the TV. More than that, she needed to get out of the bridesmaid’s dress—navy blue with white-and-gold piping and buttons, the colours chosen as an acknowledgement to the groom’s former life in the Senior Service.

  Twenty minutes later, she was lying on the huge, king-sized bed, watching a romantic comedy. A mug of insipid hot chocolate was going cold on the bedside table. Her eyes were on the TV, but her mind was on Ryan and that damn phone number. Common sense was telling her that she couldn’t go back; she couldn’t resurrect a relationship with him, not if she wanted to keep her hard-won peace and avoid hurting him again—a hurt for which she’d never apologised. She should flush the temptation of that note out of her life, even if she couldn’t purge the number from her memory. She could get a room-service breakfast at six in the morning, and be on her way before anyone else from the wedding saw daylight.

  Fiona didn’t wait for the film to end before she switched off the TV. Having made her decision, she filled in the breakfast choices on the tag, looped it over the outside door handle, and then settled down to get some sleep.

  Sleep, however, eluded her. That phone number had blazed into life once more, and the paper on which it was written was taunting her.

  Call him.

  No, she couldn’t. It was the dumbest idea in creation.

  Because sometimes, loose ends couldn’t always be tied up.

  Call him.

  She wasn’t going to.

  Because sometimes, looking for closure could open a whole new can of worms.

  Call him.

  In a suite up on the fifth floor of the same hotel, Ryan was sorely regretting his decision to give up smoking five years earlier. It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to leave Fiona at her door without begging her for another chance, or at least for an opportunity to talk about what had happened. He’d sauntered away, giving every impression that he hadn’t a care in the world, when the truth was he was dying inside from wanting her to call his name. Needing her to call his name.

  Back in his own room, he’d stripped off the formal suit and sobered up under the shower—not that he was anywhere near drunk, unless it was drunk on being close to Fiona once again. Now wearing only a comfortable pair of jeans, he was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping for divine inspiration to tell him how the hell he could gain control of his emotions once more.

  He needed to focus on something else, to turn his thoughts away from that internal turmoil. As it had always been, that something else was work, and this time it was the series of phone conversations he’d had with Cam Fraser, a former SAS staff sergeant he’d first met while on active service in the Royal Navy.

  They’d worked together on several joint ops over the years, along with Alex Lombard, an officer in the Regiment. Fraser and Lombard were good, dependable men who knew their shit inside out. As a result of those experiences, the three of them had come to share a solid if low-key friendship. And like Ryan, after leaving the military, they’d moved into the security business, mainly in the provision of close protection services to private individuals, and security at high-profile, land-based assets.

  Lombard had long since moved on, but it seemed that Fraser was now being approached to provide maritime expertise as well, and had had no choice but to turn that work down through not having the necessary experience or manpower. The first call had been an initial approach to see if Ryan was interested in joining him as an equal partner, combining both businesses into a security consultancy that could offer a much greater range of services.

  The possibility had intrigued Ryan—indeed, it held a certain appeal—but being far more cautious in business than he was where his heart was concerned, he’d asked for time to consider the idea before committing to any more detailed discussions at the time. What was also interesting was that Fraser had hinted that he was also trying to bring Lombard back into the business.

  The persistent ring of his mobile phone brought him out of his introspection. The number, another mobile, wasn’t programmed into his phone, nor was it one he recognised. “Hello?”

  The silence on the other end of the call lasted about three seconds.

  “Ryan.”

  Chapter 2

  Fiona hadn’t anticipated the urgent knock on her door coming quite so soon after terminating the phone call. And while she knew it would be Ryan standing there, she wasn’t expecting to see him dressed casually in jeans and an emerald-green rugby shirt, his hair glossy and damp from the shower, his firm jaw freshly shaven. He’d always had a strong beard, she remembered, and needed to shave twice a day.

  In silence, she stood back to let him in. The second the doo
r closed again, she found herself trapped between the wall and his body, and his mouth was on hers, hot, passionate and demanding. She could do nothing to stop the tears that began to fall uncontrollably. He’d meant so much to her, and that kiss was bringing it all back with a vengeance.

  “Fiona, what is it, darlin’? What’s wrong?”

  He was framing her face with gentle hands, so much worry and concern in his beautiful eyes. She’d forgotten how he could make her melt with just the intensity of his gaze. She lifted her hand, touched her fingertips to his cheek.

  “I’m sorry.” The words were more a breath than a whisper.

  All of a sudden, grief for what she’d denied them both overwhelmed her. She slid down the wall and collapsed in a heap. Ryan was on his knees in front of her in an instant, scooping her into his arms to take her to the bed and lay her gently down on it. Then he was sitting beside her, one hand holding hers while the other stroked her hair, his calloused thumb brushing away her tears.

  “What is it, a rúnsearc?”

  He was looking at her with such tenderness. She’d made such a dreadful mistake, giving in and calling him. She was going to hurt him all over again. She couldn’t believe she’d ever called him a selfish bastard—she was the selfish one, not him, and she couldn’t resist him.

  “Ryan…” Her voice tailed off under the weight of all the love and regret of the last three years. As he continued simply to look at her, Fiona somehow knew that Ryan understood her inner turmoil.

  “There’s something I need to do first. Give me a minute, darlin’, then I want to know everything.” He lifted the covers over her and kissed her forehead.

  He’d seen the room-service tag, with the request for breakfast to be served at six a.m., as soon as he’d come within sight of the door to Fiona’s room. Ryan grabbed the pen from the bedside table and changed the order to breakfast for two at eight a.m. He had no intention of being anywhere other than in this room between now and then.

  Having switched off the main light, he turned back to Fiona, only to see her watching him in the subdued glow of the bedside lamp. There was an air of expectation about her, heightened by the way she glanced towards the other side of the bed…and the linens that she’d turned down while his attention was elsewhere. The message was pretty clear—she wanted him to join her.

  Slight problem.

  “A chuisle, I didn’t exactly come dressed for bed.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Still going commando, Quinn? The whole point of being dressed for bed is that you aren’t.”

  “You are.”

  “We’re not talking about me. Are you going to stand around yacking all night, or are you going to join me?”

  Ryan didn’t need asking twice. He stripped and slid into bed beside her, and automatically gathered her to him, as if they’d never been apart. He could scarcely believe it when she snuggled close, and he could have sworn he heard a small sigh of contentment.

  Her head was resting on his good shoulder, while her hand lay lightly in the centre of his chest, as it had so many times after they’d made love, right over his heart. She was his heart, and never in his wildest dreams had he hoped that he might hold her like this again—even if it turned out to be for only one night.

  “You should hate me, Ryan. Why don’t you hate me?”

  Her breath was warm on his skin and her words made his heart ache. “I could no more hate you than I could stop the sun from rising tomorrow, a ghrá.”

  “Not even when I saw you in the church?”

  “Especially not then.” He kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but I was thinking that it should have been us getting married.”

  “Please…don’t.”

  Ryan swallowed hard. The sorrow in those two words was heart-breaking. She’d called him, contrary to his expectations, but this situation was still a long way from ideal.

  “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Ryan.”

  “Shh.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’ve got broad shoulders, a chuisle. Now, why did you call me?”

  “I shouldn’t have.”

  “But you did, and now I’m here. Talk to me, Fiona. Tell me what’s weighing your heart down so much.”

  Her arm moving to lie across his belly set his skin on fire. He was trying hard not to want her, but the memories of being in her bed, in her body, were too sweet and too powerful. He’d had a month to get to know her before going on a six-month deployment. When his ship had arrived back, and she’d been waiting on the dockside for him…his body tightened at the memory of that week in the hotel, when they’d lived on room service and sex.

  “I needed to apologise, Ryan—to tell you that I’m so sorry for the things I said. I was the selfish one, not you. But why aren’t you here with a girlfriend? You shouldn’t be alone.”

  How could he be there with someone else, when she was the only woman he wanted?

  How could he be there with someone else, when she was the only woman with whom he’d ever fallen in love?

  Ryan was in her bed again. The temptation of having him there had proven too much to resist, especially when his actions had made it clear he intended to stay. She could give both of them one more night together, set things right between them, and selfishly, she’d have a memory she’d always treasure. Ryan’s arms were around her once more, his body next to hers, the familiar scent of him enough to calm her jangling nerves…and then set her alight with wanting him.

  “I’m not alone, Fiona,” he disagreed quietly. “Right now, I’m here with you—and nothing’s changed for me. There’s no other woman I want. I’ve carried you in my heart since the last day I saw you, and I always will.”

  Fiona sat up, turning so that she could look at that so-handsome face. Before she could respond to his comment—and heaven only knew what she could say to that—her gaze locked onto the fresh scar on his shoulder. “Dear God, Ryan, what happened? I thought you said you’d left the Navy?”

  “I did. I’ve been doing some consultancy work for the MOD—who do you think Joel’s boss is? I’ve had him and the others sworn to secrecy since they left the service and joined me.”

  Fiona frowned. “Wait a minute. Now I’m confused. Until you told me earlier that you’d left the Navy, I’d assumed that all of you apart from Joel were still serving.”

  Ryan shook his head. “I left first and set up the business. Then I found out that some of the guys on the team were planning to leave too, and were looking for jobs. I was getting more work than I could handle, so it made sense to bring them in. You know how close-knit we are in the service—closer than family—and with Natalie and Joel getting serious, there was never going to be a great deal of distance between us…between you and me.”

  “I can see I need to have words with sister dear—she’s told me nothing about all this. Why all the secrecy?”

  “Don’t blame Natalie—I asked her not to say anything. I didn’t want you to know just how close to you I still was. You didn’t want me in your life, and I didn’t want to do anything that might send you further away from Natalie and Joel. You needed to be close to your family.

  “As for this,” he glanced towards his shoulder, “I was in the field, and when I dodged to the left, I should have dodged to the other left instead.” He grinned, somehow finding humour in the memory.

  “It’s not funny, Ryan!”

  “Okay, it wasn’t at the time. It hurt like fucking hell, but there’s no permanent damage. Fiona, don’t cry, not because of this.”

  She couldn’t help it. He’d been wounded in action before she’d ever met him, but when he’d said he’d left the Navy, she didn’t imagine that he could still be getting into dangerous situations. She reached out, her fingers moving across his cheek, then down to his lips…and ever so slowly, she leaned forward, to place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

  “Fiona, you know I still…want you.”

  “I know.” She kissed him again. “No questions,
not now.”

  In that moment, any lingering doubts she might have had fled. She wanted Ryan, and as he’d just said, he still wanted her. It was what it was. His hand cupped the back of her head, fingers tangling almost painfully in her hair, holding her steady so that he could kiss her properly.

  “Fiona, a rúnsearc, how far do you want this to go?”

  She got to her knees, stripped off the nightgown and straddled Ryan’s lean hips. His arms went round her instantly and then she was on her back beneath him, his knee nudging her legs further apart, while his mouth, burning with urgency, was on hers.

  Oh God, his mouth. She’d forgotten just how bone-melting his kisses could be. During that first evening in the pub, they’d been laughing and joking together, and from time to time he’d placed the tiniest, tempting kisses very precisely at the corner of her mouth, or lifted her hand to kiss the back of it. By the end of the same evening, his arm had been draped possessively around her shoulders, and then he’d walked her home, his leather jacket around her, his arm holding her close, her arm at his lean waist. When they’d arrived at the house and he’d kissed her goodnight on the doorstep, she’d almost dissolved into a gooey mess then and there.

  All of a sudden, Ryan stopped kissing her, rolled to one side, and glared at the ceiling with an expression that could at best be described as grim.

  “Shit!”

  She recognised the first word, but that was it as he launched into a stream of Gaelic invective. At least, she assumed that was what it was—it certainly held all the vehemence she’d normally associate with a choice selection of curse words.

  “Ryan?”

  He sat up, elbow resting on one raised knee, his fingers raking through his hair, clearly agitated. “I never thought…I don’t want to get you pregnant, a chuisle.”

  Fiona didn’t know whether to be glad that he hadn’t assumed he’d be getting laid, or sorry. “I thought it was the duty of every Boy Scout, overgrown or otherwise, to Be Prepared.”